#take a killer drawn with my nose in 9 minutes

[mimicsapprentice]

On it boss!!

XPAU Art Chain!

The party would like to humbly request everyone (yes, you) to reblog this post with a low quality drawing of any XPAU guest. The guidelines are:

✣ Must be drawn with anything that is NOT your dominant drawing hand (yes, anything.)

✣ Try to not spend too much time on it (or do, I won’t stop you)

If you’re not familiar with the designs, here’s the Guest List.

That’s it! Let’s have fun!

I’ll start it off!

[purityoflust]

The Smile [Jeff The Killer X Victim!Reader] [PART 2]

Jeff the killer X Victim!

WARNING: Yandere. That's it. Yandere.

I finally decided how I would write part 2 to The Smile, which is my first and most popular post on my account so far. Anyone new who has come to read this, check out my other posts as well if you'd like. I'll post more like this. I also have a Quotev account with more fanfictions.

9/12/20, 3/4 days after the top part: God, AFTER SO LONG, I FINALLY DID IT! Took me days! I'm so sorry if this is a bit lazy, it is a tiny bit rushed by the end but how would you guys feel about a detailed part 3? I'll probably go as far as a part 3 or part 4 for the final part.

The vibrations in your brain felt warm and numbing - almost like when you have a horrible migraine and you can finally feel it subsiding with your eyes closed and your fingers gently holding down onto your eyelids as if you're holding your eyes into place to prevent them from bursting out of your skull. Upon waking up you can feel cold air settling into your skin. You haven't been awake 3 minutes and you already know what you're resting on; an extremely uncomfortable metal table. You've only seen them in movies but this was real.

The sound of a singsong voice just slightly echoing through what seemed like a moderately empty room. You groaned softly as you turned your head to your right, very slowly opening your eyes. Your vision blurred in and out, which, you wanted to rub to clear it out but as you went to lift your wrists, you felt pressure around them.

Something was holding your arms down. This catches your attention, blinking multiple times while turning your head back up straight and attempting to sit up. You were hardly successful with that, struggling while grunting under your breath to pull your hands from under what seemed to be a thick rope. As you pulled harder, you sucked in your stomach out of habit before immediately coming to a halt and choking up in pain.

This whole time you were ignoring the voice that was singing eerily nearby, "You and me, always forever~"

The voice was of a male. Scratchy, shaky. Familiar.

Familiar.

You could feel a string of your heart pop out of place as your breath stopped. That's when you knew something was wrong, but it just doesn't add up. You gulp while your eyeballs vigorously glance around to see where the source was coming from, only to see a figure in a corner. It was doubled over and it was sitting down on a simple wooden chair. Doubling over a...table? An average male figure, nothing unique. Although, the clothing style was unusual. At least what was on the clothes. He wore a fluffy white hoodie and what seemed to be black pants and black-and-white converse. The problem wasn't the outfit, no. His hoodie was spotted and had patterns upon patterns of darkened and more fresh-looking blood splatter. He had long black hair down to his shoulders. And luckily, his back was facing you.

You were dumbfounded. How did you get here, why are you restrained, and why is there a blood covered man near you? Is that even blood? Maybe it's paint or a design? Some people do wear clothes that have different kinds of blood splatter designs on them. Hm. Or he's an actual murderer about to gut you like a fish.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to speak so badly but you just couldn't. As you parted your lips, your throat went dry while your gaze stayed locked onto the bloody male that sat before you. The singing made you shiver as you tried so hard to remember where you could have heard or seen him. Why can't you remember?

The male then turned around to look at you. His singing had come to a gentle halt. Your mouth closed as he did so, your throat going completely dry and your whole body feeling like an ice cube. You were greeted with cold blue eyes. They looked hungry and bloodthirsty, yet they held a warm affection as they looked into your traumatized eyes. It was almost comforting until you saw the rest of his face. His skin was snow white and his lips looked dry. That's when more attention is drawn to his lower jaw. He's smiling. Too big for a normal person.

That's when you realize. He has a large smile carved into his cheeks going from ear to ear while his own lips were curled within a smile as well. And that's when it hits you.

And it hits you hard.

The memories of hours prior start brutally crashing into you, flooding back into your numb brain. All of the realization replaced itself with agonizing anxiety, your heart starting to race at speeds that felt impossible. You could pass out, but something inside you kept you awake. Something about him and about this whole situation was making you dizzy. The male slowly stands and turns his body all the way to face you. He seemed deranged, yet, he had a very relaxed stance and body language.

Uncomfortable silence loomed in the air.

He kept staring at you before slowly taking steps forward. You watch him carefully as your head feels like it's spinning, which you could notice your vision blurring a little bit here and there. The silence is suddenly disturbed with the male speaking up again, choking up in giggles. "Oh my sweet Y/N, you're awake~" He cooed, now standing over you. He leaned himself down and reached his hand to your cheek, gently brushing your skin with his surprisingly soft thumb. He leaned his face closer to yours. The smell of booze, blood, & smoke overwhelmed your nostrils. Yet it didn't seem to bother you that much.

His touch almost kind of made you feel...at ease. Your heart slowed itself and your breathing went back to pace. You felt fine, somewhat, but something in your stomach was still sore. The more you stare at him, the more memories come flooding back. The more memories flooding back, the easier you fit the puzzles together.

"M-my...stomach..--" You stutter out painfully.

In response to this, the male turned his head over to your abdomen and gently rested his other hand onto your bandaged stomach, applying very gentle pressure on it as to not hurt you. It was still slightly painful, causing you to groan under your breath.

"Oh, this...I'm sorry, my sweet butterfly. I had to make sure you wouldn't get away, and you didn't! Don't worry, Jack patched you up, so you'll be just fine!"

You remember now. You remember it all. The chase, your friend, the salty kiss before what you thought was your demise.

You naturally wondered as well; who's Jack?

"Wh-.." You weakly force air out of your throat again to speak, "why am I..tied-?"

"Oh, so you wouldn't be able to get away. I knew you would run away, or struggles, so I had to make sure you wouldn't do that!"

He was right. You would run away and struggle to get out of whatever the hell kind of place you're in. Well, knowing what he looks like. He DID stab you, after all. Who knows what this sicko wants.

He lifts his hand from your stomach and turns back to you, gently placing both of his hands at each side of your face. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So sweet and so innocent. I couldn't keep letting the others eat you up like candy. You're mine and only mine. I need to protect you."

"Wh-who- are you?" You weren't really all too scared for some strange reason now. You were pretty calm. Probably from all of the energy this is draining.

"His name is Jeff." A deep and gruff voice cuts in.

The both of you turn your heads to the door of the room where a tall figure in all black stood. He was about 6"4 wearing heavy boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. His hair was a dark brown though while he wore a mask. The mask was a dark blue with black goo oozing from the eyesockets. He was pretty intimidating even just by standing idly like a character waiting to be loaded in.

"And I'm Jack." He continued, "I'm the one who took care of your wound."

Jack stepped closer, soon standing at the other side of the table. He stood at the left as Jeff stood at the right.

"He wouldn't stop insisting I help."

You just blink, unknowing of what to respond with. He pursed his lips under his dark mask, in his own thought for a moment while staring down at you. You seemed calm enough, and your still pretty fresh injury was gonna hold you back anyway.

"[P]-[Pronoun]'s gonna-!" He attempts to blurt out, only to be stopped by you.

"I won't."

You were untied at your wrists and ankles, allowing yourself to pull your legs up and rest your feet at the top of the table, propping your knees up. It made your stomach feel weird, but it felt kind of nose and felt like it was easing the pain. You wrapped your arms around your knees, looking around the room more. "What is this place?" You ask.

"It's a medical room."

"Huh.." You shrug it off. Your anxiety levels had died down and the more you actually think about it, this isn't the worst thing that's happened. Your life has been pretty fucked up and you have damaged relationships everywhere. Honestly, being around new people and being far away from others sounds not too bad right now. Not like anyone would care anyway.

The next few hours, you're introduced to everyone else at the Mansion. They've been so...unique and honestly, you're surprised some people and beings like them even exist. They were all equally surprised with how little fear you showed.

You actually got along with most of them.

The others have taken a liking to you and hope you hang around longer. Alone in the living room, you, Jeff, Jack, and others sit at the couches and chairs in the living room, chatting away and getting to know them as they get to know you.

You feel Jeff wrap his arms around you and place a gentle kiss on your forehead, making your heart skip a beat.

You found out Jeff has been stalking you for months at a time. Watching your every move, eliminating anyone in the way. Huh, no wonder so many people in your life kept disappearing. You...couldn't bring yourself to be upset or scared, let alone even sad. You felt kind of at ease.

And far from uncomfortable. Someone loved you. Maybe more than they should, but they love you.

You didn't even feel upset at the fact Jeff had murdered that friend earlier. I mean, you just met the guy, so he wasn't even a 'friend'? So you paid no mind to it.

If anything, you really liked the thrill of someone being obsessed with you. A serial killer being so infatuated with you. He could be so protective of you and get rid of anyone you asked him to! There's is an advantage here. You knew he could snap and probably kill you intentionally or unintentionally, but you didn't mind. You really had no one else, technically speaking. No one that really cared. Not as much as he did.

Maybe he isn't so bad.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.  

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part.  I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.  

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.  

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

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[lokisgame]

Wild Wild West [3]

[part 1] [part 2]

Mulder was shaving when a soft knock on the connecting doors sounded over the local news and soon, Scully stood leaning on the bathroom doorframe. “Hey,” she said smiling, arms folded over her chest. The v-neck t-shirt she wore did interesting things when she breathed in. They should have discussed the two room situation earlier, because it was only their first night and already Mulder was starting to regret it. "Sleep well?" He asked, turning back to the mirror, before she caught him staring. "I guess," she said with another distracting sigh, “it's weird to wake up without any plans." "We can make some, if it helps," he chuckled rinsing the razor, "6:30, morning workout, 7:30 showers; 8:15 breakfast." Scully glanced at her watch and said, "It's 9:30." "Damn, good thing no one’s watching." "We'll do better next time," she said, handing him the towel. "But seriously, you did all that?" "Not breakfast," he said, wiping his face, "thought I'd let you sleep in." "Thanks." "I found a diner though, you hungry?" "Starving." "Not on my watch." He said, smiling and went around her to find a t-shirt.

The diner was quite busy, but they managed to find a booth and were waiting for their order. All rituals were observed, from Scully's remarks about his cholesterol intake, his teasing about her missing some crucial pleasures in life, all the way to the waitress fluttering her eyelashes at Mulder and being completely ignored, because he managed to goad Scully into ordering pancakes. He sipped coffee, leaning back and looking around the place. Just another coastal diner, with fishing nets and trophies for decor, and fish in the breakfast menu. It felt almost like home, his childhood. "What is it?" Scully said, and he shook the thought off, taking another sip from his mug. "Nothing, good coffee." She wasn't fooled though, leaning on the table, bringing him back to here and now, radiating concern. "Is it the case?" "No," he said, "I was thinking about the Vineyard." She relaxed, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. "What was it like?" "Something like this, though back then, I didn't pay attention to tourists." "Dad used to take us out for breakfast on Saturdays to a place like this, when he was home." "We had Sunday lunches, at a restaurant with white cloth napkins and manners, but there was a diner too when I got older, very much like this one." "Milkshakes with your first girlfriend?" Mulder laughed, surprised, "what makes you think that?" "Wild guess," she laughed with him, blushing slightly. "Or projection, admit it," he leaned on the table, moving closer, "your first date was in a place like this." "Well, sure, which can be said about most kids who grew up in the 70's." "You held hands drinking a milkshake from one glass," he prowled on, ignoring her, "two cherries sitting on top of mountain of whipped cream." Scully laughed, just as the waitress came with their breakfast, and Mulder finally looked up at her, his smile brilliant. "We'll have a milkshake as well." The girl beamed back. "One?" "Yes, two straws." "Mulder!" Scully faked outrage, but the girl nodded and went away, smile fading fast. "You broke her heart," she said, picking a strawberry from the fruit salad. He looked up puzzled, and Scully jerked her chin after the waitress. "Eat your pancakes," he sighed and went back to buttering his toast.

They took the long way back to the motel, picking up snacks for the beach and looking around. They passed an ice cream parlour, couple of gift shops, a pharmacy, liquor store, all within walking distance from their motel, a two story building with a view. Their rooms on the upper floor looked out at the ocean, practically on the other side of the road. Mulder, knocked gently on the connecting doors and when Scully said "come in," he pushed them open, peeking inside. "Ready to go?" He asked and paused. She was standing by the bed, facing away from the door, fixing the hat in the mirror. The dress she wore was held up by thin straps, its' back cut low to show off pale skin and slender shoulders, before it fell gently over her curves and ended and inch above her knees. Emerald green tropical leaves wound around her bod and the skirt flared when she turned to face him. The front was a deep V, trimmed with black lace. "Mulder?" She said and stepped closer, smile in her voice. It took him a second to realise his mouth was hanging open, then another to gather his thoughts because he noticed the sandals laced around her ankles. "You look," he paused searching for the right word, none of them good enough, "great." "It's the hat," she grinned, touching the brim, "thanks." "Anytime," he said, taking a deep breath and leaned on the doorframe to watch her gather her things. "I don't think I ever saw you this casual." Scully laughed. "Get used to it, because I'm not wearing anything else till we're back in D.C." "I can live with that, but I liked the shorts too, don't forget about those." She chuckled, giving him the eyebrow. "You really are spooky, noticing everything." "Photographic memory," and thank God for it. "You done?" "Yes, let's go." He took the bag from her, for once without protest, and with hand on the small of her back led her through the door. The dress and the straps holding up her bikini top matched.

The short walk was enough to get his head straight enough to take in the view. The ocean was calm. Small waves washed over the shore, cool breeze tickled their skin and white sand stretched out before them, and for the first time in years he felt home again. Scully caught up to him, and when hand sneaked under his arm he glanced down. Her eyes were closed and she took a deep breath, shoes dangling in one hand. The sand was fine and cool and her touch was warm and soft. "Don't you just love that?" She said, meeting his eyes, and he gave up trying to be eloquent. "Yeah." "C'mon, let's find a place, you want to go left or right?" "Right," he said, still dazed and she laughed. "Okay," Scully said and went ahead, then added, "I thought it would be more crowded." "Maybe everybody's still sleeping." "I hope not, I like it this way." He let her lead and pick a spot, watching as fought the sand, yielding under her small feet for some good 100 yards and once they left the first wave of tourists behind, she turned and stopped. "Here," she declared, dropping her shoes as if planting her flag. Close to water, away from people, with the cover of a grassy dune behind. "Perfect." They began unpacking and Mulder was spreading towels on the sand when a hat landed on his head. "Hold this for me," she said and when he looked up, Scully was pulling the dress up and away. The bikini did match the colour of the dress and she looked even better than he imagined. Flaring hips, slim waist, toned stomach, perfect breasts, red hair on fire bobbing around her face. If his mind was in the gutter, the gutter was Louvre and she was Venus heading back into the ocean. "I'll be right back!" She said cheerfully and walked away, taking her gorgeous legs and back and ass, her perfect everything, leaving him sitting there with his heart pounding. Two days ago they were poking around minds of killers and now he was sitting on the sand, and she was waist deep in water. His best friend, who knew him through and through, his every quirk, every stupid joke, every wound, nightmare and fear. Beautiful beyond wildest dreams, wearing a hat he bought her, and a smile he put on her face. He was in love.

Ten minutes later, when he stripped and found the suntan lotion, she was back. "It's heavenly." She said, picking up a towel to dry herself. "You should go in too." "In a minute, could you?" He said, holding up the tube and turning away. "Sure." She crawled over to his towel and touched his back, making him cringe away. "Cold!" "Sorry." The cold hand vanished for a second then came back, sliding over his shoulders. "I couldn't resist it," she said, gently rubbing the lotion in, "I can't remember when was the last time I swam in the ocean." "Neither do I," he said, closing his eyes as she moved down. "I guess we are workaholics." "No, we're not. Now turn around." He did, and she was sitting on her heels, hat on her head, squirting a little drop of something white on her finger. Then she took his chin in one hand and started spreading the lotion over his nose and cheek bones. "Why don't you have a hat?" She admonished, her eyes crossed adorably. "I do, it's in the bag somewhere." "Well, it should be on your head." "Yes ma'am." He smiled and she was done. "There, you're good to go. Do my back for me?" "I thought you'll never ask." She turned and found her sunglasses, then leaned forward, knees drawn up, toes digging in sand. The slope of shoulders and curve of her back was broken only by the green spaghetti straps of the bikini top. "You're staring again," she said with a smile. "Am not," he said, totally busted, "where's that nuclear grade stuff." "On your face, I want to catch a little tan." "What about freckles?" "What about them?" "Nothing?" "You don't like freckles?" She teased. "I love freckles," on you especially. "Good," she said and he shut up. He rubbed the lotion over her skin, feeling it warm up. "I stopped fighting them when I turned eighteen," she said, "I just don't want to get burned." Then aded after a beat, "you probably never had that problem, you always look so healthy." "Thanks," he chuckled and handed her the bottle. "Done." "Thanks," she said, but he was already up, heading for the water, and the beach equivalent of a cold shower.

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Ch.1.

A/N: I was hoping for this to be a oneshot, but it got out of hand very quickly, and became a full, multi-chapter fic. This is for @writingcroissant ‘s 2k challenge. I picked the Artist AU, and ran with it. 

I also couldn’t help but create the mood board that you see. Gotta love visual inspiration! I might make one themed for every chapter, not sure yet. This is my first fanfiction ever, so please let me know what you think. I’ll update the warnings with every chapter if something changes.

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 11.5K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, violence, attempted assault

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13

****

A cool draft of air pricked goosebumps up across her skin, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. One wrong movement would break her pose. The floral duvet under her was soft, but her knees were starting to ache from holding the position for so long. Her hands were curled against the tops of her thighs, as if she just rose up to kneel on her bed. Y/N’s head was tilted just a little, her hair pulled over one shoulder, facial expression calm. It was hard to stay that way, though. She could feel his eyes on her like blinding sunshine.

The lighting was controlled by mismatched lamps, keeping it consistent and gentle, almost intimate. Three lights were situated around her bed. One by the headboard behind her, another standalone closer, above her head to the left, and the last was further away on a chair in front of her. All the ceiling lights were switched off, and the windows were covered. It was just enough light to keep her bedroom area illuminated, but the rest of the apartment was coated in inky shadows.

Even with the heat on high, the loose, sheer long sleeve blouse she wore wasn’t quite warm enough. Goosebumps crawled up her bare thighs, disappearing underneath her jean shorts. Y/N’s studio apartment always ran on the edge of nippy. The stained tan carpet couldn’t block out the chill. The mass of tall windows on her back wall, across from the door, loved to let the fall air creep in. At least the windows gave a beautiful view of New York’s sparkling skyline. Being on the 14th floor did have some perks.

“You’re frowning again.” His voice broke through her train of thought. It made her shoulders tense up to her ears before she forced them back down. Subtly she flexed her fingers in and out of fists, trying to shake the anxiety. “Do you need a break?”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding “No, I’m alright.” She peaked at him from just within her peripheral vision. He was drawing her from a 3-quarter view, a little lower rather than straight on. A chair had been pulled over from her living-room area, and he lounged back in it. One foot propped up on a stool; other on his knee. His large sketchpad rested on his lap, and tucked up close to his face. Pale blue eyes focused on her with such intensity she felt another flush crawl from her chest down to her toes and up to her ears. This was one part of life drawing that she could never quite get used to.

His eyes drifted over her body, taking in every single detail. First trailing across the waves in her hair, then he paused on her lips, passed down to her torso, arms, legs, and lastly he focused on the paper. Bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth, he scraped against the page in small fluid strokes. The rasping of charcoal eased some of the heat that sparked across her skin. Then he looked up again, loose strands of hair falling across his forehead.

Bucky met her eyes for a couple seconds. Her heartbeat picked up again at being caught staring. Then he dropped his charcoal back down into its open case on the end table beside his chair. He let his socked feet down. Placed his sketchpad on the stool and rubbed at the black smudges on his fingers “I think I’m done anyway. I wanna get a drink real quick, then I’ll pose for you.” He wiped the smudges on his jeans as he stood up.

‘Oh thank god’  Y/N thought, then fell back onto her butt, rolling into a sitting position. Stretching her arms above her head, she cracked her back. As she rolled her stiff joints, she listened for Bucky’s footsteps. The light flicked on for her corned off kitchen area. It was all the way on the other side of the apartment, but she heard the fridge door open without one single footstep. He was so damn quiet. Like a ghost. Maybe it was just because of the carpet.

“Can you get me a coke?” She called, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed and then standing. Tingles trailed down her legs, feet asleep, and she awkwardly shook them off. With a couple bouncing steps she went over to the stool. Y/N didn’t dare touch it, didn’t want to smear any of his strokes. Instead, she just moved over so she could peer down at his latest masterpiece.

It had taken him a little over 30 minutes to draw her. Bucky always, somehow, made her look far more beautiful than any mirror had ever done for her. Her hair looked wavy and graceful as it framed her face, and she appeared to be deep in thought. As if she was captured in the moment between deciding to do something and moving into action. Y/N wished she could say that he drew her wrong, made her look like someone else. A girl far more elegant and pretty than her, but it would be an insult to his skill. Bucky captured her truer to herself than anyone else in the world. It was like he saw inside of her. Saw what she was made of and brought it to the surface.

Somehow, he did it every single time.

This was the fourth time he had been over for an art homework session. Probably drawn her upwards of thirty times now between all the impression sketches, and various timed drawings. Always in charcoal. Always with beautiful accuracy.

“What do you think?” Y/N felt something cold and damp brush her arm. She jumped a little bit and whipped around to glare at Bucky for spooking her. He was standing a good foot away, but his arm had stretched out to offer her the canned soda.

Snatching the drink from him, she took a couple calming breaths, and ignored his small smirk “I think this one’s your best so far. You’re getting better with the lighting.”

Now that she was aware of him, he took another step closer. Unconsciously, his right arm brushed hers as he tilted his head, eyeing the drawing critically “Still can’t get your damn nose right.”

“Got a problem with it?” She teased, sipping on her drink and studying the illustration. Honestly, she didn’t notice anything wrong with it. Her 2D nose looked about as accurate as the rest of her. Curling her bare toes into the carpet, she noticed the feeling had finally come back to them.

Bucky glanced up at her and scowled accusingly “Ya, it’s disproportionate to your face.” The light from the lamp on the chair accented his pout, deepening the dimple under his lip.

Y/N couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that came out of her. It was such an absurd, random comment. Still, she pressed her lips and eyebrows down. Tried to be offended. After all, he was insulting her “Excuse me. I think my nose is the best part of my face! You’re the one with a butt chin!” Her voice trembled over her own words. Then she giggled a little harder as his sulking deepened and he rubbed at his chin, shaking his head.

“Now who’s being rude?” His pout finally lifted to a small smile, and he brought his coke to his mouth, swallowing. “I think next time I want you laying on the bed. Think you can let your head hang upside down for 30 minutes?” He caught her gaze, eyebrows raised. She tried to ignore him saying anything about laying on a bed. There was a mischievous spark in his eye that made her stomach flip.

“If I pass out it’s your fault.” She warned, jabbing a finger at him threateningly. He smiled a smidge more at her before backing up and going to sit his drink down on her desk. Every smile he gave her felt like a surprise, and she couldn’t quite believe how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Things were getting easier with him. It had taken a good two weeks, seeing each other twice a week in their mutual art class, and then twice outside of class to work on the homework. Y/N knew he would be tough. She could tell that from ‘Hello’. Just hadn’t properly estimated how difficult.

 In the beginning, he barely talked beyond adjustments to her pose, and comments on her anatomical errors. Never rudely. Definitely blunt, but his voice was soft, and he helped her after critiquing her. She had thought he was irritated every time he came to her apartment to work. Thought she annoyed him whenever she sat next to him in class. It made her anxiety relentlessly torment her like the devil it was.

Last Friday, though, she finally started to pick up on his dry humor. It was only small comments here and there. Little quips about the poses she made him do, or her obnoxiously loud neighbors. When she fed into it, he made more. Now he was beginning to smile easier. She eventually asked him about his brooding, while sketching him sitting in a chair. Bucky had cracked up. A full body laugh that took up her entire apartment. Between snorts he explained that his friends said he had a ‘killer resting bitch face’. It was one of their inside jokes. He was sorry if he gave her the wrong idea. All his waving hands, gesturing as he spoke, completely ruined her sketch. There was no getting him back into the same position. It was worth it.

These days, she wondered why she ever thought he was scary.

“Got any plans for Halloween?” Y/N asked, turning her drink in her hands. The holiday fell on a Wednesday this year, so most parties were scheduled the Saturday after. That was only a week away.

Bucky smeared the condensation of his can across his right fingers, rubbing at the leftover charcoal dust. The small of his back leaned against her desk as he thought about it. Charcoal had managed to get all the way down to his wrist. His thumb brushed over his fingertips and then he rubbed them again on his jeans. There were smudged stains on the faded blue now, next to his side pocket. He didn’t seem to care.

She tried to stop staring, looking back down at his drawing right as he glanced back up to answer. “Probably gonna go to my friend’s party. Maybe scare the kids that dare ring his doorbell.” He gave a wicked smirk. Then clapped his hands together, rubbing them conspiratorially. The sound was muted by his glove and had a dull ring from the metal underneath.

“Like you need to give more poor people nightmares from your ugly mug.” She teased. Well that answered her question. She thought maybe she could invite him to go with her and her friends to club Hydra. Obviously, he would be spending time with his friends. Friends she didn’t have any idea about.

“Oh ha ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes with exaggerated, sarcastic laughter. “So! Where do you want me and my ugly mug?” He asked, arms spread wide in mock invitation.

“Don’t pout. At least you don’t have to buy a costume.” Y/N continued. He didn’t even bless her with a response. Just pinned his grey eyes at her a bit more.

Slowly, she walked over to sit her own drink down beside his, lips pressed together. Peering around the room, she crossed her arms in thought. Finally, she nodded her chin towards the window sill. It was her middle, largest window. The one that opened to her fire escape. The sill doubled as a seat and had a couple cushions already laid out on it.

“Open the blinds and lean against it.” It was getting to be later afternoon, so the light should be pouring in the window without the blinds blocking it. As he pushed off from the desk, Bucky knocked his shoulder playfully against hers. She hesitated back for just a second, watching him stroll easily across her apartment. Honestly, she hadn’t realized that he never touched her before until he started to. It wasn’t like he touched her all the time now, but something told her it was significant that he did at all.

With a shake of her head, Y/N followed Bucky over to the window and let him push aside the pale blue curtains. Then he tugged the blinds up, turned and rested back against the window, arms crossed. He didn’t completely sit down onto the sill. Instead he sat on the very edge, using his legs to support him. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, but it was visually dynamic.

“This good?” He tilted his head and studied her curiously. He was wearing a black hoodie, left hand covered with a glove. His hair was easily brushed back from his face, shorter on the sides. Stubble covered his cheeks, but he still had a boyish charm to him, even with the small smudges of rings under his stark blue eyes.

She knew what was under his glove. It wasn’t like Bucky insisted on hiding his metal arm, but he did go out of his way to keep it covered as much as possible. Sometimes in class he would shed his jacket, long sleeves underneath it, but then he would roll up the sleeves to wash his right hand. He would remove the glove to keep it from getting wet. Didn’t usually even flinch whenever anyone looked, surprised, but no one asked. Prosthetics were rare, but not unheard of considering the war. Metal prosthetics were rarer, only Stark Industries made them, and they were ungodly expensive.

However, in all the sessions they had drawing each other, she hadn’t drawn him without his arm covered in some way. He had drawn her in various stages of undress: dresses, skirts, shorts, jackets, and even a sports bra once. Y/N had a feeling that this would be what she would use for her final Figure Drawing project. If he just didn’t have his jacket on. Maybe she could finally capture the essence of him that she had missed every time.

“One second.” She stated quickly, stepping back and flitting around her apartment. First, she turned off all the lamps over near her bed. Then she walked around the wide bookshelf that separated her bed from the living-room area and turned off the kitchen light beyond that. There was enough light pouring in from the window for her to draw by. Plus, having only one light source made the shadows he created deeper.

Having all that done, she steeled herself, debating a moment longer. It wouldn’t hurt to ask would it? She picked at the edges of her sheer sleeves, they covered down to her fingers. Bucky tracked the movement with his eyes. He really did have artist habits. Sometimes she wondered if he ever missed anything. Any small detail.

“Do you think you could take off your hoodie?” She quickly asked, a little hesitantly. Just throw it out there. Despite the anxiety, she tried to be as casual about it as she could.

Bucky’s eyes widened just a fraction before he gave a smooth smile and furrowed his eyebrows “You trying to defile my honor?” He chuckled teasingly, giving her an obvious once-over, then tutted with a click of his tongue “I didn’t take you for that kinda girl!” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and reclined back a bit more. The light made pieces of his hair shine copper.

She scoffed “Oh you wish Barnes.” Then she shook her head, staring up at the high vaulted ceiling. Why did this difficult man had to be her muse?

“I just think the lighting and pose would look better without your dark ass jacket casting one big mass of shadows.” She jabbed a finger at it and stared at him stubbornly. She didn’t mention that his metallic arm would also look beautiful in the golden light of the sunset, but she figured he would come to that conclusion on his own.

“I’m wearing a tank top underneath this.” He stated, joking demeanor becoming subdued with his statement, voice softening. Bucky didn’t turn his gaze away from her. Slouched down like he was, she managed to stand at his height. Her bare toes were nearly touching his. The length of his stretched legs kept her a good arm’s length away. Bucky always seemed to have a bubble that he rarely let anyone in. People walked around him with a wide breadth. Y/N supposed he could be intimidating. Especially in moments like this. Where his eyes unwaveringly bore into hers, and he dropped his charming, dry humor. A joke wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“That’s fine by me.” She finally replied, clearing her throat from where it had become filled with sand. Honestly, she didn’t know Bucky all that well. They spent upwards of 10 hours a week together, working on the same class, bonding over art, but she still didn’t really know him. She knew he was a veteran, he was casually vague about that if the arm didn’t tip anyone off. Their art teacher, Ramsey, was also a veteran, and liked to talk about it with Bucky. Probably a sense of comradery. She knew his favorite medium was acrylic, and he worked at The Rosalie Bakery. That was about it, though, and all that stuff was pretty damn superficial.

As he kept his stare locked with hers for a few heartbeats longer than comfortable, she began to wonder if maybe she pushed too far. It was obvious he was a private guy. Maybe he was embarrassed about it. Maybe he didn’t want it captured forever down on paper. She was just about to back off when his right hand moved up to the zipper of his hoodie. Her eyes immediately tracked the movement. It rested below his chest, already partially down. The sound of the zipper broke the silence, louder than the clunking of her apartments central air.

“Alright, but good fucking luck drawing this hunk of metal. I swear shading it is gonna be a bitch for you.” Bucky groused, and she took a soft breath before smiling encouragingly with a flash of teeth.

“I think I can handle it.”

He tossed the jacket to the floor, and then rolled his shoulder a little. The wife beater didn’t hide much of anything. Y/N could see the thick jagged scars from where the metal ended, and his skin began. There was intricate paneling and the plates hissed a little as they shifted in response to him moving. His flesh fingers plucked the ends of the glove off, and then dropped it down on top of his jacket.

It only took two seconds for her trained eyes to devour every detail before she hurried to grab her sketchpad and standing easel. She wanted to draw him at eye level, just from the side closer to his metal arm. The light refracted, multicolored, across the silver. It was just as stunning as she thought it would be. “Can you just prop your left elbow up above your head? Ya like that. Now tilt your head towards me. Good. And relax.” She spoke quickly, already starting to block in shapes.

“Whatever you say Picasso.” Bucky rolled his eyes before relaxing his face, and he watched her draw.

Normally, she would tell him to look somewhere else. Maybe down, or up above her, but not this time. This time it was perfect that he was challenging her. Challenging the viewer. Daring them to look at him. Daring them to stare.

Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up, and she brushed the charcoal across her page, suddenly caught in a drawing fever. She could feel excitement sparking her fingers as she drew him. This was why she wanted him to be her partner.

When Ramsey told them that they would have a partner for the length of their class, she had panicked at first. Their partner was supposed to critic them, help them, and work their projects together. It was a lot to ask from someone, especially when most people in the class didn’t have a degree hanging on their performance. This was an extracurricular class for her, outside of her college, hosted by the Brooklyn Museum. It was meant for wanna-be-artists, but most of them weren’t being graded like her. At the end of the class their work would be hosted in an exhibit at the museum.

All her teachers would be coming to that show, and Ramsey was supposed to write weekly updates about her. Y/N didn’t like group projects to begin with. Most people just didn’t work well together, and she had high standards for herself. Besides, she only recognized a couple other people in the class from her college, but she didn’t truly know anyone.

As everyone started to pair off, being smart and probably taking the class with a friend, she glanced around the room. Twisted in her chair, observing as people laughed and started mulling over the syllabus together. She finally spotted him. He hadn’t moved from his drafting desk, hadn’t even looked up from his worn sketchbook. She noticed how people glanced at him, but then kept moving, looking for other options. He was beautiful. Intimidating. She wanted to draw him right then and there. It wasn’t anything new. Sometimes people just inspired her. Something about them made her itch to draw them. To capture their being onto a page.

So, she approached him. He slowly glanced up at her. Took in her position beside his desk with nothing else than a glare. Stubbornly not letting that deter her, she gave a small wave and the best smile she could muster under such uncomfortable circumstances “Hey I’m Y/N.”

“James.”

“You still have 20 minutes left. You can take your time.” Bucky chuckled, watching as her hand slowed for the first time since she started “I’m not going anywhere Y/N.”

It had taken the entire first week for her to make him laugh. Another week after that before the smiles came easier. The sad part was she had actively been trying. Of course, when he did laugh, she hadn’t tried. In the middle of rearranging the still life they were working with, she fumbled. She accidentally knocked her hip into the edge of her cheap end table when turning away. Managed to catch the flower vase, but at the cost of it spilling down the front of her shirt. At least it was on her, and not her camera. That same day, he had told her to call him Bucky instead of James.

He laughed a lot more since then.

Hearing her name made her fully give him her attention. Cars honked from far down below, and the shuffle of New York played like subdued background music. “You’ve got charcoal on your face.” He informed her. A smirk curled up one side of his lips, and his eyes danced in the fading auburn light behind him.

She wiped at her forehead, brushing back her hair. From the grin on his face, she probably only made it worse. She sent eye daggers at him “Shut up and get back to brooding.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to contain his smile. “Yes ma’am.” After that, she noticed that his shoulders were a little more relaxed. His breathing was deeper, and his gaze had softened. However, his eyes never stopped daring her to look.

**** 

Halloween was one of her favorite holidays. It was thrilling to get to pretend to be someone else. To have the opportunity to dress in whatever made her feel good without getting slut shamed for it. She had very few chances to act like a kid anymore, being in college, and having the adult responsibilities of a young woman living on her own. So, when her friends invited her to a Halloween party at the club Hydra she didn’t hesitate to agree. It wasn’t often that she drank, even less often that she partied.

The press of bodies made it difficult to get off the dance floor. She slowly weaved her way, slipping under arms and sliding through all the usual grinding. Her hair stuck to the nap of her neck, and she felt damp sweat on the small of her back. Leather was not a breathable fabric. It clung like a second jet black skin down her limbs and stretched across her breasts. As she stumbled, at last, out of the crowd, near the bar, she took in a muggy breath. The air tasted like various perfumes, and sweet smoke. Fog machines curled smoke around her feet and made the air hazy. Desperate, she unzipped her clingy jacket down a bit. Now she was showing an indecent amount of cleavage, only a pushup bra under the jacket, but at least it was cooler.

Time was drifting past 1 a.m., and she wanted to try to be home by 3. That way she could still be coherent when Bucky came over to work at 11. Multicolored strobe lights flashed overhead, giving everything a heady, surreal atmosphere. The music was so loud that she could feel it vibrating in her bones, across her heart. It mixed well with the slight buzz of alcohol making her skin tingle, and muscles loose. Her feet hurt from dancing so much, and she still had a throbbing bite mark on her neck. A gift from a guy dressed as a vampire who got a little too in character.

Finally, she made it into the bathroom, there wasn’t a line. The club was huge, and expensive. It managed to surprisingly be equipped with enough bathrooms to serve all its drunk, debauched guests. She leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, splashing some cool water onto the back of her neck. After a couple of calm breaths, she felt the last of the artificial fog leave her lungs. Peering up she stretched her neck to the side, checking to see if the vampire managed to bruise her. Thank god he didn’t.

Y/N’s makeup was smudged, making her sharp Black Widow look a little dirty. Her lipstick smeared around her mouth, and her smoky eyeliner ringed her bright eyes. Somehow, she got glitter across her cheekbones and chest. She hadn’t even worn glitter. Still, it managed to work with the leather, so she didn’t mind too much. Standing up straight, she dampened a paper towel and dabbed it under her eyes. Wanted to clean herself up just a little bit before she faced anyone again. Grabbing her lipstick from one of her many pockets she reapplied the scarlet, and then, satisfied, pulled out her phone.

Back facing the mirror, she leaned against the sink. Focused on her phone, she enjoyed the slight draft of cool air that dried the sweat on her chest. The music still crept in from outside, but it was the first minute in a solid 5 hours that she could hear her own thoughts.

First, she tried to call Gabby, who had drove them there. Gabby was always nailed to her phone and very reliable. It rang a few times, but eventually went to voicemail. Y/N left a quick message. Let her know that she wanted to head out soon, and to get back to her. They had agreed that they would stay no later than 1:30 a.m. at most. It was creeping towards that time.

Then she called Whitney, but the call was instantly rejected. She raised her eyebrows and hung up without leaving a message. Instead she went to text her. The buzzing of the florescent lights was starting to give her a headache. She jumped a little when a group of girls came into the bathroom, talking way too loudly. Probably still deaf from the base. The music followed in after them until the door swung closed again. Some remix of This Is Halloween. They barely glanced at her as they went about doing their business, checking their makeup and going into the stalls.

Y/N stepped back and out of the way of the sinks. She leaned against the other wall beside the trashcan. Her feet were starting to ache in her knee-high boots; so, she shifted her weight from one to the other, easing some of the pressure.

Y/N: Hey! Just wanted to knw if you’ve seen Gabs?

It took Whitney a couple minutes to text back. Minutes that went by gruelingly slow. The girls had all left by the time her phone vibrated in her hands.

Whitney: No idea! Srry about the call. I met a guy!  She followed that up with several winky faces and hearts.

Whitney: Let her know I don’t need a ride tho. Probably won’t make it home. Thnx!

That one was emphasized with some kisses and winky faces.

Y/N could tell when a conversation was over, so she tried to call Gabby again. It ended with the same result. She sent her a couple texts, but to no avail. Just more radio silence.

Buzz sufficiently tampered, she let Gabby know she was getting a cab. She stared up at the glass dome light about her head and groaned loudly in frustration. Then she pocketed her phone back in the pouch attached to her utility belt. She patted at her thigh pocket where she had her wallet, only to come up with nothing. Y/N patted down her hip pockets, and then back pockets. A bubble of panic started to rise from her stomach. She frowned, going for her bra, and then rechecking every single pocket she had.

Twice.

Then a third time.

No wallet. No goddamn wallet. She tried to think of where she could have left it, but it had been an hour since her last drink. There was no way she had left it at the bar.

Then she had gone to dance some more, and finally ended up here in the bathroom.

Somewhere between then and now her wallet had escaped.

Son of a bitch. She raked a rough hand through her hair. It probably looked wild in a crazy witch sort of way now. The mirror across from her confirmed her theory. Wild hair aside; ok, she could handle this. Maybe they had it at the bar. Maybe she dropped it, and someone gave it to the bartender. People were still nice like that.

With a rush of adrenaline fueling her steps, she shoved out of the bathroom and hurried to the bar. This couldn’t be happening.

It wasn’t at the bar.

The bartender helpfully informed her that they had been having a pick-pocket problem. Followed that up with a shrug and infuriating expression of pity.

Gave her a free shot of vodka for her troubles.

Dejected, it took her another 10 minutes to wind her way through the crowd. 10 long minutes to make it out of the maze of the outrageously huge club. She couldn’t help but feel pissed. All around abandoned by her friends. Robbed. She just wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and then collapse into her warm bed.

The frigid November wind only aided in agitating her more. The club was on a corner lot, and she walked a few paces away from the entrance. There were throngs of people still going into the club, and then stumbling masses making their way out of it. She waited on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the headlights of the cars flashed by in blurs of color. She could see her breath in the wind and cursed her skin-tight leather jacket for not being warmer. The heat from the club abandoned her more every single time a gust of air pushed her to the side.

Luckily, she could feel the vodka coiling in her stomach, spreading numb warmth through her veins. It also managed to calm her down, guiding her from the edge of crying. She bit her lip and slumped against a lamp post.

A taxi started to pull over for her, and she let out a groan of frustration as she waved them on. No point in wasting the poor guy’s time. Renewed tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she tried to figure out who she could call. Her two best friends with cars had already outright deserted her ass. She pulled out her phone and started clicking through all her contacts. Rubbing at her fingers against the phone as she went. The light of her phone made her wince, and the harsh street light reflected white off her leather sleeves. No one else she knew drove.

No one except…

She hovered her thumb over Bucky’s name. He was probably still at his friend’s right now. If not there, likely passed out in some corner. They weren’t that close, and this would seriously be putting him out.

But she was desperate.

Y/N pressed the phone to her ear as it started to ring. Again, and again… and oh god he wouldn’t answer and he was going to wake up to a random call from an indecent hour and no explanation…

“Hello?”

“Bucky!” She uttered his name with an embarrassing amount of relief. Immediately she took a step away from the post, too nervous to stand still.

“Hey uh… are you alright?” He asked slowly, voice deeper over the phone. At least he sounded like he hadn’t been sleeping, or drunk. What if he was actually busy? What if he was _busy _with someone? She could just make out the sound of music over the line, and laughter.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” She ignored his question in favor of asking one of her own. What if she just interrupted a hookup? Accidentally cock blocked him? The thought made her a little queasy, and her free arm crossed protectively over herself.

“Oh no, um just at Steve’s party.” She pursed her lips, looking up at the sky.  Couldn’t make out any of the stars thanks to the city that never sleeps. Steve. He had never mentioned Steve before. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She didn’t even know the names of his real friends.

He seemed hesitant when she didn’t say anything right away. Vodka was making its way through her. Her brain felt a bit slow “Is there anything that I can do for ya? Not that I don’t appreciate random calls or anything, but…” Bucky trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence for him.

The question made her straighten back up and scrub a hand over her face, suddenly remembering her awkward situation “I don’t want to put you out but… Well I’m kinda stuck at club Hydra. Without money, or a ride. Do ya think maybe you could give me a lift home? If you can’t it’s ok I can figure something else out. Promise I’ll pay you back though!” Her lipstick had smeared over her palm. She wiped it off on her thigh distractedly.

There were a few long beats of silence. The only way she knew he was still on the line was by the intermittent bursts of background laughter. Finally, she heard Bucky let out a sigh that made the speaker crackle “I’m not even going to ask. I can be there in 10 if you don’t mind riding on my bike.”

“No that’s fine!” No, she didn’t mind the idea of riding on the back of his bike at all. It sounded like the best thing ever. A great way to pick up her shitty night. “Are you sure though? I don’t want to make you leave your party.”

She could hear some shuffling, and it sounded like Bucky was talking to someone, but she couldn’t make out any of his words. When his voice came back he was a bit louder “Nah it’s alright. Starting to die out anyway.”

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Y/N suddenly asked, a bit concerned. Mostly not even for herself.

Bucky snorted a laugh “No I’m not drunk. Would never dream of risking my bike like that.” A screen door slammed over the phone, and he cursed. Something about stupid weather and stupid damsels in distress. She opted to ignore him.

“I was more worried about you than the bike, but I’ll take what I can get.” She paced around her small bit of sidewalk. It felt like there might be snow in the air. Above the buildings she wondered if the clouds were gearing up for it, thick and heavy.

“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout me, but thanks anyway.” There was a jingling of keys, and then a roaring crackle over the speaker that made her jerk the phone away from her ear. He must have started his bike.

To compensate she spoke up a bit louder “Thank you so much. I’m already outside. Can’t miss me. I’m in all leather.”

Bucky laughed a little, but it was distorted from the motorcycle “It’s Halloween weekend. I don’t think you’re the only girl out there sportin’ all leather.” Before she could defend her entirely unique leather get-up, he finished “But I’m sure you’ll stand out anyway. See ya in a bit.” Then he hung up.

The next 5 minutes passed agonizingly slow. She huddled herself up against a rough brick wall, thankful that she was wearing pants. Even if the leather was thin. She didn’t want to go back into the club, and chance missing Bucky. Besides, it was only 10 minutes. She could handle that. Her phone stayed pressed close to her face as she flipped through Tumblr, attempting to keep her mind off the howling wind. It bit at her fingers, and pink nose.

At first, she didn’t notice. There was always a background rush of voices on the streets, along with cars, and horns. City noises. A lot of the louder voices were guys, shouting obscenities at no one in particular. Even when she had been cat called a few times, it never amounted to anything.  Usually she just kept walking or flipped them off, then kept walking.

“Hey sweetheart why you all by yourself?” She glanced up from her phone, wondering what poor girl was getting harassed and if maybe she should do something.

Then she realized that poor girl was her.

Too stunned to say anything, she kept quiet. The guys were leering at her from down the sidewalk. Probably coming from the club. There were five, all in various costumes, and all likely in various states of intoxication. The ringleader stood in the front, backed up by two other big guys, the fatter one was in a basketball jersey, the other a pirate’s hat with a ruby feather. They were all tall, but not quite as tall as Bucky. Not many guys were.

When she didn’t respond, the ringleader stepped closer to her little ball of light. She stood underneath a streetlamp light. The post was positioned on the other side of the sidewalk, next to the street, but its illumination reached her against the wall. It felt like the safest place. Not that Hydra was located on a shady street, but it was late at night, or early in the morning. She was a girl. It was also Halloween. Now she was starting to wonder if the light was more like a beacon for all the goddamn scumbags of the world.

“Wanna keep us company?” He continued, a wide smirk making his teeth flash in the headlights of a car “We can warm you up real nice.”

Discount Jack Sparrow chuckled from beside him “You make one damn hot Black Widow. I’d love to see what’s under your leather.” She felt his eyes on her cleavage even if she couldn’t see him clearly in the shadows. Suddenly she wanted to zip her top back up, but she didn’t dare give him the goddamn satisfaction of appearing embarrassed.

Up to this point she was far too amazed at the blatant sexual harassment heading her way to say anything. That comment jarred her into standing up straighter, trying to appear bigger than she was. Then she glared at them “Fat chance asshole. Leave me alone.” She bristled more when they just laughed at her and felt her stomach drop. This wasn’t good.

If she screamed it wouldn’t do much. It was Halloween. People were screaming everywhere. Plus, in a city, one scream just disappeared like smoke among all the other noises. There wasn’t anyone around paying any attention. The main bustle was over at the club, but she was far away from it now. Went to wait next to a parking garage a distance away so Bucky would have an easier time spotting her. A huge building filled with cars, not people. Sure, there were cars going by, but no one gave a shit what happened outside the nice tinted glass of their ride.

To her left, yards away, the fluorescent lights of Hydra’s sign flashed mockingly at her. To her right the street was deserted, the parking garage was huge enough that it took up the sidewalk till it hooked around the other corner several yards away. In front of her the street flowed like an impassable, steady river of cars. The neanderthals blocked her from heading back to the safety of Hydra.

It would be a lucky day if anyone paid her any attention at all.

“Aw you even talk like her. Why don’t we play a little?” The ringleader stepped into her circle of light now. Contaminating it. She pressed further back against the brick behind her “I’ll be the Hulk, and you can be my little Widow.” He had greasy dark hair, pushed back from his long pale face, the brim of a scuffed top hat hooded his dark eyes. He was toned underneath his circus coat, she could tell by the way it hugged his chest. A literal evil ringmaster. How ironic. Probably not even all that ugly when that sneer didn’t stretch his face. Probably one of those guys that didn’t take no for an answer, even in a setting much nicer than this.

As they crowded closer in, she could smell the alcohol on them. Alcohol, and pot. Not that substances are any excuse, but it made her spine tingle with adrenaline. Substances just made people get angrier faster and hit harder.

Without even responding, she bolted, or tried. Lunged to the right. Maybe if she made it to the end of the block she could go across the crosswalk. Across the street there were restaurants, and people. She made it all of five steps before a hand caught her wrist and wrenched her back. Involuntarily, she stumbled into Ringleader’s chest. His other arm snaked around her waist, crushing her there as she tried to wiggle away.

She screamed then.

Whether she believed it would help or not. It was just a natural damn response. Fear sliced down her spine and beat the wail out of her.

His hand left her wrist and covered her mouth. Circus Freak’s palm tasted dirty when she tried to bite, but he just pressed harder. His thumb wrapped over her nose. She could barely breathe.

“Shut the fuck up.” He tugged her back, making her stumble with him, and then took her out of the light all together. The lamp flickered and hummed, above her head. She watched it get smaller. He dragged her over towards the opening of the car garage. It gaped at her like the ominous jaws of a monster. If she went in there, she might never come out.

Even if she did, she might not be able to put herself back together. Not for a second time.

Y/N tried letting herself go dead weight, but he just grunted and pulled her harder. Ringleader’s arm was an iron bar. It dug into and bruised her ribs. Her jacket hiked up from the squirming, and suddenly his grimy hand was squeezing her bare side. Heartbeat spiking, she scratched at his arms, kicked at his legs, started to buck back. Her feet didn’t connect with more than his shins, but at least he cursed. Blood welled up under her nails, and as she squirmed his hand started to slip. She fought with everything she had in her. Finally, he let go of her mouth to contain her arms.

“Grab the goddamn slut’s legs!” He demanded, voice rough from too many smokes. Hands caught her wrists in a bruising vice. He tugged them up above her head.

Fatty in the ball jersey did as ordered. He bent over and grabbed her thighs, lifting them off the ground. Couldn’t get a solid hold with her bucking. He managed to keep her calves lifted, and she used his support to push off. With all her strength, she brought up one foot when he pushed closer to her. She got in one good, hard kick into his snarling face. The heel of her boot cracked him right in the nose. Snapped his head back and he let out a surprised wail. A wave of gratification swept her chest. She even smiled a little, past the tears that smeared her mascara.

It didn’t last long. Jersey held his flooding nose with his left hand and stammered “You bitch!” The rage in his voice tremored through his muscles. He brought back his big meaty hand and landed a stinging backhand across her face. Bastard had a hulking ring on his finger. The jewel caught on her cheekbone and tore into her skin. Her ears started to ring, and glowing halos of light danced in her eyes when she blinked. The force split her lip and she tasted blood.

At least his nose looked broken, blood splattering across his stupid purple jersey. She hoped the stain never came out.

In slapping her, he let go of her feet, so she started trying to kick again. She kicked despite the throbbing through her skull. Kicked despite the ringing in her ears. Despite the hands that constricted her. Bruised her.

Still, it wasn’t really going anywhere. She pegged another guy with devil horns in the middle of his chest. He caught her feet, wrapped them under one of his arms, and constrained her. They started shuffling closer to the entrance, and she started to scream again. Her shoulders ached from bearing all her weight, and she stared up at Ringleader. His breath stank of alcohol when he stared down at her with a chilling grin.

That was when she heard a distinctive skid of tires on the sidewalk.

“What the fuck?” One of the others, he had on a very ironic Superman getup, muttered as headlights blinded her. The guys were circled around the front of her, Ringleader binding her arms above her head from behind, Devil Horns holding her feet in front of her. Dirty Superman and Pirate Hat flanked her sides. All of them turned to gape as the lights turned off, and the sound of boots against sidewalk stalked towards them.

Somehow, Y/N knew who it was before she even heard him speak or saw his face. Her entire body sagged in relief, and she strained her neck to try and see.

“Bucky!” She screamed, but then Ringleader cut her off. He jostled her to hold her wrists in one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Devil horns dropped her feet, and she barely kept from falling like a stone. Ringleader tugged her up and back against him.

The others huddled away from Bucky when he got closer. She could just make out his face in the street lights, and his expression made her freeze. His eyes were as cold as winter. Face stony to match. He stood up at all his height, more menacing than ever before, and had yet to utter a single word.

Didn’t really have to. His body language said it all.

Ringleader must have been too stupid to listen “Hey buddy. I suggest you move along. Nothin’ to see here. Our friend was just about to show us a good time. Weren’t ya?” He spoke down to her, shaking her a little. Y/N let out a shriek of rage, clawing at his arm, ripping up more skin beneath his sleeve. He squeezed her mouth tighter, cutting off her air all together. Tears blurred her vision, streaks already staining her cheeks. She couldn’t remember when exactly she started crying. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe through his skin.

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, one covered by a glove. Sporting a leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots he looked almost like John Travolta from Grease. Styled hair and everything. Would have made her weak in the knees in any other situation. Currently, she was struggling to breathe for entirely different reasons.

When he took a threatening step forward, her band of assholes stepped back. A gust of wind ruffled everyone’s hair, and she noticed little white flakes reflecting in the street lamp behind Bucky. Crystals caught in his hair, and she wondered why the universe made tonight the first snow fall.

A heavy silence hung thick in the air. She slapped progressively harder at Ringleader’s hand until he let her breathe again. By then her head was getting light. He still insisted on keeping his hand over her mouth. She sucked air in through her nose. The smell of cigarettes encased her, clogging the air.

Bucky’s eyes met hers across the tense darkness, and she could feel his worry without any words. It reflected in his blue eyes. Spoke through the small crease in his brow, and tense set of his mouth. Finally, though, he did speak up. His words dominated over the cars in the street and boomed across the sidewalk. Slowly, he stared down every single person with a deadly sort of calm.

“I suggest you douchebags let her go. Right now. If you want to walk away from here tonight.” His voice wavered just a bit in pent up rage. She tracked that rage across the stiffness of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists. Distantly she wondered how much damage he could do with a metal fist helping him. How many people had he made bleed with it during the war.

She watched a shudder pass through the spines of everyone standing there. The frost coming off him even made the tips of her fingers prickle. She squeezed her captor’s hand tighter, trying to pry it back off her mouth. He didn’t budge.

Stupidity, and pride always prevail. Ringleader laughed, and the movement jostled her. Her shoes scraped against the side walk as he tugged her up, making her stand on her tiptoes. The position strained her neck, and made her thighs burn. She arched her back to keep from pressing against him more than he made her. “Again, you should really leave before you piss me off. It’s five against one pal, can’t you count?”

Bucky smirked, but it was a bitter, piercing expression “I think you should count again.” Confusion passed through her for only a half of a second.

Then he charged. So fast she almost missed it. Pulling back his flesh hand he decked the nearest guy straight in the nose. It was Ironic Superman. The blow was so vicious she heard the crack from where she was a yard away. Superman’s head violently snapped to the left. His body followed it all the way to the ground. He didn’t move.  

“Four.” It made her heart jump in her throat when Bucky’s voice rang over the scuffle.

Bucky didn’t stop there. He spun just in time for Pirate to throw a wide fist towards his head. It was like he knew the blow was coming. Bucky ducked down. Dipped to the left. Then he stood straight, so damn light on his feet. Pirate stumbled past him, having displaced too much of his weight. Then he sloppily caught himself and faced Bucky angrily. Didn’t waste a second to attack again. Bucky was waiting. He slid just far enough to the right to let the blow go over his shoulder.

Pirate fell against his chest, and Bucky used the momentum to his favor. He caught his shoulders. Then used the downward momentum to drive his knee straight up into the guy’s chest. The feather fell from his hat as he let out all the air in his lungs. Bucky then drove his elbow into the back of his head before dropping him like a stone. The pirate hat landed in the gutter off the sidewalk.

“Three.”

Y/N held her breath. All of Bucky’s movements were so precise. No energy was wasted. He was proficient in every step. It was terrifying. He was beautifully deadly.

Devil Horns charged at Bucky with a roar. He was shorter, but stout as a rock. His fists flew fast enough that Bucky had to block them with his arms. One of the punches thrust straight for Bucky’s nose. He caught the blow with his left hand. Devil Horns tried to yank back and grunted at the strain. She thought she saw Bucky smirk, but then he blurred again. With a wide swing, he spun Devil and drove him face first into the awaiting concrete. The man’s forehead hit it with a hard thud. He stumbled back three steps. Bucky grabbed the back of his head and smacked it against the brick wall a second time.

He slumped to the ground after that. Horns all askew. Blood dripped down from his hairline, mouth slack.

“Two.”

Bucky turned on fatty, who already had a shirt soaked in blood from her. He was holding onto his nose and panting loudly through his mouth in terror. All Buck had to do was take one challenging step forward. Jersey immediately booked it. He passed Bucky and ran straight into traffic. Seemed like he would much rather be hit by a car. Cars honked at him and skidded to a stop to keep from killing his ass. He just kept going. Skipped past the cars, and then disappeared around a corner across the street.

“One.”

She could feel the rage trembling through Circus Freak. A span of silence stretched between them as her captor debated on what to do.

With a whip, he flung her to the side, making fall hard onto the sidewalk. Her elbow smarted when it caught her deadweight, making her cry out in pain. Then she scuffled up as quick as she could, scooting back and out of the way. Y/N felt small down on the side walk, pressed back against the wall. Two goliaths fought it out in front of her.

Bucky dodged back as her attacker threw a fist. He dipped to the left. Weaved out of the way to the right. He narrowly avoided Ringleader’s punches. She wondered why he was being on the defensive more now. At least, she wondered until she caught the glint of the butterfly knife in Ringleader’s hand.

He knocked the knife out of the way and landed a solid punch on the guy’s jaw. It didn’t stop him, though. He just swung harder, faster. Fueled by rage and hurt pride. He crowded Bucky back until he was a step from the street. Cars whizzed by, and it seemed Ringleader wanted to shove Bucky under one of them. A semi-truck barreled down towards them, and she saw the heel of his shoe slip.

“Bucky!” She screamed in warning and his head whipped towards her. He stepped forward, towards her and away from the street. Distracted, she saw the flash of the blade before he did. Ringleader finally landed a sharp slice across his chest. She let out a sharp scream. Blood stained his white shirt. Bucky didn’t even wince. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

As Ringleader swung for a second swipe, he caught the guy’s arm in his left hand. His face carefully blank. Like he hadn’t been cut at all. He forced Ringleader back two steps and loomed over him. His mouth was set hard, and his silver eyes were the embodiment of winter.

Ringleader tugged, trying to get free. He swung loosely with his non-dominant hand, but Bucky caught that fist too. Then he squeezed. Only with his left hand. She watched at the man’s knees started to wobble under him. He dropped the blade with a clatter. Then he screamed.

“What the fuck?! Let me go you psycho! You’re gonna break­—” She luckily didn’t hear the crack of his bones. It was obvious in his wail, though. He kept going down until he was on his knees. Bucky let go of his non-dominant hand. Still kept his agonizing hold with his left.

Ringleader clawed at Bucky’s gloved hand with his free one. He tried to get free like a fox caught in a bear trap. Yanked so hard that she was surprised he didn’t dislocate his shoulder. The snow came down harder now. It caught on the brim of his top hat where it had fallen near his legs, making it almost grey. Bucky’s hair had come free from its pomade. It fell in his face as he stooped down to glare at the squirming man.

He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t flinching when the man tried to pry the metal fingers off him. It was like he wasn’t there at all. Like his mind had checked out, and left behind a ghost.

“I’m sorry! Please man! Let me go!” His voice broke as he started to sob.

Y/N scrambled to her feet. Bucky wasn’t stopping. He already broke the guy’s hand. Yet he kept squeezing. The man was howling now, begging. Seemed like he might have even pissed himself. She took a couple steps towards them, hesitant at first. Bucky didn’t even seem to notice her anymore. He scared her like this. Terrified her to her very bones. She reached out a hand, but her feet were lead. Then Bucky brought back his flesh hand, ready to punch Ringleader again.

“Bucky!” She shouted, forcing herself to move. It took her just three easy steps to get beside him. She grabbed his fist in the air. Wasn’t strong enough to make it come down from its position, but she tugged anyway. Practically draped herself against him, holding his arm where it hung in the air next to her head “Stop! Stop it.” She spoke louder at first, but then softened her tone when she felt him freeze. He didn’t look at her. Just glared down at her attacker. “I’m ok. I’m alright now. Let him go. Please.” The muscles in his arm eased up just enough. She gently guided his flesh hand down, uncurling his fist. She pried at his fingers until his fist relaxed minutely.

“Y-ya man. L-listen to your girl you should j-just- Fuck!!” Bucky had started releasing his grip on the guy’s wrist, but the moment he started blabbering he squeezed again. A growl rumbled in his throat, like the guy personally offended him by breathing.

“Buck!” Y/N chastised him, reaching over and touching his metal hand. Probably for the very first time if she thought about it. She could feel it underneath the glove, harder than bone, and cold even through the material. “Please, let’s just go. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Probably wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore for a long time.

Bucky finally let go at her touch. He shoved Ringleader’s arm away like it disgusted him. Didn’t stop glowering at him, though. Still wouldn’t look at her. The man collapsed into a heap onto the sidewalk. His broken wrist was already blue, swollen, and bent wrong. It made her nauseous, so she stared back at Bucky’s face instead.

Ringleader scraped himself up after a minute and started to run away. Scrambled past the parking garage, down the snow dusted sidewalk. Shoes skidded a couple times, and his pants leg did have a noticeable damp spot. His arm was cradled to his chest. Only a yard away, he turned his head, coat bustling in the wind “Your dog’s a fucking psycho! Should keep him on a goddamn leash!” Then he jogged faster, letting his words disappear behind him. Like the coward he was.

Bucky tried to lunge after him. His muscles bunched under her hand as he snarled. She stepped in front of him just a second before he could start the chase. Y/N pressed herself to him, hands flat on his chest. The blood from his wound was hot against her hands, but she barely noticed. Too focused on blocking his path. Peering up at him, she realized that her eye had started to swell shut. He didn’t shove her out of the way. In fact, he finally looked down at her. It was like her action had finally broken him out of the fog he was in.

As they stared at each other for several long minutes, the defeated attackers slowly roused. One by one the other members of the group scraped themselves off the sidewalk. None of them were dead thank god. They quickly fled too. Silently, though. She barely paid them any attention. It was still snowing hard, and she watched as flakes caught in his eyelashes. Headlights cast shifting shadows around them. Wrestling like demons at their feet. She couldn’t help but question what demons Bucky kept locked inside of his head. Only demons could make someone fight as desperately as he just did.

Slowly, afraid of startling him, she reached up and touched his cheek. She cupped his face in her hands and studied him seriously “Are you alright?” Her thumb brushed over his bruised jaw. It did dawn on her that it was ironic for her to be asking him if he was alright. After everything that had happened. She did it anyway. He seemed to have lost himself during the fight. His eyes were focusing from somewhere far away. She couldn’t believe she just watched him break someone’s hand without flinching. With the adrenaline wearing off, she wanted to cry all over again.

Bucky blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed and grimaced. His flesh hand gently touched her left. His longer fingers cupped over hers. It was so warm. She could feel the calluses on his palms as he slowly guided her hand away. He didn’t touch her with his metal one, but she dropped her hand anyway. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with her touching him like that. She left small smudges of blood on his cheek.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” He brought his right hand up and touched the side of her face. She winced, realizing that her cheek was still on fire. Her lip felt tender too when her tongue tested the dried blood.

“Why do guys always managed to hit a girl right across the cheekbone?” She asked, trying to make a joke but it landed flat. He didn’t even try to smile. His thumb brushed across her lip, and she grimaced, looking away. Ringleader’s hat was still on the ground right by her foot. She stepped on it, grinding it into the snow. When she moved her foot away, it inflated like a crumbled accordion. She thought maybe Bucky did snort at that. It was too quiet for her to be sure.

“God I’m a mess.” The words babbled out of her past the buzzing in her ears. She glanced down at herself. One knee was ripped open and so was her elbow, both were bleeding. Her jacket had come unzipped down to her ribs, leaving everything showing. Y/N brought her hand up to zip it back, but her fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip. Her breaths started to come in faster as she got more, and more frustrated. Her fingers were numb and clumsy.

Bucky’s hand came up and he covered her own, taking the damned thing. He slowly closed her jacket back up to her collarbones. She had never in her life been more grateful for such a simple action. His thumb stroked her collar just once, leaving a hot trail behind. Then his hands fell away.

Before she could find the words to thank him, her eyes caught the sheen of red on his chest “Y-You’re hurt, and b-bleeding a lot and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” She gave a hysterical laugh, tears already escaping her eyes again. They stung the cut the guy left on her cheekbone. Her hands shook as she brought them up. She wanted to get a better look at the cut. What if he needed stitches? What if he got a scar cause of her? Cause she distracted him like an idiot?

“I-I’m so sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have yelled. I was just so scared and—"

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he quickly brought up his arms. The motion cut off her babbling, uncontrollable apology. He tugged her into an enveloping, hard hug. She tried to protest as he pressed her against his wound, but then his chest rumbled as he started to talk. Her ear was trapped against his collarbone above the wound. It was the most comforting sound she had ever heard “I’m ok doll. Promise. It doesn’t hurt that much. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He shushed her when she tried to speak “Believe me. Much worse.” Then he squeezed her shoulder lightly and rubbed. The metal hand he just used to crush someone’s arm rubbed hers with more tenderness than she had experienced in a very long time.

Somehow, it didn’t bother her at all.

Finally, once her shoulders stopped shaking and her gross sniffling died down, he pulled back. Bucky held her just a bit away, his hands still rubbing her shoulders. He reached up and wiped at her chin, grimacing. He gave a very weak, sheepish smile “Sorry, I got blood on your…” He trailed off, gesturing to her face. She just shrugged, too tired to care. There were a lot of things smeared on her face. Besides, she got blood on his too. Just didn’t even have the energy to tell him. When he noticed his left hand was still touching her, he dropped it down.

Y/N sniffed, trying to clear her nose. The cold snowy air hurt her lungs. Then she rubbed at her face as much as she could stand. Her eye felt tender and wouldn’t stop blurring.  Probably smudging tears, blood, and makeup all together. Then she spoke up, voice a bit rough “I don’t mind it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head a little. Confused. She shivered as a gust of wind caught her. Now that the adrenaline had passed, she was so frosty her teeth were starting to chatter. Still, she tried to elaborate “Y-Your metal arm doesn’t bother me.”

Bucky stared at her critically and then shook his head, as if she were ridiculous “Let’s get you home.” He sighed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders, his right one. The snow had covered any traces of a fight taking place at all. It was already sticking to the street, forming muddy tracks from the tires. He tucked her into his side where it was warm, under his jacket. Now that she had a calm minute, she enjoyed the way his smell enveloped her.

“I’m s-serious!” She still couldn’t stop shivering “It’s just another p-part of you. A-And I like y-you.” She glared up at him, trying to drill in her honesty with her eyes.

Bucky only stopped to consider at her after they reached his bike. He let her go and dusted the snow off the seat. Then he grabbed a helmet, offering it to her quietly. She was just about to speak up again when he finally whispered, “Thank you.” If she hadn’t been looking at him, she thought the words might have been stolen by the loud gust of wind.

There wasn’t much else she could say to that. So, she put on her silver helmet, and climbed onto the bike behind him. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black unzipped hoodie underneath. He shoved his jacket into her hands, and she shrugged it on quietly, grateful. Everything ached too much for her to argue.

Bucky clasped on his own helmet and revved up the bike. When it jumped to life underneath her, she quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket when the wind bit at her fingers. At least the helmet kept her ears warm. She thought she felt Bucky chuckle underneath her when she gripped tighter. He pulled on a second glove, zipped up his jacket, and then smoothly merged into the nighttime traffic.

The drive home wasn’t as wonderful as she thought it would be. Not after everything that just happened. Still, it was beautiful. He weaved through the cars with a precise control, that was definitely dangerous. It reminded her a little of how he fought. Daring, and proficient.

At lot of the time he passed cars without any legal right-of-way at all. Bucky went as fast as he could, and she wondered if he was running from something. Running from the demons she couldn’t see that nipped at his heels. Y/N never felt in harms way, though. If anything, he made her feel like they were flying. Like the bike was gliding up off the ground whenever she wasn’t looking. Colors blurred past her. Paint smudges on a canvas, outlined in charcoal. She bunched the fabric of Bucky’s jacket in her hands and turned her forehead to press against the broad of his back.

He covered her hand with his right one. Slipped it into the pocket and laced them together. His skin was warm on top of hers. Wistfully, she imagined he still had charcoal on his fingers. That the charcoal would smudged across her skin and stain it forever. Leaving a mark that would remind her he was there. Even when he wasn’t.

Next Chapter

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Logan (x-men) and 1, 5, or 9 from the Stabby Starters. I can't decide. :X also feel better!

5: You’re the one with a blade at my throat, so you’re obviously upset.

For this ask meme!  Also, will probably make more sense knowing that I wrote this!  Some general dialogue shamelessly borrowed from X-Men Evolution.

So the girl’s good.

Logan’s an adult.  He can admit that much.  She’s small, even by his standards, and–wiggly, and she dropped out of a tree with a shriek like a mountain lion right on top of him, a blade at his throat before he could do more than grab the nearest available limb.

“Hey, now,” Logan says.  One hand is clamped tight around her ankle–probably tight enough to hurt, although she seems unbothered–and the other is drawn back, clenched into a fist.  His claws are sheathed, though, and he’d like them to stay that way.  She’s too small to be an adult–he works with a lot of kids, and he’s guessing fourteen.  Maybe fifteen, at the outside.  He’s not in a rush to play slice-n-dice with someone younger than Kitty.  Besides, his mouth will taste like blood for a week if she really does slit his throat.  “What do you want?”

“You’re Weapon X,” she hisses.

The snarl that rips itself out of his throat is involuntary and sounds inhuman, his lips pulling back thoughtlessly as rage threatens to roll over him like a storm front.  “I am not.”

“You are.”  Her grip tightens, one hand tangled in the longest part of his hair to expose his jugular.  It’s not a great way to cut a throat without an extremely sharp blade, the important arteries hidden under layers of taut tissue, but his skin parts like wet paper under her weapon, sending blood in a steady trickle down his chest.  If it was Logan, he could go through all that protective tissue in a heartbeat.  He’s sure this girl can do the same.

She’s shaking, he realizes, as if she’s holding back her own storm front by a hair.  Every muscle is trembling, although her blade is steady.  A breath through his nose says blood-rage-fear to his brain, layered over a scent that just doesn’t seem to register right.  Everyone has their own distinct smell, except for this girl, who seems–off.

Christ, but this would be a great moment for Charles, or even Jean, to sense this scuffle and intervene.  Logan isn’t really a good candidate for whatever this is.  He’s too much of a linear thinker–A leads to B, where A is a problem and B is violence.

He takes a deep breath, as best he can without pushing the blade deeper into his throat, and tries to sound like he’s in control when he says, “How about we talk about this like people?”

“I’m not people.”

Well, okay then.  That’s a starting point, at least.  “Fair enough.  Me neither, ‘cording to some.  You want to tell me why you’re upset, at least?”  A profoundly terrible thought occurs to him.  “Listen, kid, if I did something to someone–”

“I’m not upset!”  Her voice is high and thin and ragged, like something feral, like she’s barely forming words rather than just screaming until there’s blood on her teeth.  Like he used to be, right after he stumbled out of the lab.

“I mean, you’re the one with the blade at my throat,” Logan says evenly.  “So you’re obviously upset about something.”

She flips over his shoulders, lands crouched on the ground in front of him, and–  Listen.

He can’t quite find it in himself to blame her for cutting his throat on the way down.

Pressing one hand to his throat and coughing up wet mouthfuls of blood, Logan gets a good look at his attacker for the first time.  He thinks he was right about her physical age, rounds up to fifteen for the way she moves–like she’s been trained for years, for decades, to fight and kill as gracefully as possible.  She’s a few shades darker than he is, in what skin he can see revealed by her black combat gear, and wears her hair loose around her face.  Confidence, not idiocy–she doesn’t have a scrap of body armor that he can see.  

One hand is still outstretched at her side, fist clenched, and two shining silver claws streaked with Logan’s blood extend almost a foot from her knuckles.

Her face is still soft with baby fat, her chin pointed and her hairline different, but now, looking at her as she snarls up at him, he understands why he was having trouble pinning down her smell.  

The thing is, in order for someone with enhanced senses to function, certain things get edited out.  Their own heartbeat, their own breathing, the feeling of clothing.  Their own scent.

Logan’s memory of his past is fragmented at best–he has clear moments, even years, as far back as the turn of the 20th century, and he’s fairly sure that he hasn’t aged much in that time.  But for a long while, he knew his face better from pictures than from the mirror, people who had everything from daguerreotypes to Polaroids of some strange drifter, ageless and impossibly healthy.  He knows that when he was younger, when he looked less angry and exhausted all the time–he knows what he looks like, not least because people keep telling him–he looked a lot like this girl.

“Who are you?” he demands.  The words are garbled, the wound at his through not totally closed over yet and blood bubbling out of his mouth when he speaks, but she seems to understand.  He spits out blood, swallows a few times to check that his throat is healing correctly, keeps talking now that his windpipe seems to be keeping air in and blood out again.  “What do you want?”

“It’s your fault,” the girl says–screams, really, and she throws herself at him in a storm of claws and rage.  She really is good, but Logan is old and has fought a lot of people in his time, and without surprise on her side, it’s a short fight.  He catches her wrists like manacles and she throws herself against the restraint, kicks out with a spike, another claw, and Logan mostly dodges.  He thinks she bruised a kidney, but that’ll heal up.  He manages to get behind her, pins her arms behind her back.

“They upgraded since my time,” he huffs as she hurls her weight backward, trying to knock him off his feet.  He takes the blow in the chest and doesn’t move.  She screams again, wordless and blind and furious, hanging from his grip like a dead thing except for the way her spine shakes with tension.  “Hey, kid,” he says, trying to sound soothing.  He thinks he lands somewhere in the neighborhood of frustrated.  “Kid, can you tell me your name?  Can you tell me who sent you?”

“I don’t have a name,” she says.  It’s ragged and tired and broken.  “I’m Version Twenty-Three.  Weapon X-23.”

Logan fucking drops her.  She lands in a pile on the forest floor, hands and knees, and before she can get up again, Logan crouches down beside her.

“Kid,” he says.  “What did they do to you?”

“They made me,” she says.  “Fight fire with fire.  The–”  Her lips twist a little, behind the curtain of her hair.  “The upgrade.”

“They–”  Logan has to take a minute on that one, crush down the nausea before he can speak.  “They cloned you from me.  Cloned a bunch of you, I guess.  Pumped you full of adamantium and trained you up and sent you out here to kill me.”

“They didn’t send me,” she says dully.  

The logic of the situation stutters to a halt.  Not that it was really that logical to start.  

“Okay,” Logan says.

“I was the only viable clone,” she says, like she’s parroting someone’s familiar words.  “The others never made it through the adamantium process.  They were going to–”  Her voice breaks and she lowers her head.  “They were going to make more,” she whispers.  Then she sets her shoulders and clenches her jaw and glares at him.  “So I destroyed their lab and killed everyone inside and I ran away.”

Fuck.

“Okay,” Logan says again, the rest of her plan–not complex, but certainly very direct, frankly it sounds like one of his plans–becoming clear to him.  “And you came to find me.  To make sure I never helped them, one way or another.”

She nods, a tiny fragile movement.  “Because it’s your fault,” she says, her voice still small but absolutely unshakable.  “They made us and tortured us and killed us because of you.”

Logan sits down on the leaves beside her.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Because they built their perfect weapon and then it got angry and ran.  So they built a bunch more weapons and figured that since they had you your whole lives, you’d never think twice about doing what they wanted.”  He pauses.  “You did real good, kid.  Plenty of people would’ve laid down and died, not tried to take them down.”

She stares at him like he’s speaking another language, white-walled eyes and something like terror on her face.  “What?”

“You did the right thing,” he says, pretending that he can’t see her face, letting her pretend that she’s not afraid.  “Trashing their lab.  I’m real proud of you.”

She tries to punch him, a blind strike as if trying to hit his words out of the air before she has to hear them.  Logan catches her wrist and she falls into him like all that adamantium is too heavy to lift, all of a sudden, like her muscles have all gone weak and she can’t bear it anymore, and she screams into his chest like she’s dying.  He lets her, holds onto her shaking shoulders while she screams and screams, lets her clutch at his arms with hands that would break someone else’s bones, and waits.

It’s dark out by the time the girl, X-23, his should-have-been killer, is still again.

“You okay?” Logan asks her.  She pulls away from him, angry again–embarrassed, he thinks.  “You have a plan, past killing me?”

“Not really,” she says with a shallow shrug.  “Didn’t really expect to live through it.”

“I don’t kill kids.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’re, what, maybe twelve years old.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Like I said, I don’t kill kids.”  She scowls at him and he pretends he can’t see her.  “If you want,” he says, “you can come with me, back to the Institute.  Get some backup, a warm bed, three squares a day, all that.”  She shakes her head, fast and violent.  “All right,” he says without concern.  “You can stay here, if you want.  I’ll come back.”  That doesn’t get a response, and he takes it as an affirmative.  “We’ve got to get you a name though.  Can’t keep calling you kid all the time.”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Don’t really have one myself,” Logan says.  “We’ll get you one.”

[fuzz1912]

10 years of iPad - the curse of an early adopter

In early 2010, I wrote this piece on Apple’s newly introduced tablet computer for MacTalk Australia, speculating on what it could mean for the future of personal computing. Ten years later, we all know now how that turned out. 

Steve Jobs heralded the iPad as a ‘third’ category of devices (the other two being smartphones and computers) that performed a key set of functions far better than the others - he identified these as web browsing, reading and writing email, viewing photos and video, listening to music, playing games, and reading e-books. Rather than replace the other two categories, the iPad would supplement them - where the PC was a multipurpose agricultural truck, the iPad was a car that simply got you from A to B with no fuss or frills.

That first reveal was polarising (as is the case with the launch of many first generation Apple products) - either you were sold on Jobs’s vision of the future of computing or this was nothing more than a big iPhone / iPod Touch with larger versions of existing apps (somewhat true at the time). And the name provided much mirth to the American crowd many of whom would compare it to a sanitary product. 

In my initial reaction, I mentioned that the iPad may not be a PC killer (at least not yet), but a real threat to Netbooks. Remember Netbooks? Cheap, tiny, cramped, underperforming PC laptops that were all the craze of the late noughties? I didn’t think so. The iPad annihalated them (as, to be fair, did larger smartphones and lighter full featured laptops like the MacBook Air and its ilk). It did so for largely the reasons Jobs highlighted - it made some key computing functions more pleasurable by making them simpler and more tactile. And the roughly A4 sized handheld screen made it a perfect device for mobile content consumption, something a mini laptop with a dim low-res screen could never do as well.

Despite much incremental enhancement over the years (especially in multi-tasking), the one challenge that many contend the iPad has not been able to overcome entirely has been content creation. While the iPad features Apple’s own slick productivity suite (and more recently Microsoft’s own Office applications) and dedicated apps for media creation, certainly when it comes to detailed word processing and spreadsheet manipulation, or photo and video editing, a laptop is undoubtedly a superior tool. The availability of better external connectivity, file management, and cloud syncing have certainly improved the iPad’s ability to be used for productivity but for some the absence of a pointing device or a fully transparent file system without sandboxed limitations means that the iPad won’t match the utility of a laptop anytime soon (which, in Jobs’s view, it was never supposed to). Even Google’s line of stripped down, cheap Chromebooks (that have taken a strong lead in the educational space for now) would equally struggle with replicating some of the ‘truck’-like functionality of a proper laptop. 

But still nothing compares to the iPad as a dedicated tablet. By eliminating the control layer of a computer and focusing the large screen UI on dedicated tasks, it makes completing those tasks more accessible (and dare I say it more enjoyable). Despite the passage of a decade and heated competition from Android manufacturers in the smartphone market, no other tablet device has even come close to the iPad - it overwhelmingly dominates its niche. Comparisons have been drawn to Microsoft’s Surface line, which are impressively nimble devices in their own right and run a full implementation of Windows. I currently work at an organisation where Surfaces are standard issue. But Surfaces are used primarily as light (and slightly underpowered) laptops, not as tablets or true hybrid devices. When it comes to consumption and dedicated tasks leveraging a simple UI, iPads win every time (indeed, part of my work relates to the use of iPads and the like to replace previously analog processes through the use of a CRM platform).  

There will be many retrospectives that will cover the specs and evolution of iPads over the past 10 years, its impact on modern consumer technology, and missives on how far it still has to go. Instead of rehashing all that, I thought it would be a better tribute to reflect on how I have used this most personal of computing device over the years. As a perennial early adopter, I have had the privilege (curse?) of owning and using almost every model of iPad that Apple has released over those 10 years. Thanks to a complex web of hand-me-downs and repurposing, many of them are still in use today. 

iPad (2010)

As with the iPhone before it, the original iPad was a US-first release that came to other markets several months later. I had the fortune of having willing relatives in the US order one of these online on my behalf at launch and then forward it over to me in Australia. I later had the dubious pleasure of waiting for hours on a freezing May morning to pick up another model (with 3G) for work on the opening day of the Apple Store at Bondi Junction. 

It didn’t take much more than a few minutes holding and using the device to feel its transformative potential. While the iPhone completely changed the way we thought of a phone, the size of the iPad made it feel more like a window into a simplified computer - and using a computer had never before felt so tactile. Immediately it ticked off some of the “far better” objectives Steve Jobs had listed - a far better web experience, viewer for photos and video, and a great way to read eBooks and magazines. I took this iPad on an overseas trip not long after which quickly reinforced the fact that the touch-tablet form factor would be the absolutely perfect flight companion - a light, large screened device, that for the most part could be stowed in a magazine pocket and didn’t have to be removed from your bag through security (benefits that have fluctuated over the years). While it was great to use while seated, it wasn’t particularly well suited to using whilst lying flat - I probably still have a few indents on my nose from dropping the original iPad on my dozing face. The original iPad’s accessories included a fully-enclosing case that allowed it to be opened up like a book or propped up on an angle, as well as a 30-pin connector keyboard for use in (unusually) Portrait mode.

I would use this iPad for a year, until the release of the iPad 2. My wife used it for a little while before it ended up in a Fisher Price case to be used by my kids just emerging out of infancy to watch videos of themselves and play some educational games to learn the alphabet and vocabulary. I finally retired it around 2015 by which time the kids had finally received a superior hand-me-down and compatibility of the iOS was no longer able to keep up with the apps they were using. This original iPad shipped with iOS 3.2 and was not updated past iOS 5, so did not quite have the longevity of its successors (that being said, Apple launched it with the promise of support up to iOS 5, so they did deliver on that). Neither did it receive the “polish” of the over-the-top skeuomorphism in iOS 6 or the extreme flatness of iOS 7. I still occasionally take it out for a play with the past or to compare it against whatever is new - remarkably, the battery still holds up even if the home button is a little flaky.

iPad 2 (2011)

The iPad 2 shipped in several international markets very soon after it did in the US. In Australia it was also widely available at resellers, so I joined a friend for a few hours at a local JB HiFi. Unlike almost every other release to come, the iPad 2 officially went on sale at 5.00pm local time so for once this simply involved passing time inside an already-open store. 

The iPad 2 had a few significant things going for it over and above its predecessor. Most apparent was the fact that it was thinner, lighter, and finally had feature parity with the iPhone with front-facing and rear cameras. Much fun was made of those who dared use the iPad camera at public events (see the infamous shot of Spike Lee with President Obama) but despite their relatively low resolution each of these cameras paved the way for significant functionality - such as taking photos of meeting notes / whiteboards for later reference, and FaceTiming on a screen with a more lifelike size. Rather than adopting a fully-enclosed case like the original iPad, the iPad 2 was accompanied by a magnetic “Smart Cover” that snapped on the side, sat on the front of the display and could wake or sleep the iPad by being opened or closed. It could also be folded up to prop up the iPad at the ‘laptop’ viewing angle. 

I got a year’s worth of use out of this iPad before handing it down to my mum, who would use it for email and web browsing while traveling. After that my toddler daughter used it for about a couple of years or so for watching videos while traveling and at home. While I updated the iPad to iOS 7 (rather painfully given the relatively low non-Retina resolution screen) and it made it all the way to iOS 9, I took advantage of an uncharacteristic Apple bug to downgrade it back iOS 5. After nearly 9 years, it’s now still in regular use by my son for certain apps that he still loves that never made it past the iOS 7 watershed, and can only be accessed on this iPad.

This was also the final iPad (and product) that Steve Jobs keynoted, and it was already apparent that he was under considerable strain - he would step down as CEO of Apple Inc soon thereafter, and passed away later that year.

iPad third generation aka iPad 3 aka the “New” iPad (2012)

The first iPad launched by Tim Cook came with problematic nomenclature - to achieve some sort of unnecessary simplification, instead of calling it iPad 3 it was simply introduced as the “New” iPad. The point of this move was never explored or allowed sufficient air to make sense, as it was followed quickly later in 2012 by the “iPad 4” which reverted to the old naming scheme. Even Apple would come to refer to the “New” iPad as either the “iPad 3” or “iPad third generation”.

This was in many ways a transitional iPad - with Retina screens available on all other products, Apple needed to bring one to the iPad but had missed the boat for the iPad 2 in 2011. On the other hand, the processors needed to drive the Retina screen well wouldn’t be ready until late 2012, so Apple instead enhanced the graphics power of the chips used in the iPad 2. Similarly, the Lightning connector that would used in the iPhone 5 - and all future iOS devices until the 2018 iPad Pro - was also not yet ready to ship. The iPad 3 was also the first iPad that was actually thicker and heavier than its predecessor (though still lighter than the original iPad). In Australia it was initially advertised as offering 4G connectivity, at a time when no Australia carrier offered 4G on the bands accessible by that model. This resulted in Apple having to offer refunds and a rare instance of having to redo its packaging to meet local regulatory requirements by referring to future iPads (and in turn, Apple Watches) as offering “Cellular” connectivity, without reference to the specific type of connection. Nearly all of these issues were rectified by the iPad 4 not long afterwards. Accordingly, the third generation iPad was only available for sale for a few months and is often criticized as the worst iPad for its sub-par performance and longevity. 

All that being said, my iPad 3 is probably the device that has given me the most joy and value over the many years it’s been used. It was a day one release in Australia, and represented the least amount of work in acquisition for me - it was delivered to my door before any Apple Store had opened on launch day. The Retina screen finally coming to an iPad (before it made the leap to any Macs) was incredible and finally came close to replicating the experience of holding a digital piece of paper in your hand. It elevated the already-great experience of viewing photos and watching movies to another level entirely, and made reading eBooks or PDFs rival the clarity of paper. If ever there were a device that felt like it had dropped out of Star Trek and into your lap, it was the iPad 3. 

My iPad 3 was my primary device and frequent traveling companion for a good year and a half. I saw no reason to upgrade to the iPad 4 that followed because the iPad 3′s performance was more than adequate for what I needed - mostly watching movies, web browsing, and taking notes. As with the iPad 2, I handed this one down to my mum for a year or so, but it was the third life of the iPad 3 that meant the most to me. My son was diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) during the time I had this iPad, and it represented my first exploration of how such a device could leverage customised apps to provide assisted communication, targeted learning, and other sensory functions for children with ASD. 

Eventually this iPad was later handed down to my son during his years in early intervention and school as an augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device using the Proloquo app (which used to require a very costly standalone device), as well as a device for him to use for learning, behavioural regulation, and leisure. My son used this device (the “Purple iPad” as he called it, after the colour of its rugged case) for almost four years at a critical time of his development. During that time it took a daily beating in his school bag and was dropped frequently, but all the while pulled through. It received software updates through to iOS 9, and we only replaced it a little over a year ago when some of the apps he used needed iOS 10 or beyond for future updates. It currently still sits on a wall at home, functioning as a hub for some smart home devices and a security camera. 

iPad Mini (2012)

After a swathe of Android tablets (and ‘phablets’) made the case for the 7 inch form factor, Apple finally caved in 2012 and released the iPad Mini. The Mini’s launch was slightly delayed after the launch of the contemporaneous iPad 4 (requiring online pre-orders) and turned up on our doorstep a few weeks later. It was a hot commodity as it encapsulated essentially all of the features of the beloved iPad 2 and shrunk them down to an almost A5-notebook size that was almost pocketable, and at the very least could easily slip unnoticeably into most small bags. It was the debut of the modern iPad design language, drawing on the chamfered edges of the iPhone 5 with uniformly rounded sides that would be echoed later in the iPhone 6 and beyond. The design persists to this day in all modern iPad models, with the sole exception of the 2018 iPad Pro. The iPad Mini’s official accessories included a full-body leather “Smart Case” that was one of Apple’s better cases (but sadly hasn’t stuck around for as long as I’d have liked, with Apple reverting to “Smart Covers” like they did with the iPad 2).

This was the first iPad that I didn’t buy for myself - it was to replace my partner’s aging original iPad, and due to its size it quickly became a mainstay of her handbags (where its successors continue to find a home to this day). The old adage about the best camera being the one you always have with you easily transfers over to the iPad Mini, whose easy portability vaulted it to becoming her best web browser, email composer, gaming device, and e-book reader. This Mini was eventually passed down to both my kids as a play device for videos and apps, then briefly performed a similar function for their younger cousins while visiting at my parents’ house. We finally parted with it very recently when a friend wanted a simple device to give it to her grandmother to FaceTime with their kids.

iPad Air (2013)

The original iPad Air was released in late 2013 as the new flagship iPad. It adopted the “Air” moniker ostensibly because it was much lighter and thinner, taking the design of the iPad Mini and shaving off some of the vertical bezels on the sides of the screen - the first substantial change to the size of the 9.7 inch screen iPad. It was famously advertised by using a side profile comparison to a pencil, alluding to similar versatility. It was also the first iPad that shipped with the flat, minimalist software of iOS 7.

This was the first iPad since the original for which I lined up on the launch morning at an Apple Store. If I recall correctly, I had my young son with me as it was a relatively brief wait due to there being plenty of stock and comparatively low localised demand given the expansion of the iPad distribution chain. As a relatively mature product, the iPad Air probably represented a first significant upgrade for many early iPad adopters as well. I also took the leap back into acquiring a cellular model as the iPad Air had ‘proper’ 4G in Australia (which was resolved in the iPad 4 a year earlier) as well as a Smart Case like the iPad Mini. 

This was a solid workhorse iPad that served me well for a year, and was then given to my mum who used it for almost four years for her basic computing needs, which by now had shifted more towards media consumption. About a year ago it became my daughter’s primary device, which she uses to play videos, watch YouTube Kids, colour and draw, and use educational gaming apps. It did not receive last year’s update to iOS 13 and is starting to feel slow to use, so to may be on the path to an early retirement or relegation to feature duty like the iPad 3 - but over six years of solid service is not bad at all in isolation, even if slightly less impressive than some of its counterparts.

iPad Mini with Retina Display aka iPad Mini 2 (2013)

Shortly following the launch of the iPad Air came the iPad Mini 2, which I snagged on release day at a nearby Big W store. The iPad Mini was the final iOS device to receive a Retina screen - this was especially significant given the iPad Mini’s smaller size, which meant higher pixel density had a far greater impact on clarity than in the larger iPad. Interestingly the iPad Mini 2 had mostly the same internals and resolution as the iPad Air, leaving Tim Cook to famously suggest that the feature parity between the two models meant that all that was left to decide was what size you preferred – though to be honest, he should’ve added price, as the iPad Mini and iPad Mini 2 were easily the cheapest iPads on offer to date.

It was an easy decision to get the iPad Mini 2 to replace my partner’s iPad Mini, as it freed up the latter to be used by the kids when traveling (which was far more convenient than traveling with their bulky full-size iPads in rugged cases). After a couple of years it became my son’s primary device for play and travel (used alongside his iPad 3 for school and AAC), following which it also went to my parents’ house for use by visiting cousins and other guests where it remains to this day. We never ended up getting the iPad Mini 3 that followed the year after, primarily because it shared the internals of the iPad Mini 2 and only differed in its selection of colours and the TouchID home button.

iPad Air 2 (2014)

The iPad Air 2 is what I would call “peak iPad” - much like the iPhone 6 before it, iPads are still being released to this day that superficially could not be distinguished from the iPad Air 2. It represented both a refinement to its predecessor and probably the first iPad that was clearly overbuilt for its time, with a level of performance that would see it and be able to cope with years of updates to come (right up to today, and likely beyond). It was much thinner and lighter than even the original iPad Air, and held that record right up until the release of the 2018 iPad Pro. Here was an iPad you could read in bed, without worrying too much about the injury you’d suffer if you dozed off and dropped it on your face. It also came in a fetching shade of gold, the first new colour variation in the iPad line since the iPad 2 introduced black and white.  

The iPad Air 2 also came with the TouchID home button (taken from the iPhone 5S the previous year) and introduced the celebrated ‘laminated’ display, which eliminated the tiny air gap between the glass surface and screen, reducing apparent latency and making it feel as if you were practically touching the screen itself. Unfortunately, the trade off for this was higher cost and lower repairability - if you happened to break the screen, you’d have to replace the entire digitiser and not just the glass surface on top. The inclusion of this display has been a distinguishing feature of higher-end iPads since, though its absence from the lower-end ‘budget’ iPads has been a sore spot for many. For me, while it’s certainly a ‘nice-to-have’ that enhances the experience of using an iPad, it is far from a necessity and its absence does little to hamper the usability of iPads that have non-laminated screens. 

By this stage everyone in my family right down to the kids were all using iPads, so we’d entered the phase of repurposing all retiring older devices. I got a good year out of the iPad Air 2 before passing it on to my father, who continues to use it when traveling and on the go. He has only recently started commenting on it being a little slow at times, which I put down to perception rather than reality due to the slow internet at places he visits - and while it still multitasks really well, he now has an iPhone XS Max with a four-generation faster processor which makes the Air 2 seem clunky in comparison. I expect that when the 2020 line of iPads Pro debut, this iPad Air 2 will find its way to my daughter to replace the iPad Air.

iPad Pro 12 inch (2015)

The first iPad Pro debuted in a massive 12.9 inch screen that was a sight to behold (and hold). While 13 inch screens have been standard (if not small) for years in laptops, having such a screen float freely in your hands in a (relatively) light slate was an experience resembling the tactility of first using an iPad but on a full-sized computer display - 5K iMacs had finally been released the year prior, and the iPad Pro’s screen had roughly the same usable area. Interestingly, the dimensions of the screen more closely resembled an A4-sized piece of paper then the original 9.7 inch iPad, but somehow this still felt bigger - almost like an A3 page. The size of the 12.9 inch screen would enable it to allow split-screen multitasking of two apps in the full-screen display they’d have on the 9.7 inch iPad - a feat still unequalled by any other iPad, including its younger 10.5 and 11 inch siblings.

With the iPad Pro came the first “Smart Connector” on the rear of the device, which allowed accessories to connect and draw power through three small magnetic dots. This connection held much promise but in the years since has only really ever been used for keyboards, like the Smart Keybord Folio released at the same time for the iPad Pro. What appeared to be a relatively simple case (if quite thick) needed to be folded out almost like an accordion in order for the iPad Pro and Smart Keyboard to resemble a small laptop. The fabric covered keyboard itself was quite durable, though the Smart Connector pins have worn out over time creating occasional connection problems. 

The iPad Pro had an odd launch in Australia - rather than morning or midnight, I found myself waiting for 1.00pm to tick over on launch day at my local Apple Store before they were made available for sale. As such, it was pretty much a sight-unseen purchase. The full-screen multitasking is what really sold me on the iPad Pro. Even if limited, it felt like a step in the right direction towards not just emulating a computer’s multitasking but creating a more effective paradigm for multitasking where only the windows that really matter are open and featured front and centre. 

On the other hand, the downside to the iPad Pro’s size was... its size. At 12.9 inches large (and considerably heavier when adding the new Smart Keyboard Folio and rear case) it was far larger than even the original iPad (let alone the Mini) and as such was no longer as snug and comfortable a fit in many bags and cases tailor made for iPads - rather it approached the heft of a laptop. Neither was it as handy a traveling companion, especially on aircraft where the iPad had previously excelled. This was a tablet that was better used at home. After a little over a year I’d finally decided that such limitations didn’t work for me and handed it over to my father, who continues to use it more properly as a “home” iPad for most computing tasks (email, browsing, basic mobile gaming) that he’d previously have done on an iMac. 

The one other significant feature of the iPad Pro was the concurrent introduction of the Apple Pencil, still one of the most responsive input devices for a tablet. Writing with the Apple Pencil on the huge iPad Pro resulted in fine script that felt as close as you could to writing on paper (without the same level of friction). This also resulted in revealing deficiencies in handwriting for which a pen and paper were more forgiving. But the Pencil really excelled when used for drawing, colouring, and painting using the pressure-sensitive tip. Despite its much maligned “eraser” charging port, I rarely separated the Pencil from my iPad Pro and was more than happy to have it awkwardly stick out for a couple of minutes for hours worth of charge. After finding some teeth marks in that “eraser” area and finally updating to a newer model, I gave that original Apple Pencil first to my son who used it for handwriting practice with his current iPad (replaced by a Logitech Crayon), and then to my mum to use with her current 10.5 inch iPad Pro. 

iPad Mini 4 (2016)

While the iPad Mini 3 was a somewhat unimpressive reskin of the iPad Mini 2, it wasn’t until the quietly introduced iPad Mini 4 that we got a true mini version of the “peak” iPad, with the same incredibly thin and light profile, TouchID, and laminated display. And with its even smaller size, this made the Mini 4 effectively lighter than most A5 notepads and, with the bright laminated display, almost as pleasant to read from. 

The Mini 4 replaced my partner’s Mini 2 for about three years, freeing up both the Mini 2 and original Mini to be used as travel iPads in rugged cases for both kids. The Mini 4 was not updated by Apple again for several years, and for some time appeared like it would be the final Mini Apple would release - thankfully not the case, as the form factor really made the device incredibly appealing to those like my partner to whom it represented the perfect compromise between screen size and portability. 

iPad Pro second generation 10.5 inch (2017)

Some of the issues I had regarding the size of the original iPad Pro were mitigated soon after by the release of a smaller 9.7 inch iPad Pro in early 2016, also with the benefit of a better camera and wider range of colours (Gold and Rose Gold). However this was basically a beefed up iPad Air 2, so I wasn’t yet ready to give up on a larger sized iPad until the following year when the intermediate size 10.5 inch iPad Pro landed. Both the new 10.5 inch iPad Pro and updated 12 inch iPad Pro came with a new display with a 120Hz refresh rate for more ‘lifelike’ scrolling and transitions, and more importantly greater responsiveness from the Apple Pencil.

The 10.5 inch iPad Pro also signalled a clear differentiation between two sizes of ‘Pro’ iPads - one larger with more usable space, and one smaller and more portable. However, with that smaller size came a significant compromise - unlike the 12 inch iPad Pro, the 10.5 inch model could not do full-screen split-view multitasking, instead reverting both apps to the ‘compact view’ that more closely resembled a smaller iPhone app than a full-sized iPad app. I sweated on this difference for some time and sat out the launch, for the first time seriously considering passing on a new iPad. However, not more than a few hours after store opening I buckled and drove over to one of the only Apple Stores in the city still showing stock. 

In the end I found the 10.5 inch iPad Pro to be an absolute pleasure to use, a good compromise between size and portability, much lighter and easier to carry, but without what I then considered to be the killer feature of the iPad Pro - a sacrifice I simply learned to live with, and did not end up missing as much as I thought I would. As a consequence, I pushed my usage of this iPad Pro and tried using it as much as possible as a laptop replacement (indeed, during this time I stopped carrying around my laptop with me and relied on a combination of this iPad and the newly functional iCloud Drive file browser in iOS 11). While there were inevtiably certain tasks I still needed to use my laptop for, I was surprised at just how much of my mobile computing needs were achievable (and possibly even more pleasant) on this iPad Pro. 

This was also one of my longer used iPads, giving me a good year and a half of service before being handed to my mum to replace her long-in-tooth iPad Air. I used it with its Smart Keyboard accessory, which unfortunately now did not have a matching rear case leaving the back of the device exposed - the first time I had carried around a ‘half-naked’ iPad in pretty much forever. This required a degree of extra care on my part, having to use the front keyboard side as a buffer against other items while ensuring that the exposed side was always flush to padded fabric in my bag. When I gave it to my mum, I was sure to pick up a third party accessory that would both protect the back of the iPad and also included a holder for the Apple Pencil (which sadly she does not use as frequently as I’d like). 

iPad sixth generation (2018)

While the iPads Pro had established themselves as the new flagship line of iPads, Apple quietly released a ‘budget’ iPad in 2017 based on the old, thicker iPad Air chasis and non-laminated screen, but featuring more updated internals (similar to the first iPad Pro). This product matured even further the following year with a processor similar to my then-current iPad Pro and a screen that was compatible with the original Apple Pencil - for a fraction of the cost of the iPad Pro. 

To this point my son had been using the old iPad 3 as an AAC device at school and the iPad Mini 2 at home, and this new iPad represented the best of each device - so I bought one on sale a few months after it launched to consolidate and allow him to be able to use updated versions of his apps that were no longer supported on the older devices. In particular, Pencil compatibility has opened a way to use the device to enhance his fine motor skills, and the relative thickness and non-laminated screen are beneficial from a repair perspective in the event of unforeseen kid damage (mercifully not yet required due to adequate encasement). I’ve given him one of the Logitech Crayons, which lack the pressure sensitivity of the Apple Pencil but are cheaper, more durable, and have a flat, textured surface that is much easier to grip. This iPad’s already clocked up almost a year and a half’s worth of use and still looks and feels brand new in use.

iPad Pro third generation 11 inch (2018)

Following the release of the iPhone X with its all-screen display, FaceID security mechanism, and infamous “notch”, it was only a matter of time before that design found its way to the iPad line. It took a year but it was finally realised with the release of the 2018 iPad Pro, which eliminated the notch by simply having a smaller uniform bezel around the entire screen. The 12 inch model shaved its bezels and shrunk in physical size substantially, more closely resembling an A4 size page. Instead of retaining the 10.5 inch size, Apple traded some of the bezel of the smaller model for a tiny bit of extra screen space, brining the screen up to 11 inches. While that seemed quite close to the 12 inch, the difference was deceptively significant. In particular, even at 11 inches the smaller iPad Pro couldn’t quite do full screen split-view multitasking. 

Finally, instead of the iPhone X’s rounded stainless steel sides, the 2018 iPad Pro adopted a slate-like appearance with a flat aluminium back and thin, flat sides - making it the thinnest iPad ever at just 5.9 mm, and more closely resembling the back of the original iPad than any other model. The iPad Pro is covered in magnets to enable easy attachment of the corresponding Smart Folios and Smart Keyboard Folios (now with a smaller profile that involves less folding). The flat sides and magnets also enabled a new Apple Pencil 2, with a flat magnetic side that attaches nicely to the top of the iPad Pro - good to carry around in the hand, though not quite strongly enough to withstand significant movement or friction when carried in a bag.

But the two most important developments in this iPad Pro were first, the use of a USB-C instead of Lightning port (opening up a variety of charging and IO options that had long eluded iOS devices) and increased performance (said to rival then-recent benchmarks for the MacBook Pro) making a compelling argument for its ability to replace a laptop. With improvements in multitasking in iOS 12 and iOS 13, and the ability to use the new Files app and USB-C port to directly access external storage, some significant limitations that had dogged the iPad since its original release had been mitigated (if not quite overcome). Of course, the primary limitation - availability of apps that fully take advantage of this new functionality - persists, and may yet take some time to overcome. For example, there are some great video editing apps available for iPad (such as Luma Fusion) but I would love to see Apple port its own Final Cut Pro to the iPad, and take advantage of the external file management options offered by the USB-C port, to really kick the iPad up a notch. If nothing else, the passage of the past 10 years has demonstrated that such functionality may take some time to come, but when it does it should represent a refinement of the experience that makes much more intuitive sense than something slapped together for the sake of feature creep. 

This is my current iPad, and the device on which I am currently typing this post - other than the early adopter urge and my dad’s unreasonable concerns about his iPad Air 2 (which let’s face it, are probably enough), I wouldn’t see any compelling need to upgrade to whatever new version of the iPad Pro is released in the coming months. I rarely carry around a laptop anymore as the iPad Pro (in conjunction with iCloud) now meets almost all of my mobile computing needs. But for a few tasks that I can’t yet do without a laptop (mainly organising storage of file libraries and some video editing), I’d almost be prepared to get rid of my MacBook Pro entirely (in fact, I haven’t bought a new MacBook Pro in almost eight years, in which time I’ve bought all but three of the iPads in this list). 

iPad Mini 5 (2019)

For a while it seemed like the aging iPad Mini 4 would never be replaced, and the iPad Mini product line would fade into obscurity (much to the chagrin of my partner, and many others who relied on its small form factor). Apple pulled a cat out of the bag by surprising everyone with a very late update to the iPad Mini in early 2019, bringing it back into line with the specs of the newly-refreshed iPad Air (feature parity not seen since the original iPad Air and iPad Mini 2 in 2013). I picked this up from a local Apple Store a few months after release to replace my partner’s iPad Mini 4, and it currently sees daily use from her handbag.

Touching quickly on the recent products not in this list, the new 2019 iPad Air is essentially a refresh of the 2017 10.5 inch iPad Pro model, with some minor differences such as the lack of stereo speakers. It allowed Apple to offer most of the performance of the Pro line at a lower price point. Initially it also brought smart connector accessories and Pencil functionality as well, but Apple has subsequently released an updated ‘budget’ 10.2 inch iPad with a smart connector on top of the existing first generation Pencil compatibility. The iPad Mini 5 is thus currently the only model offered without a smart connector (though plenty of third party keyboard accessories are available) and the entire iPad line offers some form of Pencil compatibility. 

[hatmanreviewsmovies]

Sicario: Day of the Soldado

Hat 1- Story: After a bombing near the Mexico/America border, Government Agent Matt Graver must team up with his previous associate, Alejandro, to start a war between the drug cartels, right under the government's nose.  Compared to the first film, this one is much less focused on the Americans. Without a view in from an American character, we are instead thrust into the illegal migrant business and the main fighting between Mexican drug cartels. It follows two stories, The first being our two leads working for the American government in secret, and the lives that get ensnared along the way. The second, a young Mexican teenager, drawn into cartel acts through family connections. When these two finally meet, the results are explosive. The deeper and deeper into this world this film takes us, the more engaging it becomes. It is a brutal and unwavering portrait of what is happening on and just outside American soil right now. This film is relevant, it is honest, and it does not allow it’s audience to look away. 1/1 hat

Hat 2- Performances: Benicio Del Toro and Josh Brolin return to their previous roles as Alejandro and Matt Graves respectively. As good as Josh Brolin is as always, one of the highlights of this film is Del Toro, delivering a performance on the level of his finest, vulnerable, fierce, and engaging, he easily carries most of this film’s second half. There are two young discoveries as well, worth noting. Isabella Moner as Isabella Reyes, daughter of a cartel leader from the previous film, who becomes a pawn in the political game being played. There is a strength in her performance that shows she’s one to watch. The other, the young teen who joins the cartel migrant operation, played by Elijah Rodriguez. His career is just starting up, this is his first live-action film and he will be a star, he gives a performance up there with the veteran actors of this film. 1/1 hat

Hat 3- Craft: Ok, let's get the big questions out of the way. The first film had the deft hand of Dennis Villeneuve at the helm, with magnificent cinematography by Rodger Deakins and a chilling score by Johan Johanson, all driven by a killer Taylor Sheridan screenplay. Well... Johanson has passed, Deakins and Villeneuve moved on to other projects. So did this compare? 

Yes and no. Italian director Stefano Sollima steps into the director's chair, and he does very well. This thriller is far more explosive and deadly (literally) but it works. The quiet moments and scenes of tension balance out the heavy action very well and Sollima’s vision is a good one. This is a very good stake in Hollywood for the director. 

The cinematography is still very good. Veteran Dariusz Wolski delivers sweeping shots of the barren Mexican desert and exciting action shots that, while not Deakins level, still do a very good job, placing us directly in the action in a very convincing manner. 

Score by Hildur Guõnadóttir, who worked on the first film as well, is about as good a replacement as one could get, with heavy percussion and droning strings that climax into a thrilling beat in the final five minutes that is awesome to behold. 

Taylor Sheridan, returning as writer, delivers one of his better works. This man understands action and tension. He knows how to produce it and makes it easily some of the tensest scenes currently being made in Hollywood. Some of the dialogue is a little too cute, but his story structure, and characters new and old, are masterful. These two films are maybe some of my favorite screenplays in his lineup. .9/1 hat

Hat 4- Entertainment Value: Pretty much from start to finish, this film is as engaging as the first. There are moments where it is a little too long, there are elements in the beginning that could have been trimmed to make this a tight 100 minutes but where it does drag you don’t really notice until you look back on it. Other than those moments, this is a high strung, fast-paced high stakes thriller. It is one of the most relevant and important statements about politics without really being about politics that will come out this year. .9/1 hat

Hat 5- Memorability: To say that this film will be remembered is difficult. Is it good? Yes, very much so. Is it relevant and important to this moment?  Absolutely. But when films make these dramatic politically nonpolitical statements, whether they last in the Hollywood cannon is hard to say. However, the distances this film goes to show the brutality of its world, our world, what our governments are putting people through every day, is so important. This film is unflinching in is portrait of the cartels and those who come into contact with them. The larger scope of this film from the previous benefits it, and allows any future films in this series to be as relivent to their moment as this is to this one. See this film, for the sake of knowledge and entertainment. 1/1 hat

TOTAL: 4.8/5 hats