#James I will never forgive you for the crimes you’ve committed

[serendipitybitchez]

Y’all I’m so sorry for this post😭😭. I feel like it’s aged too well. When I originally made it I had no idea what I was predicting. I would take it all back if I could 😭.

Watching Williams is like watching a Shakespearean tragedy… like wtf is happening????

[aroacettorney]

re: moriarty purposely antagonizing casey and posing himself as a villain as his method to draw public attention.

the more i think about it, the less it makes sense to me.

according to ludger, he wanted to use caseys solid reputation to expose the secret crimes committed by the highups in the kingdom of delica. but if we review his actions, they actually went entirely against his goal since he ended up killing every witness and burning every physical evidence leading back to the real culprits. not to mention, he also decided to take all the blame to himself.

caseys reputation throughout the continent was an independent variable to his villainy. she was already the messenger he needed — who everyone would be forced to believe. there was literally no need for him to become the public enemy if his goal was simply to expose the secrets of delica. he could have worked together with her. heck, he could even have secretly leaked all the clues he had found to her if he preferred them working independently. but of course, we know why that didnt happen.

ludger had another goal: to avenge arte's death. it's unlikely that he could assassinate his targets discreetly, given their important positions and the scale of this operation. casey tracing their murders back to him would only be a matter of time. as there is neither legal nor moral justification for him to commit mass murders even when his only targets are the scum of the earth, there is no universe where he could remain in a positive relationship with casey after becoming a known criminal. perhaps his crimes would have been understood if he at least told her the truth about arte, but why should he? he must not be perceived as a victim by casey. ludger becoming a murderer/criminal was a choice that he had already made without hesitation — there were people who needed to pay for their deeds. but, at the same time, he also understands casey well enough to know how important the value of justice is to her.

how cruel would it be if he were to make her choose between a friend and her own principles? how brutal would it be if he were to put her in a situation where she was forced to stop a friend's revenge instead of consolating him over his grief? how could he live with the knowledge that he might become the one who makes her compromise her sense of justice? her purposes of life?

for that reason, ludger alone must pose himself as an irredeemable evil.

She immediately overcame the sadness of betrayal and ignited her sense of justice as a righteous detective.

She possessed a heart as strong as steel.

"James Moriarty. I will arrest you here and now!"

Contained in her eyes was the sublime determination to definitely exterminate the evil in front of her.

"By all means."

By all means.

James Moriarty finally smiled.

for that reason, casey had better never know the truth.

“Maybe she found out the truth about Mr. Ludger by chance.”

“...What difference does that make?”

“Hmm. But wouldn’t it be better than not knowing?”

“It’s better not to know.”

He doesn't know how Casey found out the truth about the past.

Knowing doesn't change anything.

The past is the past.

It had already happened, and the spilled water could not be collected back on the plate.

“Because knowing doesn’t change anything.”

for that reason, casey should never forgive him even if she finds out about the truth.

“Are you pitying me?”

Casey didn't bother to deny it.

“You’ve changed. Casey Selmore.”

“Everyone changes.”

“But because you are like that, you shouldn’t forgive me even more.”

“……What are you talking about."

“No matter how good one's intentions may be, if it is an evil act, you should not stand by and ignore it.”

“That…”

Casey was about to say something but pursed her lips.

“Don’t forget, Casey Selmore. No matter how much there was a misunderstanding and no matter how good the circumstances were... In the end, I am a villain with blood on my hands. It doesn't matter if your intentions are good. Everything is proven by the results.”

for that reason, nothing will change: in the end, he is a villain that casey must defeat with her sense of justice.

“What are you trying to do, Casey Selmore? What are you here for?”

"Shut...up...”

“Didn’t you say you would bring justice? Didn’t you say you would eradicate evil in the world?”

Casey bit her lip. There was no way to refute his words.

“Stand up.”

Ludger's voice was filled with disappointment or perhaps anger.

"Stand up!"

Casey clenched her fists and strengthened her trembling legs.

The body that seemed like it would stumble and collapse stood tall again.

“I’m still here!”

[bring-it-all-down]

I’d like to talk about something that I think is central to Black Sails but often gets glossed over in discussions of Silver: his relationship with the systemic violence of empire.

One thing the show does particularly well is demonstrating the ways in which the violence of empire manifests itself both within England and in England’s colonies. We see this with just about all of the main characters, and this encounter with violence informs their subsequent relationships with imperial England. While Silver’s disability would surely result in his marginalization, his encounter with marginalization differs to that of every other character.

James encounters this violence in England in the form of Alfred imprisoning Thomas and the combination of Alfred and Admiral Hennessy banishing him from the country, in light of which he chooses to become a pirate. Jack falls victim to capitalism when his family’s tailoring business is forced to close, plunging his father into alcoholism and death, and holding Jack, a child, responsible for his father’s debts. Jack then becomes a pirate as a means of escaping indentured servitude. Billy, too, becomes a pirate as a means of escaping indentured servitude (and the violence he commits as a result––killing his enslaver––that would have seen him punished had he returned to England). Likewise, Vane turns to piracy after escaping from his enslavers (though it’s unclear how Vane became enslaved to begin with). Finally, we learn that Anne becomes a pirate after Jack murdered her abusive husband to whom she was married at the age of 13. For all of these people, piracy offered freedom from violence and oppression meted out by England.

We rather deliberately never learn about SIlver’s backstory, and for purposes of this post, I’m going to avoid theorizing about it and stick to what the show tells us about him. We first meet him when he’s aboard a merchant ship that Flint’s crew attacks. Out of self-preservation to avoid being killed by the crew, he fashions a lie, killing the cook and assuming his place, in order to join the Walrus. Thus, the first act of violence he encounters and commits is a result of pirates, not England. He becomes disabled as a result of Vane’s crew, not England. His only encounter with somebody mocking his disability is when Dufresne calls him “half a man” and an “invalid” (3.07). Finally, he tells Madi that he must look strong, not for England, but because he cannot allow his fellow pirates to see him as weak. All of Silver’s encounters with violence and marginalization occur with his fellow pirates, not with any stand-in for English colonialism/empire.

At this point, I’d like to compare Silver to Miranda, as they were the two people depicted to know James the best (as Thomas never knew Captain Flint) and were the two to try and convince him to give up his fight against England. When we first meet Miranda, she is desperate to return to civilization, telling James, “there is no life here” in Nassau, but they could have “a life in Boston...There is joy there and music and peace” (1.07). Her conception of civilization differs from James’ because she was never its direct target. Though she was a woman and was aware of the danger James and Thomas were in, her class privilege insulated her from experiencing England’s violence.

This all changes for her when she and James finally make it to Charlestown and she learns of Peter Ashe’s betrayal. This realization finally spurs her to understand the systemic nature of England’s colonial violence and the reality that she and James could never re-assimilate. Her final conversation with Peter here is crucial to understanding her newfound conception of colonialism: 

Miranda: All these years it never sat right with me how Alfred was able to turn the navy against James. He was far too admired by his superiors for his career to be dashed solely on hearsay. Alfred would have known that. He wouldn't have gone to them armed only with unfounded suspicions. He would have needed a witness, someone who knew Thomas and James well enough to give the accusation credibility. Alfred came to you, didn't he? Asked you to betray Thomas in exchange for which he'd see you made a king in the New World.

Peter: Perhaps this is an opportunity for us all to find a little forgiveness.

Miranda: Forgiveness? What forgiveness are you entitled to while you stand back in the shadows pushing James out in front of the world to be laid bear for the sake of the truth? Tell me, sir, when does the truth about your sins come to light?

Peter: You know nothing of my sins. Were you there when Alfred Hamilton threatened my family's standing, my daughter's future if I failed to cooperate? Were you there when I visited Thomas at the hospital to confess my sins and heard him offer his full and true forgiveness? He knew I had no choice in the matter.

Miranda: No choice?

Peter: A hard choice. Made under great duress, but with the intent to achieve the least awful outcome. You wish to return to civilization. That is what civilization is. I am so very sorry for what you have suffered and for any part I may have played in it. Please believe that. But at this point, the most important thing is what comes next, what we make of this.

Miranda: You destroyed our lives!

Peter: Miranda.

Miranda: You caused our exile!

Peter: I am sorry for what I did.

Miranda: Thomas died in a cold, dark place...

Peter: I am trying to help you. What more do you want from me?

Miranda: What do I want? I want to see this whole goddamn city, this city that you purchased with our misery, burn. I want to see you hanged on the very gallows you've used to hang men for crimes far slighter than this. I want to see that noose around your neck and I want to pull the fucking lever with my own two hands! (2.09)

Through this conversation, Miranda receives confirmation of Peter’s betrayal, and more importantly, that this betrayal is central to the existence of civilization. It’s how people like Alfred Hamilton retain power in England and how people like Peter Ashe obtain power over England’s colonies. In other words, the entire colonial project is one of betrayal, of exchanging lives for power, of the oppressor doing anything and everything to retain that power. When Miranda finally realizes how deeply personal and all-encompassing colonial violence is and reacts with righteous anger, she is murdered. Even voicing the desire to execute some aspect of justice is enough for the empire to silence her forever.

Silver, on the other hand, has no such encounter. All he knows of England’s systemic cruelty is what James and Madi describe to him second-hand. Thus, the war for liberation from empire is never his war, only Flint’s war and Madi’s war that Flint draws her into. In his final conversation with James, he tells him, “this isn’t about England,” calling the war “a fucking nightmare”, “your nightmare” (4.10). The “darkness” which he continuously ascribes to James is one born of a desire to do violence for the sake of violence. Because he has no personal experience with systemic violence, he doesn’t conceive of the war as a means to an end, but rather an end in itself; for Silver, the violence––specifically the violence of Flint, of pirates, of himself––is the point. 

The show’s thesis that the fight for liberation is a deeply personal fight is one that Silver dodges. Unlike James, Vane, Jack, Billy, Anne, Max, and Madi, violence enters Silver’s life as a result of piracy, specifically as a result of meeting Flint, and thus he believes that separating himself from Flint will end that violence. At the end of it all, every other character understands that the “freedom” they won is temporary and can be potentially revoked at any time, but Silver understands it to be more permanent. He tells Madi that in ending the war, he returned James “to the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes”, ensuring her that he is “not the villain you fear I am. I’m not him” and that he will wait “forever” for her to come to this realization (4.10). His experiences with violence prevent him from understanding something that every other main character understands: that Flint was a reaction to violence and not the sole cause of it.

[engie-ivy]

Receiving a love confession from Sirius Black is probably the dream of almost every student at Hogwarts. Remus just whishes Sirius would move on, but you should be careful what you wish for...

Don't worry, it's a short, fluffy Wolfstar get-together. Lily knows about Remus’ Furry Little Problem in this.

How do you feel about Sirius Black?

“I swear to Merlin, if Gina Simmons looks at me like that one more time, I’m gonna give her something to be mad about,” Lily grumbles, her eyes flaming with anger.

Gina Simmons, who had been glaring in their direction, quickly turns her head as Remus looks over his shoulder. She whispers something to Beth Walker and Davey Martens, who both glare at Lily and Remus as well.

Remus sighs. “Is it always like this?”

Lily’s expression softens. “It gets less,” she says. “But there’s this persistent group that just can’t get over it. This morning, I heard Rosemary Rowle call me ‘an entitled bitch who thinks she’s too good for James Potter’. Rosemary Rowle! The girl who can’t finish a sentence without mentioning her ‘daddy, who has such an important job at the Ministry’ calling me entitled!” The angry expression is back and she clenches her quill so hard Remus worries she’s gonna break the thing.

Remus frowns. “I overheard Randall Thorne ask Jules Flemming whether he reckoned I thought I could do better, and during Potions Kirsten Pembroke threw a vial of Armadillo bile over me!”

Lily winces. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you to stay away from Kirsten Pembroke if she has throwable substances within reach.”

“I just don’t understand what their problem is,” Remus mutters.

Lily smiles ruefully. “You’re now officially part of the club of people who have committed the atrocious crime of rejecting the school’s most popular and beloved students, Potter and Black. With you joining, our member count is now a total of two.”

“But that’s the thing! I rejected him,” Remus says. “Nothing’s changed. They can go on writing Mrs or Mr Black on their notebooks for all I care.”

“Oh Remus,” Lily sighs wistfully. “To be so naive. I’ve rejected Potter about fifteen times now, and they still won’t forgive me for him apparently choosing me over them. Of course, in my case it doesn’t help that Potter still refers to himself as the future Mr Evans,” Lily adds with a grimace.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Remus says, shaking his head. “They should be thankful I don’t return his feelings!”

“Well, first of all, you saying no to Black doesn’t chance the fact that he’s head over heels in love with you. Not immediately, at least. So he’s still just as unavailable to them. And more importantly, in their eyes you were given the greatest gift that can be bestowed upon a man or woman: a full-blown love confession by Sirius Black.” Lily rolls her eyes while speaking. “And the fact that you didn’t even appreciate it, just makes it worse.”

“I never asked for-”

“I know, Remus, I know. I’m just explaining how they see it. You and I are the horrible people who had the audacity to break their heartthrobs Potter and Black’s hearts.”

Remus groans. “I whish Sirius would see how ridiculous it is for him to be in love with someone like me.”

“Remus,” Lily says in a dangerous tone.

Remus ignores her. “I whish he’d just move on. I whish he’d date someone else, so they’ll have no reason to pester me anymore!”

Remus is writing his essay. Frantically. Or rather, furiously. Pressing hard on his quill while scribbling in angry, fast strokes, a pile of broken quills already forming next to his parchment.

“Did that essay murder your family?” Lily asks, as she sits down in front of Remus. “I honestly thought you’d be in a good mood.”

Remus looks up at her, a sulky expression on his face. “So you’ve heard?”

“Heard?” Lily asks. “I’ve orchestrated the whole thing!”

Remus gives her a confused look, so Lily elaborates.

“After our last conversation, I went up to Black and I just told him ‘oi, the whole school knows about your unrequited love for Remus, and some twats are giving him a really hard time about it, so if you could just take someone on a date to Hogsmeade this Saturday so they’ll stop pestering Remus, that’ll be great’. And he agreed!”

Remus just blinks at her.

Lily frowns. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes!” Remus says a little too quickly. “I just... don’t get why he’d ask Alyssa MacMillan. She’s rather dull, don’t you think?”

Lily shrugs. “She’s nice enough, but more importantly, she thinks Black is fit and would love to go out with him, but she’s got no real feelings for him and isn’t looking for a relationship, so she won’t mind just drawing people’s attention away from you, or draw his attention away from you, for that matter.”

“Right,” Remus says. “Guess I just didn’t think she’s his type, is all.”

“Who knows,” Lily smiles mischievously. “It could become some kind of Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers scenario, and they might fall in love for real! Then your problem is solved for good.”

Remus looks at her like she just told him puppies have gone extinct.

“Merlin, Remus. What is it? Is this some kind of ‘I don’t want him, but I don’t want anybody else to have him either’ thing? Because that’s really shitty!”

“No,” Remus says defensively. “No, that’s not it. I just think Sirius can do better than Alyssa MacMillan, but if that’s what he likes, than good for him.”

“Oh, for Godric’s sake, you’re jealous!”

“No, I’m not! Or at least, I don’t think I am. Am I?”

Lily folds her arms over her chest and stares at Remus intently. “Remus Lupin, do you have feelings for Sirius Black?”

“I... I don’t know,” Remus looks quite miserable. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Never thought about it?” Lily exclaims. “How do you mean, never thought about it? Do you remember that evening when Black took you out on a moonlit walk by the Great Lake, and poured his heart out to you, saying how he’s been crazy in love with you since the beginning of fifth year, and asked if you wanted to go on a date with him, to which you answered no? That would’ve been the moment to think about it!”

“It’s just...” Remus anxiously runs a hand through his hair. “With my condition, romantic relationships simply are not an option. I always saw romance as one part of being a teenager I didn’t have to concern myself with. I guess I just started to automatically ignore all thoughts and feelings related to romantic relationships. When Sirius made that confession, I was shocked, and the only thing I could think was ‘no, he can’t, he shouldn’t. I don’t do romance. I have to put an end to this immediately’. I never considered my own feelings. I mean, why would I?”

“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Lily scolds.

Remus opens his mouth to protest, but Lily cuts off whatever he was going to say.

“Not that you thought all of that, I believe you did, but that you can’t have romantic relationships with your condition is nonsense.”

“It’s never been done,” Remus argues.

“If no one ever did anything that’s never been done, we’d still be living in caves,” Lily firmly replies.

Remus fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “You really think it’s possible?”

“I don’t think it’s possible, I know it’s possible. So now we have established that, how do you feel about Sirius Black?”

“I’ve never thought-”

“Well, think about it now!”

“I don’t know,” Remus says, staring at the table. “Of course I think he’s attractive, but that doesn’t mean anything except that I have eyes. I mean, who doesn’t think he’s attractive? With that hair and those eyes... And I have even more reason, sharing a dorm with him. I see him when he comes out of the shower wearing just a towel, sweet mother of Merlin...”

Lily waits patiently for Remus to finish daydreaming.

Remus shakes himself out of his daze. “And of course I like him as a person. I wouldn’t have been friends with him all these years if I didn’t like him as a person. And what’s not to like? He’s clever, funny and brave, but he also has this really sweet side, you know? A side he doesn’t show much, and I guess it makes me feel special that he does show it around me. He always makes me feel special. It’s kind of weird, actually. He makes me feel special, but at the same time he makes me feel like I can just be myself, and that’s enough. I feel comfortable around him, and I suppose I do prefer his company above anyone else’s. Even on those moments when I normally don’t want to see anyone, he’s the only one I prefer being with over being alone. And when he’s not around I often find myself thinking about him. Now that I think about, I think about him almost all the time...”

Remus trails of and looks at Lily with wide eyes. Lily just nods.

“Oh Merlin,” Remus groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Remus, Remus, Remus,” Lily sighs. “You’re so lucky to have me as a friend. Here’s what you’re going to do...”

“Padfoot?”

Sirius whirls around, and grins at Remus. Remus can tell he’s trying to act like everything’s normal between them, but he can also tell that his grin is somewhat forced and there’s a hint of pain in his eyes.

“Wotcher, Moony.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Remus says.

The grin fades from Sirius’ face, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, yeah, Evans told me about those people that’ve been bothering you. I’m really sorry, Moony. If I had known...”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says.

“I know you feel uncomfortable about my feelings for you.” There’s a sadness in Sirius’ voice. “I won’t mention it again. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. If I could change it, I would, but being in love with you has become such a big part of me, and it’s not something I can just stop. Turns out, you’re a very hard person to not be in love with.”

“I don’t want you to not be in love with me!” Remus says.

Sirius frowns. “You like having me hopelessly pine after you that much?” He looks slightly hurt.

“No,” Remus says quickly. “No, I just think I might have been... too hasty in rejecting you?”

“Moony,” Sirius sighs. “You have every right to reject me. You don’t have to try and force yourself into feeling something you don’t, just because you pity me, or some stupid twats think they can judge you.”

“I rejected you because I didn’t think you should be with...” Remus gestures vaguely at himself. “Well, with someone like me. It only occurred to me recently, very recently, that I never even considered whether I have feelings for you.”

“And do you...”

“I do.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Sirius lets out a nervous chuckle. “So do you want to-”

“No!”

Sirius blinks in confusion. Remus quickly tries to clarify.

“I mean, no, you already asked me last time, this time I want to ask you.”

Sirius mutters something under his breath about a bloody emotional roller-coaster. Remus continues.

“I already talked to Alyssa MacMillan, and she told me to ‘go get my man’, so since you’re now free this Saturday, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me, as in a date?”

Sirius’ face lights up in a smile so beautiful it makes Remus a little dizzy. “I’d absolutely love to!”

[drmmyrs]

Caught in the Act (Becca x MC)

My first smut fic you guys!! I’m very new in the tumblr/writing community so I’d really appreciate feedback/constructive criticism. Also, English is not my first language so forgive me for any grammatical errors. Hope you enjoy and if not, thanks for reading anyways :))

P.S. Should I do a part 2??

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Word Count: 2300

Warning: Smut and some swearing

A/N: In this scenario, Becca and MC didn’t hook up during freshman year.

You were just about to leave when James stopped you with a book in his hand. "Can you give this to Becca? She left it in class this morning." You placed the book in your bag and bid James goodbye.

***

When you arrived home, you remembered that Zack, Kaitlyn, and Chris will be out late tonight. "I wonder if Becca's home," you mumbled to yourself. You grabbed Becca's book from your bag and proceeded to walk to her room. As you near her room, you noticed that her door is slightly ajar. You heard a whisper of your name coming from behind the door, barely audible that you weren't sure if you heard it right. Curiosity got the best of you, and you slowly crept towards the opening, your eyes widening at the sight in front of you. Becca is lying in bed in her underwear with one hand under her brassiere and the other underneath her panties, her hips slightly hunched upwards. When she noticed you at the door, her eyes widened but before she could say anything, you shouted, "sorry!" as you darted to your room. As soon as the door is shut, you pressed your back against the door, heart beating out of your chest as you processed what you just saw.

***

Hours go by as you contemplated going out of your room to have dinner. After you had mustered enough courage, you crept towards the kitchen, hoping and praying that you won't run into Becca.

As you were about to eat, you heard faint footsteps coming down the stairs and a few seconds later, Becca comes into view. When your gazes met, she quickly looked away, seemingly frozen in place. She looked as if she was contemplating if she'd rather starve than face the embarrassment of the earlier encounter. As she started heading back upstairs, you lamely said, "wait! I made dinner and... uhh.... eat with me?"

Becca slowly turned around, her eyes still not meeting yours. After what felt like forever, Becca finally decided to join you. You both ate in incredibly uncomfortable silence which you tried to alleviate by making small talk. "So... how's your day?"

"It's... okay," Becca said awkwardly, stabbing at her food.

You winced at her response. The Becca you knew would have already made a sassy remark about some girl's mismatched outfit or how some creep had tried to ask her out or anything that had annoyed her really, which is, to say the least, a lot. Ever since her fall out with her father and friends, you became the primary receiving end of her rants and annoyances, which you don't mind at all, as long as you're not the source. In fact, your playful banter with the blonde is something you had grown to look forward to. However, the recent encounter might temporarily halt your daily ritual, and the thought didn't sit well with you. She shouldn't be embarrassed, really. It's normal. You do it too. Not that you'll ever say that.

As the silence that followed grew and became deafening, you scrambled to say something, anything. "You left a book in your class earlier, and James asked me to give it back. That's why I was..." you trailed off. Really? You couldn't think of anything better to say?

Thankfully, Becca said, "so, where are the dorks?" successfully changing the subject.

"Kaitlyn has practice, Chris is hanging out with the team, and Zack said he was sleeping over at Grant's tonight."

"Right."

"Do you wanna watch a movie later?" you blurted out. Maybe if you hung out and talked about other things you could both forget about what happened.

"... what?"

"A movie... there's this movie I wanna watch and... I mean only if you're not doing anything." You held your breath as you prepared for the impending rejection.

But then Becca said, "sure, why not."

After you finished cleaning up, Becca settled on the couch as you prepared the snacks. "Do you want some wine?" you called out.

"Uh-huh," Becca answered absentmindedly while scrolling on her phone.

You sat on the couch beside Becca, handing her a glass of wine, and pressed play. You tried to focus on the movie, but your mind kept drifting back to a certain sight much more captivating, a sight that left you hot and bothered ever since. It didn't help that beside you was Becca, wearing a tank top and a tight skirt that hugged her curves in all the right places. You've always known how hot Becca was but you've never allowed yourself to think of her that way. After all, fantasizing about someone who had clearly despised you would only end up badly. But seeing her touch herself, whispering your name... no, not your name. You must've misheard, right? Right. There's no way she thought of you like that.

You didn't realize how much you've been drinking until Becca grabbed the bottle from your hand and said, "quit hogging all the wine."

Halfway through the movie and bottle of wine, you and Becca became more comfortable, exchanging commentaries about the movie, the earlier event seemingly forgotten. Except that you haven't forgotten and, frankly, you didn't want to forget.

"So, you're saying that he's potentially the most intelligent being, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Doesn't look intelligent to me. I mean he could've just wiped out all the assholes and we'd be in fucking paradise. Not to mention, people were half as many before, and it wasn't really a better time then, was it. The number of people isn't the problem here nor the lack of resources."

You raised your eyebrow at Becca. You have never seen her so riled up at a superhero movie before. No, you haven't seen her so riled up at anything but America's Most Eligible before. "Okay then, Aristotle, what do you think the problem is?"

"It's the selfish, rich assholes being selfish, rich assholes, duh."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Like you weren't once a selfish, rich asshole."

"Once? Are you saying that now I'm a selfless, humble angel?" Becca mused, sporting a dazzling smile.

"No, I'm saying that now you're just an asshole. I'm definitely the selfless, humble angel." And then you both burst out laughing.

As your laughter died down, Becca scooted closer to you and rested her head on your shoulder, the sudden move of affection rendering you frozen. You didn't know what was more intoxicating, the alcohol or Becca's perfume. After a brief deliberation, you reciprocated the gesture by leaning your head on top of hers.

"So, tell me, if you had any superpowers, what would it be?" you asked.

"I'd like to be able to fly. When I was a kid, I'd see Lily flying and imagined I was flying beside her."

"Okay. Where will we go?"

"We?"

"You're not leaving me behind, are you?

"Of course I am. You'll just drag me down." You raised your head, shooting Becca a playful scowl.

Becca rolled her eyes. "Ugh, fine. You could be my sidekick."

You shifted closer to Becca as her head nuzzled against your neck. "What crimes would we be fighting?"

"Crimes of fashion, of course."

"Like you didn't commit one when you had those awful bangs," you teased.

"Careful, Emily. We're gonna be a thousand feet in the air. We wouldn't want someone to accidentally fall, would we?"

You chuckled. "Like you would do that."

"Oh, you don't think I can?"

"Come on, Becca. We both know you'd be lost without me."

After several beats of silence, Becca lifted her head to face you, her face serious all of a sudden. "You're right. I would be." The air in the room immediately shifted as she proceeded to caress your face, her touch sending your senses into overdrive. Her fingers trailed down to your lips, and your breath hitched from anticipation. "Becca, I-" Before you could finish, Becca pressed her lips against yours, muffling your next words. The kiss was slow and sweet at first but quickly became more fervent as you pulled her onto your lap with one of your hands at the small of her back and the other behind her head. Becca looped her legs around your waist as she ran her fingers through your hair, flicking her tongue against yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. When you pulled apart for air, you trailed kisses down to her neck and nipped gently, eliciting a moan from Becca. Becca then placed her hand under your shirt as she pulled her body closer to yours, the space between you two becoming nonexistent.

"Emily," Becca groaned, her voice a hoarse whisper. Becca saying your name is nothing new. In fact, you have heard her say it in anger, annoyance, disgust, tears (not your fault), laughter, more annoyance, but never in a million years have you expected to hear her say your name with so much want and desire; it was utter music to your ears. She was now grinding against your lap, her wetness seeping through the fabric of her panties matching your own wetness. You pulled her in for another kiss, roughly gripping her hips as she continued to grind against you.

"Should we move this to the bedroom?" you panted between kisses. Becca unhooked her legs from your waist and planted her knees on both sides of the couch, hastily removing her top and then helping you out of yours. I guess that's a no then. The thought of someone walking in on you ravishing each other naked both thrilling and terrifying, fueling your arousal.

You pulled Becca in for another kiss, your hand darting to the hook of her bra and expertly unclasping it in one swift motion. She attempted to do yours but you leaned hard against the couch, blocking her efforts, earning you a frown. "In a while, Becs. I just wanna see you first." 

Becca pulled back from you, giving you a better view of her body. You reached out and slowly pulled down the straps of her bra, your fingers grazing her skin as your eyes locked with hers in a heated gaze. As you finished removing her bra, your eyes were greeted by a breathtaking sight, knocking you speechless. Sitting on you is a freaking goddess.

Becca smirked down at you as if pleased by your reaction. "As much as I want for you to ogle me all night, I believe it's my turn."

She leaned towards you and practically ripped your bra off. She then took a moment to appraise your body as her lips curled into a smile. "I can't believe you've been hiding this from me."

"I didn't really have a reason to be naked around you, did I?"

She raised her mouth towards your ear and sultrily whispered, "Well, now you do. And I'm gonna enjoy every. single. inch," before sucking a sensitive part behind your ear, and you swore you came just a little bit then. Overcome with desire, you placed your hands underneath Becca's skirt, grabbing her perfectly sculpted ass as you hoisted her up further, making her yelp as she staggered upward, her hands now gripping the top of the backrest with her breasts directly in front of you. Having better access, you brought one of your hands to her front, only a thin fabric separating you from her.

"You're so wet, Becs," you murmured as you started rubbing against the drenched underwear.

"Ohhh... god... Emily," Becca whimpered, her hips moving against your fingers to gain more friction.

"Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it," you softly uttered as you brought your other hand to her breast, softly massaging it while your nose teased the hardened nipple on her other breast.

"Touch me. Fuck me... oh, please. Fuck me hard," Becca begged.

You swept Becca's panties to the side and inserted two fingers with ease, pumping them slowly, exploring her walls, her crevices, her depth, then gradually increasing the tempo as your mouth latched to her nipple, sucking greedily at the swollen tit.

"Ohhh fuck... yes... there... that's it.... ohhh that feels so good."

You slowed your fingers down a bit as you added a third finger, stretching her further, thumb pressed firmly against her clit. Becca was now gripping your hair tightly, pushing her breast further into your mouth as your tongue flicked vigorously against her nipple. Her other nipple was attended by your thumb and index finger, pinching and rolling roughly - the pain indistinguishable from pleasure.

Becca had now lost all inhibition to keep silent; her moans echoed throughout the house while she rode your fingers in wild abandonment. She was basically screaming as you quickened the thrusts, her body struggling to keep up with the pace.

"Emily... Oh god... I'm about to..."

You redoubled your efforts, wanting to give the blonde her release. After a few more thrusts, Becca exploded, crying out in pure, carnal pleasure as your pumps slowed down, riding the waves of her orgasm. After you finally withdrew your fingers, Becca collapsed to your lap, her head slumped on your shoulder as you held her in an embrace. You gently kissed the back of her head as you lovingly caressed her back. After a moment of recuperation, Becca finally lifted her head and gave you a long, sweet kiss. When you pulled apart from the kiss, your foreheads are touching and your eyes closed. You stayed like that for a while as you breathed in each other's presence. When Becca leaned back, her smile was mischievous, her gaze playful. "Now that that's over with, shall we move on to the main event?"

"Main event?" you asked, cocking your head in confusion.

"You didn't think you'd get away unpunished, did you?"

Read Part 2

[kkintle]

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

[august-diehl]

No One Cares For Orphans - Part 1

A/N: I really hope you guys like this idea, let me know if I should do more parts.

Summary: You are an orphan, when you were in High School you met Bucky Barnes, the both of you started dating. But one day you take the blame for a crime that your boyfriend commit, how much is your life gonna change?

FEEDBACK!

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, just overall sadness.

Tagging: @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​

Main Masterlist

You didn't have a family, living in a orphanage your whole life in New York, but you were really intelligent which allowed you to attend a prestigious private school, that’s where you met Bucky and Steve, and you fell in love with Bucky since the first time you’ve ever seen him. But you weren’t the only one from the orphanage that was extremely intelligent, Josh he was two years older than you, but his problem was his addiction, his mother was a prostitute addicted to heroine, he barely made it out alive, doctors were more than impressed that not only he survived without any consequences, but he had such a high I.Q.

You remember the first time you saw Bucky like it was yesterday, he was laughing with his group of friends, Steve, Sam, Natasha and the twins Wanda and Pietro. You were walking with Josh, trying to get to know the school more, that’s when your eyes locked with Bucky’s and you got shy, averting your gaze, his deep blue eyes were too much for you. Josh was talking to you about something but you couldn’t concentrate, trying to get another glimpse of Bucky, without getting caught. That’s when Bucky came alone to talk to you and Josh, he had a smirk on his face, exuding confidence.

“Hi, you guys must be new. I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky. And you are…?” Bucky extended his hand to shake your hand, but that wasn’t something that Josh wanted.

“Leaving.” Josh dragged you away from Bucky, he didn't want anyone hurting you, or taking advantage of you.

“Josh, he was just being nice.” You said after you were away from Bucky and his friends.

“I thought you were smarter than that, rich kids ain’t shit, little goblin.” Josh laughed when you slapped his arm, he was the big brother you’ve never had.

“I’m not a little goblin, you’re just freakishly tall.” That was true, Josh was too tall for his own good, you’ve never met anyone as tall as him.

“Whatever, just stay away from the rich kids. I will too, because if we don’t, they will chew us up and spit us out. Nobody cares about orphans, promise me.” And you did promise him that, and Josh promised you the same thing. But neither of you kept that promise, Josh was dealing drugs inside the school, and you started dating Bucky. And eventually you and Josh parted ways throughout High School.

*******************************************

You were so happy with Bucky, all your life you were looking for someone that loves you, that takes care of you, that respects you, that will work for your relationship, and you found all of that on Bucky. In your senior year, you and Bucky were trying to get into the same college, and he said that you wouldn’t have to worry about housing, because he wanted the two of you living together, you had so much planned, you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with Bucky.

But everything changed in a matter of a week, your whole world crumbled down right before your eyes. You found out that Josh died of an overdose, in a ditch somewhere. You felt guilty, because of Josh’s drug problem, you distanced yourself from him, instead of helping him, and now he was dead and there was nothing that you could do about it. And you also found out that you were pregnant, which was worse due to the fact that you and Bucky had sex a few times, and he was your first. Bucky gave you a car as soon as you turned sixteen, you said that it was too much, but he insisted, and having a car was a lifesaver to you.

You haven’t seen Bucky in three days, ever since you discovered your pregnancy. You knew that it was going to be complicated, but you and Bucky would make it work, having a baby wasn’t easy, but you craved for a family, and you knew that the man you loved more than anything in the world did as well, because he hated his family, because they didn't approve your relationship, you knew that Bucky would be happy.

It was three in the morning when you got a call from Bucky.

“Y/N, I think I killed someone.” That’s all what he said, you tracked his phone and went out to find him. He was in the middle of nowhere, and he was crying, you saw a man on the road, he didn't seem dead.

“Thank God that you’re here, doll.” He hugged you, tightly. You’ve never seen Bucky so distressed, he was usually so calm and aloof. “I’m gonna go to prison, gonna go on trial as an adult.” He kept mumbling whilst you were trying to help the older man, and that’s when you made the worst mistake of your life.

“Take your car and leave, I’ll handle this.” You were still seventeen, but Bucky was eighteen. He looked at you with a dumbfounded expression, but he kissed you and left. You put your car where Bucky’s were, and you called 911.

*********************************************

After the ambulance and the police came, you were taken to the police station, you didn't say anything, but you sent Bucky a message, saying that you needed him and that you were being held at the police station, he read the message, but did not replied. That’s when the tears came, you took the blame for the man you loved but he couldn’t even help you. You have been sleeping in the police station for three days since no one would bail you out, the only person that could help was dead, Josh.

You were in the small at the precinct and you saw a man, he had dark black hair and a wide grin on his face, his presence commanded respect. You saw him talking to the detective that was handling your case and he left for the interrogation room. The detective took you to him, you haven’t showered in two days, and sleeping wasn’t an option.

“Miss Y/L/N, I am Loki Odinson your lawyer.” You gave him a warm smile, Bucky didn't forget about you. You couldn’t be happier. “I will help you with your case, my firm does many cases pro bono and I take the time to help the causes that are close to my heart.” Pro bono? That meant…

“No one sent you here?” The smile fell off your face, Bucky did forget about you.

“No, but the good news is that you are a minor which means that your record might sponged. And you haven’t told them anything, which is good.” Loki was the best lawyer money could buy, and he was known for his ‘non traditional’ methods of defense, but no one could ever prove foul play.

“I’m used to bigger people bullying me, I’m not easily frightened, sir.” Loki pointed at the chair for you to sit down and you did, and you tried to prevent tears from falling. “How much time do I need to be in jail for?” You didn't want to give your baby for adoption, and at that moment you realised that you were truly alone in the world and that Josh was the only person to truly care about you. Loki laughed, as if you said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“You won’t spend any time in jail, the man was missing for two weeks and the family is more than happy to have him back, they don’t want to press charges, he wasn’t badly injured. But the State does, and I’m more than capable of giving you community service, if that. Before we start, I must know everything about you, and do not leave any detail.” You took a deep breath, if that meant not giving your baby up to adoption, you’d do anything.

You told him every single little detail about your until to that point, uneventful life. Loki was paying close attention to you, and he seemed more than satisfied with your story.

“That is the reason why you asked me if no one sent me here?” You only nodded your head, how stupid you felt. “The Barnes family are ruthless, they wouldn’t allow themselves to be caught up in this mess, even if it was their son that created it.” That was the moment that your innocence died, only believing the best in people, that wasn’t you anymore. “I already know what you’re going to say to the police and at your hearing, and you will leave without any type of repercussion, and I intend on suing the NYPD for the way that they treated you.” You only nodded, and at that moment you’d do anything not to end up in jail.

“The baby that you’re carrying is from your former friend Josh, in the middle of the night he came to your bedroom and violated you.” You were going to protest, but Loki only raised a finger to stop you. “The reason why you hit the man was because you fainted while driving, due to the pregnancy. You’re going to say that you tried to report the rape but they didn't listen to you, a little bit of victim blaming a pregnant teenager, the judge will apologize to you on his knees.” Your case was the easiest thing that Loki ever dealt with, in week you’d have nothing to worry about besides your baby.

“Why do I need to smear Josh’s name like that? Why can’t I say that the baby is Bucky’s?” You didn't want to do that to the only person that ever cared about you, you parted ways at the end, but you never stopped loving Josh.

“The Barnes Family won’t allow their precious son to have a bastard child, and they will hunt you and your baby down. They are ruthless people, Y/N.” A lump on your throat formed, Bucky would allow his family to do that? But when you stopped to think about it, Bucky did everything that his family told him, the first time you went to his house, mother told him that she didn't want you there, so Bucky never took you to his house ever again. His family controlled him, and he did nothing about it, you doing this for him was his way of getting rid of you.

“I will do it, no one weeps for orphans.” You’d only hoped that no matter where Josh was, he would be able to forgive you. Calling Josh a rapist was probably the worst thing you ever did in your life, he was like a brother to you, and he would never hurt you.

You gave your statement to the police with Loki by your side, you even cried, the detectives assumed it was because your the sexual assault, but it was because you were accusing Josh of a crime he didn't commit, that he would never be capable of doing with anyone, since he was a baby conceived through rape. The police let you go and they give your things back to you, on your way out. You threw your cell phone away, and you left the building with Loki, you broke down, you had no one to turn to, you would eventually be kicked out of the orphanage because you would be eighteen in six months, and you had nowhere to go.

“What am I going to do now?” You said between sobs in Loki’s arms, you were desperate.

“I have something in mind for you.” Loki guided you towards his car, and drove off.

***********************************************

Loki entered a huge tower in New York, everything was so pristine and the building screamed wealth. Loki didn't say anything to you, he was simply guiding you to the elevator. He pressed the button for the penthouse, and the elevator started. When the doors were opened you could hear a man shouting, and someone aggressively typing on the keyboard.

“Stark.” Loki made his presence known, but the man didn't acknowledged him or you for that matter.

“I’m busy right now, Odinson.” The man shouted, but Loki only rolled his eyes.

“There is someone that I want you to meet, and I’d like to know if you can help her.” Tony stopped to look at you and Loki, and he got up from his chair, he was wearing glasses and he seemed to be in his early 30s.

“I’m Tony Stark, and if this horrible man says that I must help you, then I will.” You shook his hand, and he sat down again in his chair.

“Y/N, if you need anything just call me. I have to prepare for your case and many others, I’ll speak with you shortly.” Loki smiled at you, and you hugged him, murmuring ‘Thank you.’ “Take good care of her, Stark.” Tony only dismissed him with his hand and Loki left you there, but you trusted Loki, if he trusted this man, so did you.

“Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?” The least that you could do is make yourself useful, but Tony visibly winced.

“Never call me that again, it’s Tony we’re going to be roommates. What do you know about I.T?” You liked Tony already, he reminded you of Josh, carefree but also very intelligent.

“I wanted to go to college to study, I.T.” That seemed such a distant dream, your whole life was turned upside down, because you loved a rich and entitled brat, that wanted you to go to jail for a crime that you didn't commit, just to stop him from getting into trouble.

“Colleges are a waste of time and money, trust me I’ve been in three.” Tony got a bottle of water, and came closer to you. “Tell me more about your story.” 

“Can I rest for a little bit? I haven’t been sleeping well for these few days.” Tony nodded.

“Of course, choose whichever room you want. But tomorrow you’ll tell me your story and then I’ll teach you everything that you need to know about I.T and we can get my company back.” To be honest, you weren’t that tired, but you were avoiding telling all the horrible memories of everything that you’ve been thought. You entered the first room you came across, you took a shower and put the same clothes that you had before, and then you cried.

Bucky probably never loved you, and he found a way to get rid of you and you were stupid enough to believe him. You were happy that Loki found you, you had no idea what to do if he didn't did those pro bono cases, probably jail and giving up your baby, but your baby would be loved, he didn't need his horrible father, he would have everything from you, you had a reason to keep fighting and make sure that your baby doesn’t become like his father. Josh was right, no one cares about orphans, especially James Buchanan Barnes.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 214: Worlds Collide, Pt 3

Summer was growing exhausted, as she kept nullifying Mephisto's fireballs by putting them in her bubbles and extinguishing them, while her siblings fought off his heavily armed gang.

"We have to make sure they don't destroy the museum. We can't let all this history be destroyed," Eva feared.

"Yeah...we need to draw them out of here for sure," Emma agreed, as she blasted more of them back.

"He's definitely given these guys an upgrade in fighting skills and power," Leo said, as he breathed heavily, following a fist fight with one of the thugs.

"All right kid, you're our resident powerhouse. What do you suggest?" Emma asked her baby brother.

"An earthquake is the last thing we want in the museum, Emmy," he argued, but then smirked.

"But I think I have a new trick up my sleeve that I've been working on with Mr. Gold," he said. Rumple nodded.

"Now would be the time, lad," Rumple said, as three more of the thugs dropped dead, thanks to the Dark One snapping their necks.

"So much for not killing," Eva said uncomfortably.

"They're thugs...he just saved a ton of lives by killing them. They would have gone on to kill innocent people," Leo reasoned.

"He's right," Regina agreed, as several more dropped, thanks to her. It was drastic, but the stakes were too high. They were already going to be blamed for all the property damage and being the cause of it. But if they had civilian casualties, it would be far worse.

"I won't be surprised if the Major loses the battle with her government and we have them threatening to have the National Guard invade the United Realms," Regina said.

"Mom and Dad will wall us off before they let that happen," Leo assured. She sighed, hoping he was right. Snow and Charming were notoriously forgiving, but after the experience with their darker halves, she hoped they had learned that there were times that the tough decisions had to be made.

"You really think you can take me on, brat?" Mephisto questioned, as the fire in his palms gave the entire room a glow and yet Bobby didn't back away from the intimidating display.

"Considering I can do that too...yeah I think I do," Bobby retorted, as fire came alive in his hands. By now, most of the innocent bystanders had been evacuated, but there were still a few reporters and camera people that were braving the spectacle in order to get in on video.

"And I can do way more than that...like this," Bobby said, as he grabbed Mephisto's wrists.

"I may be able to wield all the elements, but I still specialize in earth powers," he said, as they disappeared with a jade green puff of smoke.

"Look!" Leo called, as they saw something burrowing beneath them through the ground and followed it outside the museum. There was another puff of jade green smoke, as the two emerged from the ground and Bobby tossed Mephisto onto a parked car.

"Ooohhh…I hope they have insurance," Emma commented. Mephisto was seething, as he pulled himself off the wrecked car.

"If you think for a second that this is over, brat...you have another thing coming," Mephisto growled, as disappeared in a fiery display of flames. His four older siblings descended upon him at that point, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair.

"That was awesome!" Leo exclaimed.

"Yeah...he was pissed. Good work, kid," Emma congratulated him. Bobby looked down a bit shyly.

"Thanks," he said.

"Come on...we need to find Mom, Dad, and Grandpa Xander," Eva said. They all agreed and with the rest of their family, they ventured back inside the museum to try and discern where they could have gone.

~*~

Snow and David chased them through the Museum, but when they followed them into the Ancient Egypt exhibit, they found the room empty.

"We lost them," Xander hissed.

"No...there's no way out of this room other than the way we came in," Snow realized.

"She's right," he said, as they willed the chalice forth in its joined form and used it to scan the room for any residual magic or portals. There was an ethereal glow on the replica of the Giza pyramid and they exchanged a glance.

"That's why no one can ever find them. They're using this exhibit to portal somewhere else," David said.

"But this land has no magic without the two of you in the vicinity," Xander said.

"No...but would creating a portal with some of Clayton's technology be impossible?" Snow asked and he sighed.

"No...that's very possible," he agreed, as the chalice glowed and the magic opened up the portal from the residual trail left by whatever technology they had used to slip away.

"We have no idea what we're walking into," Xander warned.

"No...we don't. But we don't have a choice. We have to stop them and it looks like we're the only ones that can," David said, as he looked at Snow.

"The kids will find us too…" she assured them. They nodded and walked through the portal.

~*~

"Wow...this is a really old book," Tink mentioned.

"It is and it was really hard to find. That's why I think it might be important," Rose replied.

"But I thought you were able to catalog everything in the library?" Neal asked.

"I was...that's why this one is so unique. This book is not in my catalog," she replied.

"The plot thickens," Tink said, as she flipped through it.

"Because new books literally appear all the time, that's happened from time to time, but I just have a feeling that this one had help appearing," Rose replied.

"You think it was being hidden, my angel?" Fandral asked.

"It's possible. I don't know who is suddenly helping us or maybe it's because Blue has committed the ultimate crime," Tink replied.

"The murder of another fairy," she said.

"Not to mention a human, even a deplorable one," Fandral added.

"Who did Blue answer to as Head Fairy?" Neal asked.

"Zeus himself," Tink replied, as he took the book.

"And who do you answer to now that you're Head Fairy and Zeus is dead?" he asked.

"Well…I've had no formal meeting with any other Gods, except Aphrodite. I suppose it would be Athena, but she has yet to formally meet with me," Tink replied.

"And if Zeus, for some reason, forbade Athena from interfering, she might use other means to get the information to us," Rose deduced.

"It's entirely possible," Tink agreed.

"Did Blue ever answer to Hera?" Neal asked.

"No…Hera would have never had any authority over the fairies. She may have been Zeus' wife, but they hated each other. He didn't trust her," Tink replied.

"That was probably wise...look at this," he said, as he showed them an image on the page.

"That's Blue...and Hera," Tink said.

"Standing over the unconscious body of Aphrodite," Rose added in alarm.

"Can you translate this?" Fandral asked. Tink nodded and used her wand to translate the book from Greek to English.

"We best start at the beginning," Rose said, as she took the book and began to read.

~*~

Flashback

The young blonde girl cried, as she looked out over the ocean, tears glistening in her eyes, as the sea foam bubbled to the surface of the crystal blue water.

"It's time, my precious one," Zeus called, as he stood behind her.

"Why Daddy?" she asked.

"Mother has been gone but a few weeks and you are getting married again!" Aphrodite shouted.

"You know it's not my choice, young one," he admonished.

"I am the God of the skies. I must have a Queen...it is one rule I cannot break," he said, as she stood up.

"And it is time for you to learn of your duties. You are the Goddess of love and beauty, daughter of Dione and you will fulfill her vision of championing true love," he announced, as an item appeared in his hand.

"Mother's chalice," she said in awe.

"Your chalice now...its magnificence and power is now yours," he corrected.

"What do I know about true love?" she asked bitterly. He smirked.

"You will, my sweet girl," he assured, as he kissed her forehead.

"Hera will not like that she does not get mother's chalice," Aphrodite said wearily.

"She has no claim to it. You are our pride and joy and she wouldn't want anyone but you to have it," he replied.

"It's a big responsibility…" she said with trepidation.

"One that your mother knew you would excel at. After all, who better than to choose the truest loves each millennium among the mortals than a product of true love herself," he said. Aphrodite smiled and hugged him.

"I miss her, Daddy," she said.

"Me too, sweet girl," he replied. They were both unaware of Hera's blistering gaze upon them from the shadows.

~*~

"Are you sure they're okay?" George questioned, as he looked at the pair. The moment James had given Aphrodite true love's kiss, the curse on them shattered, but as a side effect of the complete unlocking on Aphrodite's memories, they collapsed into unconsciousness. Neither Zeus or Dione seemed alarmed though and Nyx had magicked a bed to lay them upon.

"They are fine...this is part of it. They will only awaken when they have relieved their entire past," Zeus assured.

"What kind of curse is this? And who cursed them?" George asked.

"You will know that soon...but not before them," Dione replied and they went back to waiting for them to awaken.

~*~

"These are exquisite," the man said, as he examined the artifacts.

"These are genuine Olmec Terracotta's...they're priceless," the woman next to him added, as she looked them over as well.

"Everything has a price...getting these wasn't easy," Natalie commented.

"Yes...they are nearly untouched, despite their age. How did you find these?" the woman asked.

"I'm not an archeologist that plays by the rules, so to speak. But I know what I'm doing and able to excavate certain sites that have forbidden said excavation," Natalie replied.

"Clayton always did hire the best. It seems you have surrounded yourself with the same skillful people that your father did," she commented, looking to Johnny. He smirked.

"I was groomed from birth to step into his shoes," he agreed.

"And I do manage to find the best, however, our previous translator passed and we need a new one for this," Johnny mentioned.

"Oh a quipu...is this the one you've been hoping for?" she asked.

"We'll see," Natalie replied vaguely.

"Well…I may know of someone that can translate this for you. But I expect you to give me a deal on these beauties," she said.

"Then I assume you and Dr. La Guerra are interested in the jade as well?" Johnny asked.

"Normally, I would pass on the jade, but the condition this is in is rare," the doctor replied.

"Then you had better be prepared to pay a pretty penny," a new voice said, as Natalie turned.

"Mother…" she said in a warning tone.

"You'll let these real treasures slip through your fingers on the off chance that another silly quipu will lead you to a grander one that might not even exist," Thalia argued.

"I can't believe you discount the existence of Cibola or El Dorado when I was born in freaking Atlantis," Natalie argued back.

"Clayton was hundreds of years old and knew some of the best explorers. He even knew her ancestor, one of the greatest and most ruthless conquistadors in history," Thalia argued, gesturing to the woman.

"And he still never found it," she finished.

"It's real mother...and I'm going to find it," Natalie snapped back. Thalia sighed.

"You and finding things," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Natalie asked, but her question was interrupted when Snow, David, and Xander appeared in the secret meeting place.

"Well, well...you found your way here, after all," Johnny said, as he tapped his glass.

"Ladies and Gentlemen...the illustrious Snow White and Prince Charming themselves, in the flesh, along with the chalice of Aphrodite!" he announced, instantly drawing the entire room's attention to them.

"My father's murderers!" he continued, with a hiss.

"We didn't murder him. His own arrogance destroyed him," David snapped back.

"Your chalice...it was all I ever heard about growing up, you know. Father was always a bit miffed that he knew about such an object, but it was the one thing he couldn't collect. Thus why he decided to collect the pair of you," Johnny retorted, as he looked to Xander.

"You remember the stories. I still remember those nights here and there where father was too busy to deal with me and the nannies were at their wits end. But you would get me calmed down and put to bed," he recalled, with a bit of fondness.

"All while you knew you abandoned your own son and your granddaughter that was out there in some group home," he added with a vicious smile.

"Shut up, you little prick," Xander hissed, which only amused the sadistic son of the Collector.

"And you," he said, with reverence, as he looked at Snow.

"Father always was enamored with you the most, because of your resemblance to the Goddess. She was his original obsession," he revealed, surprising them both.

"Oh, didn't know that, did you?" he said.

"I suppose you wouldn't, since the Goddess has had her memories scrambled more times than even you two," he retorted.

"Yes...he almost had it all. He made you crush his heart to cast a curse and he would have had the chalice. And you...but then you know that part. It still haunts you," he leered.

"Shut the hell up," David growled, as he pulled Snow even closer to him.

"And you...the hero Prince Charming. He wanted to be you, in a way, just without all the selfless heroics. The people's Prince...the husband of the fairest of them all. The truest loves. I came to loathe your story," he said bitterly.

"It's not our problem that your narcissistic father didn't hug you enough. Trust us...we never wanted his kind of attention," David retorted.

"Oh, but you got it...every bit of it," Johnny replied.

"We're here to retrieve the stolen items that you took," Snow said, as she looked at Natalie.

"Including the quipu. It's not yours," she added.

"Oh and I suppose you're going to take it from me, Princess?" Natalie challenged.

"Don't tempt her. That's not a fight you'll win," David challenged, as blue eyes met blue eyes.

"I think I can handle more than you know," she challenged back.

"Thinking you have any advantage here would be unwise," the older blonde woman next to Natalie said.

"Who the hell are you?" David asked. She smirked and looked at Xander.

"He is definitely yours," she replied.

"Long time no see...Xander," she purred.

"Thalia," he said stiffly.

"You know her?" David asked.

"Oh he knows me...quite well, in fact," she replied. Snow's eyes narrowed and she looked at her father-in-law.

"How well?" she asked, watching him swallow nervously.

"It only happened a couple of times," he assured.

"Oh my God…" David exclaimed in outrage.

"David...your mother had been gone a long time and I was struggling," he tried to explain.

"Yes...he was. The alcohol...the guilt with you laying in a hospital bed and his granddaughter in an unhappy group home," Thalia revealed.

"Stop it," Xander growled.

"Yes...to be fair, you wanted to reunite your family then, but Clayton convinced you that it would be a mistake," Thalia said.

"I've made a lot of mistakes and I wasn't always a good man. My son knows my shortcomings," Xander insisted.

"Apparently not with the way he's looking at you right now," Thalia said.

"Oh and I suppose your daughter knows everything about you?" he challenged. She frowned.

"Not everything…" Snow interjected and the older blonde glared at her.

"Stay out of this, princess. It's none of your business," she retorted.

"David is my business and I have a feeling there's something that she doesn't know about you," Snow challenged.

"Snow?" David asked, as he watched her look at his father. He sighed. He had known Snow long enough to know that she wouldn't let this go until she had answers for her husband.

"Is she mine?" he asked and Natalie looked alarmed by that question.

"What? Mother?" she asked.

"We're not doing this…" Thalia hissed, as the three of them cried out and a shield appeared around them.

"Ray shields...I think you'll find them quite impervious to your magical chalice," Thalia said, as they tried to use it to nullify the shield, but it didn't work.

"The auction is over for tonight!" she called, as they could only watch, as most of the people dispersed through portals that seemed to be catacombed within the strange chamber.

"Where is this place?" Snow wondered.

"We're hundreds of feet underground. Trust me, no one is going to find you," Natalie refuted.

"Underground?" David asked, as he and Snow shared an amused glance.

"You're going to eat those words," Snow said.

"What about our deal?" doctor La Guerra interjected, as there was suddenly a rumble beneath them and a huge plume of jade green smoke, as Bobby burrowed to the surface with his siblings and Regina, while the others waited on standby on the surface.

"That was the weirdest thing ever, but really cool," Leo said.

"There is a ton of dirt in my hair," Regina complained, as she started trying to brush it out.

"At least your hair is dark enough not to show it," Emma grumbled.

"Mom! Dad!" Eva called, as she ran to them.

"Careful honey...we don't know what this shield is, but the chalice couldn't break through," Snow warned. Regina waved her hand over it.

"It's not any magic I know," she said.

"Maybe it's not magic at all," Leo said, as Eva spotted a control panel on the wall.

"Not one step, princess," Thalia warned, but was shocked when Leo used a lightning bolt to fry the control panel, destroying the shield.

"Let's go…" Johnny growled, as he grabbed Natalie's hand. She spared another glance at them, as Johnny escaped with her and Thalia. The doctor and his companion weren't so lucky.

"Freeze!" David warned, as he pulled his gun on the mysterious pair and they were forced to put their hands up. Emma waved her hand and cuffs appeared on their wrists. David holstered his gun and they used the chalice to create a portal back to the surface.

"No idea who you two are...but you're gonna tell us," he said, as they gathered the stolen artifacts, except the quipu, and filed through the portal.

~*~

Flashback

Hera stormed into her Temple and huffed, as she sat down in her Throne.

"For someone that just got married to the All Mighty Zeus...you don't seem very happy," Blue mentioned, as she emerged from the shadows.

Zeus had created the fairies to be messengers between the Gods and mortals. For some reason, the mortals saw fairies as a symbol of good and did not fear them like they did the Gods. Mortals had their reasons to fear the Gods though, since the past was filled with bloodshed between the monarchs of Mount Olympus and humans.

Reul Ghorm had been chosen by him as head of the fairies, but as it often did, power slowly began to corrupt Blue and just as bitterness had set in for Hera, it had for Blue as well.

Blue wanted more power and control over mortals, but Zeus had long forbade it. She had even tried to endear herself to Dione in hopes of having a hand in choosing the truest loves. It was a vision that Dione had and never realized. She planned to select two mortals, who represented the epitome of true love, to bestow the power of her magical chalice to.

The chalice was forged by Dione's mother, Gaia herself, from the essence of the earth she loved so much and all its elements. She gifted it to Dione and she wanted to do good for mortals with it. But the recent Titanomachy had given Hera the perfect opportunity to eliminate the woman that had the Throne she wanted. Dione had been mortally wounded, but it was not what it appeared to be. Hera had colluded with the Titans to topple Zeus and Dione, promising them positions of power if she was crowned Queen if they killed Dione and her precious daughter. Naturally, she betrayed them all and they were cast into Tartarus with her secret remaining unknown. The end result was that Dione was dead and she was Queen now. However, their offspring lived and the coveted chalice now belonged to Aphrodite.

"He gave the chalice to his daughter!" she hissed.

"Then perhaps we need to arrange an accident for the little blonde bimbo," Blue suggested.

"You know that's impossible. The war with the Titans distracted Athena enough that she could not see our deception, but now it will not be so easy," Hera reminded her.

"True and if Zeus loses the apple of his eye...well, there will be no Earth to rule. He would smite us all and the mortals just in sheer blind rage," Blue agreed.

"Yes...and even as Queen, I am still overshadowed by Dione's precious little flower," Hera complained. Blue smirked.

"If we can't kill her...then we can certainly manipulate her," she suggested. Hera's interest perked at that.

"What do you have in mind?" Hera asked.

"I will befriend the empty headed beauty and help her choose her champions," Blue replied. Hera smirked.

"Champions that we select...champions that ultimately could lead to our control of the chalice," she deduced. Blue nodded.

"Precisely," she said and Hera tilted her head.

"You already have a pair of mortals in mind, don't you?" she asked. Blue smirked.

"Yes...and they will serve us well. The man I have in mind will do anything for power. Faking true love with some woman will fool the little twit and when she gifts them her chalice...it's as good as ours," Blue replied.

"Then this is our plan. Proceed...and do not fail me, Blue," Hera said.

"Never, my Goddess. Zeus may think my loyalty is to him, but we know that you are my Queen," Blue said, as she became small in her fairy form with a Blue glow and descended back to earth.

~*~

"Wow…" Tink said, as Rose finished reading the beginning passages.

"So Blue has really been loyal to Hera all along and was working for her," Fandal said.

"That's heavy...but something tells me more happened later between them. I mean, this explains why Hera hates Aphrodite, but this implies that Blue was only doing Hera's bidding at first," Neal said.

"He's right...somewhere it became personal for Blue too," Rose said, as she closed the book.

"I'll read more when we get home and then we can discuss more tomorrow," she said. Tink smiled and used her magic on the book, duplicating it.

"Now we can both read...because I have to know more. Then I think we can finally bring her down," Tink said. Rose nodded and smiled at her.

"Guess we're doing more reading when we get home instead of other stuff," Neal muttered. The blonde smirked.

"Behave and you might get more than reading," she teased, as they joined hands and left the diner.

"I'll round up the children," Fandral said, as he kissed her cheek and went to get them from the table where they were playing a game.

"Mom...what if the Blue Fairy realizes you're reading her story and she tries to stop you?" Carina asked worriedly.

"I won't lie to you, sweetie...she very well may try. But your Papa will never let anything happen to me," Rose promised.

"Your mother is right," Fandral agreed, as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"The Blue Fairy may have magic, but this Asgardian warrior will not let her silence more people," he promised, as they left the diner to head home for the evening.

~*~

"Dammit...you two were careless! And now we lost a fortune worth of jade and rare terracotta's!" Thalia roared.

"Relax...the quipu is what we really wanted, especially if it is the one my father sought. The key to Cibola or El Dorado. They have enough treasure to command power over the entire world," Johnny replied.

"Or it's just another ancient series of knots and strings full of riddles! Taunting the truest loves was a horrible misstep!" she cried.

"They already knew exactly who we were!" Johnny snapped.

"That woman...the Major has them chasing us like her own personal team of fairy tale agents," he added irritably.

"Pack up...we're leaving. Back to the Athens base," Thalia ordered.

"Oh no...we're not doing that. It's time for offensive measures," Johnny refuted.

"Johnny...that's not a good idea," Thalia argued.

"I'm in charge of this operation!" Johnny snapped.

"I am my father's heir!" he added.

"Besides...the cowardly doctor will talk. I have no illusions that Prince Charming and his brats will interrogate the truth right out of him," he said. Thalia sighed.

"Then you better work on getting that thing translated and hope that it's what we need," she said.

"Not until you tell me what you're hiding," Natalie interjected.

"Natalie…" she started to deflect, but her daughter cut her off.

"Were you and Xander...involved?" she asked.

"Of course they were," Johnny answered for her.

"Stay out of this, Junior," Thalia snapped.

"Mother…" Natalie pressed and she sighed.

"It only happened a couple of times," Thalia insisted, stunning her to silence. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, because somehow she knew the answer.

"Is…is Xander my father?" she asked. Thalia turned away in frustration.

"Mother...is he my father!?" she shouted and her silence spoke volumes.

"Wow...that I didn't know, but I guess it makes sense," he said.

"You knew they were together at one time?" Natalie asked in an accusatory tone, but he shrugged.

"We were never together…" Thalia refuted.

"I remember seeing them together here and there as a child. When my father wasn't pulling him out of the bottle...your mum was. Honestly, I never really put it together, but it makes sense," Johnny said, as he started to laugh then.

"Father must certainly be laughing now...you're a Charming!" he exclaimed to her.

"Well...half Charming," he teased.

"Shut up!" Natalie hissed.

"Mother…" she growled.

"It's true...Xander is your father," Thalia revealed.

"You said that my father died…" Natalie hissed.

"I lied...and it was for the best! Xander was gone most of the time, on missions for Clayton and when he was around, he was drinking and wallowing about the children he had already abandoned. He would have abandoned you too," Thalia said.

"That wasn't your choice!" Natalie hissed.

"Xander is a traitor...and our plan remains unchanged," Johnny said, as he loaded his gun with a clip.

"We cannot count on Malina's source to translate the quipu...but I've located a back up. Let's go…" he said, as Natalie glared at her mother and had a moment of pause.

"Natalie...are you coming?" he asked. She looked at him and then nodded.

"Yes," she replied. The revelation that Xander was her father and she had this huge family out there was jarring. But she didn't know them and they certainly wouldn't want someone like her. No...this didn't change anything.

~*~

After returning to the surface, they escorted the two mysterious captives back to the Boston FBI headquarters for interrogation. Agent Green and Agent Brooks insisted on taking the first crack at their interrogation. Some of the other agents began processing the recovered artifacts, while David observed the interrogation from the glass, along with the Major. It was late, so he insisted that everyone go back to the hotel to get some sleep, but he wasn't surprised when Snow came in and put her arms around him. She could see the questions in his mind and knew his father was probably waiting in the conference room for him. But he didn't want to think about any of it right now, because he knew he knew lashing out in anger wouldn't get them anywhere. He wanted answers, but knew he wouldn't like hearing any of them. So for now, he was focused on the two potential investors in the next room. Snow managed to get a bit of his frustration to ebb away, but it was growing since the two agents weren't getting anywhere.

"How much more time are we going to let these two waste?" he asked impatiently.

"The lab is running their prints. If we get a hit, then I'll let you go at them both. But I'd rather you go in there with something, because they're not giving an inch," the Major replied.

"It's going to be okay," Snow whispered to him, as she kissed him gently. He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers.

"You figured it out before me…" he said.

"The bitterness rolled off that woman in waves and when I saw that it was directed at your father...it wasn't much of a leap after that," she replied, as the Major came back into the room with a file and Xander followed her in.

"We got two hits…" Patricia said, as she put the file down on the table in front of them.

"Did we even need to?" David asked, as he looked at his father.

"Do you know them too?" he demanded to know.

"Yes...I know of them. I only met them a handful of times," Xander said. David gripped the metal table, his knuckles turning white and probably the only thing that kept him from raging at that moment was Snow's hand on his arm.

"The man is Dr. Hector La Guerra. He technically had his medical license revoked in 1945 and he fled his homeland of France for the United States," Patricia said.

"Funny...he doesn't look that old," David commented.

"None of these people are what they seem. He was born in 1918 and worked for the Nazis during World War II," she continued.

"Oh wonderful...a real life Nazi," Snow said.

"He lost his license for human experimentation and specializes in working with disease and poisons," Patricia continued.

"Clayton recruited him after the war and brought him to Atlantis. He introduced the doctor to all the magical plants, herbs and substances he had in his collection. It was Dr. La Guerra that created the youth potions. He was able to synthesize the water from the fountain of youth with his own mixture of magical herbs and created a way to utilize the water without tying the user to Atlantis," Xander explained.

"Boy, the good news just keeps coming," David deadpanned.

"We never saw him in Atlantis...but I spent a lot of time in the infirmary with Eva during that time. There were many rooms sealed off to us and I can still remember the screaming of people coming from some of those rooms," Snow recalled, as she got a haunted look on her face. Xander nodded.

"That would be him. There is other things I could tell you about what he does to people, but it's too horrific and I'm not going to do that," he added, as they looked at him.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know, but I will not tell you the specifics of what he does to people, even children, inside those rooms. You won't be able to handle it," Xander said firmly. Snow shuddered and David let that lay, as he turned his head back to the window.

"Enough about the sick bastard...what about her?" he asked.

"She is Malina Pizarro, born in Spain and if you know anything about the history of the Conquistadors, yes, she is of that Pizarro bloodline. The conqueror of the Incas was her ancestor and she has continued her quest to pillage and destroy indigenous cultures all over the globe," Patricia replied.

"Born in 1936 to her powerful and wealthy parents in Barcelona, she followed in her family's footsteps and led many expeditions that resulted in the destruction of ancient sites, their history, and complete pillaging of their cultures," Patricia added.

"How are evil pieces of crap like this not in prison already?" David hissed in frustration.

"You know why, David...that's the reason you and your family are here," Patricia reminded him. He turned back to the window in frustration and then stood up straight.

"They're not getting anywhere...I'm going in," he said, as he walked out of the room. He drew his sword and barged into the interrogation room.

"Excuse me...we're in the middle of an interrogation," Agent Green argued.

"And for normal perps, your methods might work...but not for this evil scum. Get out," he ordered. Agent Green huffed, but when Patricia entered the room and motioned them out, they reluctantly obeyed her order.

"Uh oh Malina...Prince Charming is here to intimidate us," the doctor goaded and she smirked back at him. David responded by kicking his chair out from beneath him. The man cried out, as he fell to the floor, but not before he hit his chin on the table on the way down, causing him excruciating pain. Blood leaked from his mouth from busted teeth and he glared up at the Prince.

"You ignorant brute…" the doctor hissed.

"You're going to tell me where Junior is off to or you're not going to live to see another day," David warned. The doctor chuckled.

"Right to the death threats…" he laughed.

"Believe it or not, your Highness, you don't scare me. I've done things that would make you double over and retch where you stand," he warned.

"So I've heard," David retorted.

"Oh no...you haven't heard the details, because you're still standing," as he turned his attention to the window. It was one way glass, but somehow he must have known she was there.

"I remember seeing your lovely, fair wife in Atlantis...your children too. None of you ever saw me, as Clayton forbade me contact with you, for he knew I wouldn't be able to help myself," he goaded.

"Specimens like them...now that would have been a glorious experiment. Magical blood...I begged him to let me at her, but alas, it didn't happen. I imagined her tortured screams though and watching her red blood slide down her white, delicate skin…" he said, as he licked his lips. David lost it at that moment and picked him up, before slamming him against the wall.

"Last chance to keep breathing. One more word about my wife or children and it's over for you," he warned.

"If you want information...then we want a deal," Malina said calmly.

"Not happening...the only deal you're getting is life in prison and not a needle in your arm. Your list of crimes is extensive," Patricia replied. She smirked.

"Then do your worst, Major Donovan. My family is powerful...I won't spend one day in your jail," she said confidently. But it was Patricia's turn to smirk.

"Oh, it won't be an American prison if you don't cooperate," she revealed.

"Your crimes in other countries have them clamoring to prosecute you. I just put out the word that I have you in custody, thanks to my newest and very special agent," she said, referring to David. She frowned.

"The American prison is at least humane. You'll get meals and a bed and even a few privileges. But the other countries prisons won't be so nice, but not even those are the ones you have to worry about, because if I turn you over to the people that your family has destroyed for centuries...your life is done and your death will not be swift," she threatened.

"You can't do that...your court system does not work that way," she countered.

"It does in this case...do you really want to test me or him?" Patricia said.

"Fine...those in the states that can still translate a quipu are all at Universities, which would be too risky now. So Junior is likely going to Peru. That's about the only place where you're going to anyone that can still read them and even then that's going to be difficult. It's a dead language, as are the Inca people. But I know of one family near Cusco...and so does he. That's where he'll go," Malina revealed.

"And this family? Will they tell him willingly?" David asked. She smirked.

"Definitely not...his father helped the Conquistadors destroy their ancestors, as well as countless other cultures. But like his father...Johnny will get what he wants, one way or another," she replied smugly.

"It's too bad...I'd love to participate in the coming torture," the doctor said.

"Reminding me that you're still breathing isn't wise," David snapped at him, as he walked out.

"We're leaving aboard the Jolly Roger in the morning and those two are going to lead us to them," he said to Patricia. She nodded.

"I'll have them put down in a holding cell until then. Agent Green and Agent Brooks, you and your team will be responsible for transporting these two to the Harbor and joining us. We're going to Peru, O six hundred," she ordered, as she saw David pull Snow into his arms and kiss her. Some of his stress melted away at her kiss and her touch, at least in those quiet seconds.

"David…" Xander interrupted.

"You tucked Clayton's son in at night while your granddaughter was alone in a group home!" he roared.

"It wasn't like that," Xander insisted.

"He was a neglected child that grew into the shadow his father left behind," he added.

"You worked with these people!" David shouted.

"You ate with them! Talked to them! Hell...you even slept with some of them!" he ranted.

"And I hated all of them! And mostly myself most of the time, but Clayton was very convincing! You have to believe me! I wanted nothing more than to get Emma from that group home and bring her to you! But he told me it would be a disaster!" Xander insisted.

"He lied," David growled.

"Yes...and I realized it far too late. I helped him destroy people, because he promised me that in the end, it would lead me back to you and my family," Xander replied. David snorted.

"Well...he was right. Too bad it took you almost thirty years to get to us when you knew exactly where we were," he said, as he took Snow's hand and started to walk away.

"David please...you have to forgive me," Xander pleaded. He stopped and turned to him partially.

"No…I don't and I'm not sure I can," he said.

"David…" he begged, with tears in his eyes.

"How many times?" David asked.

"What?" Xander asked.

"How many times did you stand over my comatose body in that hospital!?" he roared. Xander swallowed thickly.

"Too many," he answered and David shook his head.

"You could have brought Emma to me...hell, you could have brought Snow to me too and you didn't! You were too busy working for that psychopath and sleeping with his operatives," David hissed, as he turned away again and Snow cast a glance behind her, as they walked away from him. She was torn, for the last thing she wanted was for her husband's relationship with his father to implode. But her loyalty was to David first and he had every right to be angry.

~*~

Flashback

The village burned with roaring fire, making it certain that it would be wiped off the map when the flames died. A tall man of Greek descent emerged from the fire and approached his team.

"Did you get it?" he asked, as one of his excavators unwrapped the cloth and presented the jeweled necklace to him. He examined it, but his hope faded and he tossed it back at the worker.

"This is fake!" he cried.

"I'm...I'm sorry sir...the chief finally revealed its location after hours of interrogation. This is said to be the necklace of Harmonia," he replied.

"It's a fake replica! Costume jewelry!" he ranted, as he tossed it into the fire.

"I need that necklace! It can give me eternal youth and find the treasure I seek," he growled.

"The necklace of Harmonia is with Zeus...you'll never obtain it," a voice said, as there was a blue flash and a woman appeared before him.

"A fairy…" he said with intrigue.

"Yes...and you are the man known as the Collector," she replied.

"Sirius Clayton…" he introduced himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must continue my quest for another source of eternal youth if I am to make sure I live long enough to find Atlantis," he said.

"I can help you do that...and more. I can make your entire bloodline for centuries to come...legendary," she offered. He stopped and turned back to her.

"I am not a good man and you are a fairy. Why would you do that?" he questioned.

"Because I want power...just like you and I need a mortal to get that power," she revealed.

"But don't worry...you'll have the ultimate power too," she said.

"Tell me more…" he inquired.

"There is a chalice, created by Gaia herself and gifted to her favorite daughter, Dione. In turn, Dione has gifted to her precious one, Aphrodite," Blue explained.

"Goddess of love, beauty, and desire," he recalled.

"That's the one...the apple of Zeus' eye and instead of giving the chalice to his new wife, Hera, he has given it to his naive, virginal daughter that still thinks that true love is real," Blue said.

"Fascinating...and where do I come in?" he asked.

"Before Dione died, she intended to gift the chalice to a true love pair that she deemed worthy of it to champions of love and heroes to mortals. But she never discovered a pair that she deemed worthy enough," Blue explained.

"Her daughter is determined to keep those standards, but she is wildly more naive than her wise mother," she continued. He smirked.

"You want me to find some woman and convince your naive Goddess that we are the pair she should gift her chalice too," he deduced.

"You are sharp...but it can't be just any woman. It has to be someone convincing and able to pull off the act," she replied. He smirked.

"I think I know of someone," he said.

"But what kind of power are we talking about?" he questioned.

"Unlimited power and eternal youth," she promised. He smirked.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

~*~

Xander sat at the hotel bar and hadn't even bothered to go to his room that night. It was almost two in the morning and they would be kicking him out soon. A glass of scotch sat before him and his stare burrowed into the amber glass of liquid, as a blonde climbed onto the seat next to him.

"Please tell me you haven't touched that, Gramps," Emma said.

"Don't worry...I'm just looking at the thing that kept me from my family for so long," Xander replied.

"You know, I don't blame you, right?" Emma asked. He snorted.

"Your father does...maybe you should. I could have spared you years of unhappiness, Emma. When the Swans sent you back...I should have told Clayton to go to hell and took you straight to your father," he replied.

"You know Clayton would have stopped you or tried to. He might have killed you," Emma surmised.

"And you know Dad...he'll come around. He's almost as forgiving as Mom," she reminded him.

"I don't know, Em...I've never seen him this angry," Xander replied.

"Mom will bring him around...she always does. Just give him time," Emma assured him.

"I hope you're right…" Xander replied.

"Go up to your room and get a little sleep. We're leaving early," she suggested.

"I'm not sure David wants me there," Xander said.

"Yes he does...and you know Clayton's operation better than anyone. Not to mention that you now have a daughter out there that's on the wrong side. You can either stay here and wallow in self pity," Emma said, as he looked at her.

"Or you can fight for your relationship with my Dad and maybe even one with your daughter," she said.

"Her mother has poisoned her against us," Xander replied.

"And we thought George and later Clayton did the same thing to James and now I call him Uncle James," Emma reminded him, as she pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"He won't be needing this," she said, as she threw some money down for it. Xander sighed and followed her to the elevator.

"We always tell you how much like your father you are, but you are every bit your mother's daughter too," he mentioned fondly. Emma smiled.

"I know...I've seen the hope thing work for her time and again, so I took a page from her book on this one. Dad will come around," she assured, as they got in the elevator.

~*~

Snow awoke in the middle of the night, noticing that the warmth of David's body was gone. She got up and padded out to the outside balcony of their hotel suite in her long, white silk nightgown. She found him there, staring off into space and slipped her arms around his waist, before resting her head against his naked back.

"Oh baby…" she murmured, as her heart ached for him.

"I just got used to having a brother...and now a sister…" he muttered.

"A sister that was raised in Clayton's world," he said.

"Not all the people in his network are killers," she offered, as he took her in his arms and kissed her hair.

"I hope...I mean, the stealing I can get passed," he said, looking at her fondly and she smiled back.

"You do have a thing for bandits," she teased.

"Except you were stealing to survive. She steals...for treasure," he said bitterly.

"Then it's your father that's mostly bothering you," she surmised.

"I knew he had killed people...I mean, I've killed people too. We're not so different...at least that's what I told myself," he said.

"But if I knew my grandchild was out there, somewhere alone, being abused...I would have moved heaven and earth to get to them!" he said fiercely.

"I know...I know, my love…" she soothed.

"What if Merlin hadn't nurtured her belief by giving her the book? It would have been ten times worse for her, Snow," he fretted.

"At least the book showed her how much we truly loved her and how we didn't choose to be separated from her. It gave her hope…" he continued.

"But my father could have walked into that adoption agency, submitted to a DNA test, and proved he was Emma's blood. But instead, he was sailing around other realms that weren't frozen by the curse, collection things for Clayton! Treasure and gold and inanimate objects over our daughter!" he stressed.

"Over you...you can say it, my love. He chose those things over you and it was wrong," she said.

"You are a much stronger, braver man than he is. You are your mother's son," she said fondly. He sighed.

"The killing...I can get past as surprising as that sounds. I got past it with James. He was raised by a tyrant. It would have been a miracle if he didn't become a killer," he said.

"But what else has he lied about? There could be so many things we don't know about him. I knew that...and I ignored it. I can't do that anymore. I need to know everything," he added.

"And you will," she assured him, as she led him back inside.

"Until then...we should go back to bed," she said, as he sighed.

"You know I can't sleep now…" he replied. She smirked and gently let the thin straps on her nightgown fall away and it became a puddle at her feet.

"Then let's do some...not sleeping," she replied. His eyes glazed, as he drank her in. His beautiful wife was a master at distracting him and though he knew they would have to deal with all of this in just a few short hours, he welcomed this distraction. He walked to her with purpose and kissed her passionately, while cupping her face in his hands. She mewled into his kiss and then yelped in excitement, as he lifted her up and she hooked her legs around his waist. He carried her to bed and for those few hours, they became lost in each other...

[stonecoldhedwig]

Gryffindor Types

Gryffindors get a bit of short shrift; we’re always just made out to be overzealous jocks. But, the diversity among Gryffindors is quite remarkable.  

Harry

Incredibly forgiving. Like good LORD look at all the people he gave grace to despite them being utterly horrid to him. Not just the big ones like Dumbledore and Snape, but people like Seamus in 5th year, or Ron during the Triwizard.

Stubborn as hell. Like, so irritatingly stubborn that I want to throw the book across the room.

Harry really struggles with something I think a lot of Gryffindors do, which is that there isn’t necessarily an intrinsic balance to the universe. We believe in the right thing, and justice, and therefore find it hard to tackle the fact that sometimes there’s no cosmic consequence to evil.

Basically just a sweet lil cinnamon roll? Like the poor kid can’t cut a break, but he soldiers on regardless.

Really, really loved Ginny, and was also willing to hurt himself in order to protect her. Starting from CoS where he thought he was dying of the Basilisk bite, right up to the final battle where he runs toward Bellatrix - Harry knows where his heart lies.

Bravery: walked into the face of death in order to save other people. Never once had a problem with sacrificing himself for other people. The spirit of his mother lived in him.

Ron

Loyal to a fault - stands up for his friends and family, in a sort of Hufflepuff way. Unafraid of mockery when he believes he’s doing the right thing.  

Of the three of them, Ron is the one who has absolutely no qualms about apologising for his failings. Ron is honourable.

Can be brash, and tactless, and thoughtless, but also possesses a lot of common sense and a really good heart. He’s more Molly’s son than he realises.

Struggles with the impact of 5 brothers and only 1 sister; at times can be unintentionally misogynistic, to not just Ginny but also to people like Hermione.

Ron essentially acts as the foil to Peter Pettigrew. Ron could have been just like him - always the butt of the joke, “Harry Potter’s stupid friend”, etc. Ron chose to be different, chose not to fall back on the fact he was a pureblood, who could have easily been courted by the Death Eaters by making him feel important like they did to Peter.

Bravery: you’ve got to be courageous to step outside of both the shadow of your family, and the insecurities you have about it. Ron encapsulates the idea of “try, try, try again.”

Hermione

Incredibly, ridiculously smart. Has many Ravenclaw qualities (like McGonagall), but also learns when to put down the books.

Passionately fights for those she sees as oppressed. Goblins, House Elves, you name it - she might not like them, but she sees them as her equals.

Knows that a Gryffindor who uses their head is just as important as a Gryffindor who uses their fists.

Prideful, and can be patronising, particularly at the beginning. Learns how to see the world through other people’s eyes, even if she doesn’t really understand them (e.g. the changing way she treats Luna, or Ron, etc.).

I see a lot of Lily Potter in Hermione. Brilliant Muggleborn, who fell for a man she didn’t expect to love, and who had the fate of the wizarding world essentially thrust upon her. Took it in her stride. Was a badass.

Bravery: Understood that there were things that were worth fighting for, and was willing to do it. But always, always tried to ensure that innocent people weren’t hurt: obliviated her parents to protect them, cared for the House elves, stood up for the kids Fred and George were testing WWW on, etc. Even insisted on putting Muggle money in the till at the supermarket during DH, even though they had the cloak and could just steal.

Ginny

Fierce. If you don’t want to be Ginny Weasley when you grow up, reevaluate.

Loved Harry for just being Harry, not because he was The Boy Who Lived, or because he was wealthy, or because he was famous. Rather like James loved Lily, she just loved him from the moment she saw him.

Feminist AF. Knew she loved Harry, but also knew that she didn’t have to mope about waiting on him. Dated other people, had a good time doing it. Didn’t take Ron’s shit about it, either.

Stood up for people. She often resorted to a stereotypically “Gryffindor” way of doing it (her famed Bat Bogey Hex, for example).

Definitely had Slytherin qualities, too (Ginny is like Fred/George, or Percy, while Ron is much more like Bill and Charlie). She could be shrewd and cunning, and even a little unkind at times. She struggled to find her place in the world, and that made her angry and hurt, which the Horcrux took advantage of.

She was sixteen in DH. Let that sink in. Sixteen. All the things she’d achieved by that point already, all the things she’d been through.

Bravery: Ginny is true to her own integrity in everything, whether it’s vanquishing Dark wizards, standing up to her brothers, loving Harry etc. She does what she thinks is right, thank you very much.

Neville

quiet, shy, often demonstrates a lot of Hufflepuff qualities.

Sword. Of. Gryffindor.

If there are Gryffindors who use their fists, and Gryffindors who use their heads, then Neville is a  Gryffindor who uses his heart. He’s thoughtful and kind, but passionate about the right thing. He also has intense loyalty to his parents, even though he struggles with both their legacy and their insanity.

Bravery: like Dumbledore said, it takes a hell of a lot to stand up to your friends. Neville did it often (not just in PS, but also in cases like OotP when he asks Harry if the DA was just a game, or whether it meant something).

Fred & George

Hilarious and mischievous.

Certainly had a spiteful streak, but their courage was in trying to temper it for good. Their ire was almost always targeted at the right people (e.g. Umbridge), but their sense of humour made everyone fair game. A touch Slytherin, in this regard.

At times they put people in danger, for good and bad reasons.

Bravery: it takes guts to laugh in the face of danger. It takes even more to make sure you’re making other people laugh while you do it.

Percy Weasley

Ambitious, smart.

More like Fred and George than he realises, in the sense that they are two sides of a coin. F&G are what happens when you combine courage/chivalry with anarchy; Percy is what happens when you combine it with dogmatism.

Struggled, in many ways, with the burden of being a Weasley and a Gryffindor. He followed Bill and Charlie (aka a Head Boy and a Prefect; Charlie was Quidditch Captain and a star Seeker), and therefore tried to make a mark of his own. Confused being loyal-to-the-rules with being right.

When he admitted he was wrong, it was not half-hearted. Saw the error in his pridefulness.

Bravery: it’s hard to admit you were wrong. Courage is more than knowing that you screwed up, it’s being willing to own up to it.

Lavender Brown

Scatty, almost a bit like Luna

Willing to understand that wisdom and learning can come from unexpected or unusual sources (e.g. her enthusiasm for Divination)

Could be a stereotypical teenage girl - obsessed with her first boyfriend, spiteful to Hermione at times, etc.

Bravery: gave her life at the Battle of Hogwarts, dying in a truly horrid way at the hands of Fenrir Greyback.

Bill Weasley

Badass.

Knew how to combine responsibility with fun (Head Boy, but also a Cursebreaker with a dragon-fang earring).

Was unashamed to love a girl everyone thought was wrong for him… and in doing so, proved exactly why Fleur was his perfect match.

Bravery: Lived with the consequences of his attack with good grace. Didn’t let it make him bitter. Trusted Harry, even when he didn’t understand him.

Charlie Weasley

Trained dragons.

No, read that again: trained. dragons.

Could have played Quidditch for England but went off to do what he was really passionate about, which is training dragons.

Bravery: I point you once again to the dragon training.

Lily Potter

Wasn’t ashamed to admit that she had got James all wrong. Learned how to love him.

Believed in the right thing, ardently. She saw the way that power and greed and ambition can turn a good person into a bad one, and utterly refused to play that game.

Lily is where Harry gets his sweet-cinnamon-roll-ness from. Under all her fire, there’s a sweet baby angel, and I will not be convinced otherwise.

Cut off her oldest friend at Hogwarts, Snape, because of doing the right thing: “you’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

Bravery: without Lily’s sacrifice, Voldemort could never have been defeated. Her dying protected her son in order for him to fulfil the prophecy.

James Potter

Brash and arrogant, but a real heart of gold.

Loved one girl, and one girl only, ardently from the day they met to the day they died. Was unequivocal about it.

The similarity between Snape and James is that both of them were essentially little shits. A lot of people are when they’re teenagers. James thought he was the bees knees because he was an all-round golden boy; Snape thought he was superior to everyone because of his cleverness and ambition. The difference between Snape and James is that James saw the error of his ways. He learned to turn his arrogance into something powerful and good. Even when Snape turned on Voldemort, he never actually gave up his belief that he was fundamentally better than other people - look at the way he treated Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ron etc.

Bravery: it’s hard to change. Like, really hard. It’s hard to become better. James did that, and then some, willingly sacrificing himself and telling Lily to take Harry and run, in the hope that his wife and child might survive.

Sirius

Endured 12 years in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, and his only priority was making sure Harry was safe.

Risked life and limb on multiple occasions for Harry, because he knew that was the way to honour James and Lily’s memory. Died the same way they did - protecting their son.

Could be petty, even mean, at times.

Bravery: Walked away from a life that would have been easy - money, status, privilege, the Black family name - to one that was difficult, painful and heart-wrenching. Lost everyone, everything, and still came back to fight for the Order. Sirius’ bravery was not about who he was, but who he chose to be.

Lupin

shrewd, thoughtful, and kind. Essentially a blend of all the Hogwarts houses.

Suffers a little from the same thing Percy does (and to an extent, Harry): he cares so deeply about the right thing, but he often struggles with how to express that (e.g. running away from Tonks and the baby until Harry calls him a coward).

Incredibly talented in DADA, naturally inclining him to Gryffindor.

Bravery: he’s a goddamn werewolf, guys. He still manages to believe in the good side and doing the right thing.

[mrs-hollandstan]

Undercover {3} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Warnings: smut (18+), oral (female receiving), spanking + hair pulling(both brief), also brief knife use, fingering, language, more gun use, brief mentions of domestic violence, more church talk, talk of borderline stalking, talk of previous sexual stuff

Word Count: 4,903

Author's Note: yay yay yay, I'm loving writing this even though it takes like a century😂. I did warn that there might be some smut and I can guarantee it'll get deeper. I hope you guys enjoy and lemme know what you think! Also, when it mentions Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, I was listening to “Blue Moon” and “Ain’t That A Kick In the Head.” 

⟵Previous || Series Masterlist || Next⟶

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." Bucky sighs out, adjusting his tie uncomfortably in the confessional. He was the type to convince people he'd burst into flames stepping into a church. At least six out of the seven deadly sins he committed on a daily basis and staring up at the marble statues of the holy man made him remember all the times he'd stare at a similar statue in the church he and his family used to attend. His mom would sit beside him and ramble prayers while he looked up at the statue of God with his eyes closed, hands pressed together, hair draped over his shoulders and wonder why his mother even believed in him when he'd done nothing for them.

"Obviously you have Mr. Barnes, why else would you come to me?" The older man rasped out with a chuckle. Leaning back against the jagged wooden wall behind him, both it and the bench beneath him creaked at his weight. Bucky played with the end of his suit jacket, wondering what his next words should be. He shook his head,

"I fucked up. I think I'm turnin into my dad."

"James-"

"No I know, language, I just... I'm seriously... I'm terrified." The father beside him shifted in his chair, waiting for Bucky to continue on his own demise,

"I... I... hurt her." He muttered under his breath, his gaze drifting down to the warped wood of the floor, his stomach tearing away at itself. Picking at his nails he sighed,

"She's a cop and I can tell she's got...somethin for me. I brought my arch nemesis to her apartment and she let me touch her, she let me... kiss her and then she teases me.  And when she came back I just... grabbed her and I hurt her. She cried and I let her walk away and she's probably got bruises and she's probably terrified." Bucky hung his head,

"What do I do?" He spoke low. He knew what Father Slater's question would be. He knew damn well where his own question would lead but he was desperate. He'd never fallen so hard, so fast. He let himself stumble over you and now here he was not knowing what to do with himself. He was so focused on the little cat and mouse game you'd been playing that he didn't realize how bad it'd get when the cat captured the mouse and dove back into the carnivorous ways of life.

"Do you love her?" Father Slater quizzed. The silence bouncing between them answered the question. Father Slater smiled to himself, leaning forward to look through the small gate separating them,

"All you have to do is show her. Apologies are just words. If you hurt her unintentionally you'll have to show her. Make her see that everything you've put her through is your way of coping with what you went through as a child. You're not your father James. You're stronger and I can feel how much you love her. You don't have to say it. She's different. There's nothing wrong with liking that." Looking up, he found Father Slater's strangely calm blue eyes,

"How? How do I...?" He held his hands up, gesturing to the air around them. The father's smile didn't fade, his face going unmoved when he responded,

"Give her time. Give her enough time that she can heal. But don't give her enough time to move on. You'll know when the time is right." Bucky stared back at him, his brain processing everything Father Slater had just said. Without meaning to, he nodded, his heart far ahead of him. He desperately wanted to chase you down. Drop to his knees and confess his apologies. Pour his heart out and maybe play a sympathy card. But if he needed to give you even a glint of time, he would.

Davis watched you tear yourself apart. You didn't have to say anything when you walked in Monday morning. Stark in a cell and the yellowing bruises around your wrists told him all he needed to know. He could see when he caught your eye how bad it was. He had been right. You were in love with Bucky and now that he'd hurt you, you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You wanted Bucky to hold you but you didn't want him to touch you. You wanted to come home to him but you wanted him to stay far away. The decision was hard and you were constantly at war with yourself, unsure of where you stood now that everything had unfolded the way it did. The worst part was how bad you missed him. Curling yourself around a pillow on a nightly basis, you cried yourself to sleep, chest heaving and struggling to breathe. Davis didn't dare ask but he was more than curious as to how something that seemed so strong could widle away to nothing in less than twenty four hours. When you came into work every morning you monitored calls and skimmed through case files, your eyes dark and haunting, cold even, bags under them telling Davis you hadn't slept much in the two weeks no words had transpired between the two of you. He loved the sound of your voice. He loved the jokes and the smile and the laugh omitted from your cotton candy colored lips, but he wasn't hearing any of it. He realized then how hard Barnes had done you in. He didn't need to know the gory details and he wasn't sure he even wanted to know, but he wanted to help you get through it. He wanted you happy again.

Bucky was contemptuous of the relationship you and Davis had. He watched you from the alley across from the precinct. When Davis stirred up conversation finally, the two of you were close in proximity, Bucky's blood boiling whenever Davis reached forward to trace your arm, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. The look in your eye didn't tell Bucky anything but the smile was deviously flirtatious. You were never one to favor being alone and now here you were, trying to get back into the swing of living without Bucky. But Bucky wasn't going to give up on the both of you. He felt territorial over you and he wasn't going to let the feelings die down. He wanted so badly to walk you home when you left the precinct. Most times it was dark and he didn't want you getting scared or captured. Not that you would with a gun tucked in the waistband of your pants. But if he wanted it to go well, he needed to listen to Father Slater and give you time. But only a few more days. So he did.

Another week was checked off on the calendar and Davis found that you grew more anxious, neither of you knowing why. You weren't expecting anything. You weren't waiting for a date or another night to progress into going down to the dark side of town where Bucky's club was the heart of nightlife. Maybe it was just the thought of him in general. Either way your nerves were through the roof and it couldn't be explained. Almost two weeks after the bruises had appeared you found yourself returned mostly to normal. You were a cop on duty and that was that. Pulling gang members in cuffs in and throwing the local drinks in the tanks to listen to them whoop and holler and sing old hymns all night. If you'd throw them a metal cup they might rap it against the bars of their cells and share stories of prostitutes and losing all their money. But something was off and the only thing you could think about was how high wired you were. Carefully walking through the lobby of your apartment building, you were aware of all the neighbors you'd seen waltzing the hallways but only shared an elonged glance and a curt smile when spotted. As a cop it was your duty to survey the surroundings and know everyone without knowing them. Some of the older folks had figured you out and when you'd give your usual kind smile, they'd crinkle their noses and a rumble would rise in their chest at the bulge of a glock 22 at your back. They figured that at any moment you could pull it and turn bad, ending their lives behind some yellow caution tape and some fingerprinting from the local crime lab. But you walked away, taking your hair down in the elevator most of the time.

Climbing into the elevator you snort, remembering the comment Davis had made about you looking like Lara Croft with your hair tied up and your outfit. You could see it now. You hair was pulled back into its usual braid, but like always there were a few hairs that framed your face. Your typical outfit was a white tank and some black cargo pants paired with the usual black magnum response boots. And you carried a duffel bag with your cuffs, pepper spray, taser, and standard coat with the precinct's badge on it. Plus whatever personal belongings you decided to bring along from your locker.

Stepping off of the creaky elevator, the smell of cooking food wafted from one of the apartments making your stomach groan in anticipation. You cocked your head when you stepped closer to your own warped door, Frank Sinatra softly playing just the other side of it. Pulling you gun out, the door clicked open with no resistance, the smell from the hallway striking you in the face, the music louder with no barrier between it and your ears. Following the commotion to the kitchen, Bucky looked up, staring down the barrel of your gun for just a moment before looking into your eyes and then back at the stove,

"That's one hell of a, honey I'm home, doll." Keeping the weapon pointed at his head, you drop your bag,

"What the hell are you doing here Barnes?" As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he lifted the pan in his hands,

"Makin dinner." You clench your jaw, taking a weary step forward,

"But why? Didn't I tell you to fuck off last time we spoke?" He scoffed,

"Hardly. I just grabbed ya a little too hard. Like you could keep me away." He speaks low, the speaker in the corner now chiming out Dean Martin. Bucky hums to it, rolling his fallen sleeves back up. Rather than the casual all black suit, he's wearing a similar outfit of a floral shirt and a similar tie, his slacks as black as the coat draped across the chair behind him. The same, polished oxford shoes clinging to his feet. You had yet to see Bucky's arms, veins protuberant beneath his tan, calloused skin. His shoulders stretched the silk tight across them with each movement. Especially when he turns to look you over, his eyebrow cocked,

"Lost in that pretty little head again doll?" Sighing, you set the Glock on the table before you, slumping into the hard chair,

"How do you keep getting in my house?" Turning away from the stove, he cocks his head like a puppy struggling to understand,

"Its not that hard to pick a lock babe."

"Quit calling me all of your pet names Barnes. You're lucky I don't want my neighbors thinkin I'm a killer. I'd lay you out right here, rid this world of your sketchy ass. " Raising his hands in surrender, he turns the flame off, pouring the delicious smelling chicken into a large bowl. Bowing down to open the now freakishly small oven before him, he crumples himself to drag a tray of vegetables from it, scraping them off into the same bowl,

"What are you making?" He glances your direction for just a moment before tending to another pot, steam billowing from it as he lifts the lid from it, the flame snuffing out as Bucky determines the mystery food cooked enough,

"Chicken stir fry. Green beans, sweet peas, asparagus, cashews, mushrooms, red peppers, and onion glazed in a garlic ginger soy sauce with honey, chicken, boiled in the same sauce, and noodles... just to add some more starch to it." The idea of the dish has your mouth watering despite never having had it, and Bucky can tell you're intrigued. Straining the noodles of the water, you watch Bucky carefully add them to the bowl, pulling out two wooden spoons to stir it all together.

"I- I don't have that stuff... where'd you-"

"I brought it. I figured you're probably sick of microwave food and takeout so I flipped through my ma's old recipe book. When I was a little kid this one was my favorite. She stopped making it around the time my dad left. I think it was his favorite too and the idea of making something so familiar to him left a bad taste in her mouth. So I figured I'd try it out for myself." With a shrug, he scoops some of the mixture up, guiding it over to your mouth. You stomach flips the second it hits your tongue, the taste like nothing you've ever experienced before. He's completely right, you've grown so used to, and sick of TV dinners that an actual homecooked meal is the best thing ever. The corners of Bucky's lips twitch when you moan in satisfaction,

"Good?" You nod, watching as he opens creaky cabinets, a range of emotions crossing his face until he finds what he's looking for, pulling two bowls from a musty smelling compartment. Rinsing the dust out of them, he scoops some of his concoction into one, sliding it across the table to you, dishing some up for himself. Stooping to pluck two beers from your fridge, he sits across from you, the old banquet chair beneath him creaking from the weight of his muscular figure. He nearly breaks the dark bottles as he twists the caps off of the beers with his bionic hand, sliding one across the table with no words said. Sipping his own, his eyes flick to your face when you take your first full bite, your own eyes trained on the bowl before you. After a few warm spoonfuls, you look up, watching Bucky pick at his food.

"Why did you come here?" Your soft, silken voice makes his heart skip a beat. He looks up, your eyes dark under the low light in the dingy kitchen. He licks his lips, leaning back in his chair with a sullen sigh,

"I've never been one to be... moved by a woman before. Girls come in and out of that club and no one's struck my eye. But you. When you walked in all those weeks ago, I didn't know that I'd be so... affected by you. You're all I can think about most times. I mean hell... I went to church over you."

"You went to church?"

"Well," he smiles when you cock your head curiously, "I uhh... no. The priest at the church my ma used to take us to gives me advice in one of those confessionals. I swear he thinks I'm like a celebrity. All the drama he hears me talk about." There's a wheeze in his chuckle as he twirls his fork in the center of his bowl. He crosses one arm over the other, the soft looking fabric of his shirt stretching taunt across his biceps. Finally he raises his fork, a noodle gyred around the worn metal, a small piece of chicken speared at the end which he brings to his perfect mouth. You watch his jaw constrict each time he chews,

"So... what did you tell this priest about me?" Bucky found your eyes transfixed on the bowl before you, a sure sign you were nervous. He wasn't sure if it was because of what he would've said or what he wouldn't have said. He swallowed his own nerves,

"I uhh... I just told him everything that had happened. He told me that I needed to give you time. Enough time that you can... heal but not enough that you'll..." He trails off, your eyes finding his face, his eyes averted this time,

"I'll what?" He doesn't respond, twirling his fork again. You set your own aside, clasping your hands together, "Bucky... what was said?" When he looks up, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He's at war with himself like he always is when it comes to you and he can't stand it. Everything that he's said about you is true. He's a different man when you're there. He feels like he's working towards something, for something even.

"He... he said that I need to give you time to heal but not enough time to fall out of love with me." He speaks up quietly like a child prepared to get scolded. You stare back at him, his eyes averting back down to his nearly untouched food.

"He said that?" Bucky nods with a sigh, piercing another piece of chicken and lazily bringing it to his lips.

"What makes him think I'm in love with you?" He rolls his eyes like it's another obvious thing,

"Because his father was the original priest and when my ma would take us kids in there he could tell no one loves me. My dad used to beat the shit out of all of us and he could tell that I was so angry, I'd never focus on something like this. I don't wanna bring kids into this fucked up world. And we all thought that I'd never even find someone willing enough to BE in love with this but here you are. If I keep comin up here, and you don't kick me out and you feed into me, then you've got somethin for me too."

"Wait... are you sayin that you're... in love with me?" He looks up through slanted eyes, clearly annoyed even though he'd just practically admitted it. Slowly his head bobs in a nod,

"I think so." You scoff,

"So you're both fucking insane." When Bucky looks back up, he looks confused and hurt,

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Bucky Barnes doesn't love anyone but himself. That's the point." He scoffs,

"Fuck you. I pulled my ma's recipe book out of the back of my fucking kitchen cupboard for you. What does that mean to you?" You shrug,

"Seems like you're tryin to get fuckin arrested to me." His laugh is labored, yours truly humored,

"I'm being serious."

"So am I! Bucky... you just said that you'd never love anyone-"

"But I went to fucking church over you! I'm not even sure I fucking believe in God and I went to church to talk about my feelings for you. That's harsh." His eyes coruscate, darting between your own, watching you purse your lips,

"So you think that breaking into my house and shaking me up and going to church means you're in love with me?"

"I break into your house for all the right reasons. And as far as shaking you up... I should never put hands on you. I get angry and ahead of myself and I'm sorry. And as far as going to church goes... I go to get advice and I went to get advice on you. Ever since that first night you walked in my club, it wasn't about the money or the guns, or even Stark... it was about you. And this cat and mouse game is pretty sexy. I like gettin the run around, but I do want you." Picking at the leftover noodles and vegetables in the bowl in front of you, you sigh,

“I’m still not convinced.” His jaw clenches when he finds your eyes. You can see all the raw emotion he has yet to control course through them,

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You shake your head, an eyebrow quirking in jest. His jaw clenches and unclenches, his nostrils flaring,

“Nope, I don’t believe you. I think you need to do something to… prove it to me.” Cocking his head, he finally realized where you're going,

“Oh yeah?” You nod, the corners of Bucky’s lips twinge, his now lust blown pupils following you as you stand and round the table, throwing your left leg over his broad thighs. Scooting his bowl out of your way, you sit on the table in front of him, his lips turned up in a demonic smile. You bat your lashes, resting back on your hands,

“You said you wanted me didn’t you Barnes?” He slowly nods, an aroused grunt leaving his throat when you bite your lip. Reaching up, you loosen your hair, shaking out the creases from the hair tie. Licking your lips and leaning forward, you slide into his lap, tingles breaking out across your skin,

“Show me.” You purr, Bucky’s breath catching in his throat. Shifting his head, he looks down at your lips before the algid metal of his hand is rested on your neck just over your hair, holding you in place as he leans in, his lips dancing against yours. You reach up, your heart pounding as you caress his stubbled jaw. Without breaking the steamy, passionate kiss, he sets you back on the table, pulling away for a brief moment to tug your tank top over your head. Just then, you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, vulnerability raking over your body. But Bucky doesn't seem to mind. Molding your soft hips in his hands, he growls, leaning in to kiss the skin of your exposed breasts. Reaching behind you, a new burst of goosebumps breaks out across your body as Bucky unclasps your bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside.

“Ah fuck.” Bucky gasps out, his eyes wandering the supple skin of your exposed torso. Glued to an aged scar across your ribs, he finds your eyes again,

“What’s this from sugar?” With his lips tickling your skin, you suck in a deep breath,

“Knife. Tac Force 809. Asshole pulled it on me my first week on the job.” He chuckled,

“Wanna meet my 119 Buck?” You groan when he reaches in his inside coat pocket, drawing the six and a half inch bladed knife from it, he chuckled darkly, dragging it around one of your hardened nipples. Throwing your head back, you moan, spurring Bucky on. He reaches out, popping the three buttons on your pants open and drawing back to drag the material down your legs, disregarding your underwear trapped in them,

"Fuck you're gorgeous dollface." He's never seen anything more beautiful. You're laying, sprawled out before him, your legs spread around his wide body, your pussy glistening for him. If he's completely honest, he's convinced you're an angel. Picking the knife up again, he listens to you squawk as he drags the cold metal against your thighs,

"So beautiful baby. You want me to prove I'm in love with ya?" You nod vigorously, his eyes twinkling in mischief. He quirks an eyebrow,

"Naughty, naughty girl. Didn't you wanna arrest me? Look who you're sprawled out for now. You're being a very bad girl... what would your superior think."

"Bucky please! I need you." He chuckled, reaching up to rub your shoulders before laying you back across the table, standing between your  spread thighs. He molded your breasts in his hands, taking his time to explore your bare chest, heaving under his touch,

"Barnes, this isn't convincing me." He shrugged,

"I wanna get accustomed to this perfect body babydoll. For next time."

"Assuming there is one." You gasp out, the contrast of Bucky's right hand, rough, calloused flesh and his left, smooth, cold metal breaking your body out in a new fit of tingles as he runs them down the expanse of your bare skin. He nips at the flesh of your bellybutton before sitting in his chair again and licking his lips. You anticipate his next move, biting your lip as he runs his hands down your legs, grasping them tightly and tossing them over his shoulders, dragging you closer. You practically scream when he dives in, grasping the table beneath you in your hands as he slides his warm tongue across your clit and back down to your entrance. Bucking your hips up into his face, you whimpered, a growl bubbling up from his throat, his hand coming up to rest in your abdomen,

"Hold still baby." Glancing down at him, he quirked an eyebrow, leaving your thigh draped over his shoulder and slipping his right hand between your legs, rubbing his thumb across your clit. The way you reacted to him, he could tell it'd been a while since you were touched. You were so focused on your work, dedicated to bringing the bad guys in that you hadn't been with anyone in a long while. Slipping two fingers inside you, you squealed, arching your back off the table. Bucky's heart fluttered, his fingers curling to find that spot inside you while he leaned in to suck your clit into his mouth,

"Oh fuck Barnes." He growled when you reached down to tug his hair, your fingers gliding through the long strands effortlessly. You moaned and purred beneath him, your head thrown over the other side of the table, your thighs trapping Bucky's head in between them. Darting his fingers in and out of you quickly, you panted as the pressure in your lower stomach grew and grew, your orgasm fast approaching now that the beast had laid dormant for so long. Growling, he shook his head, his teeth grazing your clit causing a squeal to leave your mouth, your hand flying back to grasp the table but swatting your beer bottle in the process, the dark brown bottle shattering against the floor. Neither of you paid mind, the waves of your orgasm growing to crash against the shore. Bucky focused on getting you there, his eyes locked on your blissed out face when you brought yourself to your elbows. Taking one in his hand, he drug you into his lap, the rough polyester of his pants giving you the extra rush, propelling your orgasm forward as you grasped both of Bucky's arms in your hands,

"Bucky!" You whined, his thumb roughly brushing over your clit as two fingers hastened inside you.

"You gonna cum for me babydoll?" You nodded, digging your nails into his arm,

"Yes, fuck!" He chuckled, leaning in to suck a dark mark into your neck,

"Cum for me." You panted, rocking against his hand. He growled, rearing back to swat at your bottom,

"Cum for me now." Tipping your head back you moaned, your eyes squeezed tight as he gripped your ass in his palm, molding it into the metal for just a moment before slipping up your back to grasp your hair. Giving a gentle tug, he latched to your breast, nibbling at your bud,

"Now!" He growled again, your body responding immediately as the coil in your belly snapped and your orgasm spilled over like a tsunami. You buried your face in the silk shirt smelling of the same sweet, tangy cigars you would imagine hefty businessmen smoking when they went to spend thick stacks of cash at a strip club. You practically screamed into him, a satisfied hum leaving your throat,

"Good girl." His metal hand rested at your back, smoothing over the skin as he cuddled you into him, your orgasm ebbing away. He laid his head against yours, reaching up to stroke your hair. He felt odd. All of the other women that he'd help get off wouldn't do anything for him. He'd either tell them to leave or go do paperwork right after. A quick fix was all he needed most times but now here he was, your bare body in his lap, having not gotten off, and a rock hard cock straining in his pants and he could care less. Your face, completely blissed out comforted him and he wanted nothing more than to walk you up to your bedroom and fall asleep with you in his arms. No matter how dangerous it was. He needed you like air in his lungs and he didn't care how formidable he was of losing you to an enemy. He was more afraid of you leaving on your own demise. But sitting in his lap, you knew you couldn't go anywhere. Not with how your heart pounded out against his own broad chest. How protected you felt in his presence.

Taking your face in his hands, he glared deeply into your eyes, his pupils blown black as night in the leftover lust coursing through his veins. Reaching up to hold his wrists, he brought you down to kiss his lips softly, your hands slipping to the back of his neck to taste more of him. He held you close, hands pressed tight against your shoulder blades. When he drew back, you leaned in to kiss his jaw, sucking his fingers into your mouth. His eyes darted from your lips to your own dark eyes, his tongue coming out to wet his own before he spoke up,

"Believe me now?"

Permanent Taglist:  @embrace-themagic @mmeeggaannn @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony

Series Taglist: @mullinhore @ddaengboi @avengersassemblee @vogueworthy-barnes @teawithbucky @imnotcoolmasterrr @whaddaputa @akamaiden @slender--spirit @wantonmeep @kali-mav @roxytheimmortal @buckysrcse @letaliabane @gravewalkerray @the-thighs-of-betrayal

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[kevrocksicehouse]

KevRock’s Icehouse presents THE ONLY OSCAR PREDICTION ARTICLE YOU NEED or “Put Away Those Slide Rules Boys, and Let the Old Doctor Show You How It’s Done.”

BEST PICTURE

BLACKKKLANSMAN

BLACK PANTHER

BOHEMIAN RHAPSHODY

THE FAVOURITE

GREEN BOOK 

ROMA

A STAR IS BORN

VICE

Will win: ROMA. In a weirdly fractured cinema year this Netflix-generated Mexican film seems to have the most juice. Plus, another chance for Hollywood to piss off Trump.

Should win: BLACK PANTHER. Best superhero movie ever and the most exciting cultural moment of the year.

Shoulda got nominated: See Wednesday’s list. It’s right underneath.

BEST DIRECTOR

Alfonso Cuaron – ROMA

Yorgos Lanthimos – THE FAVOURITE

Spike Lee – BLACKKKLANSMAN

Adam McKay – VICE

Pawel Pawlikowski – COLD WAR

Will Win: Cuaron. Hollywood loves this guy and this is his most personal movie. And thanks to Netflix nobody has an excuse for not seeing it.

Should win: Cuaron. Plus, after Black Panther and my beloved Blindspotting, it is the best. And he shoulda won for Y Tu Mama Tambien.

Shoulda been nominated: Debra Granik for LEAVE NO TRACE. A better use of silence than A QUIET PLACE.

BEST ACTOR

Christian Bale – VICE

Bradley Cooper – A STAR IS BORN

Willem Dafoe – AT ETERNITY’S GATE

Rami Malek – BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Viggo Mortensen – GREEN BOOK

Will win: Rami Malek. In a mediocre by-the-numbers biopic Malek does the impossible. He makes Freddy Mercury seem interesting. Much industry love ensues. Maybe it’ll help him land a better movie.

Should win: Bradley Cooper. Plays a better drunk than James Mason (which ain’t easy) and sings better than Kris Kristofferson (which ain’t hard).

Shoulda been nominated:  DAVEED DIGGS – BLINDSPOTTING. Genial and wary until a moment when the only right thing to do is commit an unspeakable crime. And rap a soliloquy worthy of Hamlet.

BEST ACTRESS

Yalitza Aparicio – ROMA

Glenn Close – THE WIFE

Olivia Colman – THE FAVOURITE

Lady Gaga – A STAR IS BORN

Melissa McCarthy – CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

Will Win: Close. She’s due. And I hear it’s a big airplane movie which is almost as good for distribution as Netflix.

Should win: Close. She carries the film, especially in those moments when she’s not speaking a word.

Shoulda been nominated: Elsie Fisher – EIGHTH GRADE. She wears the whole movie so closely on her skin I had to check to make sure she didn’t write it.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Mahershala Ali – GREEN BOOK

Adam Driver – BLACKKKLANSMAN

Sam Elliott – A STAR IS BORN

Richard E. Grant – CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

Sam Rockwell – VICE 

Will win: Ali. Audiences may love Viggo Mortensen for playing a Magic Goombah and making it look easy but they’ll respect Ali’s jazz pianist who shows that it’s never been easy.

Should win: Grant. CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME? was dull as dishwater except for those moments that merged MIDNIGHT COWBOY and BARFLY. That is, whenever Grant’s Dickensian lush/con artist was on the screen.

Shoulda been nominated: John Cho in THE OATH. Barely conscious and bleeding to death, he was the funniest part of a very funny movie. 

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS 

Amy Adams – VICE

Regina King – IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Emma Stone – THE FAVOURITE

Marina de Tavira – ROMA

Rachel Weisz – THE FAVOURITE

Will Win: King. Giving a performance of warmth and wisdom in a movie that sorely needs both, she defined “supporting.”

Should win: Weisz. She made me empathize with the kind of Machiavellian schemer whose comeuppance would otherwise trigger schadenfreude.

Shoulda been nominated: Letitia Wright in BLACK PANTHER. That the smartest person in the world is a wiseass teenager was a great joke and boy did she sell it.

BEST SCREENPLAY ADAPTED

Joel and Ethan Coen -- THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS

Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty – CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

Barry Jenkins – IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Eric Roth, Bradley Cooper and Will Fetters. – A STAR IS BORN

Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, Kevin Willmott and Spike Lee – BLACKKKLANSMAN

Will Win: BLACKKKLANSMAN. For what I dislike most about the film, its pumping up a great shaggy-dog story into a Profound Important Statement. It should have been one or the other.

Should win: THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS. A cheat, since only two of the anthology’s segments are based on previously published stories. But the Coens’ narrative descent from hilarity to hell has the scope of a great novel.

Shoulda been nominated: Phil Lord and Rodney Rothman – SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE. The worst kind of superhero movies are so overstuffed with plot they go down like yesterday’s meatloaf. This just-stuffed-enough anime-manque is a souffle.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

Alfonso Cuaron – ROMA

Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara – THE FAVOURITE

Adam McKay – VICE

Paul Schrader – FIRST REFORMED

Nick Vallelonga, Brian Currie and Peter Farrelly – GREEN BOOK

 Will win: THE FAVOURITE. Scheming and machination, barbs and insults with a prefeminist overlay. Irresistible.

Should win: ROMA. It meanders all over the place but when it’s over you’ve been somewhere.

Shoulda been nominated. Ike Barinholtz – THE OATH. Barinholtz wondered what Thanksgiving dinner would be like during a fascist takeover and never stopped running with the idea. Also Daveed Diggs, Rafael Casal and Janina Gavanker for BLINDSPOTTING. But you already knew that didn’t you?

[banhchao]

some1 here didn’t like what I wrote in the tags of a post regarding “cancel culture” and ppl maliciously digging up things you said years ago on beliefs u no longer hold which... fair enough, yeah it’s an iffy topic and I agree ppl shouldn’t go digging into your past to find problematic shit u said once that u don’t even believe in anymore just to one-up you and i just wanna say that like... ppl are allowed to fuck up. Ppl are allowed to change especially when those harmful and bigoted views were held when they were young and stupid. I have been young and stupid myself and have said things that have hurt ppl. I have had my past actions used against me despite having not done that behaviour in years so I understand how much it sucks. but a) I always try to value the feelings of the ppl hurt by the actions b) I feel like ppl are scared of or just don’t like taking accountability when rlly it’s not that deep honestly. Acknowledging you fucked up in the past doesn’t have to be this big thing or grand gesture and if you have the actions and genuine intentions to back up your claims, ppl will believe you. But also that if ppl choose not to forgive u no matter how far back it was and how much you’ve changed, they have every right and you just gotta learn from it and move on. Accountability is so important in building healthy relationships and your own growth. Being able to admit that yeah, you were at fault and you have learned and will try it best not to do it again... it’s what helps us improve and grow. if someone were to maliciously bring up a stupid thing I did in the past despite me not having done it in years, i would be like “yeah, I own up to it, it was fucked up, I’m sorry to those I’ve hurt with my words. I no longer hold those views and will continue trying to show I’m a better person. If you don’t forgive me, I respect that.” and just... move on. if ppl still choose not to forgive you that’s their call but u don’t have to internalize it. you know who u are after all. like it’s not bad for ppl to want others to acknowledge the ways they fucked up and apologize for it despite that behaviour not being done in years and it’s not bad to admit the bad shit you have said or done. acknowledging it assures ppl that they are safe around you. on a larger scale it’s def an issue to dig up old irrelevant dirt (as ppl don’t know the whole story) but then again, we see so many ppl like tony lopez , James Charles and David Dobrik that have committed literal crimes w/o remorse still have big platforms. we saw sienna mae complaining about cancel culture despite SAing someone and never apologizing. And literal p3dophiles get away with murder. Like... it’s not bad to normalize accountability. and it’s rlly less deep than u think it is.

[frederickwiddowson]

The writings of Luke the physician starting with his version of the gospel - Luke 17:1-10 comments: offences will come

Luke 17:1 ¶  Then said he unto the disciples, It is impossible but that offences will come: but woe unto him, through whom they come! 2  It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones. 3  Take heed to yourselves: If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him. 4  And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him. 5  And the apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith. 6 And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you. 7 But which of you, having a servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say unto him by and by, when he is come from the field, Go and sit down to meat? 8  And will not rather say unto him, Make ready wherewith I may sup, and gird thyself, and serve me, till I have eaten and drunken; and afterward thou shalt eat and drink? 9  Doth he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded him? I trow not. 10 So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do.

 An offence is something that causes someone to stumble in confusion or their faith, that harms their faith.

 As the Jewish rejection of Christ caused their confusion;

 1Peter 2:8  And a stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence, even to them which stumble at the word, being disobedient: whereunto also they were appointed.

 Which is an allusion to the passage in Isaiah;

 Isaiah 8:13  Sanctify the LORD of hosts himself; and let him be your fear, and let him be your dread. 14  And he shall be for a sanctuary; but for a stone of stumbling and for a rock of offence to both the houses of Israel, for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem. 15  And many among them shall stumble, and fall, and be broken, and be snared, and be taken.

 So, see that an offence can cause one to stumble, to fall, to be broken, and snared, and captured. This is what happens with unbelief, one falls into the snare set by the king of terrors himself.

 2Timothy 2:26  And that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will.

 Someone who belongs to God, who is mature in His care, and loves His word should never experience such a thing.

 Psalm 119:165  Great peace have they which love thy law: and nothing shall offend them.

 In the Early Modern English of the era of the King James translators to offend could mean, not just to displease or insult someone, but to injure one’s conscience, to deceive them, to commit a wrong, to cause damage to, and an offence was a crime, a sin, or a trespass, an injury done to someone.

 Offences against God and humans will come, they will happen. It is the nature of things in this dispensation. But, woe to that man or woman through whom they come, who permits themselves willingly to be a vehicle for sin against God and their fellow men and women.

 Little ones can be a reference, of course, to children.

 Matthew 18:1 ¶  At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? 2  And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, 3  And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. 4  Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5  And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me. 6 But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

     7 ¶  Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh! 8  Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire. 9  And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire. 10  Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven. 11  For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost. 12  How think ye? if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray? 13  And if so be

that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. 14  Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.

 But, in this context, in this particular sermon given by Christ, He seems to be saying that offences must come but it is a sad day for the person through whom they come. Do not give cause or reason for a new believer, a little one in the faith, to stumble and fall, and to forgive graciously and abundantly if your brother or sister repents of their deed against you. Do not feel a sense of self-righteousness by your getting out of your comfort zone and doing what Christ has commanded in the realm of forgiveness but accept it as the least you can do considering what He has endured and what He has done for you.

 Luke 11:4  And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us.

 Peter and Christ had this interaction;

 Matthew 18:21 ¶  Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? 22  Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven. 23  Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a

certain king, which would take account of his servants. 24  And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents. 25  But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that

he had, and payment to be made. 26 The servant therefore fell down, and worshipped him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 27 Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt. 28  But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellowservants, which owed him an hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest. 29  And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, Have patience with me,

and I will pay thee all. 30 And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the debt. 31  So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done. 32  Then his lord, after that he had called

him, said unto him, O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me: 33 Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellowservant, even as I had pity on thee? 34  And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him. 35  So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.

 Next to trusting God in the painful circumstances of life for which we are given no explanation, like Job, forgiving is the hardest thing for a Christian to do. Some of the great causes of mental illness are a refusing to forgive and a refusing to be forgiven. Refusing to forgive as Christ commanded can be the source of great offence to the faith of not only another but yourself. Discouragement is a powerful tool of Satan.

 2Corinthians 2:10  To whom ye forgive any thing, I forgive also: for if I forgave any thing, to whom I forgave it, for your sakes forgave I it in the person of Christ; 11 Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for we are not ignorant of his devices.

 I suspect there are many out there who cannot find it within themselves to forgive one who has caused offence to you or to forgive yourself; perhaps even just for failure in this life to meet the expectations of your youth. But, forgiving is a fundamental of the Christian faith, of far more importance than your political or historical beliefs. Keep in mind that it is called for when the other party is repentant and is not only sorry for their sin against you but has turned from it, the meaning of repentance. Sometimes it takes time to forgive because we need to see that repentance is real. These are the facts of living.

 Paul gave a warning about offending weak brothers and sisters. Read Romans 14. With regard to forgiveness, there may be a person in your life; a parent, a spouse, a friend, who regrets what they did to you and, if that is so, it is incumbent upon you to forgive them. You, too, have regrets for what you’ve done. You are sorry for your sin against God. Receive His forgiveness. Do not remember what God has forgotten.

 Another take on this passage is that it represents a few of the sayings of Christ for which we would have to cross-reference to uncover the more complete doctrine the sayings are referring to. For instance, there is verse 2 opened up by the passage in Matthew 18:1-14. There is verse 4 further explained by Matthew 18:21-35. Verses 5 and 6 are further illuminated by Matthew 17:14-21 if you take this tack on the passage.  But, I don’t think it is correct to do that particularly. I believe that this passage represents a coherent message given by Christ in its entirety to be understood by the context in which it is written, cross-referencing for contrast and understanding.

[buckybabybaby]

Everything Backwards (Chapter 8/12)

Summary: When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-off-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve lucked out, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it. 

This is the story of how it all works out.

Chapter 8 summary: Who the hell was Bucky?

A/n: this has been the hardest part to write so far, there’s a couple of questions finally answered here, and I hope I did it justice. About ten minutes has past since the end of chapter 7.

Also, look! I made a pointless moodboard/header thingy! I used instagram and ms paint, because I am a graphic design expert… It took way longer than it looks like it did, but I think it’s cute <3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (gender neutral) Slow Burn.

Word count: 2658

Warnings: Ooh, this ones not that fun. Mentions of suicidal thoughts (once, very brief), abduction and torture, violence, so tread carefully if that’s likely to affect you. Also some crying and bad language.

Catch up: Chapter 7

Everything Backwards Masterlist | Masterlist

“You scared me, you know? Calling so many times and not even leaving a message to let me know what’s going on.”

Bucky is sat on a bench on the far side of the lake. He had been short on the phone, vague about his location, only naming the park and it is lucky that you’ve spotted him at all; he is so far away from the other families that the sound of children playing is drowned out by the ducks quacking around his feet. The kiosk near the entrance sells bird food and he’s slowly emptying a bag for them, face emotionless and posture rigid.

You’re hesitant to approach. “You alright?”

He finally looks up at you and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Can I sit? Or do you want me to go?”

Quickly he moves his jacket from beside him and motions for you to take a seat. “I’m sorry for being so rude, on the phone, I, um,” he slouches back and closes his eyes, “I’m not very good at things like that, or communicating in general, so I tend to be snappy.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“That’s the whole problem though, you don’t. Nobody does.” He’s sat back up to face you directly.

“You’re right, I don’t. But if you want you could help me, to understand?”

He stands and walks away, scattering ducks as he goes, only stopping when he reaches the edge of the water and you’re scared that you’ve pushed too far.

He turns back to you, jaw set. “I’d like that, but only if you’re sure.”

You’re taken aback that he’s willing. “I am if you are.”

He nods. “But not here.”

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.” He gestures at a group of people with a dog walking towards you. “I just mean is there somewhere more private?”

You know this park quite well so you stand up and brush down your jeans as you think. “There’s a bird hide further along, up the hill. It’s a bit of a trek but it’s normally empty because it’s so out of the way.”

You instinctively hold your hand out to him again, but this time you don’t drop it when you realise. Bucky takes it after a moments pause. 

Even through the gloves you’re wearing against the cool wind you can feel the warmth of his skin, and you force yourself to focus on not tripping over the tree roots to distract from the need to hold onto him forever.

When you eventually make it to the shelter, you’re out of breath and grateful it’s empty so you didn’t walk all that way for nothing. Falling onto a seat, you finally let go of Bucky’s hand and he moves to study the charts on the wall.

“I think I saw one of these earlier.” He points to a picture and you smile.

“Yeah? They’re pretty uncommon but it’s not impossible.”

“Oh. Do you know much about wildlife, then?”

“No need to sound so shocked! I’m no expert, but the family I temporarily worked for before lived near here so I came quite a few times with those children. It’s amazing how quickly you can start to identify species.”

He comes and sits next to you. “That’s cool. When we were children Steve made me go bird watching with him. He was always quite sickly so it was one of the few things we could do that was relatively safe.” Opening the window he peers out. “Although,” he laughs, “I do remember one time he thought he’d spotted something really rare and broke his arm falling out of a tree.” He glances at you, smirking slightly. “Don’t let him convince you he was anything other than a little punk growing up.”

You giggle in surprise. He sobers up a bit, taking a shaky breath before closing the shutter and turning to you.

“But we didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “I know. I want to though.”

There’s a long gap of silence as he works out what to say, and you feel your heart speed up in anticipation.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

“Alright smart-arse.” There’s no heat behind his words, and he takes another deep breath. “The beginning? Fuck, that was along time ago.” Avoiding eye contact he begins his tale.

“When we left school I had no idea what I wanted to do, whereas Steve was pretty set on college, so he applied and then he was gone. I was at a loose end without him so when I saw a recruitment video for the army I signed up right away. I thought it’d give me a meaning to my life, a way to make a positive difference, and friendships like the one I had with Steve, and it did. At least I had that.”

“I did four tours with that regiment. They were actually quite successful. We only lost three men in six years, and made a lot of progress in eliminating the enemy and improving life for those who had been oppressed. It was almost fun at times. I still remember the taste of the sweets the children from the local villages would leave outside the barracks. All in all, it was probably the best time of my life and I was about two weeks from coming home when it all went wrong.”

He pauses briefly to collect his thoughts.

“It was supposed to just be a routine mission. There had been sightings in the local area of the militant group that used to hold the region west of us, but we weren’t worried because there were hardly any of them left and they normally surrendered straight away. So, we weren’t ready for there to be over twenty of them, all fully armed, not afraid to shoot and desperate to impress their leaders. It’s a bit of a blur but I remember the pain and then waking up days, maybe a week later, to a living hell.”

“It was horrible Y/N.” He snickers once, bitterly. “No, horrible is not the right word. Horrible is missing your flight or losing your phone. This was months of daily torture. Constantly wishing to die so it’d be over but not having the strength to do it myself.” He breaks himself off to wipe angrily at his eyes. “After a while I stopped feeling anything. I was numb to the pain. Numb to their words. And then they started on the drugs.”

“The doctors don’t know what they gave me, couldn’t work out what precisely they did to my mind either, some kind of brainwashing that meant I-I-” Bucky’s voice trembles and you pass him a tissue. 

Then your brain processes everything and you gasp. “I remember you on the news!” You wince at the volume of your statement.

Bucky’s eyes snap up to yours. “You do?”

“Yeah, I think. About two years ago? There was a story about a soldier being rescued, one who had been abducted and used by the terrorists as a sort of-”

“Assassin.”

You are both breathing heavily as you stare at each other, him tearful and you shocked. “So that was you?”

He looks away as he hums in confirmation. Images from that report play through your mind and you feel faint as you realise just how horrific his past has been. The terrorists called him the Winter Soldier, didn’t they? Nowhere in these stories was his real name, and there were no photos, but there was a court case to determine if he had committed a crime. You remember thinking the whole process was ridiculous because the guy had no free will, so surely he was just as much a victim as the ones he hurt? The jury had agreed with your view and he was let off without charge. And now here he was, sitting in front of you, looking nothing like you’d imagined.

“But you never, you know, they stopped you before you could didn’t they?”

“Still hurt a lot of people.”

“Not permanently though,” you try to argue, “you came out of this much worse than anyone else.”

He lets out a slow sigh. “I suppose I did. And it’s made me suspicious of anyone new. I don’t like them getting too close in an environment I can’t walk away from, so when I saw you the next day I sort of panicked, it felt like something else someone could use against me. And I didn’t want anyone else to judge me for my past so I determined to make it so you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I thought it’d be easier if you just hated me.”

You really want to give him a hug. “I didn’t quite hate you, but I did think you were a bit of a dick.”

“I was. Sorry.” He fiddles with the strap of his watch for a second. “Telling you this here probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“Why?”

“If you saw the news then you know what I’m capable of. If you want to leave I get it.”

“I’m not scared of you Bucky.”

He scoffs. You reach a hand out in an attempt to comfort him, stopping short of touching him in case it makes him uncomfortable. “None of what you did was your fault. You know that right?”

He catches your hand so he can play with your fingers. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes! Don’t you?”

“It’s difficult. I remember all of it, if blurry, how I hurt those people. That’s hard to forgive myself for.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, you’re not to blame.”

He squeezes his eyes shut to stop fresh tears from falling. Five minutes pass in silence, bar the bird song, but it’s a comfortable sort of quiet and as it seems like Bucky has said all he wants you let him sit there studying your nails.

You startle when he speaks again. “What you said about remembering me, that’s what I was worried about earlier. Why I was upset.”

“What?”

“The possibility people could recognise me. I don’t really go on the internet much but I bet someone on there has an idea of who I am. I can see the way people look at me.”

“I really don’t think they do.”

“The waitress in the café kept staring at me. She paid special attention to me, like what, I need to be appeased or something?”

You laugh abruptly, covering your mouth but not being able to hide the sound. The look he gave you when you first knew him is back and when he drops your hand you feel cold, so you hurry to explain.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at you, I promise! But I can guarantee she was only flirting with you.”

“Flirting?”

“You’re very attractive Bucky.”

His face goes blank and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But it’s the truth. You’d seen the way people watched him in the park that Tuesday weeks ago, especially when he’d volunteered to push all the children on the roundabout and everyone had noticed just how strong he is. It’s not just you and you’re friends who think he’s pretty. You’re wondering if you should say you’re sorry when he relaxes, stops tearing as his tissue, and smiles tentatively at you for the first time today.

“You think so?”

“Definitely. I mean, I don’t know who else you were with but its easy to spot Sam’s married so people tend to leave him-”

“No, I mean, you think I’m attractive?”

You’re mouth hangs open as you stare at him. This really has been a whirlwind of a conversation, but as he’s been very open with you then you should return the favour.

“Of course I do.”

“That’s good.” 

Good? What does that mean? Before you can question it he rises from his seat and moves as far away from you as he can in the small building. He’s wide eyed when he turns back.

“Fuck. I just realised I told you everything.”

“Did you not want to?”

“No, I did. It’s just….” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it in what looks like a painful way. “I’ve not told many people, none, actually, apart from Sam and Steve. Peggy too, it wouldn’t be fair to make Steve keep a secret like that when I’m living in their home. Some others know a bit of what happened, but not all of it.” He comes back to sit next to you. “I know it’s a lot to dump on someone, but I needed you to know.” The hand is back in his hair as he watches you.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like keeping secrets from my friends.” You melt at his confession. “And I was thinking-”

Whatever he was will have to wait as a group of walkers enter the hide. They don’t pay attention to you, moving to sit on the bench at the other end, and when you turn back to Bucky he’s gone. Re-buttoning your coat and collecting your gloves from the shelf, you hurry out after him and spot his figure waiting a little down the hill.

“Hey,” you pant when you catch up.

Shoving his hands into his pockets he scowls, kicking at the ground “I’m sorry. I had to get-”

“It’s fine, no need to explain.” Staring down the track again, you beckon at him to follow and start the walk back in silence. 

He trails behind you for a few minutes and you give him his space. It also gives you time to go over everything that was said, and you try to commit to memory every detail he told you as if he thought it was important then it must be. Thinking back over it proves to be a little too much.

“Please don’t cry.” You only realise Bucky has caught up when he stops beside you. 

All your tissues have been used so you wipe your eyes on your gloves and make a note to put them in the wash when you get home.

Sniffing, you mumble, “I’m sorry, it’s just, life’s been unfair to you, hasn’t it? Why do these things happen?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I’m getting by, though.”

“Are you?” You did not mean to say that. 

He looks as shocked at your words as you feel at saying them but then he smiles slightly. “Well, slowly. And I’m getting better with your help.”

This feels like the hundredth time you’ve been thrown by something he said today and it’s beginning to make you dizzy.

“How do I help?”

“Well, last night, that would have been horrendous if you weren’t there. And like just now. Sam says it’s important to talk.”

That makes sense. “Whenever you want to talk, I’m here, okay? Any time.”

The smile you’re given in response is lovely. “Thank you. Truly.”

You could have stared at him for hours, but then he’s grabbing your hand again to pull you down towards the bottom of the path and you laugh with him as you run, finding it hard to keep up. When you reach level ground he slows and allows you to catch your breath. 

Strolling along the edge of the lake, the relative peace of the children playing in the park is broken by a tinny rendition of Greensleeves as a colourful Disney character-covered van pulls up in the car park, and Bucky turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“How about one last ice cream of the season?”

You squint at the sky, the sun filtering through the first changing leaves now the clouds have cleared. “It is beginning to feel like Autumn, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” he grins down at you. “Autumn, and the start of something beautiful.”

Chapter 9

A/n 2: Basically, this is Bucky as the Winter Soldier if he’d been rescued very early. So no one died, which, whilst I don’t think it makes _any difference to how guilty Bucky is (the Winter Soldier was a puppet) I do think it makes a difference to how guilty _he feels :( also I don’t know which way a trial would go if he had killed anyone, so I think in this AU it’s more realistic he wouldn’t be convicted. Sorry for the essay! But just in case it wasn’t clear…

Also, on a much lighter note, I think the last very scene is my favourite I written so far. Not necessary the best, I just really like the idea of parks and sunshine and ice cream with Bucky.

And finally, the kiosk Bucky got the duck food from would have had an honesty box or something, I don’t think he would have been up to talking to someone :( so an unmanned hut thing.

All right, I’m done now… Thank you for reading!

Tagging: @tieddown-withbattleshipchains @i-had-a-life-once

@superwholockian5ever @attorneyl @scamandaaaamn

@bohemianrhapsodaisychains @the-renaissance @davros2004@sergeant-james-bbarnes @sebastianst-n @marvel-trash07 @summerbummer2001 @ginger-wayward-assbutt @sadanddeadsoul​ @satans-knitting-club 

If I’ve forgotten you, or you want to be tagged/untagged, please just ask! Tumblr tagging sucks, so if anyone wants me to send it as a private message, I’d be more than happy to do that!

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Imagine,that when Strange separated the Winter Soldier programming from Bucky,it physically manifested in a form of a two-year old boy. So, everybody is freaking out, except Tony,who just takes it in stride,while mumbling about fudging magic,picks the kid up,wraps him in a blanket and calms him down. After that, Tony is the one constantly taking care of the kid, while Bucky is shyly warming up to the idea of basically having a younger brother and joining Tony in parenting the wee Winter Soldier.

Magic Works In Mysterious Ways - Part 1 (of 3)

A/N: Since this fic takes place after Civil War, Tony will probably come across as a little rude towards Steve, but I assure you it’s temporary and that both Tony and I still love Steve very much. Also, to those of you who have read my sci-fi epic Autonomy: I think you’re going to like this one.

---

Tony couldn'tsay why he did it. He had no experience with children. They were small, innocent,and breakable — all terrifying things — and, out of everyone at the Avengers headquarters,he was quite possibly the least suitable person to be looking after a toddler. Itwas just that everyone else seemed to have forgotten about the child inquestion.

The littleboy was just standing there, wide, blue eyes staring at the adults towering abovehim, clearly not knowing where he was, how he had gotten there, or why everyonewas shouting.

Tony felt thetug of a memory — of sharp, disappointed words and whiskey-laced breath — butquickly shoved it down. He recognized the look on the boy's face; the barelyconcealed fear hidden being a mask far too blank to be on a face so young. Tonyknew it was only a matter of time before those small shoulders began to tremblefrom suppressed sobs, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to just stand byand watch that happen.

He wasmoving before he could think better of it.

He grabbedthe blanket from the nearby couch and elbowed his way past Wilson and Strange to reach the kid. As hecrouched down, those big, innocent eyes snapped to meet his and Tony had toswallow when he saw the dread on the boy's face.

"Sssh,it's okay," he whispered, hoping to comfort the poor thing. "Comehere." Tony gently reached out and wrapped the blanket around the kid'snaked shoulders, relieved when he didn't fight or start screaming.

The kid hadan intense stare, and there was an almost shocking level of intelligence in hisgaze — but also vulnerability. His eyes were filling with tears and Tony wasn'tsure if he was the right person to handle what came next, but he seemed to bethe only one willing to try. The shouted conversation around them had stopped,but Tony ignored that in favor of the little boy. He looked to be two yearsold, at most.

"It'sokay," Tony said softly, settling down on his knees. He tucked the blankettighter around those narrow, trembling shoulders, trying not to let his nervesshow. The way the kid was staring at him, quiet and miserable, wasn't helping.

Then,without further ado, the kid broke.

(Mobile readers, watch out for the break!)

His littleface scrunched up, lip wobbling, and Tony quickly scooped up the child into hisarms, blanket and all. Tony was the first to admit that he had no idea whathe's doing, but the kid didn't seem to care. He curled up in Tony's embrace, asif trying to make himself as small as possible, and hid his face against Tony'sneck. Tony felt a pang when the kid started shaking from choked sobs, and he hesitantlystroked the boy's hair, hushing him gently.

Neverbefore had Tony held something that felt both so incredibly precious andterrifyingly fragile.

When Tonylooked up, everyone was staring at him. The surprise on their faces was farfrom flattering, but Tony couldn't exactly blame them; he wasn't the naturalchoice when it came to comforting a child.

Steve had aconcerned frown on his face and was still half-turned towards Strange,obviously having stopped in the middle of their heated discussion. Natashastood a discreet couple of feet away, arms crossed over her chest, but she somehowmanaged to look less judgmental than Wilson.He seemed to be debating whether or not to liberate the toddler fromTony's arms.

Barneswasn't looking at them at all, apparently too fascinated by the floor.

A flare ofanger made Tony rise to his feet, still cradling the boy. If Steve, Barnes, andStrange hadn't decided that experimenting with fucking magic was a good idea, none of this would have happened. Granted,Barnes had been looking dazed and vaguely nauseated ever since the little boy hadsuddenly materialized in their living room, but he'd done nothing to comfortthe disoriented child.

Steve facedTony, his expression firm yet placating. Tony could tell that the good captainwas about to say something — probably something stupid, knowing Steve — so Tonyspoke first.

"Itold you magic was a bad idea," he snapped, glaring at the three menresponsible. Barnes was the only one who looked uncomfortable, and Tony had togrit his teeth against another surge of anger.

Steveobviously meant well. Tony knew by then that there was nothing Steve wouldn'tdo for his best friend — which still stung, thank you very much — but Tony didn'ttrust Strange as far as he could throw him. And he certainly didn't trust magic.

"We didn'tknow this would happen," Steve said, taking a step towards Tony and theboy.

Bizarrely,Tony felt a wave of protectiveness that instinctively made him hug the childtighter. Steve wasn't the enemy — Tony had known that all along, even in Siberia — but that didn't mean he wasn't a threat. Small,chubby fingers were clenched desperately around the fabric of Tony's rattyt-shirt, his collar wet from tears, and Tony knew he wasn't going to hand theboy over. Not even if Steve asked.

Tony waswell aware of how preposterous that was — he had no claim on this child. Ifanything, the boy belonged with Barnes and, by extension, Steve, but theyhadn't exactly proven themselves trustworthy.

"Heshould have known," Tony replied, nodding towards Strange, who regardedTony and the child with an unreadable look on his face.

"Everythingcan be fixed," Strange began, "we only—"

"Don'tbother," Tony interrupted, carefully hoisting the boy higher to secure hisgrip. He looked at Barnes, but he was still staring at the floor with frankly impressivevigor, so Tony's gaze settled on Steve instead. "Once you've stoppedshouting at each other, you can come find us in the workshop."

Stevelooked like he might have wanted to protest, but Tony didn't give him thechance. Without another word, Tony turned on his heel and left the room withthe tiny, two-year-old version of James Barnes in his arms.

---

In allhonesty, Tony couldn't blame Steve and Barnes for trying everything imaginableto help with Barnes' recovery. The idea of magically separating Barnes from hisWinter Soldier programming sounded wonderful in theory, but any kind ofinstantaneous fix to something that complicated was almost always too good tobe true.

Tony hadbeen against it from the beginning. He'd offered BARF as a more reasonable,scientific alternative but, unfortunately, Steve and Barnes had no reason tolisten to him. Tony had very little to do with the subject of Barnes' recovery,mainly because he had so very little contact with Barnes in general.

After Siberia, it had just seemed like the wiser choice.

To behonest, the hostility had fizzled out rather quickly in Tony's case, only to bereplaced by a deep feeling of betrayal — though Barnes was not the oneresponsible for it. In the end, Tony was more upset by what Steve had done —hiding the truth from him for years, telling himself it was for Tony's sakewhen, clearly, it was all about Steve wanting to protect himself and Barnes.

Regardlessof Steve's betrayal, Tony knew perfectly well that Barnes couldn't be heldresponsible for what he had done all those years ago. The man had beentortured, brainwashed, and forced to commit crimes he now seemed to regretenough that he withdrew from practically everyone around him, except Steve and,surprisingly, Natasha. On his good days, Barnes also enjoyed bickering withWilson but, on the whole, he was a sad, lonely man, weighed down by enoughguilt that Tony didn't feel like he should add more.

He, if anyone, understood what it was like to have a past you desperatelywanted to rewrite.

Despitehaving forgiven Barnes months ago, Tony had never said the words out loud. He pretendedthat the delay was because he'd been busy rewriting the Accords into somethingSteve could accept, then fighting through legal battles and red tape to get therogue Avengers — and Barnes — acquitted. But, truth be told, he was just toomuch of a coward. Forgiving Barnes meant that he should probably forgive Steve,too, and he wasn't sure if he could do that just yet.

Thebetrayal was still a festering wound, deep and aching.

Still, Tonyhad nothing against Barnes as a person, even if their interactions ranged fromstilted to non-existent. Tony only really fit into Barnes' everyday life in thecapacity of his mechanic. Even before Steve and his gang of rogue superheroeshad been allowed back into the US,Tony had started designing a new arm for Barnes. He'd done it mostly out ofguilt — he was still ashamed of how he had reacted back in Siberia— but Tony wasn't sure if Barnes had ever taken the new and improved arm forthe unspoken apology that it was.

In general,Barnes seemed uncomfortable in Tony's presence. Because of that, Tony haddecided to keep his distance unless it had to do with maintenance on Bucky'sarm.

So Tonyunderstood if Steve and Barnes didn't take his advice to heart — he had verylittle insight into the situation. The fact that most of Tony's arguments hadstarted with 'since magic doesn't exist' probably didn't help, either.

Frustratinglyenough, magic was real, and the proofwas currently sitting on Tony's workbench, curiously examining one of Tony'sscrewdrivers. The tool was far from a safe toy for a kid, but even after justten minutes with the boy, Tony could already tell he wasn't quite like otherchildren. Tony supposed that made sense. The kid was — if Strange's spell hadworked correctly — essentially the Winter Soldier, separated from Barnes and,curiously, made into its own person. And while the Winter Soldier could becalled many things, average was not one of them.

A part ofTony was waiting for the moment when the boy would try to stab the screwdriverthrough Tony's hand or something equally violent, but it hadn't happened so far.The boy just sat there, quiet, eyes wandering over the wonders of Tony'sworkshop, but without reaching for any of it. He was a serious child and, nowthat he had stopped crying, looked almost eerily expressionless — only madeworse by the fact that he hadn't said a word. The blanket was still wrappedaround his tiny shoulders, trailing down over the edge of the workbench.

"FRIDAY,"Tony said, catching the attention of both his AI and the boy. "Find himsome clothes, will you?"

"Willdo, boss," FRIDAY replied.

The boytilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to figure outwhere the voice was coming from. He didn't look afraid, merely curious.

"That'sFRIDAY," Tony explained, smiling when the boy looked his way. "She'san AI. A computer system I designed." Tony had no idea how much atwo-year-old might understand, so he kept it simple. He only had his own experiencesto draw from and he'd been told that he had been a rather extraordinary child.

Then again,so was a miniature Winter Soldier, he supposed.

Not thatthe kid looked much like the Winter Soldier. He had both of his arms, for one,and while he had a less expressive face than the average child, he didn't lookthe least bit dangerous with his wide, blue eyes and mop of brown hair. He was,in fact, absolutely adorable.

Tony leanedhis hip against the workbench, studying the tiny human he had somehow managedto claim responsibility over. He really hadn't thought this through. What didhe know about taking care of a child?

"Areyou hungry?" Tony asked. Kids had to eat, right?

The littleboy shook his head, already back to his inspection of the screwdriver. Tonywasn't sure if he was supposed to feel insulted that he was obviously lessinteresting than an inanimate object, but he had been the same as a kid — hewas hardly the one to judge.

"You'lltell me if you get hungry, right?"

This time,Tony got a nod. Would it be irresponsible of him to leave it at that? The kiddidn't seem in desperate need of anything, content to play with Tony's tools.Was Tony supposed to play with him? Talk to him?

How did youtake care of a small child?

Tony broughtup a screen with a flick of his wrist. While FRIDAY was already arrangingclothes for the little tyke, they would need lots of other things in order totake care of a toddler. Tony had no idea what— his area of expertise lay elsewhere — but that was what internet searcheswere for.

"Okay,FRIDAY," Tony said, duplicating the screen, "let's make a list. No,two lists. Things to buy and what changes we need to make around here."

"Changes,boss?" FRIDAY asked.

"Babyproofing, FRIDAY. Judging by little Winter's fascination with screwdrivers, webetter make sure he doesn't try to stick them into any sockets." Tony wasalready typing, bringing up site after site promising to tell him exactly whathis child needed for a healthy, happy upbringing.

"Onit," FRIDAY replied.

Tonysmiled, throwing a quick glance at the kid before returning to his screens."Let's start with the essentials..."

---

It tookover four hours before Steve deigned to visit Tony's workshop. In that time,Winter had had a little nap, a snack from Tony's mini-fridge, and was now wearingone of Tony's t-shirts in wait for some actual clothes. Express delivery to theAvengers headquarters was difficult to arrange, apparently, due to all thesecurity checks.

Not thatWinter seemed to mind that he wore a garment big enough to be considered adress. Tony had tried to find the smallest of his t-shirts, but Winter stilldisappeared inside it, the collar wide enough to almost slip off one of hisshoulders.

On the plusside, Winter in a gigantic AC/DC t-shirt was beyond cute.

Stevelooked slightly wary as he approached the workbench Winter was perched on. Thekid was drawing on the Stark tablet Tony had given him once he realized hedidn't have any actual paper in his workshop. That — together with crayons —was now one of the many items on the rather extensive list of things to buythat he and FRIDAY had managed to compose.

"Howis he?" Steve asked, voice hushed as he stopped next to Tony. His eyeswere on the boy, though, something soft yet pained in his gaze.

Tony raisedan eyebrow. "Ask him yourself."

Stevedidn't. Instead he studied the boy, as if trying to find similarities betweenhim and the adult Barnes he knew so well. There were some — the eyes, the haircolor, the slope of his nose — but a lot of it probably wouldn't show foranother couple of years. Overall, Winter looked like a normal child, even ifthere was no telling what was going on inside his head.

"Helooks so... innocent," Steve said. He might have been talking to himself,but Tony couldn't help replying.

"That'sbecause he is." Tony didn't know that for sure — the kid was a condensedversion of the Winter Soldier, after all, squeezed into a tiny, adorablepackage — but he'd be damned if he let Steve treat Winter like a threat.

Steve tooka deep breath, as if to gather strength. "Dr. Strange has examined Bucky.The spell was successful. The programming has been removed, but he can't besure why, well..." Both of them looked at the boy blissfully focused onhis drawing, his tiny index finger making swooping lines on the tablet's screen."This was an unexpected side-effect."

Tony pursedhis lips. "Well, there's not much to do about that now."

The loaded silencethat settled over the workshop made something dark and ugly twist in Tony'schest — a fear so strong he could taste it at the back of his tongue.

"What?"he demanded, not trying to hide the sharpness in his voice.

Steve'sshoulders were tense, his jaw clenched tight. "Strange can undo—"

"No,absolutely not," Tony protested, horrified. "Are you serious? He's a just a kid! You can't—"

"Tony,"Steve said sternly — with a hint of a warning. Tony fell silent, but keptglaring. Steve, as always, didn't even flinch. "Strange said he could, but I didn't say I approved ofthe idea." Steve's gaze strayed to Winter yet again. "Ultimately,it's Bucky's choice."

As much asit pained Tony to admit it, Steve was probably right. Winter was essentially apart of Barnes, manifested in the shape of a child bearing his face. If anyonehad the right to decide what happened to the kid, it was Barnes.

"Andwhat does Barnes say about this?" Tony asked, crossing his arms over hischest. He knew he was being unnecessarily confrontational, but he couldn't helpit. The thought of Winter being unmade left Tony feeling nauseous.

Stevesighed, a flicker of concern in his gaze. "He hasn't said anything yet —not about the boy, at least. I think he's still in shock. Or denial."

Tony heldback the scathing comment he wanted to voice, knowing it would only lead to unnecessaryarguing. His and Steve's relationship was undeniably rocky — which was mostlythanks to Tony's temper and inability to forgive — but he didn't want to makeit worse if he could help it.

"Well,I'll take care of Winter in the meantime," Tony offered, knowing someonehad to. He wasn't an active member of the team at the moment, so he certainlyhad more time than the others.

Stevefrowned. "Winter?"

"Yeah,"Tony replied easily. "That's his name."

"You'venamed him." It wasn't a question, and Tony had a hard time figuring out ifthat was disapproval or surprise in Steve's voice.

"Someonehad to." Tony shrugged before turning back to his screens. "I figuredwe didn't need one more James, and Bucky Jr. is just laughable."

A silencesettled between them and Tony carefully avoided looking at Steve. The wound wasstill raw and aching, and being around Steve was more difficult than Tony likedto admit. Far too often he felt the urge to demand to know why his friendshipwas worth less than Barnes'. Or how Steve could leave Tony behind in Siberia without a second glance.

Tony knewhe wouldn't like the answers, though, so he never asked.

He knew hehad to forgive Steve eventually — it was inevitable, really — but he certainlywasn't there yet.

"Areyou sure about this, Tony?" Steve asked, in that calm, careful voice heused when he thought that whatever he said was going to upset Tony and lead toanother argument.

Even on hisgood days, Tony found that tone incredibly grating.

A reply wason the tip of Tony's tongue — a biting, sarcastic comment meant to hurt — buthis gaze happened to land on Winter. The boy was staring at him, as if he hadsensed the shift in the air — the heaviness of Tony's frustration and hisongoing battle against his anger and wounded pride. Winter didn't do anything,but Tony could feel something within him settle all the same. As much as Tonywanted to snap an insult at Steve, he refused to do so in front of Winter.

The kidshouldn't have to see that.

"I'msure," Tony therefore replied, voice calm aside from a hint of sharpnesshe couldn't quite smooth out. He looked over his shoulder, meeting Steve'sgaze. "Barnes needs some time, right? To figure out what he wants todo." Tony shrugged. "If he doesn't want to see the kid, who better totake care of him than me? Barnes and I don't exactly have a habit of hangingout."

Steve hesitated,and Tony couldn't help wondering if it was a question of trust. Perhaps Stevedidn't think he could rely on Tony to take care of what was essentially a miniatureversion of his best friend?

The verysame best friend who had murdered Tony's parents.

"Iwon't hurt him," Tony said defensively, stomach twisting at the mereimplication. Did Steve really think him capable of harming an innocent child?

"What?"Steve blinked. "No, of course not. I didn't..." He closed his eyesand let out a deep sigh, his tense shoulders lowering. Steve suddenly lookedmore exhausted than he had in months. Tony couldn't even remember the last timeSteve had let his guard down around him like this. Perhaps sometime beforeUltron?

"Iknow you won't, Tony," Steve picked up, voice tired. "I'm moreworried about you."

"Me?"Tony couldn't help sounding surprised. There was also a flutter of delight atthe thought of Steve caring — and Tony felt suitably pathetic because of it.

Stevegestured towards Winter. "He's the physical embodiment of what killed yourparents. Is that... are you okay with that?"

To behonest, Tony hadn't even thought about it. He knew this was the Winter Soldier programming separated from JamesBarnes, but he hadn't realized that this little child — more so than Barnes —was actually responsible for the deaths of Tony's parents. It was simply impossibleto wrap his head around.

Winter wasstill looking at Tony with wide, innocent eyes and a solemn expression. There wasno malice in Winter's gaze — nothing that would suggest that this was aruthless assassin who had slaughtered countless people over the past seventyyears. He didn't look dangerous, and he certainly didn't look evil.

Tonystruggled to breathe, his throat tight and heart hammering in his chest.

PerhapsWinter was exactly what he looked to be — a curious child, new to the world andits numerous wonders. There was no telling what he remembered, or what he wouldgrow up to become. Perhaps, once removed from Barnes' mind, he ceased to be theWinter Soldier and became something else entirely — an entity of his own.

Without aword, the little boy pushed the tablet aside. Tony watched in silence as Winterpurposefully crawled across the workbench, stopping in front of Tony. There heraised his short arms, making grabby hands.

Tonyexhaled, ignoring the slight hitch in his breath, and lifted the boy off thebench, as requested. Winter clung to him, and it was difficult to tell if thatwas for Tony or Winter's benefit — though probably the former. Holding the kidwas surprisingly comforting, allowing Tony to finally swallow the painful lumpin his throat.

Steve remainedsilent, probably waiting for Tony's reply.

"Iforgave Barnes months ago," Tony said, voice raw. "And I'm not goingto hold this kid responsible for what happened. HYDRA were the ones who killedmy parents — not Barnes, not Winter." He swallowed, looking up at Steve."I'll be fine."

Steve seemedto want to reach out for Tony, but refrained for one reason or another. Hisgaze was softer, though, and a lot of the stiffness had bled out from hisshoulders.

"That'sgood," he said. Steve looked at Winter, whose face was yet again hiddenagainst Tony's neck, though without the accompanying tears this time. "Letme know if you need help, okay?"

Tonynodded, his hand stroking Winter's back, the movement far more instinctual thanhe thought it would be.

"Goodluck with Barnes." Tony smiled crookedly. "I think you're going toneed it."

Stevesighed, his responding smile faint enough to almost not qualify as a smile atall. "Yeah," he replied, "thanks."

_____________

- Amethystina

[therake-1996-blog]

Pure Chap 3

Chapter 3

Normalcy

 A few days pass. It was hard at first, trying to get into the swing of things, now having to travel to the gods’ mansion directly after school instead of staying at home. I found that I was constantly pinching myself to see if I’d wake up, and, along with that, I keep catching glimpses of that strange shadow everywhere. I can never pinpoint what it is or what it belongs to, as when I do a double-take, it’s gone.

Zyglavis also connected the door to my closet to the door to the mansion, which is located somewhere in the country, so it doesn’t seem like I actually leave the house.

That doesn’t make it any easier, though.

I’m on a very tight leash right now. School, the mansion, and then home for dinner and bed.

“You know, I do have friends,” I tell Zyglavis as I enter his room that Ichthys showed me to on this dreary Friday afternoon.

The walls of Zyglavis’ room are cream-colored, and the carpet is white. There is a large window at the back of the room, covered by a pretty, thin beige curtain, letting in lots of natural light. His bed is neatly made, the frame black and at the footboard, the symbol of Libra is engraved in silver. There’s a fireplace to the right of it, and a bookcase that matches the bed is diagonal from it, filled with colorful spines of blues, yellows, reds and greens. I notice that the books are the only actual colors in this room. The rest are shades of white and black. Looking to my right, I see a medium sized dresser and mirror, a desk with papers stacked neatly dead center, and, directly to my right, Zyglavis sits in a black leather chair, a pretty, shiny table in front of him, a matching chair to his left.

“I’m sure you do.” He says, his voice little more than a mumble as he looks over papers. I sigh, and let my book bag slide from my left shoulder to the ground. At this, Zyglavis lifts his head and narrows his clear eyes. “Do not leave that there. Someone could trip.”

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a five-year-old and grudgingly do as I’m told, picking my bag up and stomping over to the chair beside him and smacking it down on the seat. As he continues to look over his papers, he says, “The chairs are meant for sitting.”

My eyes widen in irritation, and my temper flares.        

“Well,” I say. “It’s just you and me in here, so you know what? I’m not moving it.” Zyglavis looks at me, staring at me silently and unblinking for a very long time before I avert my gaze. I still don’t move my bag.

As I turn my back to him, I notice there’s a large fountain slightly to the right of the window. I cock my head, my eyebrows pulling down as I approach it. “Please refrain from touching the reflecting pool.” I nearly jump out of my skin at Zyglavis’ hard, authoritative tone, and, before I can stop myself, I turn and look at him.

“It’s not a decoration?” I ask. He sighs, rolling his eyes, and pulls himself gracefully to his feet.

“No. It’s an important tool for my work. You’ve been told that I and the members of my department punish humans who do wrong. Well, this pool shows me my punishment targets.”

He walks up to the side of the reflecting pool and beckons me forward with his gloved hand. I hesitantly come to stand at his side.

Once I’m beside him, he waves a hand over the still water and suddenly it shudders, turning shades of purple, blue, and silver as it gradually begins showing us an image of a man walking down a busy sidewalk in a city. My eyes widen as I stare slack-jawed into the waters. I never thought anything like this could exist. In a way, it’s incredibly cool.

I’m starting to believe a little more.

Zyglavis lifts his right hand and a list on yellowed parchment appears. His eyes flit quickly over it, and he lifts his left hand, his fingers poised as if to snap.

“Paul Shorbert. Twenty-six. A con-artist who pretends to be elderly people’s children or grandchildren to extort money from them. Three old people have died because of his actions.” He speaks in a robotic tone, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as he tells me the crime this man committed. I look down in to the pool, my eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s awful,” I whisper.

“It certainly is. And so, he must be punished.” Zyglavis’ chin lifts as he stares coldly down into the reflecting pool. “May this man bear the arduous weight of his sins for the rest of his days.”       

At those words, concern flares in me, and I open my mouth, but my words are choked back into my throat when Zyglavis snaps his fingers.

The man, who had been crossing the street, is suddenly hit by a car that ran a red light, his body flying up in the air. I gasp. “No!” I can’t help myself from crying out. The man’s body hits the ground with a sickening smack, making me cringe. After he hits the pavement, he doesn’t move, but Zyglavis couldn’t be less concerned.

He waves his hand impassively over the pool, and, without thinking, I grab his wrist. He slowly turns his head to glare at me, and I meet his gaze with a glare of my own.

“What if that man died?” I cry. “You’re just going to leave him there?”

“Gods are not permitted to kill humans,” Zyglavis says, wrenching his wrist from me.

“But still!” I insist. That man will have to live with the side effects of his injuries for the rest of his life, he’ll never be the same again, and this god…this god literally doesn’t care.

“Are you honestly fighting for that man when I told you what he’s done?” Zyglavis asks me, his voice accusatory. I hesitate for a moment, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Are you saying that we should forgive everyone, no matter what they’ve done?”

My mouth opens before I think. “Yes. Forgive.”

Zyglavis looks at me for a moment, then scoffs, his face filled with disgust.

“You have no idea the beings gods are,” His voice is impossibly cold, his eyes sharp and definitive. “I know what you think; that we’re kind, loving creatures who watch lovingly over you humans. You all twist and bend the truth so that it benefits you, no matter how wildly untrue it is from reality. Allow me to tell you something, Eden James: not everything is the way humans believe it to be. You might as well get used to that.”

My eyebrows twitch is aggravation and frustration, my lips tight and angry tears stinging my eyes. That’s one of the things I hate about myself; whenever I get so angry, I cry. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, something I can’t control, and I hate it.

“What about mercy?” I whisper, not trusting my voice. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Mercy?” Zyglavis repeats the word incredulously. He huffs, then straightens his gloves, the light of dusk coming in from the window making his hair seem almost violet. “I have no use for foolishness like mercy. I punish humans as only a god can, with absolute justice.”

I can’t say anything more after that. I know if I try I’ll just start crying. So I stand silently beside Zyglavis as he continues dispassionately punishing people, one after the other.

  As I lay in my bed later that night, I stare at my ceiling, imagining patterns that aren’t there on it. It’s after midnight, but sleep just doesn’t seem to want to grace me with its presence tonight. I sigh, lifting my right wrist and running my fingers over the tattoo of the heart I have on it, one half colored blue and the other colored green, the color each of my parents’ eyes had been. David had allowed me to get the tattoo on my sixteenth birthday, so long as I didn’t tell Lorraine. And when she found out—obviously she sniffed us out a mile away—she lectured us on secret keeping, but she said she could live with it, since it was for her sister and brother-in-law.

I pull myself to a sitting position on my bed and slouch there for a bit, staring blankly at the window across from me. The punishments Zyglavis doled out earlier are still vivid in my mind, and I doubt they’ll fade any time soon. I don’t understand it. Yes, those people did wrong. And yes, they deserved punishment, but nothing like what Zyglavis did. Getting hit by cars, falling off high places, accidentally shooting themselves…it was all too much for me. All of those people have their own families, too. What will happen to them? I run I hand through my tangled mess of hair, even though I haven’t been asleep yet.

Heaving another heavy sigh, I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and throw on my light sweater.

What I like to do when I can’t sleep is to walk around in the woods behind our house. The sound of owls and other nighttime animals soothe me when I can’t be soothed any other way.

As I walk cautiously in the dark, the cool wind of the first October night blows against my skin, gently rustling my hair. I hum a tune to myself, to a song by 10 Years. They’re a great band. I looked them up when David told me that he and my dad had bonded by listening to their music.

I wish that all of this is just some weird, vivid dream. I wish to go back to my normal, human life with absolutely nothing interesting about me. That may sound weird, but it’s what I want. I’ve always been perfectly comfortable with my B average, with my small circle of friends, and my sweet, loving family. Now I’m in this world of gods and dark kings. I just want my normalcy back.

The sound of the grass crunching softly under my shoes is melodic, the hoots of an owl a few miles away carrying on the gentle breeze. I sigh through my mouth slowly, forcing my heavy thoughts away and enjoying the dark, quiet, coolness of these familiar woods. I make the mistake of closing my eyes, and of course, I trip over a tree root, grunting as I struggle to catch myself. I manage not to fall, but end up smacking into a tree, and a sharp pain hits my left palm. I hiss and groan to myself. Great. I gave myself a splinter.

I squeeze the skin around where the pain is, hoping to get the splinter out without having to trek all the way back to the house, as I’m not ready to leave yet, but since it’s so dark and I don’t have my phone, I have no success. “Dammit,” I moan to myself.

Struggling with the stubborn splinter, I don’t notice when the owl stops hooing or when the wind stops. I only notice when I feel the presence of something…sinister.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, my body shivering in the sudden frigid air around me. My heart kicks up in a nervous beat, my breath coming in quicker, my eyes darting around in the dark to try and locate the threat. There’s no animals around here that would be dangerous to humans, at least, not this close to the entrance of the woods. Maybe wild cats and raccoons, but nothing like wolves or bears or coyotes.   In the dark, I can barely make out the shape of someone, a man, but I can’t see his face. All I can sense is a malevolent energy, an aura that wants to harm other living things.

Is this that shadow?

My lips move, saying a name before I can think.

“Zyglavis…!”

In the next instant, I feel a warm hand at my back, and there’s a scent of clean linen. I look up, startled, but am quickly relieved when I see that it is him. He somehow knew where to find me. Either that, or he somehow heard me, which I doubt. Silently, he lifts his other hand, but the man standing a few feet from us vanishes before he can do anything.

The air quickly warms back up to the fifty degrees it had been before, and the owl starts hooing again. I breathe a sigh of relief.

However, that relief is short lived.

Zyglavis snatches up my wrist and drags me back through the woods to my backyard, none too gently shoving me in front of him.

“What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing, walking around in the dark, alone?” He demands of me, looking extremely irritated. Under the pale light of the moon, his skin looks translucent and his eyes seem black.

“I-I do this all the time!” I gasp.

“Have you completely forgotten what’s after you?” Zyglavis hisses. I see that his hands are in tight fists at his sides. “You can’t be doing something so absurdly stupid like walking around in the woods by yourself! That thing that was threatening you, that was a dark god. I put a protective ward on your house so you can’t be harmed there, but out here—”

“You did?” I ask, surprised. Zyglavis throws a glare my way.

“It wouldn’t do much good for either of us if I didn’t, now would it?”  

I gulp. Zyglavis is definitely pissed. I nervously dig my fingernails into my palms, and then, I feel a sharp pain deep in my skin, making me yelp. Zyglavis frowns as I lift my left hand and run my fingers over the skin of my palm.

“What is it?” He asks, though he doesn’t sound all that concerned.

“I tripped when I was walking, and ran into a tree. I got a splinter,” I reply, my voice like ice. Zyglavis watches me struggle under the dim light of the waning gibbous and after a moment, he sighs, closing the distance between us and taking my hand.

He looks down at it, and, before my brain can even understand what’s going on, he puts his mouth over it, sucking on my skin. My body tenses, a sharp inhale of breath entering my lungs, but before I can even think to yank my hand away from him, he releases it; it falls limply to my side. As I stare dumbly at him, he spits the splinter out of his mouth and flicks it onto the ground, all of his actions completely nonchalant.

“Did you just—”

“You need to go to sleep,” Zyglavis doesn’t let me finish what I was saying, cutting me off cleanly. “Humans require at least eight hours of sleep a night, and it is almost one in the morning. Go inside.”

“Hold on—” Zyglavis narrows his eyes at me and points to my house, his mouth fixed in a straight line. I find myself unable to say anything, so, irritated, I turn on my heel and stomp back to my house.

I have to refrain from slamming the back door.