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olindabell · 2 years

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The Knight and the Necromancer

chapter 1/?: The Skull in the Wagon -- read on ao3 or below

fandoms: bones x dungeons and dragons

pairings: seeley booth x temperance brennan, jack hodgins x angela montenegro, lance sweets x james aubrey

summary: when a cannibalised skull is thrown from a bridge in waterdeep, necromancer temperance brennan and paladin seelie booth are tasked with assembling their adventuring party and hunting down the prime suspect, the lich gormogon.

warnings: general fantasy violence, angst, slow burn, description of dead bodies.

notes: this is incredibly niche but personally i’m obsessed with it. i hope that if anyone reads it they enjoy it!

No one likes being woken up in the middle of a deep trance, especially after two days of unearthing the skeletonised corpse of a frost giant halfway up the frigid Sword Mountains. This was the first decent trance Temperance had had in days – an empty, dreamless trance – and instead of waking up a few hours later to the comforting grey of predawn light, she opened her eyes to a loud and insistent banging on her front door.

The racket grew louder as she took the stairs two at a time. ‘I’m coming!’ she yelled, but whoever was on the other side of the door was not so easily persuaded. She sighed, realising she knew who it must be.

She pulled open the door just as Booth’s hand came down for another bang. She ducked out of the way, his hand just missing her face.

‘Careful, Booth!’ she said.

‘Gods, you look terrible,’ he laughed.

‘I was trancing.’

‘Well, trance time’s over.’ He shouldered past her and into the tower. He was fully dressed, plate armour reflecting the candlelight, shield on his back and sword on his hip, fingerless white gauntlets clinking.

Temperance rubbed her eyes. ‘What do you want?’

‘There’s a skull, Bones—’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘—thrown from a bridge in the smithing district, into some noble's wagon.’

‘Get one of the crown wizards to have a look. I’m on a dig at the moment.’

‘That little giant in the Sword Mountains?’

‘It’s the best-preserved skeleton in the realm, Booth. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.’

‘Please.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You’re an elf, you’ll live for another six hundred years.’

Temperance rubbed her eyes. ‘Did you wake me up just to argue with me?’

‘No, I woke you up to come and look at this skull.’

She glared at him. ‘You won’t leave unless I come with you, will you?’

‘Nope.’ He leant against the dining table, then gestured to her black silk robe. ‘I’ll wait while you get dressed.’

Waterdeep was never quiet, not even in the dead of night. Merchants stumbled in bleary-eyed from the docks, followed by sailors in worn leathers and private guards clinking with crude weapons. Servants from noble houses bustled to-and-fro, decked in the coats and colours of the houses they served, worrying aloud about scrolls and groceries and clothes for the laundry. Drunks hollered their way out of taverns, fight pits, gambling houses, brothels; the smells were so distinct – dwarven ale or elven wine – that a passer-by could tell a fellow’s preference halfway down the street. And in the centre of the smithing district, the salty air warmed by the furnaces on all sides, knights of the City Watch were stationed in a circle around a wagon, holding the murmuring onlookers at bay. Seelie Booth didn’t have to say a word to anyone; the guards took one look at him, nodded, and parted to grant him access. But all of them lowered their eyes to their feet at the sight of the high elf striding behind him.

Temperance was used to such treatment. She knew humans found high elves unsettling, for a number of reasons: their agelessness, their aloofness, their seeming emotional disconnect from the outside world. She knew she was disliked because people saw all those things in her. Plus, no one liked how comfortable she was around dead bodies.

A nervous apprentice wizard pointed Temperance towards the skull. She shouldered her way around a noble in purple clothes, who was yelling at some of the City Watch. The skull was partially lodged in the thick wood of the wagon’s front. No flesh remained, only pale grey bone.

‘What’ve you got?’ Booth asked.

Temperance squinted at the skull. ‘Male, half-elf,’ she said. ‘I can have a closer look at the lab. Did anyone see anything?’

‘Driver thinks the skull was thrown from up there.’ Booth pointed to a brick walkway above the road.

‘What’s it for?’ Temperance asked.

‘Connects two of the smithies,’ Booth said. ‘Same owner. But anyone can access it, there’s a ladder in that alley over there.’

‘I’ll meet you back at the lab, then.’

Booth sputtered, ‘You’re leaving?’

‘I need my equipment to have a closer look. And don’t you have witnesses to talk to?’ She gestured to the yelling noble.

‘Hang on–’

‘I’ll see you back at the lab!’ she called over her shoulder, before disappearing into the crowd.

Temperance was fond of a lot of things, but her lab – and she considered it hers – was her favourite place in all of Faerûn. Many mages used the space, but all of them deferred to her, respected her, and most importantly, left her alone. Of course, they deferred to Camille too, and some of the other department heads, but she tried not to let that bother her.

This late in the night, the lab was empty. Temperance waved her hand in front of the rune lock and the doors swung inwards, revealing a pale stone room with a thick glass ceiling. Unlit braziers lined the walls; Temperance made a gesture in the air and spoke the Elvish word for flame, and the braziers burst into life. The centre of the room was raised, and sleek obsidian tables perched above the rest of the room, giving the platform a dark, imposing air.

Wards lined the edges of the platform, but Temperance simply stepped over them. Once she was next to the central table, she let out a breath, the stiffness evaporating from her jaw. The silence, the cool air coming through the glass ceiling, the flickering candle flames, all of it comforted her. Here, she felt at ease.

She placed the case with the skull on the table and pressed open the latches, but before she could lift the lid, something pinged in her ear.

Booth’s voice radiated into her mind. ‘Hey, Bones, borrowed a message spell from one of my guys. I’m on my way to the lab, do you want me to pick up Zack on the way?’

Sighing, Temperance said, ‘That would be helpful, thank you.’

Lifting the skull from the case, she placed it in the middle of the table, then conjured a few floating lights directly above it. The liquid black surface of the obsidian table rippled as the lights swayed gently in the air.

Soon, Temperance was lost in her work. She etched runes into paper, chanted powerful words. Her hand pulled components from the pouch on her belt, ashes and plants and powdered glass. The room grew thick with her magic, a smell like burnt sugar and pollen, a haze like heat. The world outside faded away, until all she was left with was the bobbing lights, the inky black table, and the pale skull in the centre of it all.

‘Bones!’

Temperance jumped. Booth was standing at the bottom of the platform, Zack by his side. ‘Were you trancing again?’

‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Just focused.’

‘Well, unfocus.’ He paced at the edge of the wards. ‘Will you let me up?’

‘Zack can do it,’ she said without turning around.

Sighing, and the patter of Zack’s small feet up the platform stairs, followed by Booth’s clanking. Zack appeared at her elbow, drawing over a stool and climbing up for a better view, his gnomish stature too small for the table.

‘What do you see?’ Zack asked.

She handed him a magnifying glass and a petal from a daisy. ‘You tell me what you see.’

Temperance waited, and Booth paced, while Zack examined the skull, his spell tome hovering in the air next to him, obeying his murmured commands to turn the page or read a passage aloud. Temperance avoided the book; she knew Zack never wanted to follow her into necromancy, his mind too broad to be focused on a single pursuit, but the animated book that flew around him had always made her uncomfortable.

After some time, Zack looked up from his work and said, ‘Teeth marks.’

Temperance said, ‘Very good, I concur.’

Booth said, ‘What?’

‘Teeth marks,’ Temperance said. ‘The skull has been gnawed on.’

‘You mean…’ He looked around, then whispered, ‘a cannibal?’

‘Yes, exactly,’ Zack said.

Booth turned pale. ‘The Lords of Waterdeep aren’t going to like that.’

‘Most people don’t like cannibals.’ Temperance removed her leather gloves and dismissed the lights. ‘I’m going to trance in my office. Please don’t wake me until morning.’

‘What? No!’ Booth scurried after her. ‘We need to meet with the Lords, start gathering clues.’

‘You go talk to the Lords.’ Temperance lit the candles and incense on her desk and removed her emergency cushion from its shelf. ‘I’ll be here when you’re done.’

‘We’re partners, remember? That means we do these things together.’

‘I’m tired, Booth.’ She shot him a look. ‘I spent the last two days unearthing remains halfway up a mountain.’

He put his hands on his hips, huffed, then said, ‘Four hours, and then I’m back, alright?’

‘Yes, four hours.’

He left the room, muttering under his breath, his armour clanking and banging with each stomp. Temperance sat, cross legged on her cushion, and quickly slipped into trance, into a void of thought as black and liquid as obsidian.

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darkwood-sleddog · 3 years

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do you know also the origin of the word 'malamute'?

Malamute is a bastardization of the word “Malemiut”, after the Inupiaq people that reside in Alaska. Originally these people used Inuit sled dogs like we see more widely across the arctic. When white people moved north to America that is when the distinction began to be made. There is a really icky trend amongst the late 19th century/early 20th century in naming regional variations of the same indigenous breed after indigenous tribes.

Hudson Stuck, a British missionary to Alaska and a mountain climber was amongst the first to popularize the term in his book “Ten Thousand Miles with a Dog Sled”. Published in 1914 he states: “The malamute, the Alaskan inuit dog, is precisely the same dog as is found amongst the natives of Baffin Bay and Greenland. Knud Rasmussen and Amundsen together have established the oneness of the iniut from the east coast of Greenland all round to st. Michael; they are one people, speaking virtually one language. And the malamute dog is one dog.” so at this point it was another term for Esk*mo dog or Inuit sled dog and used interchangeably.

In the 1920′s and 30s Inuit sled dogs were imported from Labrador, Canada to go on Byrd’s Antarctic Expeditions. These dogs were described to Eva Seeley (the mother of the registered Alaskan Malamute) as ‘malamutes’ by a mutual friend of her and Byrd’s. Now Eva would eventually begin breeding dogs specifically to go on Antarctic expeditions and those dogs would become the registered ‘Alaskan Malamute’. Even though Eva Seeley knew damn well where the dogs came from originally she would coin her line as being Kotzebue where the mythical ‘malamute’ is said to originate. A huge majority if not all of the founding dogs used for the breed came from Central-Eastern Canada and Greenland.

There is one single dog we can say for certain today was actually a ‘malamute’ coming directly from western Alaska and referred to as such by those that were familiar with arctic dogs when the term ‘malamute’ was being first used and that is Hudson Stuck’s dog “Muk” whom Stuck describes has having parents from Kotzebue.

#faq #malamute #alaskan malamute #dog history #not necessarily as problematic as other breed names #but still falls into the category of #mythologicalizing and exoticifying the dog #using indigneous words and history #anyways if eva had just fucking registered them as 'Bryd Sled Dogs'#or 'Antarctic Dogs'#or something we wouldn't be here #in the modern day #where everybody thinks that the malamute is this mythologically huge dog #from alaska #it isn't #Anonymous

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years

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"Found Guilty of Conversion of Funds," Kingston Whig-Standard. October 5, 1932. Page 5. --- Arthur W. Bradley, Gananoque, Given Six Months' Term ---- Gananoque, Oct. 5. - The case of Arthur W. Bradley, former local insurance man accused of conversion of funds, who was arrested in Kingston some time ago and brought to Gananoque for trial, was concluded before Magistrate Sampson here yesterday after a great many remands over a period of weeks, when the accused was found guilty and sentenced to six months in the Ontario Reformatory.

It is doubtful if a longer police court session has ever been held in Gananoque. Starting at 10.15 am, the trial continued until 7.30 p.m., with an hour's adjournment for lunch, before sentence was passed. Further court proceedings in the cases of Robert Bevens [pictured right] and Benjamin Bevens of Seeley's Bay, who were given sentences of three years and six months respectively, lengthened the total time required to dispose of yesterday's docket to 8.30 p.m., or nine and one quarter hours exclusive of the one hour lunch recess,

The first witness to be placed in the box in the Bradley case was Robert N. Levis, a local insurance agent who took over the business formerly operated by Bradley. Mr. Levis was in the box for nearly three hours, and during that time told of his dealings with Bradley before and after taking over the agency. The story brought out by Crown Attorney Atkinson in his examination was to the effect that in the autumn of 1931 he had entered into negotiations with the accused to purchase the Bradley Agencies. Bradley, he stated, he had his license. suspended some time previously, had gotten into debt, and was anxious to sell out. With his license suspended, the accused could not sell insurance unless he were employed on a salary basis, and could not act as agent.

Levis had requested Bradley to write the several companies he represented, and submit a list of the policies in force and his indebtedness to them. On September 26, 1931, he had entered with an agreement with the accused whereby Bradley's figures were agreed upon, Bradley had expressed his willingness to work for his living expenses during the winter. His duties were to teach Levis the business and to go out and sell, Levis further agreed to pay Bradley 50% of the commissions on the policies in force as the purchase price of the agency. However, as the accused had never produced the statement of the policies in force or a satisfactory declaration of his indebtedness, Levis had never paid him.

Dealt Direct With Companies Bradley had remained with Levis until the end of October, 1931, and prior to his leaving, Levis, on the ad- vice of executives of some of the companies he represented, had dealt direct with the companies instead of through Bradley. Witness stated that he did not know the business, and had made no attempt at collections until after accused had gone. He had approached Charles Kenney, whose evidence was taken last week, and while Kenney was able to produce a receipt for $8, signed by Bradley, Levis swore that he had received no part of the money. The same situation had been met in the cases of James Brennan of Leeds Township, who had paid Bradley $10; W. J. Nuttall, Gananoque, R.R. 1, who had paid $37.50; and Mrs. Gertrude Lippman, who had paid $13.00. It was alleged that Levis had paid these amounts to the insurance companies, and although the money had been received from the policyholders by Bradley, he (Levis) had received no part of it, although the agreement of Sept. 26 specified that all monies collected were to be turned over to Levis. During his association with the accused, witness had paid him $58.50 as an advance on salary.

Defense Counsel Douglas G. Peck in his cross-examination suggested that Levis had acquired an agency which had cost him $58.50 and that if his client presented witness with an ac- count Levis would owe Bradley money. Mr. Peck carefully went over each point of the story told by the witness, and the Crown suggested near the conclusion of the defense counsel's. cross-examination that the extent of the latitude which could be allowed had been reached and that the evidence being put before the court was not getting them anywhere.

Afternoon Session The court was adjourned at the conclusion of Mr. Peck's cross-examination until 2 p.m. to allow an hour for lunch, and the prosecution's last witness, Major Smith, eastern manager of the Wawanesa Insurance Company, Toronto, was put in the box when the court resumed.

Major Smith explained the position of his company in relations with the accused, and stated that it was glad to turn over the agency to Levis, particularly so since the services of Bradley would be retained. His company, he stated, recognized a moral responsibility to the man who had built up its business. In all fairness to Bradley, he had built up a very fair business, and on being checked up, it seemed to be a better than average agency. His company would not, he said, give Levis the agency unless he were willing to assume the liabilities which Bradley had incurred. Major Smith's examination by the Crown concluded the case for the prosecution. At this point Mr. Peck asked for a dismissal of the charges, a motion to which the magistrate did not accede,

Defence Evidence The defense then called W. El Bradley of Gananoque, a brother of the accused, who stated that he was very intimate with his brother's business during the three years it was conducted prior to last fall, and that he was bondsman for several of the companies represented by the Bradley Agencies. Witness stated that Levis had assured him that he would pay his brother $15 per week plus a car allowance, and cited a number of instances tending to show that the accused was employed by Levis.

In the cross-examination, the Crown Counsel secured the admission that if the witness thought the accused was in the employ of Levis, any monies collected should have been turned over to Levis as his property.

Another brother of the accused, William T. Bradley, gave evidence of his knowledge of the accused's relations with Levis which added little to the information which had already been brought out.

Accused Testifies The defense then put the accused in the box, who told of a connection with a firm of insurance brokers in Toronto who paid him a salary, thus enabling him to transact insurance business after the cancellation of his license. He stated that under the new arrangement, when Levis took over the Bradley Agencies and changed the name to the Gananoque Agencies, he was to be retained in the new firm as field representative under Mr. Levis, and that he was to work on a salary of $15 per week and car allowance. Contrary to the evidence given by Levis, Mr. Bradley stated that all the companies in which the agency was interested had been asked for a statement of their account to date at the time Levis had taken the business over, and that the replies had been turned over to Levis on receipt.

After the summing up by the defense and the Crown, the magistrate reviewed the evidence. He stated that there were certain monies paid on four policies as premiums, and that those monies were due the insurance companies either by Bradley or Levis, depending on the relationship between the two. Levis had paid for four premiums, for which Bradley had received the money and used it for another purpose. He would have to register a conviction.

The sentence was six months on each of the four counts in the Ontario Reformatory, the sentences to run concurrently.

Other Cases Following the disposition of the Bradley case, which ended at 7.30 p.m., the court moved to the magistrate's office to allow the city fathers the use of the council chamber for their regular meeting. The remaining cases were charges of theft against Robert and Benjamin Bevens of Seeley's Bay.

Robert Bevens, aged 26, faced two charges of theft. The first, to which he pleaded guilty, was of stealing a gold watch and flash light from the residence of William A. Ferguson of the Township of Lansdowne. The second count was of stealing an overcoat, food and tie pin from the residence of Andrew Brown of Marble Rock. He pleaded not guilty.

His brother, Benjamin Bevens, also faced two charges of theft. He plead. ed guilty to the first, that he stole a mouth organ and food from the home of William A. Ferguson. He pleaded not guilty to the theft of a quantity of food from the home of Andrew Brown.

The first witness to be placed in the box was Andrew Brown of Marble Rock, who told how his house was entered on August 7th and everything turned topsy-turvy. Mr. Brown identified a smock as his own by the sewing at the collar where the chain for hanging the coat on a hook had come off and been repaired. William Ferguson of Sand Bay also identified the coat and stated that Robert Bevens, who had worked for him for a short time in August, had brought the garment with him when he came.

Robert Bevens took the stand in his own behalf, and swore that he had bought the coat from Thomas A. Gray of Seeley's Bay on or about June 11th. Asked how he could identify it, he replied that it had been sewn at the collar where one end of the small chain used for hanging it up had come away. The Crown asked if he knew what kind of thread was used and Bevens replied "white." "Well, this is brown," stated the Crown.

In view of previous convictions, Robert was sentenced to three years in Kingston Penitentiary for stealing the gold watch and flash light, and six months for stealing the smock, or overcoat. The sentences will run concurrently. Benjamin, since this is his first appearance, will do six months for purloining the mouth organ and food.

Following the trial the three men who had been sentenced were taken to Brockville by Provincial Constable Noble, and Provincial Constable Bartlett of Napanee is expected to take the Bevens boys to Napanee today to answer charges of stealing three watches from a farm near Odessa.

[Bevans was also known as Berins. He was single, 26, from Brier Hill, and was trained as a blacksmith. He likely learned it during his last term at Kingston Penitentiary as inmate #547. He had also escaped in 1927 from the Mimico Brick plant, an annex of the Ontario Reformatory, which is what got him sent to the pen. This time, he was convict #2796 and worked in the blacksmith shop. He took part in the 1932 riot at Kingston Penitentiary, and though he told the investigators he had no complaints, he did demand that cigarette papers and newspapers be introduced, and that no punishment can down on the ringleaders except after a 'fair trail' by the warden. He continued to work in the blacksmith shop and took part in some protests there, and was released March 1935.]

#gananoque #police court #conversion of funds #theft by conversion #stealing from the company #inside job #embezzlement #theft #stolen clothes #stolen watch #sentenced to the penitentiary #kingston penitentiary #sentenced to prison #ontario reformatory #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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canadianjobbank · 1 year

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Apply now: https://canadianjobbank.org/sales-supervisor-retail-13/

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jenniemnhi · 1 year

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Jenne Marshal in Musical Retirement Home at Seeley’s Bay | ON | Canada | [Video]

#PrivatePay #SeniorLivingCommunity #AssistedLivingFacilities #Aging #Private Pay #Senior Living Community #Assisted Living Facilities

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farnwedel · 3 years

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Der Fluch von Scarborough Fair 49: Watt did you say?

Drei Wochen vor der Geburt geht Lucy zur Untersuchung ins Krankenhaus.

An der Art, wie Dr. Whang sie anstrahlte, erkannte Lucy, dass die Ärztin froh und sogar erleichtert war, sie Dinge sagen zu hören wie: „Mein Mann hat uns einen gebrauchten Toyota besorgt.“ Komisch, wie altmodisch die Leute manchmal waren. Noch vor einem Jahr hätte sie das gar nicht vermutet.

It’s the patriarchy, darling.

Im Anschluss will sie Soledad aufsuchen. Die Praxis scheint aber leer zu sein. Soledads Tür ist zu, Jacquelines offen.

Lucy zuckte mit den Schultern, nahm im Wartezimmer Platz und blätterte ein Magazin mit dem Titel Traveler durch. Plötzlich hielt sie inne und schaute sich einige Fotos der Bay of Fundy im Nordosten Kanadas an, wo es die größten Gezeitenunterschiede der Welt gab.

Ahskdgljhgsdhljs willst du mir erzählen, dass die Lösung des Problems das fucking Wattenmeer ist? Kein Wunder spielt die Geschichte in den USA. Hätte das jemanden in, sagen wir mal, Hamburg getroffen: „Joa, kein Problem, lass ma zwischen Elisabeth-Sophien-Koog und Nordstrandischmoor pflügen“

Anyway. Da wir uns aber leider immer noch in der Hebammenabteilung befinden, taucht natürlich Padraig Seeley auf. Er will sie berühren, aber sie faucht ihn an, er solle sich von ihr fernhalten. Sie erkennt ihn und sie erkennt auch, dass er es war, der von Gray Besitz ergriffen hatte.

Padraig sagt, bald werde sie ganz allein ihm gehören, gemäß der letzten Zeile „Ihre Töchter sind auf ewig mein“. So ganz verstehe ich nicht – meint er damit, dass sie im Elfenreich gefangen sein wird?

„Allerdings wird es mir zunächst ein Vergnügen sein, dich wegen deiner Heirat zu bestrafen. Dieses Verhalten gehört sich nicht für meine wahre Liebe.“ Er hielt kurz inne und fügte dann gelassen hinzu: „Vielleicht werde ich dich ja dazu bringen, ihn für mich zu töten.“

Das Hemd, sagt er, habe funktioniert, aber das Spiel sei demnächst vorbei und dann werde sie ihm gehören, bis es Zeit für ihn sei, ihre Tochter zu holen. Er küsst sie und verschwindet.

Yikes. Aber, Moment mal. Rein biologisch ist Lucy zwar von Grays Sperma schwanger geworden, aber wenn Padraig in dem Moment „in ihm steckte“ – und mit Miranda „verheiratet“ war – dann – sind doch alle Frauen seit Fenella nicht nur Mütter und Töchter, sondern Schwestern??

#der fluch von scarborough fair #sexismus #Familienverhältnisse #wattenmeer

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zeeleybooth · 4 years

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How many times did you have to actually put those gloves on? I think we’re starting a new trend in fashion– I think so too. ...with those blue lab coasts. Don’t you love using those latex gloves? Well, have you noticed this year– lemme just say– Okay. ...this year, skulls have been very popular in fashion? It’s true.

↳ Two Bodies in the Lab commentary

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barrhaventr012 · 3 years

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Barrhaven Tree Service

Address: 2010 Seeley's Bay St. Nepean, ON K2J 5P5

Phone: 343-312-7822

Website: https://www.barrhaventreeservice.com/

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#tree service

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trillian-anders · 5 years

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amor de mi vida - 1939

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: slow burn, racism, prejudice, fluff, language barrier

word count: 5805

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

Bucky loved Brooklyn, he loved everything about the borough. The Dodgers, the noise, the diner down the street from his house that made the best cherry pie he’d ever had, he even loved the way it smelled. The salty breeze from the that rolled in every morning and evening, the Statue of Liberty lighting up the bay. He was a Brooklyn boy through and through, even if his birth certificate said he was born in Shelbyville, Indiana. His parents moved here before he could even remember, Brooklyn was all he knew.

He was on the cusp of manhood. The final years of his schooling before he was ready to take on whatever life threw his way. He didn’t have any expectations. To him it was so simple. Take up more hours in his Dad’s shop, find a beautiful dame, get married, pop out a few kids, have everything his parents ever had and everything they ever wanted for him. He felt so young, full of hope and ready. Ready for anything.

Munching on crackerjack he sat, feet swinging on the edge of pier five, his best friend sketching idly next to him. He tried to ignore the younger boy’s rattling breaths. He was fine, those breaths were normal for him, that’s all that mattered. Steve had recently had a pretty bad scare, when his Ma came down with TB and passed there had been a big concern that the sickly boy had caught it from her. There was quarantine and Bucky thought he was going to lose the best friend he’d ever had.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with years of companionship. Just the company soothing them from their day. A test in math, the girl that just broke Bucky’s heart, another girl that wouldn’t pay Steve any mind. Bucky’s eyes drifted to his friend’s sketchpad, the Manhattan skyline taking shape slowly but steadily.

It was warm, the beginning of summer. The switch from wearing sweater vests to short sleeve button downs, wool socks traded in for more breathable cotton. Bucky leaned back on his hands, feet swaying slightly over the edge of the dock watching the ship moving slowly in the water towards Ellis Island.

“I wonder what it must be like,” Bucky said, “To leave your entire life behind and go somewhere completely new.” Steve’s pencil stopped on the page, looking over at his friend.

“Must be scary,” Steve started, “Not knowing anyone I mean.” Bucky hummed in agreement.

“Ma said she’s gonna make meatloaf tonight,” Bucky stood from the dock, helping his friend to his feet, “You’re comin’ to dinner right?” Steve nodded, stuffing his sketchbook into his bag. “Good, cause you really didn’t have a choice there pal.” Bucky’s arm swung over Steve’s shoulder, dragging the smaller boy behind him as they hopped into the junker that was Bucky’s pride and joy.

The 11 year old Ruxton he’d found rusting away in a scrap yard last year, totaled in an accident and discarded. He’d only recently gotten it back up and running, but it was still a terrifying ride. He dared not take it farther than a few city blocks, but it was still nice to drive. They pretended like they were rich folk above it all, driving the recently painted sleek black car down the streets, wind in their hair only because the windows wouldn’t roll up.

The next day Bucky fell in love again, and he couldn’t even remember who broke his heart yesterday. Dorothy Seeley. A beautiful blonde dame, bright green eyes, legs for days. She was in his english class. He could see a future with her, something Bucky always wanted. He could imagine loving her forever, her pretty pink mouth pressed against his in his car because he had one, and that made him special. Better than the other boys.

He was sweet on her, doting, for days. A trip to Coney Island that left him broke, the drive-in, burgers and fries at the diner by his house. Steve in tow. Always.

He was leant up against the side of his car, Dot pressed against his chest as they exchanged a soft kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked. She grinned, lips parting like petals around shiny white teeth.

“You’re keen on me Barnes.” Holding his hand and stepping back, her skirt twirled around her legs.

“Is that a bad thing?” He grinned, his own pearly whites showing. He could feel Steve rolling his eyes from inside the car.

“Tomorrow then,” He pulled Dot in close to land one more cheeky kiss before she was skipping up the steps into her family’s brownstone, and out of sight. Bucky’s grinning face turned around to look at his friend, slipping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m gonna marry that girl.” He said.

Steve rolled his eyes, “You say that about every girl.”

“I mean it this time,” Bucky assured him, pulling the car away from the curb.

Steve laughed, “You say that too.”

Bucky’s family wasn’t rich, but they weren’t poor either. His Ma would always say, “We have just what we need.” And it was true.

Bucky was the eldest of five, the only boy with four younger sisters, each spaced two years apart. The youngest being his favorite, but he’d never tell the other three.

Rebecca Barnes was his partner in crime, the sweet girl looked most like him, at only nine years old she was a spitfire. Full of attitude and sass, almost always covered in dirt, and easily conned both him and his father into giving her penny candy on almost a daily basis.

Susan Barnes was eleven and extremely smart, she’d often help her older siblings with their homework, studying. She almost always had a book in her hand and could recite Shakespeare off the top of her head.

Ruth Barnes was thirteen and hated everyone and everything. It was just that age. She was experimenting with makeup, almost always on the telephone, and generally didn’t speak to anyone in the house unless she absolutely had to. Talking to her lately was just about as hard as pulling teeth.

Lastly was Virgina Barnes, she was fifteen and much to her father and brother’s chagrin was a little boy crazy. Bucky was sure she was dating someone she wouldn’t bring around to the house, he’d often spy on her in the halls of their high school trying to catch a glimpse of who the punk was that had necked with his sister, but so far she’s been sneaky and kept out of sight.

His parents were still very much in love. The two were always touching, kissing, slow dancing to music that wasn’t there. It was everything Bucky ever wanted. His mom, Winnie Barnes, came from money. Old money and his grandpa every rare time they saw him would be sure to make it known that he didn’t like their father.

George Barnes had grown up pretty poor, very wrong side of the tracks. He’d fought in the War to End All Wars in the 107th, met Winnie Barnes when she was a nurse. Real classic story. One Bucky loved hearing.

His Pops owned his own shop now, one of the only mechanics in Brooklyn which kept him pretty busy, but provided well for his family if their four bedroom brownstone was anything to say for it. Bucky parked the car outside the garage, men laughing, radio playing, he could see his Pops sitting in the back office, pencil behind his ear, looking over the books.

“You gonna be good from here pal?” Bucky asked Steve. The smaller boy nodded,

“Probably gonna walk around for a bit before going home.” Bucky wished Steve would take up his offer and come stay with them for a while, but the kid was too proud for that. He was currently living alone in a small apartment, selling funnies to the local paper.

“If you need anything I’ll be here until seven probably, then I’ll be home.” Steve nodded, backing away.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” With a wave he was off, disappearing down the street.

Bucky worked hard. As he was expected to. He was his father’s only son and George Barnes put a lot of pressure on his son to be a good example, not only for his sisters, but for the other guys that worked for him. He worked, and he worked hard. His hands had become calloused over the years, having worked in the shop since he was old enough to hold a wrench, he knew almost everything there was to know about fixing cars.

His father believed that a good red blooded American man should know how to do three things. Auto work, Wood work, and wife’s work. He should be able to fix a car, fix the house, and keep his wife as happy as possible. It was ingrained into him since he could barely see over the hood, his father’s words ringing in his ears.

“Keep your wife happy, the roof strong, and dinner on the table.” He said, “As long as you do those three things you’ll have a good life.” A life like his. Despite the hollowness of his eyes sometimes and the extra beers before bed.

“It was the war”, his mother told him once, “Sometimes it just catches up to him.” Bucky wouldn’t understand that, not for a while.

“Jaime.” His pops called him into the back office, a wrapped parcel on his desk. “Run this down to the post for me woulda? They sent us the wrong part, sendin’ it back for an exchange.” James nodded,

“You need anythin’ else while I’m out?” His father’s eyes, blue like his, peeked up over the lenses of his readers,

“Grab me a soda pop woulda?” A couple of cents placed into his hand and he was out the door, walking down the sunny streets to the post office three blocks away. There was a corner store next to it where he’d pop in and get his Dad a cola with enough change to grab himself one as well and he’d be on his way back. That was until his eyes landed on the girl peering into the store window in front of the said corner store, brows pulled tight in confusion.

Her skin was beautifully caramel, dark hair and lips painted red. She was in a soft linen dress, buttoned front, low heels, roses stitched onto the sides. She was a sight. One that made his heart stop in his chest and his mouth drop open wide enough to collect flies. Her dark brown eyes and perfectly curled hair made his hands tremble. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his uniform pants, looking at himself in a car’s side mirror and fixing his hair before approaching.

“Whatcha lookin’ for doll?” The young woman jumped, turning to face him, perfectly plucked brows raised in alarm. “Sorry,” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He saw the girl take a step back, he was blowing it. “It’s just not everyday that you see such a beautiful dame such as yourself.” You worried your bottom lip. “Sorry,” He took a step back from you. “That was corny I just…”

“Lo siento,” [I’m sorry] You said, “No puedo hablar ingles.” [I can’t speak english] His face dropped slightly and he took a step back. He didn’t know what to do here, he looked at the window and back at you.

“James.” He said, pointing to himself, then pointing a finger at you,

“Y/N.” You replied, figuring out what he meant. He pointed to the store.

“Store?” You looked at him confused. “Uhm…” He put his hands on his hips and looked inside, holding a hand out to you and pointed at the sign of the shop, “Store?” You looked at him skeptically, taking his hand and letting him bring you inside. He’d walked to the ice box in the back, pulling out two cola’s as he watched you pick up a loaf of bread, looking at him nervously. He tried to smile at you reassuringly but you didn’t seem to feel comfortable still. He took the change out of his pocket, counting out the coins. He had just enough for his two cola’s, not room for much else as he walked you to the counter. If he’d had enough he woulda bought the bread too.

The shop keep seemed to glare at you, which confused Bucky. He looked between the guy at the counter and back to you behind him, placing his two colas on the counter, having the guy ring him up. “Have a good day,” the man told him, Bucky watched as the girl placed the bread loaf on the counter. The man glared at her, not moving. “No sale.” He said.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, you looked between the two nervously. “Here.” Bucky took the coins from her open palm, and tried to hand them to the shop keep. He glared back at Bucky.

“We don’t take their money here.” He said sternly, pointing to the sign behind him. Bucky had been in this shop almost five times a week and never noticed that sign before. ‘WHITES ONLY’ in big bold lettering. Bucky looked back at you and while he figured you couldn’t understand english you at least could feel that you weren’t wanted here. Suddenly your nervousness made sense.

“It’s my money then.” Bucky said, slapping the coins on the counter. “Let her buy the damn bread.” The shop keep stood from the stool he was resting on, leaning over the counter.

“Get out.” By the time Bucky realized he was talking to you and not him you’d quickly walked out of the store and back onto the street. He’d quickly grabbed the loaf of bread, coins still discarded on the counter and followed you out.

“Wait! Y/N!” He called, catching up to you. “Here.” You looked at him, brows pulled skeptically together before taking the bread from his hands. “I’m sorry about that guy, he’s usually so nice I-” Bucky bit his lip, he was unsure what else to say. Nothing he said made any sense to you anyway. He couldn’t say anything regardless as you gave him a funny look and slowly walked away from him, turning your eyes away as you crossed the street.

He stared after you longingly and confused. He’d heard people speak spanish in passing. Guys that worked in the factories near the docks. He wasn’t ignorant to that. He just never really gave much thought to them. They were in a different world than him, it didn’t matter as much. But you’d struck him. The way the shopkeep had treated you struck him. He’d never seen a pretty girl treated that way. Usually guys would bend over backwards for a girl like you, but to be fair, Bucky never had a reason to think about skin color.

It’s not that he didn’t see it, he just never cared. He’d heard whispers of people being irritated at the growing hispanic population in Sunset Park, but never really gave it much thought. It never crossed his mind. He had other things to worry about at the time, a girl to love, a friend to protect.

The sweating colas in his hands reminded him that he had somewhere to be, and you’d long since disappeared around a corner. Gone from his sight. He was quiet that night at dinner, suspiciously so.

He didn’t see you again for three months, the end of summer drawing near, the days just beginning to get shorter. He’d been walking around Sunset Park occasionally, looking for you, under the guise of a stroll. Steve thought it was strange, his newfound obsession.

“I’m gonna marry her Stevie.” He’d said. He knows he’s said it before,

“I mean it this time.” He said that before too. “But you didn’t see her Stevie.” He grinned as the pair walked around the neighborhood for the first time, “She was more beautiful than Aphrodite.” Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure how many times he’s walked this neighborhood looking for you, but he told himself he’d do it every night if it meant he’d find you again.

School had ended, he was working full time at his Dad’s shop now, little time for extracurriculars, the dance halls missed him, his favorite waitress asked Steve about him all the time, and he hadn’t seen a movie since the last time he went with Dot almost 3 months ago. All of his energy had gone into working and on his days off with Steve, looking for you. He thumbed through the spanish phrasebook he’d spent a pretty penny on, pages dogeared with things he might try to say to you when he saw you next.

If it ever happened.

He was beginning to lose hope, truth be told. Maybe you’d moved away. Maybe you were in the neighborhood visiting someone and didn’t even live nearby. It wasn’t until he’d taken a street down in the factory district on his day off that he saw you again.

You were just as beautiful as he’d remembered, hair pinned under a cap, lips painted red, you were wearing another linen dress, flowers stitched around the skirt and on the lapels. You were leaving a dress factory. That’s where you must’ve worked. He watched you twirl in your dress, laughing at something another woman had said to you. The gaggle of them speaking such quick Spanish that the few phrases he studied didn’t even make sense to him anymore.

He swore his heart stopped in his chest when your eyes met his, a firm blush spreading across your cheeks. Bucky, the hopeless romantic that he is, would tell everyone that time stood still. There you were, he would say, his future wife. Pin Curled and sweet, dark lashes and rose petal lips waiting for your first kiss. Like you’d been made for him. He would say that in that moment the stars aligned and brought you to him.

He was a sucker like that.

Steve had stopped a few steps ahead of him, noticing that his friend wasn’t following, the group of girls you had been walking out with also stopped, looking between the two of you and giggling at the sight. One girl pushed you forward and you turned to glare at her saying something to her that Bucky couldn’t hear. He took one step forward and then another, thumbing through the pages of the book and swallowing heavily, hands sweating. He’d never been this nervous talking to a dame before, never. He raised the book to his eyesight, glancing at you before looking back down at the page,

“Lo siento,” [I’m sorry] He said in just about the worst pronunciation you’d ever heard, the girls behind you giggled and you shushed them with a perfectly red lacquered hand, he smiled nervously continuing, “Eres tan hermosa,” [You are so beautiful] He flipped a couple more pages not being able to find what he wanted to say next when you gently grasped his wrist, smiling at him.

“James.” His heart almost dropped out of his ass as you said his name for the first time, “Hello.” Very heavily accented and you bit your lip with insecurity.

“Hi.” He breathed. He looked back down at his book, finding what he wanted to say next, “Te estaba buscando.” [I was looking for you.] His pronunciation was horrible and he knew it. But the thought was still there.

“Uhm…” You looked at him nervously, the girls were sure to gossip about this later. This white man who was holding a Spanish phrase book telling you about how you were beautiful and he was looking for you.

“Y/N!” Came a yell, Bucky watched an older woman approach, she looked so similar it had to be your mother, “Que haces con este hombre blanco?” [What are you doing with this white man?] The older woman gripped your arm, looking at the girls behind you, “Veta a casa.” [Go home.] She spat to the other girls, glaring back at Bucky as you looked at him apologetically. He caught a few words. He knew casa meant home, he also knew blanco meant white. But he was unsure about the rest.

Steve stood awkwardly off to his side, a silent witness to this strange situation. “That’s her I’m guessing?” The little shit grinned next to him. Bucky turned to his friend, matching his grin.

“Yeah.” His heart was still racing, “And now I know where she works.” He looked up at the tall factory building next to them.

He looked around the flower shop, the various blooms staring back at him. He wasn’t sure what to get, what you would like. Roses were maybe too presumptuous and a little too expensive “Can I help you?” The older woman asked him. She was wearing an apron over her plaid dress, hands brown with dirt. Bucky smiled softly,

“I’m a little lost here,” He admitted. The older woman smiled,

“What’s she like?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets looking over the blooms.

“Perfect?” He offered, laughing, “But beautiful, sweet…” His eyes scanned the arrangements around him, “I don’t have a whole lot to spare, but…” The older woman nodded, understanding.

“You could always do a single stem,” The older woman plucked a beautiful red flower from an arrangement, “If she’s as sweet as you believe, she’d be more than happy with it.” A peony. Vibrant red. Like your lipstick.

He waited outside the factory for you. Hair slicked down, he wore a tie, his work uniform stuffed in the backseat of his car. He hoped you wouldn’t notice that he smelled a little like motor oil under his cologne. He barely made it before the door opened and his palms immediately sweat in a Pavlovian response. The anticipation of seeing you.

Your dress was yellow this time. Stunning against you skin, yellow and white plaid. He wondered if every color was made just for you. Your eyes immediately met his this time, a shy smile spreading across your face. He timidly stepped a foot closer,

“Hello, James.” In your beautiful broken English.

“Hola.” Your nose crinkled when you smiled. “Oh, here.” The vibrant red peony being handed over to you, you twirled the stem between your fingers as he pulled the well worn book from his pocket. “Uhm.. Te ves hermosa hoy.” [You look beautiful today] He looked at you for your response, a red dusting on your cheeks as you held the flower up to your nose.

“Es guapo.” [He’s handsome.] One of the girls teased you to which your eyes widened and you turned to glare at her, shooing her away.

“Has estado practicando?” [Have you been practicing?] You bit your lip knowing he probably wouldn’t understand that. “How,” You started, “are you?” He grinned, he could respond to this one. Flipping back,

“Muy bien, como estas?” [Very well, how are you?] It took him a bit too long to say four words, but the smile on your face was worth it.

“Bien,” [Good.] You replied.

“Away!” You mother was back, standing in front of you this time, looking into Bucky’s face. His cheeks flushed. “Go away!” Your mother’s english was worse than yours, the words coming out thick and accented he almost didn’t understand. “Mantente alejado de ella.”[Stay away from her] She was scary, your mother. He looked to you for help, fingers nervously moving against the spine of the book in his hand.

“El es una madre inofensiva.” [Mama, he’s harmless.] You explained, but your mother’s face turned red, turning fully to you she said,

“Él te arruinárá.” [He will ruin you.] Her voice was tense and Bucky couldn’t begin to understand what she said as he watched her drag you away again. But it was fine, he was back tomorrow to try again.

And he tried again, and again. It became a constant. He was spending $1.30 every week on flowers, considering he was only making $25 a week working for his Dad it was a good chunk of his money. He’d show up with a red peony for you every day. The girls, he knew, were making fun of him but the five minutes in between when you’d get off of work and when your mother would get off of work were the best part of his entire day. He was showing up even on his days off, rain or shine.

Today he felt victorious, your mother hadn’t yelled at him. She simply looked at him and raised an eyebrow to you saying, “El no se rinde.” [He doesn’t give up.] With a smile and laugh. She pulled you away a little more gently that time, taking a look back at him and shaking her head.

“You know it’s going to be hard,” Steve said to him once.

“What do you mean?” Bucky bit into the burger Frankie, the waitress, had just put in front of him. His favorite burger at his favorite diner, he’d have to bring you here. Maybe the two of you could split a milkshake. He wondered if you’d ever had a chocolate malt. Steve looked at him incredulously,

“I can’t tell if you’re dumb or blind.” He’d slipped a picture from his sketchpad over, a picture he’d sketched of you for Bucky. His heart fluttered at the sight, tracing your jaw.

“She’s it for me pal, nothing complicated about it.” The temperature had just begun to drop, a hot August ending. Fall was sweeping through the city, Steve was just starting art school, Bucky was pulling overtime at the shop saving up cash to move out and start his life. Hopefully with you.

“Buck.” Steve sighed, “You know I have no problem with it, but…your parents, literally almost everyone else… it’s illegal.” Bucky paused, a few fries in his mouth.

“It’s not technically illegal in New York.” He knows, he looked it up. “Just not…”

“Not approved of.” Steve finished for him. He sighed heavily, sitting back in his seat. “It’s gonna be difficult, pal.” Bucky shook his head,

“Nuthin’ could be difficult when I have her,” A sip of soda, “Nuthin.”

The next day when Bucky showed up with his flower your Mother was already waiting for him when he pulled his car up. He finally got the windows working. She knocked heavily on his window before he’d even pulled the keys out.

“Come.” She said, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a man, a scary one by Bucky’s count, who was standing where he’d usually wait for you. “Preguntarle.” [Ask him.]

The man was hispanic, but not old enough to be your father. Your brother maybe? “She wants to know what you keep doing here.” The guy’s English was perfect, his voice gruff and accented, but perfect.

“I’m…” Bucky started nervously, “I want to date her daughter.” The guy scoffed, making Bucky feel like an idiot standing there with his one flower.

“Él quiere llevarla a una cita.” [He wants to take her out on a date] The older woman scoffed as well. He smiled sheepishly. She looked at Bucky, studying him for a moment, “Dile que Y/N no es un juguete.” [Tell him Y/N is not a toy.]

“She’s not a toy,” The man said, he looked at the older woman before continuing on his own, “Look, Y/N is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never going to happen. Your kind is not allowed with our kind.” Bucky felt anger rising in his chest. The man lay a hand on his shoulder heavily, “I’m saying this honestly, if you care about Y/N in any way you’ll back off. You’ll ruin her reputation with our people if you keep showing up here. The women are already gossiping about you showing up here everyday.”

“This is about her being Spanish?” Bucky asked.

“She’s Cuban.” The guy explained, “You are privileged enough to pretend not to care about race, but this is only an obsession, you’ll ruin her reputation and leave her when you find someone of your own kind to be with.” The man’s grip on Bucky’s shoulder tightened, a warning. “Get back in your car and don’t come back. If you do, our conversation may not be so pleasant next time.”

Bucky looked to the older woman with pleading eyes, pulling the Spanish phrases book from his pocket, but before he could find anything the man across from him snatched it from his fingertips. “I said go.”

Bucky wanted to pummel him. He wanted to punch the guy right in the jaw, but he didn’t. He’d find another way to see you. He’d figure something out. The flower in his hand dropped to his passenger seat as he sat heavily behind the wheel, staring out at the doors to the factory. You walked out just in time to see him drive away.

Nueva York. That’s what your Mother called it. A new start in America where anything could happen. Your belly had never been that full before. There were no jobs in Havana. Less and less by the day. Your nimble fingers had always been useful as a seamstress, but the less money people have, the less money they had to spend paying someone else to fix their hemlines for them. Your Mother and you moved here in the beginning of the summer, hopeful for a new life.

And you found one.

The neighborhood of Sunset Park had a growing Hispanic community the two of you had quickly nestled yourselves in. A small one bedroom apartment became your home. The two of you not needing much space. You’d quickly found factory work through a neighbor. Not exactly a seamstress, but you did spend 12 hours a day hunched over a sewing machine. Pennies saved and eventually you’d have enough money to live comfortably. You might even have enough to get a new bolt of fabric to make you and your Mother some dresses. Maybe.

The only thing you had to look forward to every day were the few minutes watching a handsome man trip over his words, speaking broken Spanish to you and flipping, very endearingly through a book trying to have a conversation.

It’d gotten a little easier lately, a boy in your apartment building helping you and your Mother learn English and with James practicing his Spanish you’d been getting a little farther past ‘how are you’s in the past week or so. The growing collection of dried flowers in your closet was becoming alarming, the row of dead peonies hanging by their stems, but you didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

That’s maybe why it hurt so much when you’d exited work today, waiting to see the blue eyed boy that made your heart flutter in your chest, and saw him driving away. Your Mother and Mateo staring at the back of it. “Qué hiciste?” [What did you do?] Neither of them answered you, sharing a look.

Your eyes met the back of the fading car once more, longing in your chest, eyes prickling with tears. “Vamos,” [Come on] Your Mother called, beginning down the street. You sent a steely glare to Mateo, turning to follow her away, his large footsteps following.

When you first came to America almost five months ago both you and your Mother were enamored with Mateo. She’d teased that you’d found a husband the first day you’d moved in, but the more time you spent with him the less you liked him. He worked a taxi service, one his family started. They had a good amount of money, promising, is what your Mother had said. He could provide for you. But he was pompous. He thought because he had a little bit of money he was running the whole block. His ego soured your opinion of him. If it wasn’t for the fact he was helping you learn English you would have closed your door to him a long time ago.

Your Mother didn’t want this life for you. Truthfully she’d brought you to America so you’d marry, find a nice Cuban boy and settle down. Let him provide for you. Take care of her grandchildren God willing. It wasn’t as though you didn’t want that life. You wanted to marry, you wanted love. You loved children and always wanted to be a mother but the most important thing to you was love.

When James approached you that first time you were confused, yes. You hadn’t understood a word he said. But he was handsome and he made you feel butterflies in your stomach. You felt as though his blue eyes could drown you, like a siren’s call, you’d lost yourself in them. But you’d found yourself embarrassed at the counter when the man was angrily talking to him. James was animatedly arguing back, in words you didn’t understand. Taking the eight cents you’d had for bread and slamming them on the counter.

You’d been surprised when he’d actually left successfully with the bread, you had been peering for the sign the shopkeeper had pointed to before he’d actually drug you in the store, and your stomach dropped when you’d found it while inside. You should have known you weren’t welcome in that part of town. A little too far outside of your little barrio.

You’d like to think it was fate, God ordained. You’d thought about it again when you saw him outside the factory for the first time. He was nervous, but so were you. You thought it was cute, him flipping through the phrasebook trying to figure out what to say. It warms your heart and every day since you couldn’t wait to see him. He’d even ignored your Mother and kept coming. The collection of red peonies growing by the day.

It broke your heart to see his car driving away from you. And you knew exactly who was to blame.

“No tenes derecho.” [You have no right] You stomped up the stairs next to Mateo. “Deberías mantener tu nariz fuera de oso.” [You should keep your nose out of it]

“Te quiero, Y/N.” [I love you Y/N] His arm gently grabbed your hand, “Please don’t do this.” Your jaw clenched, heart still aching from the sight of James driving away from you.

“I... hate... you.” His hand let go of yours, dropping his to his side as you returned walking up the stairs and entered your apartment, slamming the door behind you.

Germany had just invaded Poland.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #captain america #challenge #the winter soldier #1940s bucky barnes #steve rogers

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