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Dark Nova [ BUCKY BARNES ]
- Reads 793
- Votes 20
- Parts 6
Ongoing1h 6m
Last published Mon, Nov 29, 2021
"My name is Bucky." His voice echoed around the glass box he was sat in, completely changed up. "Only one person in my life is allowed to call me James."
"And who is that, Mr. Barnes?" The doctors voice was quiet.
"Dark Nova." His voice was deeper as he spoke in Russian. "The one standing right behind you."
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The Way He Looks At You
(Short Story!!) It had always been a strange thing, growing up with stories about two men who seemed larger than life. Your grandmother never called them "Captain America" or "the Winter Soldier." To her, they were just Steve and Bucky-the boys who used to race down Brooklyn streets barefoot, who could eat their weight in ice cream, who once spent a summer building a treehouse that barely stayed up until autumn. She spoke about them with warmth, never shying away from the fact that life had pulled them into wars-one they chose, one they didn't. As you got older, you saw clips, grainy photos, shaky cell phone footage of Bucky Barnes in black tactical gear, a metal arm flashing in the light. You read the reports, the headlines about the destruction, the redemption, the battles the Avengers fought to save the world. You didn't expect to ever meet them. Not until 2025, when your grandmother passed away. Steve came to her funeral-looking exactly as he had in the old photographs, like time had politely stepped aside for him. And with him was another man, standing half a step behind, dressed in a dark suit. He didn't seem entirely comfortable being there, his jaw set, his eyes darting between the crowd and the coffin draped in flowers. Bucky Barnes. From the way Steve's hand rested briefly on his shoulder before introducing you, you knew he hadn't planned on coming. But he had. And when he looked at you, really looked, you felt the air shift. Because his gaze lingered just a fraction too long. Because his breath caught in his chest. Because in that moment, you knew what he saw- The spitting image of your grandmother. The girl he had once known before the wars. But you were not her. You were twenty-four. And when his eyes softened, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.Complete
Those Ocean Eyes and That Charming Smile
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I Wonder If Your Therapist Knows [COMPLETED]
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He's gonna be there, you know?"Sam interrupts my thoughts. " I know."I reply. "Look, whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop."Sam explains. "I'm gonna save him."I tell them."If anyone can do it,It's gonna be me." "Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you."Sam replies. "He will."Complete
The Sergeant
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(Short Story!!) It had always been a strange thing, growing up with stories about two men who seemed larger than life. Your grandmother never called them "Captain America" or "the Winter Soldier." To her, they were just Steve and Bucky-the boys who used to race down Brooklyn streets barefoot, who could eat their weight in ice cream, who once spent a summer building a treehouse that barely stayed up until autumn. She spoke about them with warmth, never shying away from the fact that life had pulled them into wars-one they chose, one they didn't. As you got older, you saw clips, grainy photos, shaky cell phone footage of Bucky Barnes in black tactical gear, a metal arm flashing in the light. You read the reports, the headlines about the destruction, the redemption, the battles the Avengers fought to save the world. You didn't expect to ever meet them. Not until 2025, when your grandmother passed away. Steve came to her funeral-looking exactly as he had in the old photographs, like time had politely stepped aside for him. And with him was another man, standing half a step behind, dressed in a dark suit. He didn't seem entirely comfortable being there, his jaw set, his eyes darting between the crowd and the coffin draped in flowers. Bucky Barnes. From the way Steve's hand rested briefly on his shoulder before introducing you, you knew he hadn't planned on coming. But he had. And when he looked at you, really looked, you felt the air shift. Because his gaze lingered just a fraction too long. Because his breath caught in his chest. Because in that moment, you knew what he saw- The spitting image of your grandmother. The girl he had once known before the wars. But you were not her. You were twenty-four. And when his eyes softened, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.
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