yes I hope they win and get to go home and be happy they deserve it
[ And when he joins her, Bucky will surely feel some amount of dread. For Eleven's room is overflowing with all sorts of craft supplies from inventory - nail polish and acrylic paint, glitter glue and stickers and decorative feathers, sequins and brushes and a whole host of utterly vile color combinations.
[Well, there's absolutely no way that this isn't going to end up with him being teased mercilessly by a certain partner. And possibly a couple of assassins to boot. But if he was actually worried about that, he wouldn't be here in the first place. Wouldn't be sprawled out in a teenagers room with his arm on full display and a book in hand.]
Red stars are rainbows for me, alright?
[The only hard no he's giving her. Beyond that, the arm's all hers.]
[ That comes soft and easy while Eleven is focused on sorting through her supplies. She doesn't ask about it - he'll tell her if he wants to. But he doesn't have to. Rainbows are off limits. And so are red stars.
After finishing her preparation, she nods, satisfied. Then moves forwards and into Bucky's space briefly. Wraps her arms around his shoulders and leans her forehead against the side of his face. Squeezes him - firm but clearly with deliberate gentleness. As if she could ever hurt him by holding too tight. And then she presses a small peck of a kiss to his cheek before pulling back and sitting down to his left to start working. ]
You're prickly.
[ And then she screws off the squirt bottle top of some acrylic paint, dips half her entire hand inside and starts laying the base colour on his arm.
There's something of an effort there not to get between the plates... but there is a distinct possibility she never had much of a clue what he meant by that because she doesn't know technology very well. ]
[The hug when it comes is accepted easily. It's rare for her to be the one to initiate one. To seek out comfort for herself. So he makes a point of not drawing attention to it and simply wraps an arm around her in return.
Her comment earns her a grin though, and once she pulls away again, he brushes a hand over his jaw, thumb catching on the stubble that he's not bothered to shave for a few days now. (His reasons for that aren't something he's about to share with anybody. Least of all a kid.)
When she gets to work on his arm though, Bucky has to bite his tongue at just how much paint she's getting on him. He can already tell that he's going to lose his whole evening to cleaning out the mess she's making. To cleaning dried paint and who knows what else out of the inner workings of his arm. But saying no to her hadn't been an option. And even now, the idea of asking her to be more careful doesn't even cross his mind.]
[ Oh did he want her to elaborate on that? That doesn't seem to occur to Eleven until a solid 30 seconds later when she glances up and finds that Bucky still hasn't started reading.
So she rolls her eyes, because he's clearly uneducated on the fine matters of art. ]
Brushes are for the details.
[ Really now Bucky, you know nothing. ]
You can read now.
[ Let her worry about the important things here. Like that entire jar of glitter gel she's already making eyes at. You're gonna be a work of art.
Touching anything, anything at all, with that arm is going to leave traces for years to come. ]
[But there's no real admonishment behind the words. At the end of the day, she can just wash her hands. And probably their clothes too, if she's anything like Becca was when she got ahold of Steve's art supplies. This is something that Eleven wants to do, and he doesn't want to take that option away from her. Not when she's already lost so many of those choices in her life already.
So the book gets flipped open, knees drawn up so he doesn't need to move to read. Last thing he wants is to be yelled at for moving, of course. So he lays the book out there, turning the pages singlehanded to finally reach the first chapter. And starts reading The Two Towers while she works. Voices and all.]
[ Eleven doesn't immediately comment at that. Waits until Bucky has the book properly balanced and is getting engrossed in reading - when too much movement can him could ruin the entire book.
Then she reaches out and gently, almost lovingly presses her entire hand to the side of his face. Paint and all. Just long enough to leave a bright, neon pink, somewhat smudgy handprint on Bucky's stubble.
Eleven pretends not to look at him, as if nothing happened, fully focused on her work. But the cheeky little grin on her face is more than just obvious.
All in all, the process takes a long time and definitely involves a hair dryer at several stages to make sure the various cakey layers of paint, glitter gel, stickers, shimmers, sequins and bedazzlements dry down and stay in place.
Somewhere back in Bucky's world, Shuri must be suffering some form of heart attack.
The final result, at any rate is an iridescent neon glitter monstrosity with stickers, squins and random feathers attached. And yes, some of the product used was definitely highly unsuitable nail polish. There are some areas in which Eleven, with all the care in the world, managed not to cake stuff into the various grooves and ridges of the arm plates. They are few and far between the mess she's otherwise made of his arm.
She leads him - hands still sticky with pain, glitter, glue and nail polish, into the bathroom towards the mirror, beaming with excitement as she lets him inspect the work that can at best be described as an affront to good taste. But her smile is huge. ]
[Stood in front of the mirror, Bucky makes a point of taking as long as possible to look at the arm. To make it seem like he's really giving it an in-depth examination, with a complete lack of reaction to the (mess) work of art she's left behind.
Eventually, he turns to face her again, pink handprint still firmly in place on his face, and shakes his head in disapproval.]
Nope.
[But before the words have any real chance to sink in, he continues.]
Artists are meant to sign their work. I don't see your name anywhere.
Yes, that'll show him. But Eleven is still grinning. Grabs his arm and turns it this way and that, debating how to sign it before finally, she grabs a black and a blue sharpie. On top of the vibrant colors on the inside of Bucky's left wrist, she writes a small '011' on Bucky's wrist, before drawing a blue line all around his wrist and through the number. Then she holds her small stick of an arm next to his prosthetic, wrist up so they're both looking down at the '011' tattoo'd onto her wrist, and the way her blue hair tie sits on it. ]
There. We match.
[ And then she turns her hand over, slides it into his palm and slips her small fingers in between his large vibranium ones. Like Sam, she treats his metal arm like it's just a metal arm.
Except maybe a little bit like it's a cast for a broken bone that needs to be decorated. ]
I'll decorate your door next. Don't say no - I'll ask your boyfriend. He'll say yes if you say no. So. You can just say yes.
[ Logic. She wins. ]
I want to show everyone how pretty you are now. Can I?
[It's a push to keep him focused on that side of the request rather than the ease at which Eleven was seemingly able to label his and Sam's relationship. They haven't had that kind of a conversation yet. Haven't needed to find a word any more suitable than partners. And then there goes Eleven, making him question himself.]
I see any of the original door left blank after you're done and I'm holding you personally responsible.
[If he has to deal with carting around an arm that looks like it could glow in the dark, then the rest of the crew can deal with a door that'll undoubtedly be the source for all the glitter that makes its way around the station.
Squeezing her hand in return, Bucky leads the way back through to her bed again. Takes some time to make sure they're both settled in, before-]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I hope they win and get to go home and be happy
they deserve it
[ And when he joins her, Bucky will surely feel some amount of dread. For Eleven's room is overflowing with all sorts of craft supplies from inventory - nail polish and acrylic paint, glitter glue and stickers and decorative feathers, sequins and brushes and a whole host of utterly vile color combinations.
congratulations. ]
no subject
Red stars are rainbows for me, alright?
[The only hard no he's giving her. Beyond that, the arm's all hers.]
no subject
[ That comes soft and easy while Eleven is focused on sorting through her supplies. She doesn't ask about it - he'll tell her if he wants to. But he doesn't have to. Rainbows are off limits. And so are red stars.
After finishing her preparation, she nods, satisfied. Then moves forwards and into Bucky's space briefly. Wraps her arms around his shoulders and leans her forehead against the side of his face. Squeezes him - firm but clearly with deliberate gentleness. As if she could ever hurt him by holding too tight. And then she presses a small peck of a kiss to his cheek before pulling back and sitting down to his left to start working. ]
You're prickly.
[ And then she screws off the squirt bottle top of some acrylic paint, dips half her entire hand inside and starts laying the base colour on his arm.
There's something of an effort there not to get between the plates... but there is a distinct possibility she never had much of a clue what he meant by that because she doesn't know technology very well. ]
no subject
Her comment earns her a grin though, and once she pulls away again, he brushes a hand over his jaw, thumb catching on the stubble that he's not bothered to shave for a few days now. (His reasons for that aren't something he's about to share with anybody. Least of all a kid.)
When she gets to work on his arm though, Bucky has to bite his tongue at just how much paint she's getting on him. He can already tell that he's going to lose his whole evening to cleaning out the mess she's making. To cleaning dried paint and who knows what else out of the inner workings of his arm. But saying no to her hadn't been an option. And even now, the idea of asking her to be more careful doesn't even cross his mind.]
Thought we found some brushes?
no subject
[ Oh did he want her to elaborate on that? That doesn't seem to occur to Eleven until a solid 30 seconds later when she glances up and finds that Bucky still hasn't started reading.
So she rolls her eyes, because he's clearly uneducated on the fine matters of art. ]
Brushes are for the details.
[ Really now Bucky, you know nothing. ]
You can read now.
[ Let her worry about the important things here. Like that entire jar of glitter gel she's already making eyes at. You're gonna be a work of art.
Touching anything, anything at all, with that arm is going to leave traces for years to come. ]
no subject
[But there's no real admonishment behind the words. At the end of the day, she can just wash her hands. And probably their clothes too, if she's anything like Becca was when she got ahold of Steve's art supplies. This is something that Eleven wants to do, and he doesn't want to take that option away from her. Not when she's already lost so many of those choices in her life already.
So the book gets flipped open, knees drawn up so he doesn't need to move to read. Last thing he wants is to be yelled at for moving, of course. So he lays the book out there, turning the pages singlehanded to finally reach the first chapter. And starts reading The Two Towers while she works. Voices and all.]
no subject
Then she reaches out and gently, almost lovingly presses her entire hand to the side of his face. Paint and all. Just long enough to leave a bright, neon pink, somewhat smudgy handprint on Bucky's stubble.
Eleven pretends not to look at him, as if nothing happened, fully focused on her work. But the cheeky little grin on her face is more than just obvious.
All in all, the process takes a long time and definitely involves a hair dryer at several stages to make sure the various cakey layers of paint, glitter gel, stickers, shimmers, sequins and bedazzlements dry down and stay in place.
Somewhere back in Bucky's world, Shuri must be suffering some form of heart attack.
The final result, at any rate is an iridescent neon glitter monstrosity with stickers, squins and random feathers attached. And yes, some of the product used was definitely highly unsuitable nail polish. There are some areas in which Eleven, with all the care in the world, managed not to cake stuff into the various grooves and ridges of the arm plates. They are few and far between the mess she's otherwise made of his arm.
She leads him - hands still sticky with pain, glitter, glue and nail polish, into the bathroom towards the mirror, beaming with excitement as she lets him inspect the work that can at best be described as an affront to good taste. But her smile is huge. ]
What do you think?
no subject
Eventually, he turns to face her again, pink handprint still firmly in place on his face, and shakes his head in disapproval.]
Nope.
[But before the words have any real chance to sink in, he continues.]
Artists are meant to sign their work. I don't see your name anywhere.
[So get to it, kid.]
no subject
Yes, that'll show him. But Eleven is still grinning. Grabs his arm and turns it this way and that, debating how to sign it before finally, she grabs a black and a blue sharpie. On top of the vibrant colors on the inside of Bucky's left wrist, she writes a small '011' on Bucky's wrist, before drawing a blue line all around his wrist and through the number. Then she holds her small stick of an arm next to his prosthetic, wrist up so they're both looking down at the '011' tattoo'd onto her wrist, and the way her blue hair tie sits on it. ]
There. We match.
[ And then she turns her hand over, slides it into his palm and slips her small fingers in between his large vibranium ones. Like Sam, she treats his metal arm like it's just a metal arm.
Except maybe a little bit like it's a cast for a broken bone that needs to be decorated. ]
I'll decorate your door next. Don't say no - I'll ask your boyfriend. He'll say yes if you say no. So. You can just say yes.
[ Logic. She wins. ]
I want to show everyone how pretty you are now. Can I?
no subject
[It's a push to keep him focused on that side of the request rather than the ease at which Eleven was seemingly able to label his and Sam's relationship. They haven't had that kind of a conversation yet. Haven't needed to find a word any more suitable than partners. And then there goes Eleven, making him question himself.]
I see any of the original door left blank after you're done and I'm holding you personally responsible.
[If he has to deal with carting around an arm that looks like it could glow in the dark, then the rest of the crew can deal with a door that'll undoubtedly be the source for all the glitter that makes its way around the station.
Squeezing her hand in return, Bucky leads the way back through to her bed again. Takes some time to make sure they're both settled in, before-]
Time to make them all jealous.