#eighteenth amendment

[classic-simpsons]

S08E18 - HOMER VS. THE EIGHTEENTH AMENDMENT

[xipe-slayground]

[blondebrainpowered]

The Simpsons - Homer vs. the Eighteenth Amendment, 1997

[flyinghellfish]

[spockvarietyhour]

[dionetaofavalon]

They're not going to indoctrinate themselves, ya know.

I also had:

or

I had way too many options: control, constrain, restrain, shackle, hinder, hobble, limit, neutralize, mentally euthanize, undermine, block the children, brainwash the children . . .

Con the Children

Oh, won’t somebody please control the children?

Condemn the children, convict the children— won’t somebody please conscript the children for cannon fodder, for canon clatter, just dogma splatter. Please, conceive of “children” as indistinct matter— moldable, trainable, constrainable. Oh, everybody please, consider the children as formless abstracts— as brutal bullets of sophistry, as kangaroo contests of sympathy.

Convert the children to bricks in thrall.

Contain the children, for multitudes challenge preconceptions, prompt receptiveness, promote connection— confine the children, lest they learn diversity. Convince the children of limitations, that salvation is members-only; restrict the children’s contemplations, restrain them from questioning, consign them to ignorance.

Cancel the children’s individualities, erase their personalities, make them conform— raze them to blankness, then tabulate “normal” and “proper” and “moral”. Construct The Children as props, as cudgels, to beat, berate, obfuscate, to turn conversations into self-congratulatory muggings— to proselytize, delegitimize, dehumanize— to valorize violence. For the children.

Warn the children that the content of their characters is no concern of yours.

Think of the children, but don’t allow them to think for themselves.

[todaysdocument]

Letter from Women's Committee for Repeal of the 18th Amendment to the United States Congress Regarding the Repeal of Prohibition

Record Group 233: Records of the U.S. House of RepresentativesSeries: Petitions and MemorialsFile Unit: Petitions and Memorials Referred to the Committee on the Judiciary during the 71st Congress

Our Aim

"The Restoration of the Bill of Rights"

Women's Committee for Repeal of the 18th Amendment

Miss M Louise Gross, Chairman

183 Park Avenue, Harrison, N.Y

Telephone Park 1144

January 25, 1930

Dear Sir:

We respectfully suggest that the question of National Prohibition be re-submitted to the people of the several States, acting through State Conventions elected upon that sole issue, without confusion with any other issues, as the Constitution expressly permits--in effect a referendum upon the subject.

Those who think the people desire National Prohibition, should in all candor and fairness, be willing to submit to that test.

No dry constituency could honestly complain if its representatives thus vote to consult the wishes of the people. That is the only legal way to find out whether the people desire the Eighteenth Amendment or not.

Legislatures and Congresses are elected on a thousand different and confusing issues. State Conventions have no political power except to vote "aye" or "no" on repeal. The issue would be direct and certain and the popular mandate complete.

The candidates for delegate to such State Conventions are not running for a political office, have no political power, and can, therefore, have no political axe to grind.

Such re-submission would stop all the abuse, crimination, and recrimination over enforcement, etc., now going on.

During such re-submission National Prohibition would be taken completely out of partisan politics. It could not be used as a political football, for partisan advantage by any party or faction. The views of both officials and candidates, at once, become of no importance while the people were voting upon the question itself.

We believe every public official, and every candidate for office at the approaching elections would welcome such re-submission in preference to the confused and confusing situation which now exists, and which will otherwise continue to exist.

We present the following as a non-partisan proposition which ought to appeal to everybody, and respectfully ask your opinion on the suggestion.

Respectfully,

WOMEN'S COMMITTEE FOR REPEAL OF THE 18th AMENDMENT,

Miss M. LOUISE GROSS,

Chairman,

Mrs. DAVID HOLMES MORTON,

Secretary.

The above petition and enclosed resolution unanimously approved at the regular meeting of the Women's Committee for Repeal of the 18th Amendment held at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, New York City, January 24th, 1930.

[signed] Mrs. David Holmes Morton

Secretary.

[autumnmobile12]

Slowly, she knelt on the floor and gave the fusuma door a soft knock before she slid it open just a crack.  “Tou-chan?”  There was no answer.  “Tou-chan, it’s Grandmama.  Won’t you come out and see me?”

At first, there was still no response.  Hinata listened closely for signs of life.  Her hearing wasn’t the same as it was when she was young, but it wasn’t so diminished that she couldn’t hear the soft shuffling within.  She pressed her lips together in anticipation, afraid to speak as if he were a wild animal to be startled.  Then a pale, bandaged hand slid the door open a little further and Touya looked out at her.  After three years, behind the scars, he looked very much like Rei.  He had his father’s eyes, but Hinata could see the shape of her daughter’s face, her pure white hair, the sadness she’d ignored because she needed to believe nothing was wrong.  Hinata felt tears in her eyes as she smiled.  “I thought you’d gone to be with your grandfather.”

Touya said nothing, but the door slid further open and, just as he’d done when he was a baby learning to crawl, her oldest grandson curled up in her arms.

...

The headcanon that Touya plays piano in my fic is really special to me.

I originally wrote it as the means of which he rehabilitated his hands after the fire, and from there, it really grew into a core part of his personality in Ambush Sim, as well as the connection he has with his grandmother and, to some extent, his mother.

In the alternate universe, he returned home after the fire/coma and stayed there, but nothing changed with the situation with Endeavor and Rei. Sure, there was a brief hopeful moment where everyone thought they could recover what they'd lost, but it all came crashing down with Touya's canon prognosis that he is barely clinging to life. Unwilling to face losing him again, Rei abandoned him, and unable to face the shame that it was his actions that put him here in the first place, Endeavor abandoned him.

So Himura Hinata:

I'll be clear, I'm not ignoring/forgetting Hinata's part in what happened to Rei and her children. Touya hasn't forgotten it either, but in this situation, he’s sixteen with the mind of a thirteen year old, he's been dealt a vicious card, and neither parents are offering any support. He was extremely vulnerable at the time Hinata came back into his life, and she provided for him a much needed stability.

She taught him piano to rehabilitate his hands.

She advocated for his therapy.

She pleaded with Endeavor and Rei to have a relationship with him before he decided to cut them out forever, which he would eventually.

In the end, Hinata may have contributed to Touya's downfall as much as her daughter and son-in-law did, but of the adults responsible, she is the one who made the greatest effort to repair what she had done. She spent what was left of her life doing her best to make sure he would be okay without her, and she didn't have long because Touya returned when he was sixteen and Hinata passed away a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday.

Touya's thoughts toward her are complicated, not quite forgiving her, not quite hating her, appreciative that she did what she could to make amends, recognizing he is in a better place mentally/emotionally than he would have been had she remained apathetic, so ultimately he does miss her.

“So is Mozart your favorite composer?”

“Not really, but he was Grandmom’s favorite.”  He reached for the tea.  “And I like to feel close to her.”

“You miss her a lot.”

“Yeah, well,”  Touya said on an exhale.  “No one lives forever, do they.”

...

Hinata's name is spelled 陽向 in kanji, which means 'toward the sun.'

[chambersandfogg]

April 16th, 1933 

Well, that was a smashing success. Such a success, I’m still feeling woozy this evening, though it’s been nearly an entire day since I last imbibed. Immortality does not protect one from the dreaded morning head. 

And all this malaise and head-pounding caused by just beer and wine! It seemed appropriate to limit the party’s libations to those less potent alcohols given that is what the President has decreed legal to sell, but I suppose I’ve become accustomed enough to bathtub gin that the sweeter stuff went straight to my blood.

The pain of today was well-earned and well worth it - nearly fifteen years we’ve languished under this oppressive prohibition and now, finally, we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Why, the first state ratified the amendment just the other day! I expect that California will be swift to follow. It isn’t as though myself nor anyone I know has actually stopped the consumption of liquor since the eighteenth was put in place, but it’s the principle of the thing. It will be a relief to no longer be breaking the law (in this at least; my identity continues to be a fraud). Not that I have such great respect for the law—at least, not all of them—but it does add undue stress to one’s life to break so many so brazenly so often. 

Even Charles was in excellent spirits at the news (pun very much intended). When I had first proposed a celebration in honor of the President’s announcement last month, he was immediately all aboard. Despite the fact that I encouraged him to partake in the burgeoning commercial flight business (as I have yet to do so), he refused to go up in the air, too afraid of falling right out of it.  But he made quick work of his train journey from Washington, D.C. and has been staying with me for the last week. I can’t recall when we last spent such frivolous time together and it has been extremely rejuvenating. Perhaps it is seeing each other in the Los Angeles sunshine, but I daresay we both appear lighter and younger than we have in decades. 

He’s become more of a social butterfly since I last saw him—perhaps all that politicking in D.C. has been good for him. Every one of my guests found him terribly fascinating (as he is) and were deeply curious once they discovered we’ve known each other for the bulk of our lives. I suppose I have some kind of mystique amongst my cohort here in LA and they were all eager to take advantage of Charles’ presence by peppering him with questions about what I was like as a younger man. Questions he was more than happy to answer, even if he had to bend the truth here and there. Seems that Charles’ penchant for teasing me outweighs any guilt he feels at lying to people. 

It is a burden I’m willing to carry. With every story he told of my antics, his smile would widen, his laugh would grow more robust, and a glittering spark would make its way into his eyes. I think there’s probably all manner of ridiculous things I would do to be responsible for that.

[from the personal diary of J.S. Fogg]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

[vase-of-lilies]

Efforts to Make Amends

❀ Tfatws!Bucky x Mom!reader (f)

❀ Non-con and rape (DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE IT), past abuse, past parental abuse, mentions of captivity, fluff, childbirth, some suicidal ideation (but no actions), taking of virginity, some after sex bleeding, talking badly about a baby, pregnancy, dad bucky 🥺 (if there is anything else, PLEASE let me know!)

❀ Word Count: 6.3k

❀ A/N: This came to mind when I was just thinking about Buck:) I don’t know if this is already a concept, but if it is here is my take on it! :D

The cry of the newborn baby sent shivers down your spine. Not a scared shiver, or a nervous shiver. Just a shiver. You are her mother now, and you can not let this baby down. You won’t let this baby down. As the nurse gently handed the bundle of joy over to you in a pink blanket, you laid eyes on the most beautiful little thing in the world. With her eyes barely open to see, her blue eyes stared back into your own. 

Tears filled your eyes as you held her to your chest, her babbles slowly dying down to soft breaths. You smiled down at the tiny human in your arms, clutching onto your finger softly. You heard the heart monitor go off, and you immediately held your daughter tighter in your arms. Not wanting to let her go, not for one second. Your OB/GYN entered the room, smiling brightly with the paperwork of your brand new baby. 

“All is well with your little girl. I’ll let you decide on a name and we can fill out this boring stuff.” She chuckles and sits next to you on the bed. 

“Oh, I really like this one.” She hums softly at the baby names in question. She points to the fourth one on the list that you made on a piece of paper. “Clarisse” is the name she chose. It was your mother's name. Bright, shining, gentle, and brave. She was your advocate through the years you were held captive by your own father. 

Of course the circumstances of how this child came into this world is not how you imagined it, you are still eternally grateful to have her in your life. 

It was at this moment you knew all too well what you had to do. You had to start brand new; New name, address, hair color. Everything you can to stay away from the life you were forced into as a child. Going by the name Carla, you set off out of the police station with your new ID, and a new life ahead of you. You couldn’t hold back the smile that had formed on your face by the time you made it to the bus stop. 

Paying the bus driver, you sat down on the bench by the window. Carefully holding your newborn baby to your chest, you stare out the window at the passing cars, buildings, and people. All making their way home from work or even to work. Even the people who call themselves “superheroes” have a home to go to, don’t they? No matter where you go, you know you have to provide what's best for this baby. The police were some help, getting you your ID, colored contacts as well as a wig and a new passport. But it was a long, aggravating process. With every woman looking at your baby with prying eyes, getting ready to let their lips loose in the daily office gossip session. 

Finally, it was time to leave. It was time to leave the life you were previously living, and set off on a new adventure with a new companion.

~~~~~~~

Arriving at the airport, you follow the directions to buy a ticket to Spain. With what little Spanish you knew was not the problem at this point. It was getting away from a crime populated city such as New York. The culture, the people, and the ocean around the country felt like the safest option. 

“ID, ma’am.” You heard the woman at the desk say. Pulling out your ID, you make sure it is your new one. This has a special hidden key trustworthy people can scan that tells them you are a witness in protection. They are very caring with you, and question nothing if you hesitate with your new name. “Carla Davenport. Date of birth November eighteenth.” Fuck! What's the year?? “Year?” The woman asks. “U-uhm, 2001...” You almost say it as a question, but the woman smiles and hands you back your ID. 

“Enjoy Spain!” She says from the desk, and onto security you go.

~~~~~~~

The plane ride was long, and agonizing with how anxious you were. But Clarisse easily soothed your nerves. The looks people gave you were noticeable, and the last few people to board on the plane seemed reluctant to sit next to you. A newborn on a plane is someone's worst nightmare. But Clarisse was a sleepy girl, and slept a majority of the flight. The moments she did start to cry, you knew she either had to be changed, or was hungry. Once you went to the bathroom, you sat on the toilet and began to breastfeed your little girl.

The mirror that was across from you, a woman you barely recognized stared back. False black-dyed locks fell around an exhausted, hurt, and abused mother. There wasn’t much that stared back. You peeled your eyes away from the mirror, and pinned them back on your little girl. Clarisse was enjoying her milk, and was soon going to fall into a milk coma. You just knew it. 

Sighing as you sit back down, you look back out the window. The night sky was absolutely beautiful at this time, and you loved what it looked like. Even though Clarisse was asleep, you still pointed out the lights along the coast that shaped the continent of Africa, and soon to the lights that covered Madrid. Your new home town. 

As the plane landed, you stopped at the gift shop to get a Spanish-to-English dictionary to start learning. Also stopping at a small convenience store in the airport, you exchanged all of your US dollars to Euros and bought some diapers and a diaper bag as well. It was the small things that the program didn’t provide that seemed to be the biggest issues for you. But you were grateful for the small apartment they found, and even more grateful that they provided rent for the first year of living there. 

Getting a job will be difficult, but you knew that you would figure it out somehow. With how populated the world is, there is bound to be an English speaking job for you out there. But that was the least of your worries right now. What you needed the most was food, sleep, and a warm blanket for you and Clarisse. All that you needed for a couple nights was already at the apartment, and you were eternally grateful. 

Finally getting to the small one bedroom apartment, you immediately lock the door behind you, and set off to the small bedroom. There is a mattress on the floor as well as a few blankets and a pillow, but other than that nothing much else. It was simple, and you liked it. Just for you and your little girl. You smiled as you saw the view out the window. The beautiful city lights shone through the fire escape balcony, giving a soft glow in the bedroom. It felt safe. 

Getting out a diaper and some wipes, you begin to change Clarisse. “I know sweet girl, it’s been a long day.” You whisper, giving soft kisses to her face as she babbles into the open air. “Are you gonna sleep well tonight? Hm? Or are you gonna keep me up?” You chuckle at the small girl in front of you, and you softly tickle her sides. Her incoherent giggles are music to your ears, and it is nothing like you have ever heard before. “You are so beautiful my little flower.” You smile, nuzzling your nose against hers softly.

After getting Clarisse all settled, you decided to move the mattress just under the window to get the perfect view of the night sky. You lay your head on the pillow, a feeling you haven’t felt in a very long time. Your little girl snuggled right up next to you, and stared up at the sky as well. You knew she would grow up to be the best little girl there is, and there is no doubt about that.

~~~~~~~

Sweat covered your forehead as you ran through the cold Russian woods. Barely escaping the Hydra base with your ankles not broken. You kept running until you knew you were far enough away to take a breath. But oh... were you wrong. The Winter Soldier was right behind you, every step of the way. It almost felt like he was in the trees, stalking your every move just like your father had conditioned him to. 

The man was silent as he looked for you, but the silence screamed death. You were terrified, and rightfully so. Even trying to hold your breath so no one could see it, including you, was one of the only options to stay hidden. Besides trying to hide within the trees, and snow on the ground. It was hopeless. You could already hear the crunching of the snow underneath the heavy combat boots of the Winter Soldier coming your way. 

This was it, you were going to die. You never knew why your father kept you in the base, but he would not be disappointed to hear that you were gone for good. Maybe it was for the best. No one would have to worry about keeping you silent, or contained. With the secrets you know, you could uncover the world's most dangerous criminals, documents, and codes to plenty of nuclear energy. But you swore to your mother you would never tell a soul. She loved her husband and her daughter equally, but her caring nature made her keep the world she lived in safe. 

You were in your thoughts for too long. ‘Fuck-’ you suck in a breath, not moving an inch as you feel the cold blade barely cut into your neck. “Please...” you couldn’t believe you were begging for mercy, but you were strong. You had to stay alive; for your mother. “Cooperate and I won’t kill you...” the soldier said in a dark voice. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t going to kill you. 

Instead of questioning him, you gave a small nod. “Good girl.” He whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine. Soon the cold spread from your arms all the way down to your most intimate parts. He had sliced away at your thin hospital-like gown, and stripped you bare. You couldn’t do anything with a knife to your neck so you stayed still. “Please d-don’t, I-I’ll go back wi-with you, just p-please!” You quietly beg him, but he has already stripped himself of his own tactical pants. 

He ignored your pleas, commanding you “Be a good girl and lay on your back...” A whimper left your throat and you froze. “N-no.” You stated, calmly. Instant regret filled your veins as he swiped his foot underneath yours and you fell to the ground. Your head hit a root sticking out from the ground and your vision was rendered blurry. “P-please...” Your attempt of a small plea exited your mouth, but you gave up. 

His veiny, god-like sculpted cock filled your cunt to the brim. You tried to scream, but nothing would come out. He started to thrust, and thrust, and thrust. It felt like it never ended. His blue eyes stared into your dull y/e/c eyes with no emotion or mercy. He was told to do this to you, and it traumatized you. With no luck, you tried to push him away but he was quick to pin your hands above your head with his strong arms. One metal, one flesh. 

“It's ok... just take it...” Was he trying to comfort you? 

“I- I can’t...” 

“You will.” That was the very last thing before you were left in darkness, unconscious and barely alive. 

~~~~~~~

Clarisse lets out a small cry, waking you up instantly. “Hey sweet pea, shh shh mommas got you.” You whisper to her, gently rocking her in your arms. You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew for sure you only slept a wink. You stayed up the rest of the night, helping her to sleep, feeding her every now and then, and getting only some sleep yourself. You were more than happy to stay awake for her, and that was a sacrifice you were willing to take. 

Once the sun started to come up, you yawned and decided to see what snacks you had brought from the airport. Some ChexMix and an apple was enough until you gathered enough courage to go grocery shopping. It had to be about 9:00 once Clarisse started to wake up. Swaying her as she drank from your breast, you hummed her a soft song and smiled from above her. As she drank, you began to grab what money you had, Charisse's baby bag and a face mask just in case someone did end up recognizing you. It would be lethal to have anyone from Hydra even know you exist. 

~~~~~~~

Bucky POV:

Of course I regret everything. I have to live with what I have done every day of my life, and deep down I know that I can’t blame myself for my actions. It’s not something to get used to. Some would say that I have gotten used to hearing the last breath come from someone's gurgling throat. Some would say that “he likes to watch them die.” But in truth, nothing is worse than seeing someone's life drain from their eyes just like a painting being washed away; the paint clinging to life to stay on the canvas but the water just too damn strong. 

A victim I remember very clearly, said whilst looking through the barrel of my gun “Fools make romance of death, for it is brutal and cruel. That I say be at peace with my passing is not such a thing. But once it is done, I will be safe and sound once more. I will live as long as I can, be with you as many days as we are sent, then keep me in your memories. I will see you again. That is a promise.” He was right, I would see him again. Not in heaven, or hell where I belong. But in my nightmares every single night. Therapy can only do so much for a broken, lost and helpless soldier. Let alone a 106 year old one. 

However, I was slowly making amends with the people who were fortunately left alive. Yori Nakasima, the sweet old man I have lunch with every Tuesday is just an example. He was not a victim, but his son was. He was caught at the wrong place at the wrong time, and in turn he fell straight to the line of fire. My line of fire. No matter how much I try, I can never expel the begging that came from his mouth. He was innocent and had absolutely nothing to do with that mission. Simply… a loose knot that had to be tied tight. Yori and I went our own ways, and it makes me happy to see him still go to the same restaurant every Tuesday. He may not remember our conversation, but rest assured he can sleep knowing what happened to his son. 

One more name.

One more name and I can throw this damned book away.

Y/n Y/L/n. 

Y/n has been on this list for four to eight months now. Her name staring back at me with anger and regret. God why did her own father make me do this? Thoughts were racing through my head as I searched for Y/n, but nothing came up besides death certificates. She can’t be dead. She has to be alive, I know that she got out of there alive… Going deep into police, military and FBI/CIA records, along with the witness protection program as a sergeant, I was able to find someone by the name of Carla Davenport. I obviously knew this was wrong, and I was mostly doing this for myself. But there was one part of me that wanted to tell her that she is safe, and that she could finally rest with her guard down. 

Doing further research, I finally came across an address. I lucked out by being in Madrid at the time with Zemo and Sam while I did my research. All I had left was to confront her and tell her my intentions. Knowing Y/n, she would be feisty, careful but most likely fearless. I know her, and she would fight with every last cell of energy in her body to win. I slightly jump as I hear my phone buzz and I answer Sam.

“Hey Sam.” I said, jotting down Y/n’s new address. I heard a sigh on the other line, and I knew I was in for something. 

“I got a call from a CIA agent who found a breach in the witness protection program. Was that you?” Sam replies. 

“Uh, why would you think it would be me? I have no reason to be on that site in the first place.” Seriously? What kind of answer was that?? “Dr. Raynor told me you needed to find some people… Buck come on man, we could have done this together.” 

“Whatever happened to patient privacy? I found what I needed, so can I log out and be on my way?”

“Listen, I know you’re hurting. Especially over Y/n. I'll help you find her, but can we please do it the legal way?” He sounded convincing enough that he actually wanted to help, but I knew that it was just a ploy. Or, maybe that was my irrational thoughts talking for me.

“I’ve gotta do this on my own. She is the last one before I can finally go out and live how I want to. She will determine if I deserve to be free.” There was silence for a short period of time, and then another soft sigh from the man on the other line. 

“Alright, fine. But if I get one more phone call telling me you did something illegal, you’re kicked off my team for charades, and you are going to talk with Dr. Raynor. Do you understand?” 

I chuckled at his threat, and I nodded to myself. “Yeah, Sam. I understand. I wouldn’t want to bother Captain America with calls from random CIA agents about the site of witnesses in protection. This is honestly something Raynor should have let me do. She was the one who told me to “use your resources'' where there was nothing else to use. Anyway, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow Buck. Have a good night.” 

Hanging up the phone, I sigh and I finish writing down the information from the website. Now that I knew where she lived, it would then be the hard part of everything. Telling her what I did, and apologizing for it. 

~~~~~~~

Your POV:

It had now been three full weeks of living in Madrid and you were living your best life! You had a desk job dealing with English complaints for a website that was fully in Spanish, and your little girl could be with you all day long. Being able to earn a stable living was nice in such a large and new country. Also with your new way of life, you were not living off of ramen and buttered toast. You were able to make full meals with fresh ingredients from the finest vendors just down the street from your apartment. Steamed vegetables, freshly cooked meat that only needed a little bit of heating in the oven and your own seasonings and finally the glorious, melt-in-your-mouth Churros con Chocolate was what you were blessed with for dessert. It was heaven, and you were living in it with such happiness. 

Clarisse is now one month old, and has been a little more aware of what she can do with her body. Even at this young age, she knows who you are and who you are to her. Soon she’ll be running around on two healthy legs with energy skyrocketing every second. Watching her grow up is the highlight of your life, and you never wanted it to end. Her eyes would scan each room you went through, each aisle you walked down, and even grabbed up at you from your arms as you made your way down to the baby section. Clothes, shoes, food. Clothes, shoes, food. All you needed was those three things, and you would be on your way. 

It was a relief that you had not encountered a challenge by anyone. Not when little Clarisse cried for a little bit, and not even when the panic set in at the sound of the bustling cars outside the store. It was a success, and you could not wait to get home. Checking out with ease, you held Clarisse close to you as you took your groceries in the small basket on the back of your bike, and strapped the little girl into her car seat carrier on the front of your bike. “All safe and sound, my sweet girl,” You whisper, gently putting her blanket over her. On the way back to your apartment, you followed the same route to and from. Two lefts, a right, up the hill and to the left. It was almost a song you replayed over and over in your head, just to help you get home. Just like your mother taught you;

Down the hall and to the left, a little bit longer, up the stairs and in my arms you go! This song was to navigate the hallways of the large house your father had bought your family before he decided to keep you as his own lab rat. 

Once you made it into the safe walls of your home, the lock was the first thing in place after putting your bike inside. Clarrise still strapped in her seat, you rolled the bike to the far wall of your kitchen. The babbling baby in her carrier made you smile as she reached out to you, her feet kicking in excitement as she made eye contact. 

Holding your little girl felt so right, yet so wrong at the same time. Not only was this life forced upon you, but this baby took everything from you. Your passion for dancing and painting, your want to go to college, desire to learn and grow. This creature that is in need of so much care and attention took all of that from you. But so did he. He hurt you the most. 

Every day memories flow through your brain like a movie projecting onto a loosely hanging sheet. Warped, but clear for a person to know what happened. It was your duty to Clarrise that she did not know your past, and that she was brought into this life in a way that is a crime. And she never had to know. Having her not grow up with a father was a sacrifice you were willing to take to keep her protected from the pain you went through.

Your alarm on your phone went off, and you sat down on the couch to feed Clarrise. As you unclipped your padded bra, you froze at the sound of a knock came from the front door. Luckily Clarrise didn’t seem too hungry at the moment, so you slowly approached the door. You looked through the peep hole and saw a man. He had short brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. He looked… gentle. 

As you held your child close to your chest you slowly opened the door.

“Can I help you?” 

He looked down at you, a hight difference clearly present. He smiled at the small child in your arms and responded to your question. “Im looking for Carla. Does she live here?” 

You nod and say “I am her, is there something I can do for you?” You ask again, wanting a reason for the sudden visit from this man. He looked back to your face and you made eye contact with him, it was his eyes that looked so familiar. 

“Right, I just moved in down the hall way and wanted to introduce myself. Im James Barnes, and I’m from 107, that way.” He pointed down the hall way and you followed his finger. You nodded with a smile. “Well, its nice to meet you James. Would you like to come in? I was just about to feed this little one, but if you don’t feel comfortable with breast feeding, you don’t have to come in.”

You invite him in, not thinking of the dangers or intents of this man. He kindly accepts and enters your small apartment. Offering him a seat on the couch, you sit down opposite from him in the rocking chair. Putting a cover over Clarrise, you begin to feed her, the milk coming from your breasts entering her mouth as she begins to feed. 

“What brings you to Spain? I don’t know a lot of English speakers here besides the land lord.” You say, wanting to start conversation. He nods and shrugs, smiling softly. 

“I just needed a change of scenery, thats all.” He keeps his answer simple, not knowing how to bring himself to tell you what he did. 

“Have I seen you around? You seem very familiar, maybe in the market?” You ask, knowing you have seen him somewhere. 

This was his chance, this is the time to tell her. 

“No, I don’t think it was in the market,” He says in a sad tone. “It was a while back, I- um, I worked with Hydra. For your father. A-and I was ordered to do something very harmful to you, and I believe it was the result of- of her…” He slowly explains as he takes off his glove, revealing his metal hand. 

Your heart drops, the puzzle piece finally fitting in the right place in your mind. Tears pool in your eyes as you look from his eyes to his hand. The metal one. The memories come flooding back to your head, the nightmares, the feelings, and the eyes. His eyes, those got forbidden eyes. As cold as ice, yet as blue as the ocean of where you pictured yourself at the time of his assault. 

"I am only here to apologize. I am not asking for forgiveness. I am no longer the winte-”

“Why,” you cut him off. “Why did you do it?” Your voice cracks, many emotions coming through your gritted teeth. 

His eyes softened at your broken voice, and he sighs softly looking down at his hand. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“What did my father do? What did he do to you?” You ask, pity also filling your voice as you too know what horrors other prisoners went through. You felt bad, even for him. You tear your eyes away from him, moving them to your baby, his baby. 

“He did horrible things, but nothing compares to what he did to you. What he made me do to you. I- Im so sorry Y/n…” He takes the risk of saying your name, not expecting anything from it. 

“What are you doing here, James? What do you expect me to do?” I ask, trying to understand why he is here. “Did you come to finish the job?” You ask the question that dreaded your mind the moment he told you who he was. 

“No, not at all. I actually came here to offer protection. But I understand if you want nothing to do with me or the life you had to endure when under the horrors of Hydra.”

You considered. You actually considered letting him stay and try to protect you. “What or who am I in danger of?” You counter his offer, trying to prove something but unsure of what. You sigh and shake your head. “Forget about it. Im in the witness protection program, so protection shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Carla. How do you think I found you?” He asks, exposing what he did to find you. 

Your brows furrowed and you glared at him. “I see.”

You didn’t engage anymore, you were numb and didn’t know how to feel about the situation. You felt violated all over again, by the same man. “Leave. Please just go.” You whisper, tears falling freely down your cheeks. Once Clarrise was done eating, you clipped your breast back into your bra and stood up. You didn’t notice James put a card on your coffee table as he made his way to your door. 

“I understand your fears. I hope you have found safety in Spain, Carla.” He said emotionlessly, actually understanding your fears. As he went back to his apartment which he did actually buy, he sighed and shut the door. 

As he dialed the only phone number he actually knew, he slid down the door and sat against it as the line rung. He closed his eyes and let his head hit the door. 

“Hey, you’ve reached Sam Wilson, Trauma counselor at the department of veterans affairs. Please leave a message and I will call you back when I’m free. Thanks!”

“Sam, It’s done. She- She’s crossed off the list.” 

~~~~~~~

Hours had passed by the time you could even speak. “How could he have found us?” You ask as you bounce Clarrise in your arms. The sleeping little girl in your arms was clueless to your question, hopefully dreaming of running free and not in hiding anymore. “My god, maybe it would be good to have protection…” 

You were talking to Clarrise as if she understood, but you knew she didn’t. You give her head a small kiss, looking in the direction of the coffee table in the middle of your small living room. An index card sat on the corner, scribbled on it was a phone number and a sloppy “107” on the bottom. You knew who this was from. 

You sighed and sat on the couch, cuddling your baby close to your chest, clutching her as if she would disappear. Staring at the piece of paper in your hands you contemplate calling him, contemplating on apologizing. Apologizing on your fathers behalf. 

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for your phone and dialed the number. 

~~~~~~~

Bucky jumped at the ring of his cell phone. He instantly recognized the number from the witness protection program website. 

“Hello?”

You took a few seconds before talking. “I know you know who this is. I’m making dinner a-and was wondering if you would like to join me?”

Bucky was taken a back by the sudden invitation, “Oh, sure I would love to. What time should I be there?” 

Responding rather quickly, you said, “Now?”

Before he could say anything, you had hung up and began making dinner. Boiling water for the noodles, opening up some seasonings you had just bought and putting the bread in the oven, you were ready for James. 

He knocked on your door and you put Clarrise in her bassinet in the living room, keeping an eye on her as you cooked. As you opened the door, you smiled softly at James. Instead of fearing him, you wrap your arms around him. He freezes, not yet used to such a gentle gesture from someone. 

As you sigh into him, he returns the hug and softly wraps his arms around you too. “Im so sorry James. Im sorry for everything my father did to you…” You know you shouldn’t have to apologize, but you can’t help but feel obligated knowing what James went through. 

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. It was and never will be your fault. Do you understand me?” James said, giving you a soft squeeze. 

You nod silently in response, and you gently pull away; tears falling from your eyes. Out of instinct, he cups your cheek and tenderly wipes the tears from your cheeks.

You lean into his benevolent touch and look up at him, a sense of security falling over yourself. Even though you knew him as the winter soldier, you knew you were safe with James. You knew that Clarrise was his child as well, and that she was safe with James. 

Gently reaching for his hand, you lead him into your home. He shuts the door behind him, and smiles as you walk to the kitchen continuing your work making dinner. You pause and look over at Clarrise who is now wide awake. 

“Do you want to meet her?” You ask, noticing James looking over at the babbling baby. 

He nods with a smile, subconsciously knowing that Clarrise is his child. As you approach the bassinet, you smile down at her. “Hi sweetheart, are you awake?” You ask in a small voice, smiling as she smiles back up at you. Picking her up, you hold her against your chest, looking to James with a smile. 

“I named her Clarrise, after my mother. Do you want to give her a middle name?” You ask, subconsciously accepting that he is her father. He looked to you and tilted his head. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, not wanting to force himself into the life you and Clarrise already have. You nod and wait for him to give an answer. “What about Sarah? After my sister?” 

Your ears perked at the word ‘sister,’ “You have a sister?” You ask with smile. 

“I had a sister. She um, she passed away a couple years ago. But she was sweet, and I think that it would be perfect for this sweet girl as well.” You smile at his suggestion and nod in approval. 

“Clarrise Sarah Barnes.” You utter, gently handing James your baby girl. “It’s ok, you won’t hurt her, I know you won’t.” Looking up at him, you can see the hesitation in his eyes. As he takes Clarrise in his arms, the connection is clear between them. A father-daughter bond that no one can just create. She was his.

“She’s beautiful, just like her mother.” He subtly compliments you, himself falling for you. This time in the form of true love, not forced love. You feel your cheeks heat up, a shy smile pulling at your lips. 

“She has her fathers eyes,” You point out Clarrise's blue eyes, still slightly forming as she grows. “And his bravery.” Adding onto her attribute, you look at James face as he interacts with the baby. 

Thinking of his preposition, you say to him, “You know, I wouldn’t mind a little protection. I-it would be nice to not feel so scared going out. Clarrise I bet would love to have her father around as well.” 

You anxiously wait for James’s reaction, hoping he doesn’t think you are moving to fast. Relief flooded your system as he nods. “I promise you, no one will hurt you. Not anymore.” He says, turning his head back to you. “I promise, Carla.”

You shake your head, and wave your hand a little bit. “Y/n is fine. Im sick of being someone Im not.”

He chuckles softly. “Trust me, I get it.” You smile and you move next to him, leaning on his strong bicep as you both look down at your beautiful baby girl. 

“James?”

“Yes, Y/n?” 

You pause.

You smile as he transfers Clarrise back into your arms. She has fallen asleep again, so you put her back in her bassinet. With the knowledge that both of her parents looking down at her, it makes you feel secure and safe. 

You turn to Bucky and look up at him, your hands coming to meet his cheeks. The proximity of the both of you made your heart beat quicker, and your mind blank. You did what you felt was right and leaned forward, connecting your lips with his. His hands hold your waist gently, and he pulls you into him. You pull away breathlessly and he kisses your temple. You move your arms around his torso, and he holds you in an embrace, his chin resting on your head.

"I’d like you to stay. Please.” You answer, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth as you feel him nod his head. 

“Of course, princess, of course.” He cradles the back of your head in his large hand and kisses your forehead once again. He may have hurt you in the past, but he’s gained a little bit of your trust. He showed you that he is sorry, and you understand that it was not his fault. In this new chapter of your life, you know you will make it far.

And so will your baby girl. 

[ramblings-from-the-ether]

Prohibition AU | Character Profile: Percy

When it comes to criminal affairs, a strong external ally can be just as vital to a racket as the strength of the racketeer themselves; and when it comes to strength of any kind, Detective Percival King is as good as anyone can ask for. Having left the lead-littered ruins of the Great War behind her, Percy now battles to maintain peace and safety in the criminal boiling pot that is the United States, under the overwatch of a deal made with a certain crime family.

Background.

Born in a village bordering Cambrai, Percival King was dropped right into the middle of the Belle Époque, and her life in France was largely defined by a short-lived era of societal overhauls and tumultuous politics. Gifted with a preternatural precocity and a portfolio of peculiar interests which included masonry, engineering, law, and swordplay, she swiftly and thoroughly took to educating herself on all topics immediately and potentially relevant to her life, before it was so violently disrupted by the advent of the Great War.

When war arrived in France and the German army struck Cambrai, Percy took it upon herself to help her country fight back in any manner possible. Usually, this involved playing the role of field medic, building and repairing makeshift fortifications ad nauseam, and even manning the guns and mortars herself, if not duelling enemy combatants in person. She had long become accustomed to the rhythms and rituals of battle by the time she was forced to evacuate by the oncoming Battle of Cambrai.

Following the scorching of the city and the German forces’ retreat, and after managing a sincere—if vain—attempt to restore her hometown, Percy eventually followed a close friend to the States in search of new opportunities. Managing to bring along an entire mortar from the battlefield, she soon landed a career in law enforcement in the small, border-facing Sweet Jazz City, where her talent for crime-fighting and fighting in general soon attracted the attention of the city’s most prominent crime family. And thankfully, one more interested in peace and order than violence…somewhat.

Relations.

Despite taking a healthy caution in regards to the members of Bliss Ocean, Percy does have her share of attachments within its ranks. Chief of which are her surrogate affection for Molly Blyndeff and her close friends, as well as her unexpected acquaintance with Professional Lying Rat Bastard™ Ramsey Murdoch, who occasionally helps her administrate the balance of order and chaos in the city.

Deeper within Bliss Ocean’s ranks, Percy often remains contentious towards the family’s less savoury members, but she does hold some duty of care for the younger Sylvie and Giovanni, as well as recognising and highly respecting the former’s precocious talent, and she does her best to reciprocate Rick and Indus’ endless (if unsettling) friendliness towards her. She keeps her distance otherwise, but expressly appreciates what loose morality and discipline the family occasionally displays.

Bliss Ocean Report.

It’s nothing new for criminal syndicates to pay off or work with the slouches and sleazebags of law enforcement to dodge the ire of its more thorough officers, especially come the legislative fustercluck that is the Eighteenth Amendment. However, when along comes a detective so lightning-minded, so capable yet eccentric, so dedicated and yet empathic as Percival King, how could I not chance the risks to add her boon to our family’s firepower?

Far and away one of the most capable members of Sweet Jazz City’s police force, all of Detective King’s apparent quirks seem to disappear in the heat of battle behind a commanding assuredness and flurry of combat prowess. Her military history is readily visible in her tactical wit and preference for the longsword over conventional urban weaponry, and for someone with such a seemingly absurd moral code, she can be deceptively pragmatic and crafty in combat, especially when lives are at stake.

Having had the great pleasure of discussing civil matters with the great detective on several occasions, her unique mind stands out even past the little absurdities of her personality, and perhaps even in service to them. She has a distinctly…three-dimensional perspective to things, both in and out of combat, directly informed by her passion for engineering and extensive experience in rural warfare. Even her defensive, counter-focused fighting style and acrobatic skill seem apparent to me in our conversations, in the way she observes and reacts to situations.

Dr. Ashling and I can best describe Percy’s psychological profile as…’circular’. Every part of her craft, skillset, and fighting style owes itself to, and in turn heavily influences, every other part of her mindset and personality. Perhaps this interconnected web of principles, insights, and spatial awareness is also the explanation for the fact that she owns a mortar. A…mortar. From the war. A mortar that—perhaps fortunately so—sees little use in her line of work…so far. Time will tell whether her symbiosis with our little syndicate will necessitate its deployment once more.

On the subject of her relationship as a police detective to Bliss Ocean, though…being honest, I’m not worried. As I’ve said, Percy can be surprisingly pragmatic, and so far she’s been more than willing to look at things from my perspective. More importantly, she trusts my word, and recognises the value in our grip over the city’s underworld. She’s even begun to acquaint herself with some of our family, most notably Molly, for…what I suppose are obvious reasons. In any case, it’ll be interesting indeed to see how we can fully utilise her unique capabilities…

- Naven

[a-hell-of-a-time-archive]

@fortiethkey

Having left Yukitaka with Yui back home, and after leaving Andrealphus with more human world souvenirs (why he took a liking to hornet larvae was a mystery to her, but she wouldn't question it), Caim had made her way back to the manor she once called home. While it was not the one she had given up to Andre when she signed over everything as per Paimon's directive, it was the one she had grown up in.

She was returning to her father's house.

It had been many, many years since she last set foot in this place, and all that time apart had left her feeling anxious. She was well aware of the hurt and pain she inflicted by leaving with her mother; Andrealphus had been hurt by her abandoning their engagement, and no doubt her father suffered an even worse hurt by his daughter turning her back on him and going silent for many years after her eighteenth birthday. In the time apart she had gone through many milestones, and losses that her father should have been a part of. Instead she had kept to herself and fled from the goetia. From her father.

There would be no more of that. She was done running from the part of herself that could not be denied. It was time to embrace all of herself, and make amends with one of the most important people in her life.

Curling her talons into a fist, she knocked on the manor door. Hopefully he would be home.

[pastacarver]

The duet of swords and secrets - By John Carver (part 2)

It is the day before the twins eighteenth birthday. Malum's at his desk reviewing the vineyards monthly expenses, his white robes draped over his shoulders and hanging over the edges of the wooden chair. a green waistband holds the sashes tight to his body . His stomach and chest bare as he leans over his desk to grab another roll of parchment. Dipping his golden pen into the ink vial, Malum ties his shoulder length hair into a top knot, he prepares to amend the expenses. Yes, amend. As Malum has an addiction to throwing extravagant parties, hiring dancers, waiters and inviting anyone who is anyone to witness his greatness. Though the two he wants most to be there never show, his brother Malus and Nat. Malum stands at his desk, pushing back the chair with his leg as he strides to the window. he nurses his eyes after another night of drinking and galivanting, he lets his fingers glide down his face to scratch an itch on his slightly pudgy jaw line. By no means obese, Malum had more of an affinity to studying and partying. A knock at the door rips him out of his nursing, "Master Malum? may I come in?" a muffled voice squeaks behind the door, "of course, Hilde" Malum answers. Hilde the maid enters the room noticing Malum has his back to her, staring out of the window Malum asks "What did you need?", Hilde grimaces her heart shaped face highlighting her fear, she produces a scroll on a silver platter. the scroll has a candle was seal with a Sigel of a bloomed flower, "is that?" Malum stutters as he lay his emerald green eyes on the coffee coloured scroll begins to move with Hilde's shaking. "Lord what does this mean?, The Mad emperor has taken an interest in us?" Malum rushes over holding Hilde by the shoulder "this is nothing my dear" Malum says softly, his soft face and kind eyes releasing an aura of calm and confidence, He stares into her eyes "we are the Emerald family my dear, its not uncommon for the wealthy to make requests of us" Malum takes the scroll from the plate and places it on his desk. "nothing will go wrong I promise, now take the rest of the day off" He rubs her arm and guides her out of the room before she can get a word in. As he shut the door Malum stumbled and lent against his bedside table, his legs shook so hard he felt as those his bones would disappear. He stared at the scroll his emerald eyes going slightly bloodshot with the possibilities. As he unravelled the letter, as he read the words his fear washed away and was filled with confusion and anger. "Lord Contra Caedo, his grace is elated to have received your letter regarding your sons and their education, but I regret to inform you that regardless of the Emerald families contribution to the empires economy does not exempt your children from mandatory service."

[darkluminosity]

Happy Valentine's Day!!

Yes, it's still Friday here. 😆

I wrote a little snippet of hc, imagining that Eula just casually tells Diluc that he's perfect (not really thinking about what she's saying), but he flips out about it a little lol. (Yes, my goal in life is to help people board the Euluc train, even if it's just to hop on for a little ride and enjoy the ride lol).

====

“Don’t say that.”

Eula paused, slightly caught off guard. “Say… what?”

“That I’m perfect.”

The redhead sighed, thinking back to the stifling pressure of his childhood and living up to everyone else's expectations. Especially his father’s. And most of all, his own.

He wasn’t ready to go through all of that again.

The memories of all the mistakes he had made, regrets lived through… most people didn’t know about those. How he had mercy killed his own father on his eighteenth birthday, so he didn’t have to suffer any more from his fatal injuries. How on that same night, he almost killed Kaeya in a fit of blind rage and grief. Not to mention all of the people whose lives he had taken down during his travels, in order to avenge his father’s untimely death.

Diluc wasn’t really sure if Eula could bear the truth. He knew that he would probably tell her, eventually, as their relationship progressed. But he wondered if she would feel the same way if she really knew about his past.

“I’m… not perfect,” he continued, looking away, trying to avoid eye contact. “Not even close.”

Eula crossed her arms. “Fine. I amend my statement then, since you so rudely interrupted and corrected me. Hmph- I should have my vengeance for those two infractions,” she stated. “What I meant to say is, you’re perfect… for me.”

He blinked, feeling the weight of her words against his chest, heart beating more rapidly.

“Eula,” he began. “I’m not as innocent as you might think. I’ve done things I’m not proud of…” His mind started to race, wondering why he was taking the chance now, becoming so uncomfortable and vulnerable when things had seemed to be going so well. Why risk it?

Because… she deserves to know.

“Who has?”

“Huh?”

“Who has,” Eula repeated, “lived that perfect life, where they have no regrets?”

“No one. Not even me,” she continued, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him, head resting against his chest. “Is that so wrong? Can't you just accept my amended statement? Or… do I really need to take vengeance on you?”

“Good point,” he replied. “I… accept.”

“The statement or my vengeance?” She looked up at him with curious eyes.

“Both.”

[spockvarietyhour]

[valkyries-things]

FRANCES WILLARD // SUFFRAGIST

“She was an American educator, temperance reformer, and women's suffragist. Willard became the national president of Woman's Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) in 1879 and remained president until her death in 1898. Her influence continued in the next decades, as the Eighteenth (on Prohibition) and Nineteenth (on women's suffrage) Amendments to the United States Constitution were adopted. Willard developed the slogan "Do Everything" for the WCTU and encouraged members to engage in a broad array of social reforms by lobbying, petitioning, preaching, publishing, and education. During her lifetime, Willard succeeded in raising the age of consent in many states as well as passing labor reforms including the eight-hour work day. Her vision also encompassed prison reform, scientific temperance instruction, Christian socialism, and the global expansion of women's rights.”