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something-very-special · 4 years ago

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they ran over the seals

More Replicant playthrough observations and general nonsense under the cut. For reference, up to the keystone quest; completed the Forest of Myth and Junk Heap.

This fucking game I swear to god.

A vaguely coherent ramble about sidequests An observation about sidequests in general in this game -- and I don't recall if I ever voiced this somewhere public or it was just a personal observation from my time with the original -- is that the quests in the first half of the game are all relatively easy to complete. There's that one asshat who wants 10 goat hides, but other than him, most of the sidequests are either very much based on finding characters, or gathering a sensible number of items that are either relatively common, purchasable, or given a guaranteed spawn for the duration of that quest.

The sidequests everybody remembers having to do are in the second half, where everybody is demanding and awful and I'm sorry ten MACHINE OILS do you know how goddamn rare those are? They're goddamn rare.

(We'll not discuss Life in the Sands.)

This is generally agreed to, in the technical vernacular, 'suck'. And it's always funny that the most interesting sidequests are the ones with very minimal requirements (Yonah's cooking, getting Popola drunk, the Lighthouse Ladoh my god everything's gone blurry I'm not crying you're crying who am I kidding we're both crying). That particular aspect of the design also feels intentional, not really gating your ability to progress the really meaningful or funny sidequests behind an unreasonable number of rare items. The other aspect of the design is that these quests are not meant to be completed in a single playthrough; most of them are single-stage and just absolutely unreasonable, but if you're going through the game four times you have a... reasonable chance of getting everything you need more or less naturally.

Nobody does that but I think that was the intended design. I think it's a good idea, although the execution of expectation is flawed so I don't really blame people for saying those sidequests suck. (Although I will in turn blame people for saying the sidequests suck as a blanket statement. Yeah getting that guy who burned his kitchen down a billion Broken Motors is aggravating but did you not find that old man's dog? Speak to Ursula on her death bed? Solve a murder? Then again I think tracking down that rotten son who's trying to get away from The Family Business only to learn his father is a con-artist and get literally no reward is the height of comedy so maybe I'm not the greatest point of reference.)

But that asshole in Facade can get bent. I can't exploit my garden properly, jackass! I am no longer a god of time. (I kid, of course.) (This guys sucks even when you can fix your clock.)

Forest of Myth It didn't even occur to me to wonder how they would incorporate the comprehensive voice acting into the Forest of Myth. I like how it plays out, although I wish the voices maybe had a fade as you went deeper into the dream instead of just cutting out at some point, especially for the lines where the characters are being ascribed actions by the narrator that they themselves aren't doing near the start of the Deathdream. But it's just delightful to go back to it. The second half of the game really sticks in your mind both for emotional reasons and because you play it at least three times per full playthrough of the game, but the first half is just so much fun.

Protip: Talk to everybody after you've finished the dream sidequest. Weiss tries to dissuade you. Don't let him dissuade you. I'm still delighted by the Mayor; "We're building a statue of you, made of solid gold. I know you don't own a horse, but we're going to put you on a horse."

I forgot about Yonah being a disaster chef Papa Nier's reaction to the stew is better. Brother is still funny but Papa Nier just expecting to die is comedy gold.

For anybody curious, the joke about the cakes is that Yonah made 'fruit cake' using some of the worst possible fruits for cake-making. If only she'd thrown a tomato into the mix, too.

Lighthouse Lady Every time. what the fuck is a canal I'm aware of the addition of the new-old content but it didn't occur to me until Popola suddenly starts nattering on about fixing the canal when I'm expecting Yonah to talk about a penpal that oh, yeah, I guess Seafront would have had something going on the first half that would play into the second half? (I assume it does. Be weird to introduce these characters just to have groundwork for an added sidequest. ...but it was a cute sidequest.) But look Popola my boy is supposed to be in the next area I visit could we-- I mean he's on the way could we just-- no-- fiiiiiiiiiine. (It was short and sweet, though, and I appreciate that the couple's love is exemplified by them both calling Weiss a floating magazine in tandem.) On a related note but was I the only person suddenly concerned when the sidequest completion maxed out at 50% and not 51%? I had to double-check with a guide just to make sure, since I've spent the last decade telling people to make sure you hit 51% before going on to Part II.

MY BOY I love that nowadays, Emil is everybody's son. But I really wish I could go find somebody only familiar with Automata and just watch their reaction. (I'm guessing there are streams out there that fulfill this but man I'd love to get it in-person.) If you're only familiar with him from Automata this has to be a mindfuck.

Personal anecdote, but I've had the privilege of playing NIER with somebody else almost every time I've gone through it. I had a wonderful experience of doing a replay some years back with somebody who had experienced it with me before but didn't have the most solid memory of the beginning (and had actually missed the entire weapon's lab the first time through). I get to the boy at the piano introducing himself and the 'Wait, what?' was a thing of beauty.

MY ANDROID This was a welcome mindfuck for me; finding Sebastian and having him 'reactivate' in such an unnatural, mechanical way. I don't recall if it was ever officially confirmed that Sebastian is an android (I know that it's just understood that this is the case but I'm not I can't recall a specific one) but the little flair they added to his animation caught me completely off guard. I liked it!

Destroying the food source A lot of people will cite a major inciting incident for the game as being when the protagonist heading back into the village and killing the child Shades just outside the entrance. This moment is such a great bit of subtle foreshadowing that's so easy to miss... but kind of joining that, just before the Knave of Hearts attacks, I realized that the Shades out on the Northern Plains are clearly ramping up for an assault of their own by murdering the sheep. The sheep population at this point is decimated (which is great when you realize you haven't gotten the Sheepslayer trophy and you're about to enter Part II and you don't know if the boar drifting minigame got carried forward with the inclusion of 15 Nightmares). You go out onto the Plains and you will find not only small clusters of sheep left behind instead of the vast, terrifying herds from the start of the game, but until you get their attention the Shades are prioritizing killing the sheep. (Also annoying because that doesn't count toward my sheep murder number.) The Shades will be out there also killing sheep earlier on, but since the whole map is in Overcast mode after talking to Yonah it's especially prevalent to go out to the Northern Plains and seeing the slaughter. And I realized-- they're cutting the Village off from a primary food source. Shades don't eat and they don't have any beef with the local ungulates (at least, no more so than anybody else does), so why are they hunting down the sheep? To deprive their enemies of resources. Sheep are extinct by the timeskip. It's actually really clever of them, and a really clever indication of their sentience and intelligence before it's fully verified.

"Let's get these shit-hogs!" Everything about the way Kaine and Emil interact across the entire game is perfect I will brook no argument this is objective fact.

Emotive Rectangles I wrote an essay about this before but it really bears repeating that the job the original animators did with this scene is just phenomenal. The way Weiss drifts, flits, flips, fans his pages, drunkenly swerves, shoots around the room in defiance... He's a goddamn rectangle, but there is so much emotion and personality in this scene just based on the movements conveyed through a what is effectively just a box. Ten years later and triple-A titles with full facial capture don't have this much seething personality. I really have to give props to the cavia animators, wherever they wound up. That studio could really put some subtle love and care into their titles, utterly unnecessary and easy to miss but you can tell that whoever was working on it was giving it their all. The books are probably the exemplification of this, but every time I go into Seafront and visit the seals I can tell that the guy on seal duty was having just the best day. They made Emil so pretty There's an FMV cutscene right smack in the middle of the original game after the battle against Noir. I understand why it was a necessity on a technical level, but it always looked pretty out of place and a little uncanny valley compared to the rest of the graphical fidelity. That's no longer a necessity so this cutscene is rendered in-engine. I admit I was actually curious to see it redone this way and it looks fantastic. I single out Emil since he is the focal point of cutscene and because his particular high-poly model had some pretty weird difference from his in-engine model, but he and Kaine both look great. But, like, it's almost mean how pretty he is.

They made Brother Nier so pretty Yeah okay you got me he's kind of hot. Kaine's expression when she wakes up and looks him over is... significantly easier to read now. Good voice, too. (Ancient rumors tell that one of the issues with international releases of RepliCant was that they couldn't find an English VA with a voice that 'fit' Brother Nier. He sounded good out the gate but hearing him growl "Let's go TAKE CARE of those KIDS" during the thief sidequest-- I got chills. It sounds so silly but there's a kind of percolating fury to that delivery. Papa Nier was like frustrated but mostly disappointed dad; I felt like Brother was going to take care of those kids, and nobody was going to find the bodies. Younger Brother Nier just never stops looking goofy to me but Older Brother just looks great in motion, between the alterations they made to the movement and just the entire weaponry system. The distinction between the two halves of the game was always a little odd in the Gestalt version-- not odd enough to really raise eyebrows if you didn't know about RepliCant, but of course you can tell that this age gape between the optimistic doe-eyed dogooder and a man largely ruled by his fury and calloused by tragedy is what the timeskip was going for. Swab me down and call me Ishmael, it works. Younger Brother wasn't quite clicking with me-- not because of any writing or voicework issues, but I've got Papa Nier on the back of my mind and it's impossible not to compare and contrast the delivery and dialogue between the two. I know that this is intentional, too; Younger Brother is supposed to be that happy-go-lucky video game protagonist, always doing the right thing and helping people, in order to contrast against the man he becomes. Even just edging into Part II the effect is dramatic and it recontextualizes Younger Brother into a much more effective overall character. And let me reiterate, I enjoyed my time with Younger Brother just fine, I have no issues with him. But he's up against Well Meaning Big Dummy Part I Papa Nier. No contest. And I'm excited to see where Older Brother goes from here.

Speaking of voices I mentioned this before but the delivery on the character's lines is different. The entire game was re-recorded and quite a few lines are still pretty similar to the original, but there are some that are... definitely different. Part of this is a difference in the relationship between characters based on their life experience and ages-- Weiss is much more of an ass to Younger Brother but has a much more even respect for Older Brother (neither of which are like the rapport he established with Father). Some of Kaine's lines feel more aloof, dismissive, and almost tired in the front half of the game. I haven't really gotten to a point to dig into Emil's rapport with the other characters, but the delivery feels more hesitant and uncertain (which I think is more in line with his Japanese VO, but I'm prefacing that on an untrained ear and a presumption rather than recent memory). It's been interesting to see not just where hey adjusted dialogue (and how-- there are some lines that didn't need to be rewritten), but also how they adjust tone and delivery. Dealing with Younger Brother is one thing, but as I said, I'm very excited to see what's different in the second half, especially being much more familiar with that part of the game. Speaking of Voices! Halua got dialogue! I... preferred when it was inferred (and the implications of "I'll always be watching over you" are borderline malicious given the results of their fusion dance, yeah THANK YOU HALUA this is GREAT). Halua's delivery also felt a little too innocent and upbeat both for the situation and when compared to her narrative voice in The Stone Flower, where she comes across as much more cynical and cold. But given what she's been through and the nightmare she's finally escaping I guess she's allowed express happiness. She's certainly earned the right to having a spoken line. No matter what. Every fuckin' time.

"Here we go." This was always a great line to kind of ease in to the officially-official start of Part II-- every time you start up a New Game+ you're greeted with Emil musing about his conflation of Halua to Kaine, and then the phrase "Here we go". There's a lot in that one line. On a personal level he's grounding his thoughts in the moment and steeling himself for what comes next and pushing through his pain and sadness and fear. Whatever Nier told him in the facility he's still terrified, desperately terrified, that Kaine -- who was the one who told him his life had meaning -- is going to reject him. And why wouldn't she? Ultimately they don't know each other, not really. He understands at that moment that his relationship with Kaine is based on confused memories of his sister, that maybe the bond he thought they established isn't actually real. As soon as he frees Kaine he's going to have to confront her, like this, and how could she ever-- she won't-- but he can't just leave her. Whatever happens next. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. (God it matters.) "Here we go." On a meta level, that's our introduction into the second half of the game. The first half is all prologue. This is where we'll be spending the rest of our time, even to the point that 'New Game+' skips straight ahead to this moment. Now that we've finished the establishment, this is where it all builds and where it all matters. Here we go, audience. The ride starts now. You get up to this point now in Replicant. You get the same lead-in. My dumb ass even whispered "Here we go", because I can't help myself. And he says, of course he says--! "Anyway." ... ...a-anyway? What the hell kind of line is that? "Here's some deeply personal musings that are also an indication of my own discomfort as I babble to myself just to fill the void so I can stave off thinking for just a few more seconds. ANYWAY." What a... bizarre decision. Just bizarre.

Upgraded melee combat The introduction to the armored Shades always feel kind of rough-- the defenses on those Shades are significantly higher than anything you've faced and the new weapons you're given to combat them just aren't that good. (If you got lucky you could have a fully-upgraded Faith by now, which is nearly three times as powerful as the 'heavy' two-handed sword you're given; if you downloaded the 4 YoRHa pack for Replicant you've probably been able to upgrade one of those weapons once, which are also a really nice strength boost that leaves the freebie heavy swords and spears in the dust). As an introduction to the new weapon types it always feels like rough going. But then you get a chance to get decent weapons and the combat system truly opens up, and compared to the first game you really feel it. At this juncture I would always just bustle off to Facade and grab the Phoenix Spear and never look back-- the raw power compared to the rest of your arsenal coupled with the triangle dash is basically the bread and butter of the rest of the game. It's not exciting, but it's effective. No more triangle dashing, which was deeply disappointing... but both weapons definitely feel good. I am also somewhat ashamed to admit that it wasn't until now that I realized attacks weren't just about rhythmic input-- you can hold the attacks down to do different charged hits and combos depending on when you execute them in your combo, similar to Automata. I, uh... I felt a bit dumb. But hey, wow, it's a welcome adjustment and it makes all of the weapon types feel equally valuable for different purposes. I never liked using the heavy blades in the original release because they just felt too slow for the damage output they did, even if their 'point' was mostly to sheer off armor (and they definitely felt too slow for use in crowd control). Now they're still heavy and slower, but not to the point that you're basically leaving yourself open just trying to attack. Spears now do crazy sweeping combos and multi-hits. Both of these properties were borrowed from Automata and I find myself prioritizing melee combat and almost forgetting I have magic because honestly it just feels intuitive and fun. I feel like Kaine and Emil might have gotten a power boost as well? Not that I can really confirm this but going into some of the Junk Heap rooms I'd focus on killing a few robots in the corner and then turn around and just see a field of item drops and no more robots. Don't take my word on that, of course, but they felt a little more effective, and a placebo effect is still an effect. "You're staging a protest? That's fun!" Emil. Rebel without a cause. Will not hesitate to kill you if you trespass on his property. (Might explain the statues in the courtyard, actually.) I'll have to double-check this dialogue because I definitely remember more of a melancholia before we get to roasting marshmallows. I think Papa Nier actually offers to talk to/implicitly threaten the villagers to let them in the Village whereas Brother offers to sleep outside with them... which is actually kind of funny. In the former it comes off as Emil and Kaine maybe kinda-sorta not wanting to be allowed in the Village for their own reasons (they're not happy reasons but they're reasons nonetheless) and reassuring Father that no, it's okay, it's fun! The latter is almost telling Brother to stay inside because he'll ruin their sleepover.

(They're absolutely having giggly girl talk about him outside the gates, 100%.) they ran over the seals All I want in Seafront is to enjoy the music and run out to the big beach and hang out with the last living seals and they put a fucking pirate ship on top of them. Oh, wow. Gideon. Wow. OG Nier featured a Gideon that tried to keep himself together and then had fits of mania. You'd be concerned about him during some of the dialogue but generally speaking he came across as... functional. The delivery on all of his lines is now so insanely murder bonkers, like every line he's addressing you like you're already chained to the wall of his serial killer dungeon and it's glorious. I don't know if the distinction between the games is deliberate (in that Gideon in Gestalt was just more even-keeled between his 'rip 'em apart' snarlings and was always just totally nutso in RepliCant) but I do appreciate it. It's a good mirror to Brother Nier's own anger, which only ever seems to be mollified when he's talking to his friends (even kindly accepting sidequests there's a pretty consistent -- not universal, but consistent -- air of barely-bridled frustration). The other characters that Brother encounters are various reflections of himself if things had just been a little different-- Gideon was a representation of the kind of obsessive madness that would have eaten Brother alive if he hadn't had his network of support. Gideon's constant fury and bloodlust even bleeds into him just saying "What can I do for you?" He has no anchor to keep himself sane, nobody to stay human for; he's all mania, all anger, and he only takes any real interest in Brother on his return because he sees an opportunity to act out his vengeance. After defeating Beepy and Kalil he even goes so far as to not only blame Beepy for killing Jakob, but for also killing their mother, which is patently insane but really speaks to how far his justifications and fury have taken him. Papa Nier responds to his anger toward Beepy by basically backing away slowly and saying "Oookay then". Brother, however, actually commiserates; "That's enough. [...] We get it. We really do." This is definitely one of those moments where Brother's context works better than Father's; he absolutely sees himself in Gideon. He completely understands him and sympathizes. He recognizes the madness of his own quest, he sees where it could take him, and there's a resignation when he speaks to Weiss: "Revenge is a fool's errand." "...yeah." Papa Nier has a similar delivery and similarly implies that he understands how terrible his quest is, but there's something decidedly haunting in Brother's sympathy. Also just verifying something on the wiki and this bit of 'Trivia' really jumped at me:

Gideon is the only character to only cause the deaths of other characters. In his case, he caused a platform to crush Jakob and ordered the deaths of P-33 and Kalil, with P-33 surviving.

Metal AF.

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Rambling #He will always say 'here we go' in my heart #And that's probably a serious medical condition

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333dolans · 4 years ago

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Girls Like You // G.D

Hey loves! So I’m such a sucker for the twins as dads so I thought I’d write a lil something for dad!gray🥺 after that lil vid on his IG I was already soft and then a video got recommended to me on YouTube so I just had to write something🤍 Here’s the video for reference: https://youtu.be/qVBAOAMU7hg

Warnings: Dad Gray because it’s what we all needed🥰 literally just fluff!

Tags: @evergreendolan @dolansficsandpics @livexdolan @rhyrhy462 @reidscriminal @blindedbythelightt

Time is such a perplexing and peculiar concept for you to try to wrap your head around. The perception of time is subjective. For you, the past 4 years have felt close to a lifetime, yet also went by unexplainably fast, in the most intense and spectacular way. When spent with the right people, time feels distorted. You’re left unaware of how long has passed, yet still you never find yourself searching for the nearest clock or grabbing for your phone to check the hour. You find yourself revelling in the enthralling feeling.

It’s always felt like this with Grayson. From the day you first ran into your own personal angel in aisle 7 of Gelson’s, you have savoured every single moment spent with this man. Always thanking your lucky stars that you had ran out of avocados that day. Now here you are, on the 4th anniversary of that initial interaction, standing in the doorway of your shared bathroom admiring the two people you were undeniably put on this earth for. Heaven above knows they are your heart and soul in human form.

The sight unfolding in front of your eyes left you in complete awe. Words can’t describe the amount of love that was flowing through your body as you watched your fiancées big arms encircling your sweet little buba, holding her close to his bare, warm chest. You swear you felt your heart swell at the cheeky grins that took occupancy on their faces. You couldn’t help but pull your phone out from your jean pocket and begin filming.

Coming from the speakers in your bedroom, played “Girls Like You” By Maroon 5. Standing in front of the mirror, gently swaying in time with the music, Gray was staring at his beautiful baby girl with nothing but pure adoration. You could see the tears forming in his eyes as he attentively watched her every move. He studied her facial expressions with so much love and fondness, loving her little giggles when he began to quietly sing along with the song, only loud enough for his princess to hear. “I wants sing too dada!” Your precious 2 year old daughter, Fallon, bellowed. “So whats stopping you? Sing along baby!” Grayson grinned, tickling at her sides.

So many thoughts were filling your head but you were rendered speechless. Words couldn’t capture what you were feeling, but you wished you could experience it forever. You will never understand how you got so lucky. Whoever was watching over you, you couldn’t thank them enough for the life they have blessed you with. Once the final notes echoed between the tile walls, you stopped the video you know you all will treasure for years to come. You pushed off of your spot on the door frame and made your way over to your loves.

“Mama!! I missed you s’much!” Fallon shrieked, stretching her little arms out for you to take her in your own. You gladly scooped her up, smothering her face with lots of kisses, making her laugh uncontrollably. Gosh did you love this kid.

You took in a sharp breath as you allowed your eyes to take in the sight before you. Wearing nothing but his fitted dress pants, Gray stood in all of his glory. How was he still able to take your breath away every single time you see him? 4 years later and he still made your stomach flutter with just a simple look in your direction. In that moment, you were convinced there is nothing you would not do for your little family, they have your whole heart. After a few moments of silence, filled with your unwavering stare, Gray lightly ghosted your lips before locking his lips to yours.

Although no words were exchanged, the passion he put into the kiss spoke enough. You could feel the love radiating from his touch. When you broke away, you kept your foreheads pressed against each other’s, staring into his eyes.

“As adorable as you two were being, our reservations are in 30 minutes and the restaurant is a 25 minute drive. Get a move on Dolan, I don’t think they’ll appreciate public nudity.” You snorted as you trailed off into the bedroom to get Fallon changed into her outfit for the evening.

As you slipped the blush pink dress over her wavy brown locks, you let your mind drift to the scene that had played out just minutes ago, it already felt so long ago. When you were gazing into Grayson’s eyes, Fallon in your arms, you swear you saw your whole future reflecting in those warm pools of honey. This. This is where you were meant to be.

#dolan twins #dolan twins fanfic #ethan dolan #grayson dolan #grayson dolan angst #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins smut #dolan twin imagine #grayson dolan x you #grayson dolan x y/n #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan blurb #grayson dolan imagine #dolan twins angst #grayson bailey dolan #ethan grant dolan #lyss writes #my writing

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crazyfreckledginger · 5 years ago

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Batboys x Reader - “Fear”

Your arrival in the mansion has made you forget about what you were put through, quickly growing attached to all your new brothers. Slowly, you were starting to adjust after your incident. Until the Joker makes you have a stepback.

Requested on Wattpad: “Can I request a story for Batfamily x reader Age:8 She/He is captured by Joker and while her brothers and dad save her she gets infected with joker and scarecrow gas, and almost dies”

A/N: Hope you like it, sorry it took so long, but now my exams are over and I can write again yaaay!!

"This is my room?" Her eyes went wide as she stared up at Dick.

"Yup," he nodded.

"B-but it's so big, and other people might need a home, oh, am I sharing with other people?" There were conflicted feelings in her eyes.

"Nope, you have this beautiful room aaall to yourself." He placed the few belongings she had on her bed.

(Y/N) timidly felt how soft the mattress was before sitting on it.

"What if there are bad men hiding in the closets -- or under the furniture." Slowly, she hugged her legs, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"I'll check for you okay?"

"But what if they come during the night?" She was hugging her pillow now.

"My room is two doors down, just run as fast as your legs can go and I'll protect you." Richard smiled reassuringly.

****

It must had been a month since the girl had settled into Wayne Manor and she had grown attached to her brothers, Damian more or less.

She bit her tongue as she tried to keep her balance on the pavement, half of her hovering above the road.

"Careful," Tim clasped his hand with hers and slowly nudged her back to his side.

"Where are we going now, Timtim?" The girl skipped to stay beside him. As soon as her eyes caught a glimpse of the marble building on the other side of the road. (Y/N) groaned. "Please tell me we're not going for more money, there are so many people and it's not good to take money from others." The girl peered up at her older brother with puppy eyes.

"Huh? Oh you mean the bank, no we're not going in there, it's our money they keep in here as well. We're just picking up a few groceries and then we're heading back to the Manor." He stopped her in front of the small grocerie shop to pull out his wallet.

"But wouldn’t make that their money?" She scrunched her nose in confusion. The girl was met with a blank stare.

"Ask Jason next time you see him."

"Okay," she grinned. Her eyes locked on a dog that was nearing the pair.

"Okay, let's go in so we can be out quickly." He gripped his wallet and pushed the door open.

"Aww, puppy." (Y/N) smiled, crouching down as it cautiously sniffed her, completely ignoring the door closing behind her brother.

"Don't me scared 'kay? I only wanna cuddle you." The furball's tail started waggling rapidly, enjoying the small scratches she was inflicting on his forehead and behind his ear.

His mouth fell open, tongue springing free, thoroughly enjoying the treatment he was receiving.

A loudly explosion pierced through their ears as debris collided with a building on their side of the curb.

"Timmy!" She screeched, crouching down and covering her ears. The dog whined and rushed off.

"Well well, who do we have here?" A voice chuckled mischievously.

"H-huh?"

**** "What was that?" Tim scanned the small grocery shop.

"It sounded like an explosion!" The scared man behind the counter pressed a button under his till.

"Where-"

The young man's heart nearly dropped: (Y/N) wasn't here with him. He cursed under his breath, racing towards the door as a loud metal screech roared in the room. Bars were falling from in front of the main door in case of a robbery.

"No, no no!" The Wayne grunted, watching it fall tightly shut as he opened the windowed door.

"Open it!!" He turned to the cashier.

"I-I can't until the cops get here!"

*****

"Who was robbing the bank?" His fingers pulled at his strands of hair cascading down his forehead and teasing at his eyes.

"Joker." Dick murmured.

"This is so much fucking BULLSHIT!" Jason threw hands around.

"How long before you track her down?" Damian turned towards his father who was typing away at the Batcomputer.

"Soon, it's been narrowed down to two locations."

"Hurry up so we can go!" Red Hood ushered.

****

Slowly, her eyes opened, they felt heavy and unfocused. Her body was numb and her head ached against the cold, damp ground.

"D-daddy?" She sobbed, feeling the pain from each breath she took. A gasp escaped her as she finally realised something around her mouth and nose, which had previously muffled her sounds. It contained green gas and she was instinctively breathing it in.

Since when is air green??

Her arms and legs were tightly bound by rope that was digging into her skin. Squirming only made it worse.

"Aah, the little Wayne brat is finally awake, I was wondering how long you would take, I didn't hit you THAT hard, you're only of use to me alive." An insane cackle spread through the room. Her heartbeat picked up widely, making the pain even more unbearable at her poor attempt at respiring oxygen.

Small tears fell off her cheeks to the ground as she distinguished a figure in the dim lit room.

"You recognise me?" He teased, hovering over her restrained figure on the floor. She was too terrorised seeing the face of the man that she could only half recognise from when her brothers switched the new channel as soon as she entered the room.

Cowering inside herself, as much as her restrains enabled her to, she painfully watched as the mad man towered over her.

Abruptly, he pulled off the gas mask to watch her cough.

"Good, now the gas can sink into your lungs and show you loaaads of wonderful things." He snorted.

Terrorised, it felt like her throat and lungs tied a knot to stop her from breathing all together.

She shut her eyes as tightly as she could, hoping this was a nightmare, wishing she would wake up from it and having one of her brothers were soothingly combing through her hair, cooeing and reassuring her that everything was alright. That they were there for her -- but this felt all too real to be up to her imagination.

Glass breaking, thumping, groans, and yells teased at her ears, she heard, but could not listen. Her entire body was failing her, shutting down, purely mechanical.

Every thing felt distant, like her consciousness was leaving her body, her skin was burning up but she felt so cold inside, what happened to her?

After the torture her body was inflicting upon itself, her limbs went limp. Eyes fell shut, blocking out her unfocused and dazed senses.

Finally, the physical pain morphed into numbness, but the poor girl didn't know that her inner demons awakened, and the emotional pain was just starting.

****

"How is she, Alfred?" He rushed into the hospital, worry and concern threading at his face.

"She's... alive," the butler turned towards him with a sorrowful look.

"Her heartbeat is stable, but we don't know when she'll wake up." Dick muttered, head barely hanging from his shoulders as his attention stayed glued to the floor, elbows on either knees.

"Joker has disappeared again, we have to make sure this doesn't happen again." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's all good and well but-"

"Jason, not now," Tim interjected, shooting a glare his way as his older brother scoffed.

Dick stood up, sighing deeply and leaning against her bed.

Her heartbeat was above normal, clearly showing that she was either stressed, scared, or excited. However, her contorted, painful facial expressions showed that she was nowhere near that last one.

A single tear formed in the corner of her eye, dropping down towards her ear. His thumb rubbed it away, but the action only made his heart break.

(Y/N) was so cheerful around them, worming into their hearts and making a little home for herself. She was just a child, and she'd gone through so much in so little timex she didn't deserve it, none of his brothers deserved it.

A sob escaped her and all eyes tore to her.

She did not budge.

How could she still be asleep and crying? How much more painful could this be for her?

The heart monitor shot up, making alarmingly rapid noises. Damian, who had previously been quiet walked over to her bed and leaned over it, the others followed suit.

"P-please," the tiniest of whimpers escaped her and her eyes finally opened. The child sat up and crawled as far from the figures as she could instinctively.

"(Y/N), it's okay, it's Dick, everyone is hear as well," the eldest robin soothed, holding her hand and staring at her affectionately. His beautiful eyes held hers and upon recognising them, she accepted his firm hand, being pulled in his tight embrace. The others grouped around her in relief.

She was shivering, suspected of still being under the fear gas.

"We're here, and we're not letting you go until you're ready." Tim mumbled.

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joaquinfeed · 5 years ago

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[AU] Arthur Takes You To Prom HC's (Arthur Fleck x Reader)

Prompt: Just as the title says. :) Prom fluff AU. I didn't go into a lot of depth. Just a short little thing I thought of!

As soon as Arthur saw you in school, he thought you were stunning. You were the only person in the entire place that was nice to him. That, to him, was the most beautiful thing about you.

He knew prom was coming up, but he always figured he would never go. Who would want to go with him?

He secretly hoped, wished, and almost prayed that you would ask him.

If you did end up asking him to prom, he'd nearly fall over in shock. He wouldn't be able to understand why you asked him of all people.

His eyes widened, and he glanced around the hallway for any listeners. "Is- is this some sort of joke?"

"No! Of course not Arthur," you said. "I would never do that to you. Ever."

For weeks afterward, or up until prom, he would watch every facial expression you had and listen to every comment you made about the dance. He was so nervous that it was some big, elaborate plan you've created to make a fool out of him.

He knew you better than that. He knew you weren't like the others. You were so kind and compassionate. You listened to him. He loved that.

If he worked up the courage to ask you to prom first though, that's a different story.

He'd plan for weeks what we was going to say to you.

"You won't back out today," he whispered to himself while pacing the hallway by his locker. "You have to ask. You have to."

He walked over to you nervously, holding a single red rose behind his back. You looked up at him, curiosity playing on your face. Before he realized it, he was stammering out sentences that were barely coherent while tapping his foot against the marble floor.

"Do- I mean- would you-... I'd really like it if-"

Arthur tried to make the words come out, but your beautiful eyes looking back at him made him choke up further. He could feel the onset of laughter rising up in his throat like bile.

People started to gather around you both. His eyes darted back and forth between the crowd and you. Before you could do anything to ease his nerves, he shoved the flower towards you and blurted out the words 'for prom.'

You were so happy, the chattering around you seemed to fade away. You couldn't do anything but say yes.

People made fun of him. Rumors and talk about his 'promposal' could he heard at every corner of the school. You despised the way people treated him. If someone so much as looked at him wrong, you were on full protect mode.

Ultimately it didn't matter who asked who, you were both so extremely excited to be going with one another.

As soon as Arthur was convinced that you really wanted to go with him, he'd be saving up money for a suit. He wanted to look handsome for you; he wanted you to feel like you made the right choice.

You would be equally as willing to dress nice for Arthur. It's no secret you wanted to impress him as well.

On the night of the prom, he'd pick you up-- insiting that he be the one to come get you.

The fact that he couldn't drive and didn't have a car? Yeah, he didn't think that through.

As unconventional as it was, you took the subway to your prom. Arthur didn't want you to do any of the work that night, so even if you could drive, he wouldn't let you.

All night, he wouldn't be able to stop telling you how good you looked.

"You look perfect," he blushed, eyeing your outfit. "I don't know why you're here with me."

"I know why," you replied with certainty. "You look just as perfect."

When it came to the actual dancing part? Oh, this was Arthur's favorite part of the night. Well, except seeing you for the first time, and holding your hand, and hearing your laugh, and anything else having to do with you.

The night was filled with upbeat songs that Arthur danced to until his legs threatened to fall off. Although the music wasn't his style--he was definitely into older tunes--he appreciated the art in any form.

He'd beg you to dance with him. If you did, he'd spin you around the dance floor as other people watched in amusement. If you weren't much of a dancer, he'd let you watch as he 'showed you his moves.'

As soon as a slow song came on though, he'd shyly ask if you want to dance with him.

He led you onto the dance floor, and guided your hands to his shoulders before resting his nicely on your waist.

"Thank you for tonight," he said just loud enough for you to hear. "I'll never forget it."

"Me neither," you said. "But maybe we don't have to. We could, you know, spend time together outside of tonight."

"Really?"

You nod before leaning to press a kiss to his cheek. You hoped that it was okay to do that. Once you saw Arthur's burning cheeks and beaming smile, you knew that it was.

The night came to a close. Close meaning you dipped out of the prom to go get something to eat with Arthur. He said he was hungry, and who were you to deny him?

At the small restaurant, you almost had more fun there than at the dance. Arthur was glad to have you alone and away from the loud environment of school.

He'd tell you about his aspirations to become a comedian; he even cracked a few jokes--all of which you found hilarious.

"Why didn't the skeleton go to prom?"

"Why?"

"He had no body to go with."

The whole restaurant was surely glaring at you both for the level of noise coming from your table. Between laughter, jokes, and story telling, it was way past curfew before Arthur finally got you home.

Standing awkwardly in front of your place, neither of you knew what to do. Should you say goodnight? Should you kiss? What was appropriate? What wasn't?

Arthur wasn't sure which one of you leaned in first, but he could feel your bodies inching closer.

Before he could lose his nerve, he quickly pushed his head forward to capture your lips. Only, he didn't capture your lips. Instead, he felt his forehead collide with yours before he could stop it.

"Shit!" "Ow"

You both glanced back up at one another, holding your aching heads, before smiles started to tug at the corners of your mouths. Before you knew it, you were both laughing.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," Arthur said in between fits of genuine laughter. He couldn't help but blush once again at his mistake. "Did I hurt you?"

"Only a little. A kiss might make it better," you joked, and he hesitantly placed a kiss on the sore part of your forehead. "Hm, my lips hurt too."

"Now you seem to be the comedian," Arthur smiled. This time, he leaned in slowly and gently placed his lips onto yours. You both melted into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cup each other's faces.

Everything about the night went as perfect as you would've hoped. Arthur asked you not once, not twice, but three times if you enjoyed yourself. You happily answered that you did all three times.

Prom truly was a special night for you now.

However, It didn't compare to the night a few weeks later when Arthur asked you to officially be his.

#joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix joker #joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck x y/n #arthur fleck imagine #joker imagine

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galaxysedginess · 4 years ago

Text

The Lawful

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Satine Kryze, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul, Bo-Katan Kryze, Ursa Wren

Additional Tags: Satine Kryze Lives,��Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s05e16 The Lawless, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Romance, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Questioning the Code

Ao3 Link

“Attachment, Rang a pesky voice in his head. He was unsure whom it precisely belonged to, but for that matter of seconds, as he drank in the sight of seeing and feeling her alive, he shoved away his doubts."

Or, what if Anakin came along to rescue the Duchess of Mandalore?

The blood was pounding in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ears as they bounded by means of jetpack through the skies of Sundari, smoke and blaster bolts streaking the once pale beautiful horizon. Not for the first time since their capture and subsequent escape, he wished he still donned the Mandalorian helmet that he’d “borrowed” earlier. He rapidly blinked, trying his best to avoid running into one of Mandalore’s grandstanding skyscrapers or any of the ex-Death Watch warriors that escorted him. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

As Bo-Katan narrowly avoided collision after Obi-Wan had veered a bit too far to the right in attempting to evade shrapnel from another explosion, he deduced from her clipped tone that he may have better luck with the former as opposed to the ladder.

“Watch it, Jetii .”

“A bit tough to do with the change of scenery.” He countered back, managing a level tone despite the twist in his gut at seeing the seemingly utopian landscape reduced to yet another war.

The part of him that would normally take the moment to question the Death Watch’s motives was subdued by the situation at hand, which seemed to position them as allies in a turn of fate. Thank the force for that, because had it not been for their intervention, this would not have gone nearly as smoothly as he would have liked.

A blaster cannon soared from behind them, barely missing in part due to Bo-Katan’s unwavering determination to whip them every which way to shake off the enemy. He was grateful for it, but that didn’t stop the grimace that rose in his throat as they barrel rolled yet again.

He really hated flying.

He forced his eyes to remain forward and called on the living force to guide them through the despair, pulling from the light. He had to admit that it was difficult, surrounded by such destruction. Beneath them, a hospital was destroyed. To their left, a school and onwards, a market place. All were casualties in a needless fight that was orchestrated from the bloodthirsty dark side.

Who could want any of this?

If there was one thing Obi-Wan had learned through the countless tragedies from the Clone Wars, was that maybe, there was no such thing as true peace. Not the lasting kind, anyway.

Despite the chaos and mayhem that quite literally engulfed them in their haphazard attempt at an escape, topped off with Maul’s squadron of Mandalorians in tow, he still couldn’t find it in himself to wholly believe that. Not when there was still a chance.

Not when even through the smoke and the blood that polluted the once regulated airflow, he could make out the distinct and faint scent of water lilies brushing against his nose. Regardless of her several days of encampment and near-death, Duchess Satine Kryze still clutched onto him with the strength of a stubborn Tooka cat on its favorite scratching post, even if properly strapped to him prior. Obi-Wan could hardly blame her though, seeing as he was also determined to not allow something as frivolous as a faulty harness to be the cause of Satine’s demise.

Not when it seemed far too achingly close just minutes before.

He didn’t so much as have a moment to consider if she was truly alright, but he guessed that time would have to be for later. They had to move .

“Kenobi! Up ahead!” Ursa Wren shouted above the sounds of blaster fire from the treacherous crimson-colored warriors at their tails.

He did not need to see the ship to know that Anakin was close, the warm bond that had been kindled and strengthened after years of training. It felt a bit like a light at the end of a dreary tunnel. Anakin had not been keen on Obi-Wan’s direct orders to stick with the ship, but he’d hesitantly relented after it had become obvious, try as he might to deny it as he may, this was personal for Obi-Wan.

He would not be dragging Anakin or anyone else down with him on this mission.

However, in this present moment, when all he could taste was smoke and stray wind-beaten blonde hair, he was relieved for his former apprentice’s decision to stow-away (even if it had caused him grief earlier). The ship was beaten to a pulp, but it looked like in Obi-Wan’s absence, Anakin had made some modifications to it.

“Always on the move.” He internally chided, but again, could not stop the flush of elation that permeated across his chest, freeing some of the tension that had been knotted there ever since he first received Satine’s distress call.

That reprieve, unfortunately, was instantaneously cut loose when he felt himself whipped backwards and away from the ship that they were heading towards. Bo-Katan turned, mid-air and despite not being able to see her facial expression thanks to the mask on her head, he knew what she saw was far from good.

“Leaving so soon?” A raspy familiar voice shouted from behind them and Obi-Wan cursed.

He cocked his head over his shoulder, noting that none other than Maul stood on top of a speeder, darksaber drawn and ready, two of his faithful warriors at his side. His eyes perfectly matched the roaring fires that burned behind him. Obi-Wan did his best to shield Satine from seeing him, squeezing her tighter to his chest.

“You should know about running away.” He goaded, though Bo-Katan grunted in disapproval at his banter.

“You cannot run from destiny, Kenobi.” He said almost softly, gritting his yellow teeth as he stretched out in the force to attempt to pull them in as though they were caught in a ship’s tractor beam. “I have taken your master and now, I will have your beloved too.”

Obi-Wan resisted to his best ability without dropping Satine, placing them in what felt like a reverberated limbo, dangling above her people who cried for help as their newly “pledged” leader strove only for his own gains, which evidently included making Obi-Wan’s life as difficult and miserable as possible. On one end, there was victory in the form of retreat, with the engines running the promise for what would hopefully be a new tomorrow for Mandalore and its people. On the other, a painful and torturous end.

The aching in his bones and muscles said otherwise, but he knew, deep in his soul that this wasn’t the end.

He meant it earlier when he’d insisted it took strength to resist the dark side and he hadn’t just meant from the moral standpoint of pushing against darkness, but the sheer physicality of warding off Maul’s strangling grasp. Slowly, but surely, the jetpack began inching forward yet again and Maul released an infuriated scream, no doubt channeling the deepest of anguish to overpower Obi-Wan.

“But you won’t have Mandalore.” Came Bo-Katan’s grated voice, not muddled with resignation, but resolve, as she and her fellow “deserters” charged forward in an attack sequence that was clearly rehearsed beforehand.

“Bo!” Satine’s voice broke through the disarray for the first time in anguish.

“GET HER OUT OF HERE!” Bo-Katan shouted with only a single glance backwards before throwing herself directly in front of Maul and his readied blade. She parried him, prepared for the strike, but it was unclear how long even someone as strong as herself could hold off against the former Sith lord.

Cold realization settled in to Obi-Wan as he felt Satine’s pain through the force. This was her sister.

Once again, he regretfully didn’t have time to ponder this news. Maul’s cronies, dead set on appeasing their new leader, shot skillfully at Obi-Wan, and managed to scuff the left turbine engine, sending sparks as he and Satine briefly wavered. There was a single second where time passed terribly slow until Obi-Wan used everything left in him to push them forward through the force, throttling through the small entryway of the ship and skitting to an ungraceful landing across the durasteel floor of the ship. He didn’t release the breath he’d unknowingly been holding until the thrum of the ship indicated that it had launched into deep space.

They laid there for an uncertain amount of time before the shock of their own escape settled into their bones. It was Satine, who raised her head first, looking fearful at what she might find in his gaze, but for once, he did not hesitate or subdue himself when he reached forward and framed her face in his gloved hands.

Her alabaster skin was dusted in soot and her eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and immense sadness, making the intensity of their azure depths all the more captivating. He couldn’t remember last seeing her hair absent of any regality or so wind-swept, but the image reminded him painfully of a different time when Mandalore had been on the brink of swallowing itself whole and when they’d stolen glances and held hands beneath a shared cloak. Except this time, he came so narrowly close to losing her, that the weight of that guilt nearly crushed him.

“Attachment .” Rang a pesky voice in his head. He was unsure whom it precisely belonged to, but for that matter of seconds, as he drank in the sight of seeing and feeling her alive he shoved away his doubts.

She was alive. Right here in front of him. Closer than she’d been in years.

He also had to force away thoughts of when he’d last held her.

She opened her mouth to speak before closing it, taking in his face with her eyes with the same line of reverence that he felt.

“I’ve loved you always. I always will.” She’d said that. Those had been her chosen final words and he winced at how little he deserved them. How he didn’t deserve her or this moment of reprieve.

At the reminder of her close-call, he perked up instantly, feeling a bit ridiculous not to have immediately addressed her wounds.

“The darksaber.” Was all he could blurt out as he tenderly inspected the patch of exposed skin on her torso.

“It’s just a graze.” Was all she said in a hoarse voice, eyes still glued to his face as she reached out and smoothed what would likely become a scathing bruise across his cheekbone.

“A bump.” He said gently and held the hand that touched his cheek, feeling queasily reminiscent of when he believed for a moment that she was to die in his arms. She had literally met the blunt of the darksaber and yet she could only think of him. Both were of equal standing in terms of colloquialism, but neither were too fond of words at the moment. Obi-Wan didn’t have any for how he felt. Jedi weren’t supposed to, anyway.

Even that thought didn’t yet shake him as they still sat tangled together, simply amazed that the other was here.

“Ben.” She said gently, hardly above a whisper and the resurrection of the old nickname both tickled and pricked something soft in him that he believed had long since been put to sleep.

“Satine.” He said, trying to sound level, self-assured, but feeling none of that. “I thought…”

“I did too.” She swallowed and nodded before pressing her forehead to his. “I did too.”

“I wanted you to know-” He began speaking before his mind could catch up with him, paranoid instantly where his words would lead him without abandon, but showing no signs of stopping as he felt himself melt into her.

“-Well, don’t everyone thank me at-” A smug and approaching voice cut off surely at the sight of the uncharacteristically vulnerable scene he’d unknowingly interrupted.

“-Once.”Anakin winced as he leaned against the hanger door, shrugging in apology to Obi-Wan, who was trying very hard to give him a disapproving glance that was supposed to convey that nothing was happening, even if, Obi-Wan, himself wasn’t even sure if that were true. He just couldn’t tell whether he was grateful or wistful at his former padawan’s interference.

For Satine’s part, the bubble had been effectively popped as she straightened and stood to her feet, somehow looking regal even in the same clothes she’d worn for well over a week and with the dark circles under her eyes. There was still immense sadness there, no doubt for her people and for the sacrifice of her sister, but she’d returned to being the leader again.

“I am eternally grateful for the assist, Master Jedi.” She said in an even tone that didn’t dare suggest she’d been so close to crying.

Anakin nodded stiffly, shooting a brief glance at Obi-Wan to try and get a better read on the room before deciding it was best not to pry too much… Yet.

Obi-Wan grimaced as he knew what unrelenting teasing was heading his way once they were out of harm’s way.

“We’ll get you to safety, Duchess.” He said kindly. “You can count on us.”

She seemed to bristle at that and Obi-Wan could see the argument forming on her tongue about how cowardly she was being or that her safety would be a price she was more than willing to pay for her people. However, she swallowed them and nodded curtly instead. The exhaustion seemed to weigh on her for the first time as well as real dread. He wanted to probe for more, to try and help, but he knew this wasn’t the time. Satine would need and want space, which he would certainly give her.

He would also do everything in his power to get Mandalore back for her again. For the galaxy. Surely, that’s why.

“Yes, I can.” She finally said smoothly, sneaking a look at Obi-Wan that made him question for the millionth time in knowing her if she could read his mind.

And as Anakin retreated back to the cockpit and implored Obi-Wan to follow to discuss what half-truths they would tell the council as to why they broke rank to rescue Satine, Obi-Wan knew he was lying to himself.

#Star Wars #Obitine #tcw #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Satine Kryze #myfics #The Lawless #fanfic #swtcw

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justsomeoneunordinary · 5 years ago

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Le cirque des mirages

T, 3.7k, IronHawk, Fluff & Angst, Underage Drinking, Druge Use, Implied Child Abuse & Self-Harm, H/C - it’s all not that intense, there’s fluff too | AO3

―

The first time Tony fell in love he was eight years old.

His father was abroad for a week on a business trip and his mother and Jarvis took the opportunity to watch with him a circus performance. From the very second the director entered the arena Tony was completely entranced.

With awe in his eyes he watched the trainer tame a real lion, which almost took his breath away throughout the whole show. The horse spectacle put a smile on his face bright enough to reach from one ear to the other. Even the clowns made him laugh, although it took him only seconds to see through their tricks.

But his personal highlight were the acrobats; Those men and women bending the laws of physics according to their own visions through sheer muscle strength and concentration with grace and beauty. How they performed stunts in breathtaking elegance and finesse Tony never even could have dreamed of.

Throughout the whole show his mother failed to make him sit still ― because Tony, Tony felt like he was flying.

Even months later, his eyes still reflected the sparkle of the cheery-colorful costumes. He told everyone who wanted to hear ― and those who didn’t ― about his mathematical calculations, which he puzzled over for days. At what angle someone had to hold their pose in order to balance on a rope in the middle of the air, despite the high air resistance. How much strength it needed in the arms to swing from ring to ring without falling on the floor with a loud thump. Or how strong one had to push their legs so that another person could position themselves onto the feet.

Years passed and Tony never wished for anything other than watching a circus performance for his birthday. In every second that he didn’t convulsively try making his father proud, he dreamed of big tents, the interior filled with multicolored lights, and the feeling of warmth in his chest.

His illusions stopped all of a sudden when he was fourteen years old and his much older classmates all thought of him as boring. Instead, he began to devote himself to the art of seduction and became friendly with the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

But buried deep inside, the circus always remained his personal sanctuary.

―

The second time Tony fell in love he was seventeen years old.

Dead drunk and with no memory of the last three hours, he found himself right in front of a circus tent, the loud shouts from the inside announcing the beginning of a show. He didn’t know how his feet carried him to somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but instead of ordering a cab back to the MIT campus, he bought a ticket and before he knew it, he was in the middle of that turmoil that only tormented his drunken head even more.

Though the majority of the performance flew past him in a shimmer of colors and roars, he grasped enough to see that this was not a conventional circus. The acrobats sometimes lacked some limbs, knife throwers threw at each other and not at targets, fire-eaters jumped simultaneously on trampolines, clowns juggled with swords… if Tony hadn’t been so sure that he hadn’t touched a single joint that day, he would have been convinced he was high.

Just when he thought the performance was over and he was ready to go back―

“And now a big round of applause for the star of our show, The World’s Greatest Marksman! Or as you know him: Hawkeye!”

―the wind was taken out of his sails.

A boy, not possibly older than fifteen, entered the arena in a purple suit, bow in one hand and arrow case in the other over his shoulder swinging. His blond hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed, a scar ran across his right cheek and a devil-may-care grin graced his lips.

Tony was immediately captivated in its spell. As if hypnotized, he watched this boy shoot his arrows at the moving targets in a matter of seconds without looking at them once, and each time hitting bull’s eye. Watched the muscles of the upper arms illuminated by the spotlight move as the bow was pulled. Watched him roll in midair as he was light as a feather.

Tony couldn’t help but return the next day. And the day after that. And as often as possible until more than a month had passed and his fascination with Hawkeye still didn’t find an end at all. He no longer even looked the other attractions anymore, but only had eyes for the mysterious and mesmerizing archer.

Then, the circus did what all circuses do ― they moved.

And Tony followed.

But Tony was first and foremost an MIT student, and there was only so much he could do. If he hadn’t been a billionaire’s son with unlimited access to his fortune since hacking into Howard’s bank account years ago, he would never have been able to follow them across the states whenever he had a day off.

Before he knew it, two years had passed and Tony had graduated from the university with two doctorates. The circus had once again temporarily taken root in New York, where he also planned to complete his third doctorate.

Since his third visit, he could’ve sworn that Hawkeye winked at him at the end of each of his shows ― this assumption was confirmed when, once again, he was the last one left in the tent, sweetly dazed from the marijuana mixed with the bitter taste of the whiskey, before carefully stumbling outside.

“Y’know,” greeted him a chirpy-cheerful voice to his left, “they call me Hawkeye because I observe a lot and see things better from a distance. Not just see, but see, know what I mean?”

“Ah, and here I thought it’s because you’ve got a bat’s sense of hearing,” Tony couldn’t help but say. At least this earned him an amused snort.

“Nah, ‘m hard of hearing and if I weren’t so good at lip reading, I wouldn’t have understood a word of what you just babbled,” came the witty answer Tony admittedly hadn’t expected. “I must’ve left quite an impression that you watch my shows regularly over two years, huh?”

Oh, haughty. Tony liked that a lot. “Who says I’m here for you? Maybe I’m just here because of the incredible Swordsman, ever thought about that, huh?”

Another snort. “Two words: Hawk. Eye.”

Technically, this was still just one word, but okay, he won that round, Tony didn’t know how to counter that.

Then, with a jerk, he pushed himself off the pole he had been leaning against and came so close to Tony that they breathed the same air. “Name’s Clint,” he introduced himself with a mischievous grin on his face.

Which Tony already knew. Clinton Barton, seventeen, joined together with his older brother Barney the circus when he was only nine years old. Tony did not stalk him; those are the only information he had dug up ― he just really had wanted to know who that amazing archer was.

“Tony Carbonell”, he said, like the professional liar that he was, and grinned right back.

Clint nodded once, licked his lips and asked uninhibited, “Wanna fuck?”

Hell yes, he almost shouted, if… if he hadn’t seen something in Clint’s sky-blue eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. A mixture of insecurity, fear and caution ― once bitten, twice shy, he thought. Tony understood that there depended more from his answer than just its semblance.

“Thanks, but not today. Perhaps some other time, if the offer still stands then.”

As if on command, Clint’s whole posture visibly relaxed, as if an invisible weight had fallen from his shoulders. Jackpot.

“Do you want to share a joint with me instead?” Tony seamlessly changed the subject, like he had learned from child on as the center of the media to let a conversation dance according to his pipe.

Clint shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Which is how minutes later Tony learned that Clint had never smoked a joint before. He also learned that Clint was a terrific storyteller. In particular, however, he learned that Clint’s laugh could even lighten a cathedral.

In less than two hours, the two of them became best friends. And less than three weeks of those regular meetings, they became lovers.

When one night under the starry sky Clint kissed him on the mouth without even a warning ― in the middle of the sentence ― it was as if the world had stood still. Chaotic and moisty and interrupted by their drunken laughter, it was the worst and best kiss of his life.

Two days later, Tony rented a shabby little flat in Manhattan that was about to collapse. Strictly speaking, he bought the whole building, but he twisted the truth there a little bit. That was the only way how he could bring Clint home without Howard knowing about it and without Clint getting wind of his wealth.

“I like your place. Nice view,” mocked Clint. After that there was not much left to say, because Tony wanted to inaugurate this apartment. Years ago, Tony had already lost all interest in virgins, but Clint’s inexperience was a delight that surprised even him. Every single touch left his skin tingling and made his heart flutter in an irregular rhythm. Clint tasted like honey and smoke, like nutmeg and vodka, like strawberries and chili ― he tasted like love.

Even in the dim light of the apartment, Tony took every opportunity to trace the contours of Clint’s muscles crafted by his archery training, and to memorize Clint’s facial expression forever at his climax. Not even Michelangelo could have captured the subtleties of such beauty.

Being in a relationship with Clint was nothing Tony had ever experienced before. But not everything thereof was positive. There were hardly any days when Clint wasn’t covered in bandages and plasters or grazes. Most of them Tony knew that they were the result of Clint’s clumsiness, who stumbled over his own feet even on flat ground and then broke his nose masterfully. But some of them were too deep, too clean, too precise. Tony knew what it looked like trying to make a wound look like an accident.

Once, Tony didn’t have enough whiskey left, so he brushed his teeth with gin and tonic. When he tried to kiss Clint afterwards, he was pushed so strongly that his butt landed on the floor. Clint threw up in the toilet and collapsed there, trembling and bathing in sweat.

Howard may have been an absent father who never showed a shred of interest in Tony, but at least he’d never raised his hand against his own family. Tony swore to never even look from the canthus at a gin again.

Ultimately, however, the shady sides were covered by the sunny ones. Because that was how it felt like to be with Clint ― like a warm sunny day, the rays of which finding their way into his deepest parts.

After the circus moved again, Tony continued to visit as often as he could. They then spent the nights in Clint’s bed, where Barney could catch them at any moment. It was absolutely worth the risk. And Tony didn’t have the slightest clue how, but Clint managed to convince the circus director to stay in New York more often and longer. For completely selfless reasons, he claimed.

Often it was impossible for Tony to hide his true intellect, simply because he didn’t want to. Only two months into their relationship, he learned to use ASL fluently. If Clint had had more TV access or at least a little interest in magazines, he would have quickly known who Tony really was.

“You are really good with those computers, aren’t you?”

An understatement for Tony, especially considering that Clint had already met DUM-E. But he just hummed simply while he continued to work on his next AI and enjoyed Clint’s feather-light kisses on his neck.

“Can you also hack and stuff?”

Here he had to laugh softly. “Three years ago, Rhodey bet with me that I could never ever hack the Pentagon. Guess who won.”

“Cool.” There was a grin on the back of his neck Tony could literally feel.

Which was the only explanation for how it happened that Tony hacked into NASA’s server an hour later and, while he was already there, corrected a few of their mathematical equations. It wasn’t even in the top ten of the most dangerous things he had done with Clint. Their relationship might’ve been a lot of things, but sure as hell never boring.

Two years later Howard was driving drunk, killing not only himself but also Tony’s mother. From then on, everything went down the drain.

Tony almost drank himself into nirvana and when he suddenly woke up in the bed of his apartment with a pounding headache, he found Clint snuggled up next to him. Tears adorned his eyes, which were darker than usual and reminded him of blueberries ― Tony’s new favorite fruit, as he decided at exact that moment.

Clint said nothing, he didn’t need to. In the end, Howard Stark and Harold Barton were more alike than Tony had first thought. He tried not to think about having no excuse anymore to take over his legacy and that Uncle Obie would soon find him. Instead, he hugged Clint closely and placed a tender kiss on his temple while he could still do so. The steady heartbeat of Clint’s and his hand stroking trough his hair was the only reason he stayed sane.

Love, Tony thought, must be the power of the gods.

Twelve days later, he received a call from the hospital where Clint was taken to the ER. He had had to be resuscitated during the operation and was now lying unconscious in bed tied up on various machines.

It was only after 37 hours that he finally woke up.

Jacques, the Swordsman, had stolen money from the circus and when Clint tried to tell the director, he was downright beaten to death. Barney had just turned his head and left him on the floor. Tony didn’t show his anger even for a second while those incidents were being recited. He waited for Clint to fall asleep again and then contacted his lawyers ― after hitting the wall with his fist until it was red with blood as the rage boiling through his veins like hot lava.

Tony accepted that it was probably time to tell Clint about the things he had been hiding. It wasn’t that he had deliberately wanted to lie for two years, he was only afraid that Clint would turn away from him as soon as he knew who Tony really was. His pejorative attitude towards the rich clearly spoke for it.

But Tony had the means to help Clint, so he would take the risk. He decided to address this as soon as they were home. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in the hospital.

“Yesterday,” Clint began to say out of the blue on the fourth day of his hospital stay, “one of those suit wearers came to visit me. Coulson or something’s his name. Miracle he could sit down with the giant stick in the ass.”

He interrupted himself because of a fit of giggling. The painkillers had a strong effect on Clint. “Anyway,” he continued after a few minutes, “he offered me a job. Said they could use someone with my particular skillset.”

After a long break Tony asked, “And?”

“And… I think I want to take a look at that offer.”

Tony scratched his chin where he had started to grow a goatee. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. It sounded to him as if he’d never see Clint again, as irrational as the thought was.

“Will you… will you come back?” he just had to ask, while carefully taking Clint’s hand in his and slowly following the early rough lines crafted from archery. He would never tire of the feeling of Clint’s hand in his.

This earned him a smile, so bright that his eyes shone even more beautiful than the stars in the sky. “Of course. I will always come back to you, Tony.”

But in the end, their relationship had been nothing more than a circus of illusions. A world where Tony could just be himself. Not Tony Stark, child prodigy, son of the so-called ‘Icon of America’s Strength’, heir to a multibillion-dollar company ― just Tony. A world in which he was loved not for his money or fame, but for his heart.

A world in which Clint wasn’t the victim of child abuse. In which he wasn’t betrayed by his only brother and left behind to die. In which he didn’t hurt himself just to see if he could still feel. In which he hadn’t run away from anything all his life and wouldn’t do it again. Simply a world in which he was happy.

Because that was where they both gave in to the illusion. They had been so busy with being happy that they both forgot one important thing: Life always caught up with you.

Twenty years and almost the end of the world had to pass for their paths to finally cross again.

―

The third time Tony fell in love he was forty-two years old.

Rubble and ashes had made themselves comfortable in his new home. A huge crater graced the floor of his living room and the Avengers stood awkwardly in the middle, as if ordered and not picked up.

This was the first time the circus had found him, instead of the other way around.

Clint leaned against the back of the sofa and was inspecting his bow. His face was decorated with shiners and blood, though this time Tony at least knew where they came from. His posture screamed nonchalance, but his frown whispered unease.

Without thinking about it, he stood next to him, their shoulders almost touching, and continued to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have stayed away ― Clint has always had a magnetic attraction on him.

“So, you’d come back, huh?”

Clint didn’t seem fazed at all. But the days Tony was able to read him like an open book were over a long time ago. He wondered if Clint even realized that he built the Stark Tower on exact the same spot their apartment used to be, before he had the building torn down.

“So, Tony Carbonell, huh?” came the snarky reply.

Okay, fair enough. “My mother’s maiden name was Carbonell, so I didn’t lie technically.”

“Well, I came back now, so technically I didn’t lie either.” And then Clint had the utter gall to grin at him. Tony almost punched him.

He thought of all those days he had been waiting in the apartment for Clint to return. Thought of all those hours he stared at the telephone in case of a call. Thought of all those times he anxiously went to hospitals and police stations, hoping to find Clint somewhere there.

After six months of unsuccessful searching, he had resigned himself to the fact that Clint no longer wanted him. That he had found out who Tony really was and that he’d just left him to twist in the wind.

Whiskey had found its way through his blood system more than ever. Cocaine had blurred his reality until he ended up in the ER which is why he stopped with it immediately. Men and women had warmed his bed, imitating what he and Clint had had. His nights have never been the same again.

Even after Tony moved to California ― trying to chase the sun’s rays, which Clint had always made shine for him ― he never quit their apartment lease. Just in case. Instead, he installed a camera there that J.A.R.V.I.S. could access. Just in case. Throughout all those years, he had looked at the death notices every day with trembling nostrils. Just in case.

It suddenly dawned on Tony why the alarm bells always rang when he saw Coulson. The new job. Special Agent Clint Barton ― codename: Hawkeye. From the circus’ star attraction to a high ranked spy. Now an Avenger. Tony had always known that Clint’s life had been nowhere near normal ever.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze back to Clint. Tony chose his next words very carefully. “In the past twenty years I’ve done some stupid things that I can’t even begin to list. Many of them were created under the influence of alcohol,” here he looked him straight in the eye without a hint of hesitation, “but not once have I even touched a gin again.”

When Clint finally dropped his mask ― his own illusion of indifference ― Tony was able to pinpoint it the exact moment it happened. His light blue eyes, previously disinterested and dull, shone in a new light, encased by insecurity and adoration, shame and mischief, pleading for forgiveness and radiating warmth all at the same time. A mess of feelings, each of which Tony was allowed to identify and classify.

“I like your new place. Nice view,” Clint just replied. The meaning of his words made his heart skip a beat. Warmth filled him from within that Tony couldn’t help but give him a shy smile, full of trust and hope.

When suddenly Clint put his arm around Tony’s shoulders, it was as if they were both just two stupid teenagers again, bathing in each other’s attention and the weight on their shoulders not yet so heavy that it dragged them down. The bare spot on his neck, which wasn’t covered by the Iron Man armor, tingled with the touch. Blood roared in his ears and a wave of emotions hit him so hard it almost took his breath away.

Tony threatened to lose the ground under his feet. In order not to panic and kiss Clint directly on the mouth here and now, he blurted out the only thing he could do to deliberately hide the upcoming tears in his eyes: “So, shawarma?”

Clint’s loud laugh echoed through the room like a bird’s song in a cave.

And Tony fell in love again.

#may writes #ironhawk #clintony #hawkiron #tony stark #clint barton

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lostinthewiind · 5 years ago

Text

Tell Me More

Lewis Nixon - Band of Brothers

Synopsis: Lewis loves nothing more than hearing how another man fucked you while you get him off, but when the newest man on your list of sexual conquests is his best friend, the evening takes a unique turn.

Warnings: ***SEXY TIME***

Tag List: @warmommy @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @scissorsfordoc @wexhappyxfew @curraheev @mayhem24-7forever @one-who-hunts-eagles @bandofmarvels @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @wildwilliamgaurnere @majwinters @theonetryingtolive @higgles123

By the time you reached Lewis’ quarters that evening, you still hadn’t managed to catch your breath completely. You were sure the buttons on your jacket were skewed and that your hair was not as slicked down as it should be, but considering it was the middle of the night, you weren’t exactly too worried about your appearance. You always made sure to head right to Lewis after the deed was done; you didn’t want to forget a single detail.

Like usual, you knocked three times before slowly pushing the door open. The room was cloaked in darkness with the only source of light being the moonlight and distant street lights that shone in through the single, small window on the opposite wall.

As soon as the door was closed behind yourself, you locked it and shed your jacket from your shoulders. Seconds after the heavy article of clothing landed on the floor, the lamp on the bedside table flickered to life.

“Hello.” Lewis smiled at you, already sitting in bed, his suggestive positioning making it obvious that he had been waiting for you. With his back against the headboard, he had one knee propped up, his right arm resting on it, while the other arm was dropped down to where he was slowly massaging himself over his boxers.

Bending over, you began to untie your laces, and as you kicked your boots to the side, Lewis sat up more and his hand drifted away from his crotch. “Who was it tonight?” he cut straight to the chase, never being one to beat around the bush, especially when it came to his own pleasure.

You never managed to wrap your head around why Lewis opted not to fuck you himself, but the arrangement the two of you had meant that you could sleep with whomever you wanted while still having the luxury of coming back to the same man every night. Somehow, you were granted the gift of monogamy and polygamy; the best of both worlds.

It wasn’t that Lewis never fucked you, however, it was just that he preferred this much more, and who were you to judge how he liked to get his kicks?

As you pulled the white t-shirt over your head and began to slide your pants down your legs, you could feel Lewis’s eyes on you. He always enjoyed watching you undress, so as much as you could, you tried to make it into a little show. Slow movements, direct eye contact, suggestive actions; he ate it up like he was starving.

With your skin rising with goosebumps from the cold air, you slowly approached the bed, your steps agonizingly slow and deliberate. Jumping up, Lewis positioned himself on his knees at the edge of the bed and waited for you to position yourself in front of him.

With rough hands ghosting over the bare flesh of your sides, Lewis looked at you, his eyes wide and bright, silently begging you to tell him who had you had just finished fucking.

You captured his handsome face in your hands and kissed him once. “Guess,” you told him, eager to find out who he thought you had spent your night with previously.

Lewis’ eyes drifted down to your beautiful mouth while he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Liebgott?” he played it safe with one of your regulars.

“No,” you shook your head. “If it was Joe, I would be covered head to toe in hickies. That man has a magic mouth.”

“Hmmm.” he thought some more, completely unbothered by the blatant way you had just complemented another man’s mouth; a mouth that frequently explored every inch of your body. “Talbert?”

You chuckled slightly when you remembered your last night with Floyd. It had certainly been one hell of an event, and for a lack of better words, you had definitely had some trouble walking for a day or two afterward. “Good guess.” you gently pushed Lewis back onto his haunches and climbed onto his lap, your legs straddling him. “But wrong again.”

“I give up.” his hands drifted down to cup your ass and give a firm squeeze. “Tell me.”

A sly smirk spread onto your face. That night, you had had a new man. A man that both you and Lewis would have never thought would be willing to play the little game the two of you had created.

“Dick.” you finally elevated the intense anticipation of knowing.

Lewis’ hands froze and his mouth opened slightly, but for a few seconds, no sounds came out. “Dick?” he inquired. “Winters?”

You nodded as you pressed your hips down into his, relishing in the small, almost non-existent moan that escaped his lips. “Richard Winters had a very hard day today and was more than willing to let me help him relax.”

Lewis swallowed hard and you could see what you hoped was excitement radiating off of him. His hands grabbed your ass hard again and he held you place while he rocked his hips up and ground against you, desperate for any little bit of friction he could get.

“Tell me everything.” he nearly begged before he attacked your neck with his mouth, his stubble both scratching and tickling your sensitive skin. In the blink of an eye he had turned primal, and although it didn’t seem any different than all the other times at first glance, you could feel something unique in his movements.

You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, but there was something abnormal this time around, but in no way were you complaining. If anything, you wished he could hold the same hunger for you every single night.

“He called me into his office to discuss the patrol from last night.” you began to retell the encounter to the man underneath you. “I could tell he was stressed. His eyelids were drooped and his shoulders were so tense.”

“So you helped relieve him of all of that stress like the good girl that you are?” Lewis interjected, his words coming out staggered in between open-mouthed kisses and nips to your shoulder and collar bone. “Beautiful, smart, sexy, and caring?” he quirked a single brow as he paused to look up at you. “How did I manage to land the whole package?”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pushed Lewis down onto his back and fell down on top of him. “I do it all for you.” you reminded him. “My man who lets me go out and fuck whomever I want, whenever I want.”

“Keep talking.” he breathed, his chest rising and falling and moving you along with it. “What happened next?”

“Next, I got down on my knees like a good girl and wrapped my mouth around his cock,” you explained as you snaked your hand down the front of his boxers and grabbed ahold of his stiff cock. “It had been such a long time since he had been with someone, I could tell. He was like putty in my hands. Fingers tangled in my hair, his free hand gripping his desk for support, his eyes shut and his mouth hung open wide.”

Lewis’ hips began to buck upward to meet your hand because the slow, tantalizing strokes you were giving at that point were teasing him beyond belief. “Dick never was good with getting women.” he panted. “If it were up to him, he would still be a virgin I’m quite sure.”

“It’s a good thing it isn’t up to him, then.” you ran the pad of your thumb over the tip of his penis and watched as his eyelids fluttered in response. “He almost came into my pretty little mouth, too, but before he could I told him to bury himself inside of me and take out all of his stress on my body. I could tell a part of him wanted to refuse ⁠— a part of him hated the thought of using a woman like that ⁠— but by then he was already too far gone, so he happily obliged my request.”

“He fucked you good, didn’t he?” Lewis was beginning to reach his own climax, but for some reason, having your hand around him wasn’t cutting it that time. Maybe it was because you looked absolutely breathtaking in the moonlight while you sat atop him, or maybe it was because you were describing the act of fucking his best friend while jerking him off, but whatever it was, it ignited an urge inside of him; an urge to be inside of you that needed to be satisfied that minute.

The thought of having Dick Winters’ sloppy seconds was a thought that drove Lewis Nixon absolutely mad ⁠— and the fact that the sloppy seconds were his woman made it even better.

“He fucked me real good.” you moaned as his hand dipped down between your thighs, pushed the fabric of your panties out of the way, and began to rub small circles over your soaked clit. Normally these nights were all about Lewis and you would merely recall the good fucking you had just received while jerking him off, but again, you weren’t complaining.

“Tell me how good he fucked you.” Lewis pushed his boxers down his thighs and teased your wet folds with the tip of his cock. “I want to hear every little dirty detail.”

“He-” you started, but your sentence trailed off and was replaced with a guttural moan as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. Inch by inch, Lewis sunk deeper into you, his eyes analyzing your facial expressions and his hands tracing the outline of your body. “He sat me down on his desk and fucked me right there on top of all his paperwork. My juices dripped all over his reports.”

Lewis bottomed out and let his head fall back. “Oh, God.” he shuddered at both the feeling of being completely inside of you and the euphoric sensation of your naughty words drifting into his ears, bringing to life erotic and raunchy visions of Dick Winters taking you on his desk.

“I’m so wet for you.” you were so caught up in the moment that your encounter with Dick completely slipped from your mind. “Fuck me, Lewis. Fuck me like no one else ever has ⁠— like no one else ever could.”

Reaching up, Lewis pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh.” he cooed. “Keep telling me about Dick. How did he fuck you?”

Your mind began to go foggy as Lewis pushed and pulled in and out of you, but through the haze, you still managed to locate the memory that had taken place not an hour ago. “He buried his head in my neck and p-pounded into me over and over again.” you desperately tried not to melt into Lewis’ every touch. “He was so big and so talented. He covered my mouth with his hand to keep me from screaming.”

“But you screamed anyway, didn’t you?” Lewis knew you far too well for your own good. “I know how you like to scream. Did you scream his name?”

With a sudden jolt, Lewis slammed into you hard, sending chills up and down your entire body. “Lewis!” you cried out involuntarily.

“No, not my name.” Lewis grabbed your hips and kept himself inside of you while he flipped you over so you were on the bottom now. “His name. Did you scream his name?”

“Yes.” you nodded frantically as you began to feel the familiar and yet, always unique, sensation building in your core. “I screamed his name so loud. I tugged on his red hair with my hands. I wanted him so bad and he made me so happy.”

Lewis was nearing his own orgasm as quickly as you were, but there was one final thing he needed to hear before he could let himself go. “Was he the best fuck you’ve ever had?” he questioned, his eyes glued to your face, waiting for the answer.

You stared up at Lewis and took in his features; his breathtaking eyes, his beautiful mouth, his thick, luscious hair, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say it no matter how much you knew he wanted to hear it. Grabbing his cheeks with your hands, you pulled him down to you and kissed him wantingly. That time, you wanted it to just be you and him.

“No.” you shook your head adamantly as his thrusts became erratic and sloppy. “He wasn’t.”

Lewis let a whimper escape himself. “Please, say it.” he pleaded. “Was he the best fuck you’ve ever had?”

“No.” you insisted as you wrapped your legs around his waist and used the heels of your feet to push him all the way inside of you. “No, he wasn’t. You are. You are, Lewis. You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Lewis never thought he had ever enjoyed hearing his name flow off of your tongue more than he did right then, and for a split second, you made him forget about Dick Winters all together.

“Who’s the best fuck you’ve ever had?” he asked again as he pushed you closer and close to your climax.

“You are.” you moaned out as your body began to shake uncontrollably with the oncoming crashes of euphoria, and at that moment, you were trapped in the undertow of the pure pleasure that Lewis Nixon brought you.

When your walls began to contract around him, Lewis couldn’t hold on any longer and let his release take over his entire body. As soon as he collapsed on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist and he began to press kisses to whatever part of you he could get access to.

With a heaving chest and sweat covered skin, you ran your fingers through Lewis’ hair and smiled up at the ceiling. “You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had, Lewis Nixon,” you told him. “Always have been, always will be.”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fanfic #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #dick winters #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #lostinthewiind #hbowar #sexy time

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saint-patrice · 5 years ago

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“Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD”

here are some more of my favourite marchy pics, complete with my bizarre personal commentary, for anon! the 34 bergy pics can be found here also!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m up for taking people’s requests if there’s a particular player they’d like to see! inbox is always open (and anon is on) so just drop me your request and i’ll get working on it :)

okay so this is some absolutely premium cute marchy!! the smile that manages to be completely self-confident yet in no way cocky? the polite little wave as he surveys his audience who, if i recall correctly, were booing him heavily?? oh i do love you mr rat. marchy is fantastic and i have so much respect for the way he deals with his reputation across the league and the excessive amount of shit he gets.he knows what people think of him yet doesn’t seem to let it get to him. i have so much love for him.

KATRINA IS LEGENDARY. before moving on to the part of the image that gave me whiplash when i first saw it, we’re back to talking about brad’s smile. i think i said it in my last post but he really is one of those people who smiles with their whole face - even if you just saw his eyes in this photo you can immediately tell that he’s got that little grin on his face and that’s adorable tbh. now onto the d*lf mug (censored bc i fear the dodgy underground porn blogs these days)… i don’t even know where to start. i feel like he very proudly bought it for himself. and it’s like the only mug he ever wants to drink out of. just my take. i also think the longer hair really suits marchy ngl

ahhh the boys and their dirtbag christmas suits 💛 highlights of this image are the suit jacket that is definitely just one size too small for this absolute man rocket, and the pants with “FRAGILE” plastered all over them - very relatable if not at all festive.

gay rights are stored in the rat!!! i’m glad marchy has been pretty open about his support of LGBT stuff, particularly within hockey. also i feel like some of the stuff he’s said in interviews or social media (esp re: lickgate) manages, even if not intentionally, to be quite diminutive towards implicit homophobia or ‘toxic masculinity’ within hockey. okay maybe that that was poorly expressed but basically he just doesn’t give a shit and appears very open and accepting and i think that’s super nice. this picture also makes for a good reaction image when someone says something dumb

short kings love.jpeg !! a wonderful example of the love that brad shows his teammates on a regular basis, despite his constant chirping. i have no real opinions on torey krug (no h8, i just don’t think i’ve seen that much of him off ice so idk) but him and marchy are quite the duo tbh, i live for their back and forths on twitter - more on that later - and they seem to love each other an awful lot, it’s v cute :^)

that’s my pest™. honestly i think lickgate is one of the best scandals in recent hockey history. when looking for a good image of this is saw an article where some dipshit reporter was outraged about it and was like “how would you feel if someone just came up and liked you?” i mean what if someone just came up and started punching you or hip-checked you into the wall????? hockey is a nasty game a lot of the time, and instead of giving people concussions or broken bones (not that he hasn’t in the past ik…) marchy managed to make opposing teams just as angry, if not moreso, just by licking players. i think it’s fucking hilarious. and most of them took it well in hindsight anyway - i think it was komarov who said he kinda liked it lmaoooooo. peak bradley kevin antics if you ask me

every pic from the china trip has such a special place in my heart. this is just an all-round adorable photo and brad is looking gorgeous in the sunlight and his backwards cap

brad waving the towel in surrender is just about the funniest thing i’ve ever seen someone do in the penalty box… i can’t believe they gave him a 10 minute misconduct for it, something i think they’d wouldn’t have done if it had have been someone else. at least someone in this league has a goddamn sense of humour. the penalty minutes stat in the corner just makes this even better

brad, once again, showing us how we should deal with people talking shit about us - just get on board with it. i love how much he’s just embraced his massive nose and his height and his general reputation. idk if it’s really deliberate but i think it’s such a good message to send, and it makes for some pretty funny stuff too.

brad single-handedly keeps nhl refs in a job. in my bruins drinking game™ you have to take a shot every time the ref has to physically restrain marchy (2 if it’s because he was going to get revenge or fend for bergy) and you could get fucked off that alone during some games. it was nice to see him not actually get suspended this year, but i will always love that he’s such a physical player and quite the pest on the ice :))

me: *slaps helmet of brad marchand* this bad boy can fit so much personality.

really though, can you believe he’s managed to squeeze more charisma into only 5 feet and 9 inches than 85% of the league combined… very cute picture, and always lovely to see him by bergy’s side on the ice where he belongs

oh my goddddddd how fucking cute is this though!!!! the hat! the dad energy those jeans and the boots give off!!! his face!! his little daughter!!!!! i can’t take it, my heart is going to burst.

(gif via @kureally) this is also just so cute, i need a minute. brad has some very powerful eyebrows and this gif displays them wonderfully. this section of behind the b was also pretty sweet all round, and i agree with pasta that the hair is looking pretty first class

(gif via @murlin09) i am not like into marchy (no tea no shade if u are though), but this gif… whew. i’ll let you come to your own conclusions on this one, gang

i was not lying when i said more on the brad-torey social media antics earlier. there are some truly iconic chirps (the zamboni one is lethal), but this self-roast just kills me every time. i never once thought i’d read a tweet from the official brad marchand twitter account that opened with “hey shorty” but here we are. “my nose wouldn’t fit” i astral projected the first time i read that. and if you’re wondering what torey said to prompt this, it was simply “hey marchy”. it doesn’t take much for brad to light on you, huh? we better watch our backs

definitely a favourite marcheron pic right here - the pucks and paddles (i still think that’s a questionable name but maybe that’s a me issue) content is always top notch. if you can find the video, it’s even better, but this picture captures the general energy of the video perfectly. the only thing missing is that brad’s feet aren’t actually on the floor because the height difference is so pronounced that bergy has to lift him. beautiful

return of the cute brad smile!! a cute yet mischievous little grin, i can only assume he’s restraining himself from laughing at m*tthews fivehead (although who is he to talk with that schnozz. at least he rocks it tbf 👃🏻). not sure blue is really his colour but he’s going for it anyway. that’s my all star!

it’s been days since this photo first surfaced and i haven’t stopped palpitating. the cutest photo ever, they all look so happy and i love that!!! also how are their wives so beautiful….!? oh my every pixel of this image is just stunning

i know i included this in my last bergy list but if they can name new york twice i think i can put this on 2 lists, because lord knows it’s even more iconic. i feel like this is a good metaphor for brad marchand: getting up to no good, although still relatively harmless, all the while supported by the considerably more sensible, yet still entertaining, patrice bergeron. additionally, another excellent display of the oft-overlooked fact that this man is built like a motherfucking tank. holy shit

i wish i could see these boys in suits without my brain immediately trying to think of some sort of au. anyway, i really like this look on brad (unpopular opinion - i love his loud checkered suits as a concept but i don’t think they look good). although he has dark hair, strong eyebrows, and dark facial hai, the all black actually looks really good on him. coffee in hand really adding to the look too - well done, brad “fashionista” marchand.

ahhhhh i love nothing more than family man marchy 💛 his daughter is adorable - those tiny jerseys kill me - and i love that his son is wearing the all-star jersey omg how cute (he is definitely going to end up taller than brad lmao)

sometimes i forget that brad is short and then i see photos like this (brandon is 6′5 for reference)…amazing. i relate to the lady on the left on a spiritual level. brad’s face is a mood and a half. his feet are half a foot of the ice at least. i adore this photo.

(gif via @brandoncarlo) absolutely one of my fav things about watching bruins games is how brad and patrice will always find each other during a celly - nothing beats the 100 hug. this is also just a very satisfying skating gif that i love.

last but very very very far from least is this. there is literally no need for me to make any comment on this so i’m just going to leave it and go. bradley kevin marchand you are iconic and ily

ayyy this was super fun to do, thank you for requesting it anon, i hope you like!! again, i’m absolutely up for taking requests for more of these lists so hmu if you have ideas :)

#my bergy post was pure thirst for the most part #this is just me appreciating the true iconicness that is marchy #the effort i went to to not use 'iconic' every third word...bc he just is #answered #Anonymous #bruins photos compilations #bruins #marchand

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salmonycoral · 5 years ago

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Ephemeral Sculpture

17/10/2019

Today's exercise was creating an ephemeral sculpture.

I was very inspired by Andy Goldsworthy and wanted to create my own photos that captured the beauty of a split second. Goldsworthy makes these photos look somewhat easy. He is inspired by Whistler’s notion that a work of art is not finished until all signs of the effort of making it have been removed. This is prevalent in the Throwing Sticks series but also in his black hole series where he aligns leaves, sticks or rocks into perfect circles.

I attempted to recreate Goldsworthy's "tossing sticks" piece in a couple different ways. There were so many variables that we had to account for such as background, exposure and timing. It was a lot harder than we expected and it took a good 5-6 tries before we accomplished these shots. I could have attempted this many more times as I still felt the background was too busy.

The idea of ephemeral sculpture is captivating to me and I would like to experiment with ribbon to maybe replicate the folds that form the brain.

I was the most impressed when it came to the black hole series. After attempting to create our own version I have a new found respect for Goldsworthy and his attention to detail. We could have paid far more attention to detail and lifted every single leaf and debris out of the centre of the circle. Being rushed for time we chose to do a quick version and looking back I wish we had taken the time to pick out every imperfection in the centre because that is now all I see when I look at this photo.

The angle that the photo is shot also makes a large difference to the power of the image. Our interpretation feels much softer than Goldsworthy’s. It was something we did not think about on the day but I will take it into account for when I attempt something similar again.

My final idea was to capture a still shot of movement. As a dancer, movement is a big part of my life and I resonate with photos where I can feel the movement. One thing I struggled with was making this shot look effortless. The head position and the facial expression are far more important than I ever realised and I’m glad that I’ve had this revelation now as it is something I can work on to create better photos in the future.

With this shot we were attempting to achieve symmetry between the two people on the swings doing the same pose as the above photo. It turned out to be a half fail because we couldn’t get the timings right as the two people had a significant weight difference and therefore the physics were against us. However, we did achieve this photo with an interesting contrast between the two people. On the left we have a soft and calm, somewhat elegant pose which opposes the right where there is a more energetic and fun pose that captures the childish joy that a swing brings a person.

References:

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2007/mar/11/art.features3

#studioculture

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tasharii · 6 years ago

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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

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