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wtnrscap · 3 years

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It never stops

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A lead in the ruins of Sokovia brings a face from the past back.

Ask:

Warnings: Set post-Endgame, swearing, a lil angst.

A/N: I have a bad feeling I’ve butchered your ask @badasseddy but I hope you still like it. Feel free to complain if you hate it. Currently writing a request a day, so I will get to everyone’s.

I cannot for the life of me remember who made this divider, so if it’s yours or you know who’s it is, please tell me so I can credit them.

81 years had passed since Bucky had last gone dancing, and he felt as though his eardrums were going to burst. Adrenaline shot through his veins, the alcohol having no affects. Sam nodded his head with the beat and Bucky groaned. Is this really what music passed for nowadays?

It took several punches to the arm for Bucky to realize that Sam was trying to get his attention, and he whipped his head around so fast they almost knocked each other out. Sam yelled and smacked Bucky’s metal arm, before screaming in pain.

‘Serves his right for dragging me to this hell’, thought Bucky. He watched as Sam pulled out a photograph and waved it in front of his face, “We’re looking for this girl. She’s undercover. Locate her and contact me on coms.”

Bucky yanked the photo out of the air and stared at, memorizing the girl’s face. He vaguely remembered her, but he didn’t know why. Her Y/H/C hair was tied in a lose ponytail, with striking Y/E/C eyes and a distinctive smile. Her arms were wrapped out Sam’s shoulder, while Steve’s arm rest on her shoulder. Bucky tried to ignore the youth of his friend and chose to focus on the fact that the girl was pretty. The natural kind of pretty that all the girls wanted but compensated with layers of makeup. Bucky tucked the photo into his jacket with slight reluctance. It was the type of photo where he would have cut the girl out and tucked it into his army uniform, reminding himself what he was fighting for.

The pair separated, Sam heading towards the dancefloor and Bucky the bar. A beacon of escape, Bucky decided. Sam had said no drinking on the job, but fuck Sam, if he wanted to drink, then he would. Bucky was immune to the addictive buzz anyway.

The bar was empty aside from a man in a suit at the end, but he seemed a little distracted, a girl on his lap, giggling at something that probably wasn’t very funny. The girls in this club knew how to make their living. Bottles were stacked almost floor high, dirty looking glasses and a few dripping taps. A girl stood at the end, scrubbing a smeared flute with a grubby cloth. Bucky tapped his fingers and she sauntered over, “What can I get ya, pal? Looking a bit lost there…”

“Well, I don’t really fit in. You see a lot of faces here?”

“As a bartender? More than I care to count. Need help with something?”

Bucky pulled the photo out, folded out Sam and Steve, and slid it across the wet bar, “I’m looking for this girl. Have you seen her?”

The girl lifted it up gingerly, letting it drip. As she analyzed it, Bucky gave himself a chance to look at her, weighing her up. Her hair was black with green highlights, ending on her shoulders. Her eyes were the same as the girl’s in the photo but the smile, it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t who they were looking for.

The girl slid the photo back, “She’s pretty, but I’ve never seen her. I think I’d remember her if I did.”

Bucky tucked the photo back into his jacket. The girl straightened up, a crease forming across her brow, “Are you sure you don’t want anything? A dry martini?” the girl looked up at him almost expectantly, but Bucky shook his head, “I’m good. I’ll probably be here till closing time, so if you see her, pull me over.”

“We can sink no lower…” mumbled Bucky, the toilet creaking dangerously below him. Sam hushed him quickly, “The girl is here. We have to stay ’till we find her.”

“And that means hiding in the toilets?” snapped Bucky, meriting another hush from Sam. Bucky frowned, “Hey, this is your fault! This was your idea! She never turned up, we could have come back another day, but no, we’re here, hiding in this hell hole.”

A thump from outside silenced him. Carefully, Sam left his cubicle, closely followed by Bucky, and propped open the door, enough for them to see and hear what was happening.

“Club’s closed boys. You need to leave…” the voice of the bartender echoed around the room. Several guffaws responded, “We weren’t satisfied with our service.”

“Not my problem. I run the bar, not the brothel.”

“I don’t think Batroc will be very happy with that. He employs you, does he not?”

“Yes…” the bartender’s voice trailed off nervously, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Show you what we do to unwilling workers. Grab her and strap to the table… That one, in the corner…”

Without hesitation, Bucky grabbed onto Sam’s arm, mouthing, “I can’t listen to this. We have to help her!”

Sam’s hand flew over Bucky’s mouth, “We’re not here for her… Stay put!”

Bucky pushed against Sam, trying to free himself from the Falcon’s grip, but Sam held him fast. A brief squabble broke out, Bucky and Sam fighting against each other, until Bucky used his metal hand to break free, rushing through the door to shocking sight.

The bartender wiped her lip, staring down at three men, “Touch me again, and I will fucking kill you.”

“Fuck…” thought Bucky, ‘I should not be this turned on…’

“Hey, pretty boy? Pretty boy? Pay attention to me!” the bartender’s voice snapped Bucky out of his daydream, “Meet me in the alley in 5 minutes. Bring Sam.”

The dingy alley smelt of piss and sick, but the bartender seemed unperturbed, flinging her arms around Sam’s neck, “Oh, I’ve missed you Birdie!”

“I’ve missed you too! We’ve been looking for you all night! Where have you been?”

“At the bar! Your friend approached me, I thought he would recognize me, but no, and when I said the words, he didn’t reply with the code!” the bartender shot Bucky an angry glance. Bucky snapped, “What words? I wasn’t told of any words. And why would I recognize you? I’ve never met you in my life! This is so stupid!”

The bartender huffed and pulled on her hair until it come off in her hand, revealing Y/H/C underneath. The black hair was a wig. Next, she pulled out the photo from Sam’s pocket and pulled up to her face and copied the smile. Bucky saw the resemble immediately, “It’s you…”

“My name’s Agent Y/N L/N, I’m undercover here. You probably don’t remember me, we didn’t really meet, but I helped Steve and Sam disappear in 2016. I saw you from a distance, but you were kinda wiped out, no metal arm and longer hair. As for the words, I was told to offer you a dry martini, and you should’ve responded with ‘I don’t like my martini’s dry’.”

“I hate martini’s altogether! And I gave you a photo of yourself!”

“I’ve had 4 people give me a photo of myself today alone! The people after you are on your case!” Y/N’s chest heaved with anger and frustration, “Baltroc will be in the old Sokovian church tomorrow at midday. He’s made several attempts to take over the Sokovian people after the country fell with Ultron. We’ve tried to enlist the help of Wanda Maximoff, but we’ve had no response.”

“She’s gone MIA… No one knows where she is…” responded Sam slowly, “If what you say is true, not that I am doubting you, then we need to get moving now. You are relieved of your duty. Where will you head?”

“To New York. I’ll go to the compound.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you there…” Sam pulled Y/N into a tight hug before turning to Bucky, “We leave in 10.”

Bucky nodded his head and looked down at Y/N, “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Not your fault. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“Not your fault…” Bucky shifted awkwardly. Y/N smiled slightly, “Do you miss him?”

Bucky’s eyes widened almost comically. He hadn’t expected that from her, the mention of Steve. He noticed the way her shoulders slumped at the question, her eyes losing their sparkle slightly. He wondered how the snap had affected her, and, for the first time, wondered what an Agent like her was doing here, in the burned ruins of Sokoiva. He tried to match her smile, “Everyday… It’s hard… I know that he is still alive, but the whole world believes him dead, and I don’t actually see him very often now, so sometimes, it’s like he’s dead to me too. It just never stops, this life. It’s fast and hard.”

“I understand…” Y/N nodded her head, and Bucky spied a tear, and felt a pang in his heart, “Did… Did you love him?”

“Oh God no!” gasped Y/N with a chuckle, “Me and Steve were more like siblings or best friends. He helped me and I helped him… I wasn’t snapped away, so spent the last 5 years with him. I trained with Natasha, and when Scott came back, Steve sent me away. To protect me, he said. I don’t doubt him, but I wonder, if I stayed, would’ve I been able to stop him from leaving?”

“No. He had his mind set on it…”

“Why’d you ask if I love him?”

Bucky cheeks reddened, “Well, after I messed this up so bad, I wondered if once I got back to New York, you’d like to go for drinks… or not?”

“Sargent Barnes, are you asking me on a date?”

Bucky shivered at the use of the title, but tried to cover it, “Would you be opposed to the idea?”

“No…”

Bucky smiled at her as Sam yelled at him to hurry up. There was another moment of awkwardness before Bucky turned on his heel. Y/N stood still for few seconds before gasping, “Bucky! Wait!”

“What?”

It was Y/N’s turn to blush as she pecked a kiss on his cheek, “Be safe. Baltroc has a rep for maximum of casualties.”

“I promise, doll…” Bucky smiled at took her hand in his, “Never thought the night would end like this. And now, I must really go.”

Sam frowned as they stepped onto the Quinjet, “How do you do it, man? 5 minutes ago, you barely knew the girl, and now you’re going on a date with her?”

“It’s called charm, Birdbrain, you should try it some time.”

“I have charm! And a wingman.”

“Redwing does not count.”

Sam huffed and sat down in a seat, “He so does. Besides, when she realizes you have a cyber-brain, she’ll be gone.”

“Nah, I’ll just charm her again.”

“Not with that grouchy face. If the wind changes, your face will be stuck like that.”

“I hate you…” muttered Bucky. Sam burst out laughing, nudging Bucky’s shoulder, and the man let out a small snort, smiling gently.

It might never stop, but Bucky couldn’t deny, when it did, it was nice. Steve was gone, but he had Sam and now, Y/N too. Yeah... All was good.

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sherrybaby14 · 4 years

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Blue Spiders

A/N: This is chapter one in a series! I think it is going to be 3 parts, but if more is requested I do have an outline where I could take it to 10. (Updates on Thursdays)

Pairing: AU Psychiatrist Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Words: 3700

Summary: An interview with a charming doctor leads to more

Warnings: This chapter, mentions of violence and murder, alcohol. I HAVE NOT WARNED FOR EVERYTHING POSSIBLE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Smoothing out your blazer and squaring your shoulders you rose your fist and knocked on the door.

It swung open, taking your breath away at the swiftness of the response. Your jaw dropped for a moment, but you shook the nerves away, always the professional. He was more gorgeous in person with blond hair and blue eyes. The All-American man.

“Dr. Rogers?” You asked.

“So I’ve been called.” He stepped to the side. “Please come in.”

Your eyes went up at the expanse of his office. It had a balcony going around the entire space, floor to ceiling in books. The main floor was open with a huge mahogany desk behind bright windows. There was a sitting area with two chairs, a couch, and a coffee table. On the wall hung a giant painting.

“Is that a Jackson Pollock?” You were surprised to see such a chaotic artist hung in a therapist’s office.

“I know it’s not the traditional calming image you would expect a doctor to hang, but I find it opens people up on the subconscious and allows my patients to see the beauty in madness.” His voice made the hairs on your body rise, so calm and collected.

“Are most of your patients mad?” You looked over your shoulder to see icy blue eyes taking in your face.

“We’re not here to discuss my patients Miss, that is private information.” He wagged a finger in your face before moving toward the sitting area. “I was very clear when I agreed to the interview.”

“Of course, Dr. Rogers.” You followed and sat down opposite him. “I am sure my editor went over the basics with you, but this is for a feature we do monthly on interesting people in the area. There is nothing to worry about, it is not investigative journalism, only a puff piece for our readers looking for human interest stories.”

“Yes, I am still uncertain why I was selected.” The man adjusted his tie that was tucked into a vest. He wore those clothes well. “I fear I am not that interesting.”

“You were instrumental in the capture of the Canary Killer.” You were shocked by his modesty. “The FBI has praised your work and referred to you as an essential asset even though you are not an agent. That alone makes you very fascinating.”

“The Canary Killer.” Dr. Rogers rolled his eyes. “I am not a fan of those nicknames. They devalue the lives of the victims, and criminals are not my expertise.”

“Do you mind?” You reached into your bag and pulled out a tape recorder. “I did not expect to start this soon.”

“Please.” He crossed his legs and his lips turned into a small smirk. “And tell me, why would your readers care about a murderer in Iowa? I am sure they are locally based.”

“Yes. We are out of Washington D.C., readership largely in Maryland and Virginia. The surrounding areas, but a killer like this facinates anyone regardless of region.” As his smile dropped you worried you were coming off too forward. “And, the focus of the piece is on you, not the killings. We want to know your background, your story. I am sure it is more exciting than you give yourself credit for.”

“Your dialect is strange.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “I can’t quite place where you are from.”

“I moved around a lot as a child.” You looked away from his deep stare. “Is linguistics one of your hobbies? Would you like to expand on that?”

“It is fascinating. Almost as if you have no accent at all. Very unheard of. Tell me, are you trying to disguise your voice?” His teeth ran over his lip, sending a tremble down your spine.

“Doctor, I appreciate the question, but I don’t think I could afford your hourly rate.” You weren’t used to your subjects asking you many questions. “How about you? Where were you born? What drew you to therapy?”

“Right.” His smirk returned. “I was born abroad. My parents passed when I was twelve, I became responsible for my younger sister and believe it or not we snuck in illegally.”

The doctor’s comment on your accent threw you off, especially when he himself was born abroad but had no trace of one. He continued on with his life story and you barely had to ask a question. Everything about the man was fascinating.

“After my years in general surgery I discovered that most of my patients were more concerned with the mental effects and less with the recovery. I enjoyed helping them with any resulting depression or anxiety and realized my love for the blade was second to my love of the mind.” Dr. Rogers glanced toward the window. “People are fascinating and I want to help in any way I can.”

“That is very noble of you.” The jitters you had about his attractiveness were now dwarfed compared to the intensity of his wisdom and compassion. “I know we are running low on time. Is there any personal anecdote you want to include? Wife or kids? Dog?”

His smile brightened the room as he let out a laugh.

“Unfortunately my dedication to my work has left no time for any personal life.” He rose from his seat. “Though since this is a human interest piece, I would say my main hobbies are music and cooking.”

“Wow. Even your hobbies are impressive.” You followed his lead, grabbing your recorder and hitting stop. “You don’t have any unproductive time. Never lose yourself in a television show? Read a pulp novel?”

“I do not enjoy fiction much.” He shrugged. “What is the point when the real world is so interesting?”

“I never thought about it that way.” You smiled. “Thank you for your time. As a courtesy I will send over the article before it is published, not for your approval of course, but your awareness.”

“I am sure it will be as dull as me talking about myself has been.” He held a hand toward the door.

“That is a way to put it, especially since hearing you talk about yourself was the opposite of dull.” You couldn’t find the right words to say, but that did not stop you from speaking. “You see the world through a unique lens and have had very unique experiences. Almost as if, as a species, we are lucky to have you.”

You felt like you should cringe or apologize, but something about the man made you speak your mind.

“And you must be very good at your job, because I felt comfortable saying that to you and I am not even a patient.” You stopped at the door to his office.

The two of you faced each other, his hand went for the knob, but he paused.

“You are not my patient.” Dr. Roger’s eyes glanced over your face, then stopped at your own. The two of you stared at each other and you did not look away as a chill went down your spine, the intensity of the man.

He was about to speak again when a boom landed on the door. You jumped and put your hand to your heart, your adrenaline flaring.

“I’m sorry Dr. Rogers.” The door swung open and a familiar face walked in. “But I need to see you right away.”

The new guest’s voice trailed off as he spotted you. His face scrunched and a look of disgust came over.

“What are you doing here?” Blue eyes glared into your soul.

A smirk crossed your face as you folded your arms.

“Hello Agent Barnes, always a pleasure.” You should have figured he was a patient. “I am writing a human interest piece on Dr. Rogers.”

“You talked to her?” James looked to the doctor. “About me?”

“I didn’t mean to create more problems for you to discuss.” You bit back the urge to fire a crack about his narcissism. “Thank you again Doctor. I will send you the piece in the next week or so.”

You held out your hand and watched as the blonde man shook it with hesitation.

That deep intense stare was gone. Your heart deflated as you left the office, trying to hold your head high and shoulders square. It felt like he was going to ask you out on a date for a moment, one you would have gladly expected.

The cringe you were fighting came forward as you left the swanky office building. Agent Barnes interference or not it was a stupid fantasy. This man was too good for you.

Steve considered his ability to read people top notch. Even though he was the one speaking he spent the past hour studying the journalist and to say she was intriguing was an understatement.

In fact, he was interested enough he was on the verge of asking the woman to dinner.

Bucky’s apparent hatred toward the woman was not expected and Steve found himself mentally recapping the interview to see if he missed something.

Before he could assess the situation she stormed off. Her quip about Bucky being a patient was ruder than he found acceptable.

“You gave an interview to Miranda Balfour?” Bucky gripped his long dark hair as he walked into the office. “What were you thinking?”

“What?” Steve shut the door. “That was not her name.”

“Of course she gave you a fake name.” Bucky scoffed. “I hope you are prepared to have your reputation trashed. Did you think to, google whatever name she gave you?”

“I did and she checked out.” Steve's intrigue for the woman was turning to anger. “Now who are you claiming she is?”

“She is Miranda Balfour. She runs a murder blog, always posting sensational stories. She gave extensive coverage to the Canary Killer.” Bucky ran his hands over his face. “Nothing better than a gossip rag. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed her. She’s always lurking around any local crime scene. Trying to get pictures and interviews like she is a legitimate source. It is disgraceful.”

Steve could feel his body temperature start to rise. He thought about walking over to his desk and sweeping everything off, then taking an axe to the thing. He imagined the wood slowly turning into the face of Miranda Balfour as she took a whack to the head, splintering as easy as a tree stump.

“Well if I have been duped, it is nobody’s fault but my own.” Steve shut the door to his office. “What brings you by so urgently Buck?”

“The New England Butcher.” Bucky shook his head. “I stayed up late last night, going over every murder in the area that even remotely fit his MO.”

“There is one issue off the bat.” Steve took a seat in the chair, knowing Bucky preferred to pace while he spoke. “Lack of sleep.”

“Six murders in three years. Each gruesome in their own way. The randomness of the kills, the victims. It is like we were only able to string them together because he wanted us to.” Bucky stopped. “And that is what caught my attention. What about the ones he doesn’t want us to?”

Bucky sat down and dropped a file on the table. Steve was annoyed at the waste of paper when an email would have sufficed, but he indulged Bucky and picked up the file.

The first photo was of a dismembered man found in a ditch. Steve knew the date off the top of his head, July 2nd 2013. Blake Corenzo. He was a pig of a man.

“That is a murder from 2013. Blake Corenzo. He was stabbed and chopped post mortem.” James glared as Steve looked up, waiting for his punchline. “I think he was the Butcher’s first victim.”

Steve bit back a laugh with expertise.

“The brutality matches. But what was missing?” Steve was curious if the Agent was going to connect the dots.

“Nothing.” He sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead. “Or something we missed. But I have seven more bodies I believe are connected. We know that as killers go on they get lazier, think they are unwatchable, but the Butcher, he is different. We are not going to catch him on a technicality or sloppiness. He is too good.”

Steve did enjoy the flattery.

“We have to find his first kill. It always starts with someone they know. Always.” Bucky had a desperation to his voice.

“So you believe that this Blake Corenzo knew the Butcher?” Steve watched Bucky struggle to connect the dots, not realizing he was the fish on the hook in this game he was not even aware he was playing. “Have you told Anthony Stark?”

“Yes.” The air deflated out of Bucky as he fell back into the couch. “He told me mandatory session with you before I am cleared to return to work.”

“If I check my e-mail will there be one from him? Is that what it will say?” Steve appreciated the protectiveness Tony had for Bucky. In a way it was as if Stark saw Barnes’ brain as a fragile asset. One he was constantly concerned was about to break.

“It will say I can’t go back until you clear me.” Bucky tried to hide the humiliation.

A man in his 30s being controlled by his boss and therapist as if he were a child. Steve recognized something in Bucky, an equality almost. Because Tony Stark’s concern were not without merit. James Buchanan Barnes did have a brain that could operate like no other and if anyone were to catch the Butcher Steve was certain it was the Agent in front of him.

“You are obsessing again.” Steve crossed his legs. “It is not healthy. You are getting too involved. The Butcher hasn’t struck in three months and twice already this year. It’s likely he will not attack for some time. You are trying to create leads.”

“You sound like Tony.” Bucky scoffed and looked away. “When I sleep, I see their faces.”

“Whose faces?” Steve leaned in, unsure what Bucky was going to say next.

“The ones, the ones I didn’t save.” Tears glossed over Bucky’s eyes. “Not the ones who have already died. The ones who will if I don’t stop him. Their faces are blurry but they’re pleading with me.”

“People die every day. You cannot carry that guilt. It will destroy you.” Steve reached for his rx pad.

“I can’t help the people who die every day, but I can help these people. If I can stop the Butcher.” Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“You keep saying ‘I’ when it is a team effort. You are not a superhero. You cannot do this alone.” Steve wrote out a medication.

“I have to since none of you will listen to me. Not Tony, not you.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Even Natasha told me to give it a rest.”

“Maybe that says something.” Steve handed Bucky the prescription. “That will stop the dreams. Take one before bed and get some sleep.”

“And then what?” Bucky looked up, lips parted.

“And then come and see me in the morning. Once you are rested we will have a conversation about Blake Corenzo and I will talk to Mr. Stark.” Steve watched as relief flooded Bucky’s face.

“Thanks.” He looked at the prescription before shoving it in his pocket and letting out a yawn. “And sorry, for what I said earlier about Miranda. She won’t be able to tarnish your reputation.”

“I am aware. The most salacious detail I gave her is already public knowledge.” Steve rose. “I only regret my own error in judgment. Now get some sleep.”

Bucky nodded as they walked to the door. Steve kept his calm as he let the FBI Agent out.

Then he walked back to the table and picked up the file. He set out the photos of the four crime scenes Bucky wanted to tie to the Butcher.

“Very clever Agent Barnes.” All of them were done by Steve. In a way seeing the photos was like revisiting an old friend.

Corenzo was far from Steve’s first kill though. He had watched the man use a racial slur and a racist imitation at a dry cleaner. Another rude person the world did not need.

Steve flashed back to Miranda’s comment about the human race being lucky to have him. She was right of course, on more levels than she realized. He was purging the world of the disgusting people who did not belong.

After Agent Barnes’ proclamation Miranda Balfour’s name had landed on that list.

Steve was a patient man. He sometimes marked his victims for years before they met their demise.

When he got home, to what his visitor’s refered to as architectural magic, he went straight for the kitchen. It was on the level of any executive chef’s dream.

He would cook tonight. Channel his anger over the reporter, but not before adding her name to his list.

He went to the recipe drawer. It looked more like a filing cabinet, filled with Rolodexes of index cards with carefully printed ingredients and instructions. He had order them online since the entire world had gone digital.

On the rare occasion he had a guest they poked at his old fashioned nature. He remembered the first time he had Bucky over for dinner.

“You live in such a modern house, and appear a very modern man, but that recipe system reminds me of my grandmother.” Bucky laughed as he sipped his wine.

“And I bet your grandmother’s cooking was far superior to your own.” Steve raised as eyebrow as Bucky frowned.

The memory vanished as Steve pulled out the Rolodex he wanted. This one did not have recipes, it was for its original purpose, filled with business card collected over the years.

He grabbed one at random. Donna Chung. He closed his eyes and remembered her behavior, the way she was screaming at her child in the grocery store. The child could have been no more than three and was crying over not being able to drop a quarter in a donation box.

“You get nothing from that. Here I’ll buy you a candy bar instead.”

Steve followed her home that night. Googled the address and the next day walked into her real estate office. He picked up a business card and dropped her in his Rolodex. That was almost eighteen months ago.

She was not a candidate for a butcher murder. Besides, the day left Steve uninspired. But still he set her card to the side.

He picked up an empty one and wrote the name Miranda Balfour, along with the phony one she had given him and the contact e-mail. Then he closed up the Rolodex and put it back in its place.

Steve poured a glass of wine and walked over to his computer. He fired up the laptop.

Grabbing a remote he turned on the fireplace and some music as he sat on his overly plush blue sofa. Calm colors was what his interior designer recommended. He was grateful for that advice. She was someone who brought beauty to the world.

As soon as Steve typed Miranda Balfour into the search her blog popped up first thing. The title was “Miranda’s Macabre Museum”.

Steve rolled his eyes as he went to the first post. It was from two days ago.

Murder

Victim: Lawrence Engle

Death: Stab wounds

Date: April 12th, 1985

Location: Mobile, Alabama

What followed was a summary of the facts. Steve was expecting more of a tattle-tale type scenario. But he did not see anything salacious. If anything it was very matter-of-fact with little insight.

At the end there were links to photos with appropriate warnings and links to sources.

Then there was a section titled editorial.

“Here we go.” Steve readied to read the sordid opinion.

The motive in this murder was money. While the law, for the most part, disregards the motive as important to the trial my long time readers know I disagree. Until we change as a society and value human life over finances we will be doomed to see unnecessary killings as this continue to happen. That does not mean the killer should be pardoned for his crime because society as a whole is at fault. On the contrary. He is part of the problem and should be punished.

Sentence: Death by lethal injection.

“Interesting.” Steve found his mind going back to his initial opinion of Miranda or whatever her name was.

He noticed a search option on her blog and typed in his name. Several posts on Canary victims came up, but he found he was only mentioned in the source articles or the summary.

He did the same for Agent Barnes and saw the results light up. He scrolled the posts for the highlighted name and came across a murder from three years ago.

Editorial: The lead Agent on this case has shown textbook narcissism. His attempt to relate to the killer to solve the crime failed here, because the murder was not about him, but he found a way to make it so. The last victim’s death would have been preventable if Agent Barnes listened to anyone but himself.

“That explains Bucky’s dislike.” Steve shut the laptop and pinched his eyes shut.

When he googled the first name, multiple stories came up that were as she said human interest pieces. Did she lie just to get the interview? Pose as the other woman?

Lie. What difference did it make? She was a liar and had earned a spot in his Rolodex.

This one felt personal though. In a way Steve did not enjoy. She made him feel...comfortable. Or made him feel something. The way her eyes were so inquisitive and she seemed to hang on every work with genuine interest. When in fact he was intentionally trying to bore her.

That would not stand. This woman would not sit in the Rolodex for years. Her time would be shorter. Steve stood up from the couch and went back to the kitchen. He picked up Donna Chung’s card and returned it with the other, instead setting the card he’d just drafted on the counter.

He would start tomorrow.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate every like/comment/reblog! I haven’t done a series in a long time so I am excited! And if you didn’t figure it out this is....

Hannibal AU :).

#Steve rogers x reader #au steve rogers #steve rogers x you #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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ladydarklord · 3 years

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The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

#I hadn't seen this one before so I thought I'd share #noel will never dress down #ah yes the patient boyfriend Julian Barratt

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twokinkybeans · 4 years

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Stark On Ice: Starker Figure Skating AU Chapter 1

Summary: Six months ago, the broadcasters asked Tony to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He didn't expect them to take his answer seriously.

Masterpost (to be posted) Find On AO3

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Chapter One: Let Me Entertain You Tony readjusts his jacket as he walks into the large building that is the Midtown Ice Arena. It’s a few minutes before 7 AM, and he already downed a triple espresso on his way here - amusedly ignoring Happy’s complaints about it being so damn early. He will give the man a raise soon. Tony can’t say he’s a morning person, but having to get up this early every single day for three months in a row helps to get used to it. Today is different, though. He feels jittery and on-edge just thinking about today’s events. It’s the final rehearsal. Tonight he’s going to skate in front of the entirety of the States. He knows many people won’t even bother to watch the TV series, but the idea has him slightly nauseous anyway. His first live show…

Live show.

Tony chuckles sarcastically at himself as he sits down on one of the benches in the changing room. Live show. Six months ago, the broadcasters asked him to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He’s still not sure why they took his answer seriously, but they had. Tony Stark doesn’t back out of a promise, though. So, here he is, lacing up his skates after three months of intensive training, ready to work through his choreo together with his assigned partner Peter Parker. From what Tony’s heard, Peter is a pretty big deal in the skating world. He’s a sweet, enthusiastic 21-year-old who has enough talent and skill in pair skating to participate in the Olympics, yet he’d chosen not to. Instead, he tours across the US with Stars On Ice, coaches young kids at Midtown, and has a YouTube channel where he and his partner MJ post routines with traditional gender roles reversed. Tony admires Peter’s passion. The man doesn’t like other people very fast, but Peter was something else entirely. He’s endearing in a way. It’s easy to like him. Which, thank god, is a positive thing. They’ve had to train together for a minimum of eighteen hours for the past three months - both on ice and off. Tony had been surprised to see that the theory classes and off-rink practice were just as important.

When Tony finishes lacing up his skates he walks towards the rink, finally knowing how to do that without looking like a waddling duck. A smile creeps onto his face when he spots his partner on the ice already. The boy moves around ever so graciously, practicing his triple axel. A few days prior, Peter told him he hadn’t done it in a while, and he and MJ intend to use it in their new YouTube tutorial, so he’s been wanting to perfect his landing. It’s not like he pops it, but the boy isn’t content very easily. Tony enjoys watching him rehearse no matter how he lands. He’s so beautiful out there. Like he was born to skate. After landing perfectly three times, Peter slows down to give himself a short break, and that’s when he spots Tony at the entrance. The man waves awkwardly and Peter grins. “Mornin’, grumpy-head!” Peter laughs as he skates towards him. “Well, look at you. Always a beaming ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” “You know me too well, Mr. Stark. Hope you didn’t forget to apply your sunscreen today!” Peter jokes, jumping off the ice to give Tony a short hug. Tony hates to admit he likes that Peter greets him like that every single day. The boy isn’t scared of him, unlike most other people. Another reason why Tony likes him. He grunts as a response to the joke and nudges Peter. “Think it’s time to start training. Steve here yet?” Tony asks, looking around to see if he spots their coach. Peter shakes his head. “No, his car broke down a few blocks from Midtown, he’ll be here soon enough. Let’s start warming up so we can dive right into the sequence when he gets here.” “Yes, coach.”

“Why- Why do these outfits have to be so glittery,” Tony jests as he eyes himself in the mirror. He’s wearing a tight and stretchy black button-up with thick, gold seams and shiny gold beads all over it. Thank god his pants are a simple plain black. Peter is adjusting his hair right next to him. The metallic gold tee hugs the boy’s skin so incredibly tight that Tony can’t help his gaze from wandering down a little, peeking at the boy’s gorgeous abs. Peter grins as he follows Tony’s gaze. “Well, I guess that’s why,” Peter retorts, and Tony blushes. He sniffs, staring at his own reflection again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Says the man who asked for a male partner. I still don’t-” “Oh shush,” Tony cuts him off playfully and waves his hand in the air. Peter simply chuckles and finishes styling his curls. They’re silent for a moment and Tony’s thoughts wander. He hadn’t meant to stare like that. Yes, he was bisexual but that doesn’t mean he liked Peter like that. They were already making headlines on entertainment websites. He can’t even imagine what’d happen if they’d actually feel something for each other. That’d be insane and highly unprofessional. The kid is too young, and- No. Tony doesn’t even have to make excuses for himself. Peter is nice. That’s it.

Thinking about them making the news doesn’t exactly settle his nerves. People are interested in them. Tony Stark on skates must be high-end entertainment for many people in itself, but the fact that they’re a male couple… He knows the public’s eye is on them tonight. “So tell me, kid. How does one contain nerves for a show, uh?” Tony asks, trying to keep it casual but failing massively. A gentle smile tugs on Peter’s lips. “Experience. Trusting yourself,” he starts. “You know, Tony. You won’t be flawless tonight. But that’s okay, remember? No one will be. Flawless is not what we aim for. Chemistry. Engaging the public, and-” “-just having fun on the ice,” Tony finishes for him with a nod. Peter has told him this many times before, but the reminder does settle his nerves. Tony’s a beginner, but he’s got the name and his charm. And Peter... They’ve got a pretty good shot. “Exactly. Now, tell me- what are you most nervous about?” “Honestly?” “Well, yes.” “Dropping you.” Peter sighs and takes a step closer to Tony. “You won’t. You’ve only dropped me once, and I wasn’t even hurt. Even if it were to happen, I know how to take a fall. We’ll be alright. You’re one of the best skaters in this competition. You’re gonna ace this.” “Thank you, Pete. Hey, for what it counts, I’m glad you’re my skating partner.” “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

Tony’s throat is dry, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when his fingers tangle into Peter’s. The boy is so close to him, just like during practice. It grounds him. The floor manager smiles at them. “Good luck out there, you ready for it?” Tony nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Smile. He should smile. Peter squeezes his hands once and Tony takes a deep breath. He’s got this. They’ve got this. The floor manager signals, “-Standing by…” Oh, God. This is it. Tony sniffs. His hands feel sweaty, his stomach knots together once more. As much as he appears to be comfortable in public, the moment right before always has him on edge. Any moment now. His gaze focused on the floor manager. Waiting for her cue. “And go!”

Tony forces his most charming smile on his face when he skates forward in unison with Peter, the cheers of the audience enveloping him. They stop in the center of the rink and he guides Peter in front of him. The boy’s arms are crossed in front of his chest. Tony puts a hand on Peter’s right shoulder. It’s quiet for a second, but then the familiar tune starts playing and Tony licks his lips. Peter smirks, pushing his skates into the ice to circle around the man, Tony’s gaze tracking him until he’s in front once again.

Hell is gone and heaven’s here There’s nothing left for you to fear Shake your arse come over here Now scream

Peter twirls and presses into Tony’s side. They grin at each other and skate forward, towards the edge of the rink. Tony’s nerves finally settle when he focuses on just how smooth Peter glides over the ice. The loud music cuts off the sounds of their blades crushing the frozen surface beneath them, but Tony hears it in his mind instead. He knows exactly where to turn, where to move. Peter sends him a little nod right before they go into the crossovers. Tony doesn’t like crossovers all that much, it makes him feel stiff and uncoordinated. Yet, somehow his body seems to do it on autopilot today, simply mimicking Peter’s lead.

I’m a burning effigy Of everything I used to be You’re my rock of empathy, my dear

Tony feels powerful in a way, his movements loosening up with every passing second. It’s time for their waltz jump. He turns around to transition into backward crosscuts and then shifts his weight from the right outer edge to the left one, throwing his right leg up in front. He gasps when he feels how smoothly he lifts off the ice. He’s flying through the air, weightless, and a quick glance confirms that Peter is too. When his right foot hits the ice again, he bends his right knee and extends his left leg behind him. The applause envelopes him like a warm blanket and the adrenaline coursing through his veins is an exhilarating sensation. He did it. He did it!

So come on let me entertain you Let me entertain you Let me entertain you

Tony turns around again to find Peter skating in his direction with a proud and goofy grin on his face. Tony’s heart leaps out of his chest when he realizes his partner is just as impressed as he is. Their hands find each other as they increase their speed to make it through another set of crossovers. Tony doesn’t even worry about them anymore at this point. Everything is just fucking amazing.

Let me entertain you Let me entertain you (let me entertain you) So come on let me entertain you (let me entertain you) Let me entertain you (let me entertain you)

Tony takes a deep breath when he realizes it’s time for their lift. He sets off for his continuous three turns and feels how Peter starts leaning into him. The man prepares for the boy to jump up from the ice gracefully. When Peter does so, he easily catches him and they spin into their rotational lift. Tony loves this one - loves to have Peter in his arms bridal style while spinning around and around and around while remembering his words. Don’t be afraid of the speed. Stalling is falling. Tony doesn’t feel like they’re falling. No, it feels like they’re floating, setting off for space.

Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on

Peter moves slightly, indicating it’s time for Tony to help him back down again. They transition into forward strokes toward the center once more and slow down. Their arms are spread wide proudly. Peter then circles Tony just like he did in the beginning, leaning into Tony’s side when the music comes to an end. He can’t help wrapping an arm around him to pull him in closer, bathing in the applause and the cheers that are thrown their way. Oh my god. They pulled it off. He can’t believe they did it. Of course, he doesn’t have Peter’s finesse but fuck. As Peter would say, they aced it. Together.

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Next Chapter: To Be Posted

#adult peter parker #peter parker #peter x tony #tony x peter #tony stark #ironspider #starker #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #ao3 fanfic #marvel #mcu #stark on ice #au #alternate universe

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lostsummerdayz · 6 years

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Combo Breaker 2018: A Retrospect

Original Date: 06/02/18 Author’s Note: This was done a full week after Combo Breaker because I caught the illest post-con/post-tournament sickness and it was terrible. So worth it, but terrible. In any case, I had so much fun at Combo Breaker and even more fun recalling everything that happened. Not much to really say, I’ll let the article do the talking. This is a VERY long read. Over 2500 words to be exact.

The Combo Breaker weekend passed just as quickly as it had arrived, like a tornado hitting the Windy City. Rather, the outskirts of the Windy City, in a small suburb known as St. Charles. Regardless where it had taken place, Combo Breaker was, without a doubt, the best tournament I have ever attended. Before I go into my thoughts and retrospect, as well as my teammates thoughts, I want to give a huge shout-out to Rick for hosting such an event. I’d also like to give a shout out to the bracket runners, game leads, vendors, artists, and anyone else in charge of making sure the event ran as smoothly as possible.

That Friday morning, I woke up at 1, filled with energy uncommon for one who awakens at 1 in the morning. I would have several more hours to go until I’d leave my apartment to catch my flight at LaGuardia so I could have caught up on more sleep if I wanted to. Adrenaline said otherwise. Combo Breaker would have been my first major in which I went out of state for. As I’ve said in a previous article, my first ever major was Defend the North, but it was literally an hour away from me as far as commute goes. I didn’t stay at a hotel, I simply went back and forth from my apartment to the Crowne Plaza over there. This was a much bigger deal for me, however, as I would meet so many people I would never have had the chance to. As this would be my first Combo Breaker, I didn’t know what to expect, yet the stories I’ve heard about Combo Breaker made me excited to experience such a thing within a few hours.

Unfortunately, everything came to a halt when I arrived at O’Hare. See, I planned my original flight to arrive at 10:30 so I could catch the shuttle bus to Combo Breaker. What happened instead, was I arrived at 9:30 because I didn’t consider Central time. Central Time and Eastern Time are an hour apart, so I was a full hour ahead of the bus. Better early than late, sure, but it left me more anxious to see what Combo Breaker had to offer.

When I finally arrived at the resort, it was one of the most beautiful venues I’ve been to, just looking at it from the outside. There was as much road as far as the eyes could see, the air was humid and the temperature was warm. Entering the venue, it lived up to the name of it being a resort. Indoor pools, window-side seating to have a better view of the golf course resort, various food courts and even a mini bar. The place was very huge. Huger than I initially imagined. I eventually, after some walking, found where Combo Breaker took place and after I picked up my badge, I took in the scenery.

The quietness of the resort clashed with the absolute noisy atmosphere of the main event area. People from all over walked about, conversated with others and played games on various setups whether it was tournament matches or casuals. To the right of me was the stage where people played on the stream station. It was there I saw the Tekken area and how massive the Tekken area was. With over 488 competitors, I’d expect a large mass of people, but it almost felt overwhelming. The event space was so huge, there were crowds just as big as the Tekken crowd, in other corners of the event stage, from the anime fighters to King of Fighters to Street Fighter V. There were also vendors right by the entrance who sold arcade parts, offered arcade stick mods, merch tables, and various beta build stations for games such as Fighting Layer EX, Soul Calibur 6, and BlazBlue Cross Tag.

Across the Megacenter area, there was a small yet almost as big gaming area where there were even more casual setups, a BYOC [Bring your own console] setup, where people played all types of games, and arcade cabinets from old school games such as Tempest, to pinball machines. Smaller games like Smash and Vampire Savior were also ran here for tournaments.

It was at this moment I knew that Combo Breaker was far from just a fighting game tournament, it was a video game convention as well. This realization didn’t hit me until the final day of Combo Breaker when I met this man, Demero, from Milwaukee. He was talking to me about one of the top Street Fighter V players, Smug, who I know of due to us both being from New York. He was telling me how respectful Smug was to his kids and how kind everyone was to each other, spectators and players alike.

On a grander scope, Demero also mentioned an interest on wanting to run events like these on a smaller scale back home, so he could potentially get the troubled youth of Milwaukee off the streets. Being I’m also from New York, the same as Smug, I take for granted just how many tournaments and locals there are here. But in a place like Milwaukee, grassroots events that could be started by a man with an ambition, may very well give troubled youth an outlet to stay off the streets, out of trouble, and hold a controller instead of a weapon.

A sentiment was also shared with Markman and Tasty Steve who I had the pleasure to talk to that Friday evening. They stressed the importance of tournaments where anyone can enter, play, and overall link up with other players who share the same passion as them. It isn’t about the winning or the losing, it’s all about learning and personal growth. It’s all about finding that connection with others to not only help you get better as a player but also as a person.

Steve was more passionate in the notion of locals being a cornerstone in the FGC, as he feels without people showing up to tournaments and their local tournaments, it won’t thrive as much within the upper echelon.

Markman was also a firm believer in encouraging players who believe that they cannot keep up with the top players due to their insecurities, to come out to the event anyway. No one can get better or level up if they limit themselves from doing so. Between talking to these two gentlemen on Friday and talking to Demero on Sunday, as well as others who only attended as a spectator to soak up the atmosphere and good vibes, it made me realize that the FGC extends far beyond simply competing. It exists for the love of the community whether you play the game competitively or not.

With that outlook in mind, winning wasn’t a goal in mind anymore. It was simply a question on how much I could learn and how far can what I already know take me. When I finally met Ando that Friday, he had a similar sentiment. As in the previous article, this was our first time in entering Combo Breaker and he was just as amazed at the venue and excited to play against others as I was, including how well run it was. We took pictures with the Tekken developer, Katsuhiro Harada, and saw some of the matches of Friday’s pools, before we briefly went our separate ways. Coincidentally, later on that night, we ran into each other again as we both had the same idea to get some last-minute casuals in before our matches.

That was another beautiful thing about the venue. Since it was 24 hours, and with over two thousand entrants, there were always people who were down to play games, no matter what time it was. Ando and I stayed until a quarter to 1, playing whoever we could, but the next night I stayed up well until 3 AM. It didn’t matter the time. The event halls were just as packed as it was if you arrived at 3 PM and for good reason. Playing offline against others is a luxury, as anyone who had dealt with the dreadfulness of online could tell you.

Saturday was the big day for the both of us, as our pools began two hours from each other, with Ando’s pool starting before mine. He was relatively nervous. The shark in the pool he was most concerned with was Victim of Ritual, a well-known Nina player known for his “pitbull-like” offense. The sharks in the water for my pool, in my opinion, was Swagmaster, who was known for her Miguel, and Ace Unlimited, a known Mishima player known for his explosive playstyle. For the former, I’ve had almost no experience with Miguel, so I wouldn’t have known what to do or what to expect. Mishima characters were always characters I’ve struggled with, so the fact that a high-level player was also swimming in the waters didn’t help me much.

The main conflict for Ando was whether to choose between using Paul or Geese. Both characters he felt comfortable with, but it boiled down to which character he felt ready to use in a tournament setting. While Geese has been used more and he has had more success with him, Paul was far easier to play for him. However, since his Paul shown signs of rust due to using Geese more, it was all about weighing pros and cons.

What I felt was nervousness all around because much like he has Geese, I had Kazumi who I wasn’t confident enough to use in the tournament. But she was always an option for me. I made the mistake of second guessing myself so I stuck with who I already know. The irony in that statement, was that if I could do one thing differently, I would have played Kazumi when I was down 1.

Ando plowed through his bracket, with the most notable adversary, Fred Distance, standing in his way. A clutch rage driver from his Paul clinched a tight victory and earned him the right to grant his wish. To play Victim of Ritual. On stream.

Naturally whatever nervousness he felt only amplified, with him only telling me that he’s not going to pay attention to the crowd behind him, and only focus on the game ahead of him. With his music playing through his earphones, he fought a hard-fought battle but ultimately fell 2-0 against him. Since this was winner’s finals, he still performed well enough to make it out of first phase of pools which meant he played later on that evening.

As far as my performance, I immediately lost to a Nina who I didn’t know even existed, M A D W A K. I was disoriented, because not only was I mentally prepared even though I played more than enough casuals, but the first lost took a lot out of me to the point where I gave up the second game freely. My biggest fear was going 0-2 in the tournament altogether, and going 0-2 in the very first match and getting sent to losers was not a good outlook for me. I had to snap out of it for my first game in losers, who I defeated soundly and was enough for a confidence boost. The second and third matches, a Katarina and a King respectively, was claimed without much difficulty although both players were good.

My biggest win of the pool was a rematch against M A D W A K, in which not only I was high off adrenaline for playing three straight, but after suffering a loss on stream against Swagmaster, I was more than ready for my revenge. And revenge I got. I switched my playstyle greatly to the point where it was too overwhelming for him and defeated him soundly, 2-0, just as he had defeated me 0-2, only this time I eliminated him from the tournament altogether. My momentum was cut short as I lost my loser’s semi’s match against Cade, effectively eliminating me. I was one win away from making it out of pools. Still, I had a damn good run in losers and I couldn’t be prouder of myself in how I did being it was my first Combo Breaker. Again, my only regret was not giving Kazumi a chance. I finished 97th which out of 488 people is nothing to cry about. I know I can do better next time, however.

Ando’s first match for the second pool was against Shirdel, an Alisa player from the UK, who quickly eliminated Ando from the tournament. At first, we both did not know who Shirdel was, but after researching him, he’s a pretty dominant force in London. Ando mentioned to me that Shirdel’s Alisa was unlike any he had ever played before, so he handled the matchup in a way which he tried to adapt to his playstyle, but he couldn’t no matter how hard he fought. Later on that night, when a friend and I were at the bar talking to another UK Tekken player, we both admitted that we did not know many of UK’s players, but UK and other European Tekken players were definitely of the silent killer majority. Europe in the FGC in general is an often-overlooked continent filled with so many hidden talents that takes so many by surprise. However, Ando couldn’t be too upset in how he performed. He felt like he could have done better, but he was more focused for the future regarding CEO and learning from the other players at Combo Breaker. Still, placing 65th, just shy of top 50, despite dealing with nerves, wasn’t a bad outing for the big guy. This is a reoccurring theme, but much like how I felt I should have gone Kazumi, his regret was not going Geese and instead sticking with Paul.

Decisions like these matter more than one would think. In a massive tournament like this, all it takes is two losses for it to be all over. I didn’t want to make any risky decisions that I would regret later, so I felt choosing Kazumi in my situation vs Cade would have been too risky as I wasn’t confident in her as I was in my main, Eddy. Ando had a similar sentiment when he insisted on sticking with Paul than going to Geese.

After several nights of reflection and playing casuals against people from all over the world including GoAttack, the Korean Master Raven player who made top 8, Ando feels ready for CEO. Combo Breaker humbled him as a player in regard to not only seeing his flaws, but also not caring whether a person is younger, older, or from another country. Each player should be taken as a threat whether you know them or not and that mentality shaped him into training and preparing for CEO.

One of the things I expect Ando will do differently, aside from soaking in character knowledge, is alter his mental psyche of playing against people in tournaments. I always felt as a competitor, 90% of the gameplay comes from your mind. Your mental cognition is what makes or breaks you. Limits or excels past your limitations. While he wasn’t upset with how he performed, knowing that he could do better is what prepares him for his hopeful comeback in CEO. I honestly cannot wait for that to take place and I will be cheering him on as well as Tunk.

P.S: Jeondding we gonna cross paths again at Summer Jam guaranteed (I hope)

Original article: https://www.teamunbroken.com/combo-breaker-article

#gaming journalism #esports #fgcu #combo breaker #tekken

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