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deaths-head-mothdogs · 5 years

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Let’s talk Hannibal and birds.

I’ve been listening to Hannibal Rising on CD and chewing on it as I drive to and from work every day for the past week. One of the things that has stood out to me on this trip through the text is how often Hannibal is surrounded by bird imagery or likened to a bird himself. (This is mostly a literary examination of Hannibal Rising and doesn’t touch the show or movies.)

1. The Black Swans

There are three distinct scenes where black swans come to bear in Hannibal Rising. The first, most obvious one is during the opening scene, where we are introduced to the young Hannibal, then eight years old. He and his three-year-old sister Mischa are throwing bread to the birds when

“The Alpha swan came out of the water, stumping towards the children on his short legs, hissing a challenge. [...] Hannibal raised his arms to shoulder height as his father had taught him to do, his reach augmented with willow branches held in his hands. The swan stopped to consider Hannibal’s greater wingspan, and retired to the water to feed” (p. 6-7).

The second scene with swans occurs four years later, after Hannibal has been returned, orphaned now, to his childhood home, which is re-purposed as an orphanage. Again Hannibal is challenged by the alpha swan at the mote, and again he faces down its challenge; this time, however, he also acts as a shepherd, protecting the birds:

“The male swan climbed out onto the bank to challenge Hannibal [...] Hannibal raised his willow branches and the swan went back into the water. Disappointed, Fedor took a slingshot of red inner-tube rubber out of his shirt and reached into his pocket for a stone [...] The next stone Fedor shot splashed into the water beside the swimming cygnet, Hannibal raising his branches now, hissing, shooing the swans out of range” (p. 52).

However, the most revealing swan passage to me actually happens between these two milestones, during the time of the war. It describes a swan defending her mate:

“A German Panzer tank jumped a ditch and came across the meadow, firing its coaxial machine gun into the trees, coming, coming. The swan spread her winds and stood her ground over her mate even though the tank was wider than her wings, its engine as loud as her wild heart. The swan stood over her mate hissing, hitting the tank with hard blows of her wings at the last, and the tank rolled over them, oblivious, in its whirring treads a mush of flesh and feathers” (p. 20).

To me, the meaning of this last passage is clear: Hannibal is the black swan, and for all his fighting and posturing he cannot beat the war machine and what it produces (the Hiwis) nor save his family (Mischa). This passage becomes doubly interesting if you consider that the swan was trying to save her mate, and at this point (since Hannibal Rising was the last book to be written), book canon declares that Clarice Starling is Hannibal’s mate and that Clarice is taking the place of Mischa in his world. The parallelism between Clarice and Mischa is very clear: not to say that Hannibal was in any way attracted to his baby sister, but that he could not save her or have her yet he could save and have Clarice.

2. The Owl

When Inspector Popil calls on Lady Murasaki at her new apartment, Hannibal is unpacking her grandfather’s armor and

“He stood beside the crate, holding the samurai mask. He did not turn his body towards Inspector Popil, but turned his head like an owl to look at the policeman” (p. 127).

This imagery paints Hannibal as eerie, almost distinctly unhuman. At this stage in the game he is working to stay ahead of Popil in a battle of intelligence; the imagery brings to mind at once the “wise old owl” trope and an extremely keen bird of prey sensing approaching danger.

3. The Rest

There are several more instances of birds showing up in the Hannibal series. For one, Hannibal refers to Lady Murasaki as a heron rising from the water in a poem he pens for her.

For two, the sight of Paul Momud butchering a bird literally triggers Hannibal’s PTSD:

“Hannibal saw Paul then, his face smeared with blood and feathers, like the Blue-Eyed One, like the Blue-Eyed One gnawing a birdskin” (p. 93).

And of course this isn’t even touching on the most important bird of all: Starling herself. If anyone is interested I’d love to write up an examination of her next! ;-)

#hannibal rising #hannibal lecter #hannibal #the silence of the lambs #clarice starling #clannibal #close reading #thomas harris #text

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orderoftheavengers · 6 years

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Accio War Machine!

Summary: Gryffindor Prefect, turned into a merman

House: Gryffindor

Species: Merman, formerly human

Blood Status: Pureblood

Broom: Hijacked one of Tony's earlier models

Wand: Rowan, 16 inches, unicorn tail hair

Patronus: Greyhound

Specialty: Flying, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration

Sorting

"Hold the freaking phone," cries out Albus Severus Potter. "So Hawkeye, and original Avenger and Order of the Shield Agent, is in Hufflepuff, and Bucky Barnes, who joined the army and defended dweeb Rogers and held his own under torture multiple times, is also a Hufflepuff, but this generic sidekick is a Gryffindor? What's your logic on that one, Hat?"

The Sorting Hat takes a long swig from its flask of Firewhisky, and clears its throat with a long belch. "My logic, Four-Eyes, is that I sort by defining traits. Hakweye is first and foremost a family guy. Becoming a secret agent takes balls, but he's still not front of the line. He's fighting from a distance. And he's too much of a one-trick pony to be a Ravenclaw. And as for Barnes, he's too much of a freaking cinnamon roll to be anywhere but Hufflepuff. Rhodes on the other hand is first and foremost a soldier--even when there's no war going on."

Green-haired Teddy Lupin throws in, "But he's a flying soldier! He fights from a distance like Hawkeye!"

"But he doesn't get to hide like Hawkeye," the Hat argues. "He's out there in the sky, like an X-Wing pilot, and he's doing that with no special abilities sans his equipment. And if he's in the middle of a drunken civil war, he'll probably pick his side based on his chivalrous duties, rather than his personal feely loyalties. He stands up to his best friend a lot better than most people, and that's including people whose best friend isn't Tony Stark!"

Hawkeye protests, "But I stand up to my friends! ...when....when I'm part of a whole team that's standing up to another team....'kay." He quietly sits down.

"Know what I think?" Rose Potter says. "I think Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are pretty much the same house, except you put all the badasses in Gryffindor and all the fluff-potatoes in Hufflepuff."

"Well aren't you clever," the Hat snaps.

Under the hat, a patient James Rhodes asks flatly, "Can I go to my table now?"

"Yes. You're in Gryffindor. Get lost!"

"Don't mind if I do."

An Unlikely, But Very Necessary Friendship

James Rhodes came from a long line of Gryffindors and Aurors, and was more than eager to carry on the family tradition. By fifth year he was a Prefect, and, due to his superior sense of responsibility and common sense, Head of Gryffindor House (over Cap and Thor!)

Not content to simply fight with Slytherins like Harry Potter, Rhodey took on the Herculean task of befriending and talking sense into the Serpent House's most insufferable and unstable member. (Edit from Tony Stark: "T'hehe, 'member!'") Rhodey wound up becoming a Bloody Baron to Tony Stark's Peeves. As it happened, Tony already had a Gryffindor study partner named Happy Hogan, but even Happy failed to be much more of a yesman to Tony.

An Unlikely, But Very Necessary Ass-Whooping

When Tony began using his broom and wand whist intoxicated, endangering his fans, Pepper tattled to Rhodey. Rhodey, knowing that the Hogwarts adult staff was still as incompetent as it had been for the last thousand years, didn't bother alerting any teachers, and simply hopped onto a table with his wand out, declaring, "Party's over. Tony, get off you're broom, or I'll get up there and knock you off, with your other broom."

Tony slurred at his friend, “Only I can summon any of my brooms!”

Rhodey raised his wand and said flatly, “Accio War Machine.”

“Who the f*ck is War Machi--?” Tony was cut off when the end of the silver broomstick arrowed into his forehead, sending him off his own broom and against the wall.

Rhodey explained from where he hovered aboard War Machine, “I had a chat with this broom a while back, and it likes me better. It’s not a Stark Broom anymore.” "You're dead to me, Mark-2!" Tony slurred, shaking a fist at the silver, bristly traitor. Rhodey ordered calmly, "Give up, and sober up."

“F*ck you!” Tony drunkenly waved his wand at his friend. "I'll shrink that big Black broom of yours, Rhodey! Er.... what's the opposite of 'engorgio?" Rhodey dodged the spell Tony unintentionally set off, which wound up hitting Scott Lang (in ant form) and causing him to grow into an ant large enough to crash through Rosmertta's roof. Rhodey and Tony then dueled. Rhodey won, and Rosmertta threw Tony out of her bar. The two wound up making up, and Rodey felt bad to learn that Tony had thought he was dying at the time of that duel, but Tony still also had to feel bad about endangering other people's lives like that. The two completely got over the fight, and were on speaking terms again and fighting together by the end of the week. When asked what the secret to maintaining a friendship after such a violent fight, Rhodey replied, "There are several factors that come into play. Like, the ass-whooping and scolding being deserved. And leaving the ass-whopped friend in his warm castle, rather than, say, f*ck-freezin Siberia. And apologizing with your own words, instead of syrupy cliches."

"For chrissake, am I EVER gonna live that down?" Steve Rogers screamed. "We were all drunk and high and playing Quidditch with literal Idiot Balls! Galdalf's dick, I saved Vision and Wanda how many times, I called Tony Earth's best defender, and I said 'I am Steve Rogers!' WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU WANT FROM ME? And for your information, every time I shed a tear, a bald eagle DIES!" He then left the Gryffindor commonroom's lobby and made his way up to the boy's dormitory, slamming the door behind him. Cosmetic Magic

While Rhodes was normally great at standing his ground, he did occasionally let Tony talk him into drinking underage. In a drunken confession, Rhodes complained, "I want a cosmetic magic makeover. I'm sick of looking like that dumb stupid tool from 'Crash.'"

Tony nodded. "You wanna look like your own unique person."

"No, I wanna look like the badass guy from 'Crash!'"

Rhodey eventually got his wish, and was literally unrecognizable to everyone until they heard Tony call him "Rhodey." They quickly got used to the new Rhodey though, and soon found the old one waving irritably in older (wizarding) photographs, and flipping "new Rhodey" the bird.

Loss of Legs

During a fiasco Quidditch match, Rhodey took a badly-aimed and drunkenly-worded spell from none other than Vision. No one, even Vision, knows what spell the humanoid Care Bear was attempting to cast, or which one he did end up casting; only that Rhodey was irreversibly transformed into a merman. Tony fretted and angst over his BFF being unable to walk, trying on clamshell bras, combing his hair with silverware, and singing about his collection of "human stuff."

Despite all the bad blood, Rhodey was not bothered at all when Steve Rogers and others apparated into the Gryffindor commonroom. (While Rhodey had graduated, he'd already had a summer internship lined up with the Flying department.) Rhodey had been in the middle of a fireplace phone-call with Professor Thaddeus Ross, the Head and embarrassment of Gryffindor House. Ross said some angry things at the Cap, that no one remembers, because Ross is a tool who no one wastes time listening to. And Rhodey was only happy to see everyone, Cap included, because that horribly mis-managed drunken brawl didn't deserve any more continuity nods than absolutely necessary, as far as Rhodey was concerned.

King T'Challa, on the other hand, Rhodey had a wee bit of bitter sass for.

“It’s too bad I don’t know a Brother with lots of money and influence, from the most advanced wizarding country in the world, in the Mother Land, that just announced they want to share their advanced magic with the rest of the planet! It's too bad there's no king around like that, who could commission his genius little sister to help a Brother get his legs back!”

"Alas, 'tis not that simple," the king sighed."

“WHY THE F*CK NOT?"

"Alas," T'Challa sighed again, and the scene changed.

Wand, Patronus, etc.

Rhodey's wand is Rowan, a very strong European wood associated with defense against malevolent forces, and guiding the lost. Unicorns are quiet, elegant creatures associated with chivalry and royalty, known for both aiding people and whooping their asses clean off. Ditto for his Patronus, the Greyhound. The Patronus's species goes beyond the whole "loyal BFFs are dogs" and Rhodey being tall and skinny; Greyhounds are hunting dogs, that fought with and befriended royalty. They are specifically known for their speed and eyesight, which are both traits of an Air Force member Flyer.

While Slytherin Tony flies around on Gryffindor colors, Gryffindor Rhodey's broom is a greenish-silver. The two of them enjoy using each other's House colors, to f*ck with people.

A/N: But seriously, why HASN'T Black Panther helped fix Rhodey's paralysis yet?

#james rhodes #rhodey #gryffindor #hogwarts house #merman #chibi #smol #iron man #avengers #marvel #mcu #potterverse #hogwarts au

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cagedbirdsong · 7 years

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pearls, chapter three

hey guys! so i’m not even going to try to make up an excuse for why my beloved pearls hasn’t been updated in approximately seventeen centuries, but here ya go! lord knows it’s been long enough.

catch up on chapter two here!

really hope you enjoy this one! as always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated!

III. This is the Army, Mr. Jones

Four and a half weeks and Jamie Fraser had not so much as seen an airplane. The excitement (and impatience) seemed to build with each day, working him up to the point where a knot sat just below his ribcage. It dissipated overnight, his childish wonder replaced by steadily increasing disappointment.

Ian groaned across the table, rubbing at his shoulder. “At this rate, Jamie, I wonder if we should pack our bags and join up wi’ the army boys,” he grumbled around a mouthful of powdery eggs (“Get you boys used to real food!” the cook had said, laughing at their horror. “No time to scramble decent eggs when shit’s running down your leg and you’re crouched in the mud in some unnamed fucking ditch!”). Jamie gave a small grunt of agreement, eyed his own fork with distaste, and swallowed with a grimace.

“Ye think they make everyone wait this long, or are we just beyond helping?” Jamie put down his fork, one eyebrow quizzically raised, and leaned forward to rest his head on his forearms on the table. “A month and then some and I couldna even tell ye how ta open the damned cockpit.”

Ian raised a mug of stale juice in mock toast, muttering something under his breath along the lines of “at least we still have clean toothbrushes.”

But neither of them really knew how long that would last, either. First their shower privileges, then powdered eggs… next they’d be prohibited from brushing their teeth with anything other than the brush they used to polish their shoes.

Jamie began to wonder if perhaps the glorious life of a pilot was a fairytale after all.

All of his wonderings were proven false the first time they dropped him behind the wheel in the cockpit of a beat up, but still shiny Mosquito NF. He fit in the seat like he was made to be there, despite the clammy palms and nervous sweat on his brow.

“Now,” Weinstock’s voice boomed from Jamie’s left, “I trust that ye’ve all been using your time wisely and becoming accommodated with our birds.” Two months into this hellish endeavor and the first taste of what actual piloting must be like. They had first been shown a plane three weeks ago, and spent hours every day after PT and mealtime to become familiar with the layout and the way everything worked. Jamie and Ian had spent quite a fair deal of their free time on the tarmac as well, and it wasn’t something that Weinstock hadn’t noticed. Hence why Jamie was currently the first student perched inside the Mosquito’s belly, in a puddle of his own sweat and his heart hammering incessantly in his chest. He could practically feel Ian’s nervous excitement from the crew seat behind him. “-Fraser and Murray here will demonstrate that. I trust you all to pay close attention, and maybe learn a thing or two.” Jamie hadn’t even realized Weinstock was still speaking, and swallowed quickly, swiping his palms discreetly on his pants as the older man’s face appeared at the side of the cockpit.

“Captain,” Jamie greeted with a dry tongue.

The man almost smiled. “Fraser.” He turned his head to peer back at Ian. “Murray.” A moment of silence. “You boys are up for this, ain’t ya?” Jamie’s grin and Ian’s enthusiastic nod spoke for themselves. Weinstock sucked his teeth. “Mm. Thought so. Right, you’re all well and good out here, our strip boys have made sure the old girl’s not quite too old. There’s a full tank and everything out here’s all sealed up. How’s she look inside, boy?”

Jamie cleared his throat and turned to inspect the plane. All gauges set to zero. All rudder pedals and trim switches in the proper positions. Receiver unit turned on and set to the air captain’s frequency. He didn’t look back up at Weinstock when he replied. “All good, sir.”

“Good. Murray, you make sure this hothead here doesn’t do anything stupid. Keep an eye on those gauges boys, take her up too fast and you’ll be coming back down even faster. Your guns will shoot blanks, but go ahead and give her a few test shots while you’re up there, get a feel for how she flies, alright?” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before closing the hatch and banging a hand on the glass. “Start her up, Fraser.” His voice was muffled and his breath momentarily fogged the window, but Jamie couldn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face.

He took a deep breath, glanced over his right shoulder at Ian, and started the engine.

It sputtered for a moment, not quite roaring or purring to life like he had expected, and then started with a clank, the plane suddenly coming to life. The needles on the gauges jumped, the lights flashed on in unison, and the propellor kickstarted with a whir.

“Alright, Jamie,” Ian’s voice came through his headset, slightly garbled and out of time with his mouth, but steady and reassuring. “Maybe try not to bring us down prematurely?”

Jamie wanted to laugh, but just swallowed thickly and nodded instead, hands taking the yoke and guiding the nose of the plane forward and right towards the strip of asphalt they would be taking off from. In his mind, all of the formulated steps he had studied for how to take off melted away. On instinct, he pushed the yoke forward and the engine hummed in agreement, the aircraft steadily picking up speed as it bounced down along the pavement.

Towards the end of the strip, Jamie’s heart whispered a prayer - Hail Mary, full of grace - and he pulled the yoke. The plane jumped, skittered forward a few feet, and then the nose lifted and he felt the wheels lift off the ground.

And they were flying.

Ian let out a small whoop of excitement and Jamie grinned, releasing out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he looked at the dials, slowly bringing the plane up to altitude. When he leveled it off and gave the bird back its nose, she flew straight and steady, the contented rumble of the engine seeping into his bones.

The radio crackled in their headsets, and then the smiling voice of Captain Weinstock trickled through. “Well done boys, well done. Give us a loop around to the right and give those guns a fire.”

Ian answered for him, and Jamie rolled right, the wing of the plane easily dipping to carry them in a graceful arc. He moved his thumbs to the triggers on the yoke, and fired as they came out of the turn.

Ian clapped his shoulder in excitement, and Jamie’s hands momentarily trembled with nervous thrill. He gave off another few shots, and then let Ian have a go with the secondary weapons. As they turned in another wide loop, Jamie was able to look down and see the crowd of men gathered on the tarmac, many with their hands pressed to their ears, and many with their hats in their hands, waving in excitement.

Jamie grinned, and turned to meet the beaming face of his best friend.

The next few months flew by. Literally. The boys were up in the air twice a week at first, rotating flying shifts with the other recruits. When they weren’t flying, they were sitting in hot, close quartered lecture halls, listening to one of the corporals yammer on about the plane, the war, the whole bloody ordeal. The further into the training they progressed, the less Jamie seemed able to believe it. It was like sitting in a locked room, watching the chaos happen outside the window. Germans invaded Poland. France declares war…

On a cool morning in September they received the news.

“Boys, we are now at war with the Germans.” Major Hammond was pacing back and forth in front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. It was quiet enough that Jamie could have heard a pin drop. A few murmurs sounded from the back of the room, but everyone fell silent as Hammond turned to face them all. “We expect it won’t be long before the Americans follow suit. Looks like we’ll be having another world war.” A hush fell over the room, broken only by the harsh sound of someone breathing. “You best see your assigned officers, find out where you’ll all be headed.”

Hammond wrung his hat between his hands, and looked at each and every one of them as his eyes passed over the crowd. “Good luck to you, men. And may God have mercy on your souls.”

Continue reading here...

#cagedbirdsong #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #a string of pearls #outlander #pearls chapter three #this is the army mr jones #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie x claire #my writing

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mercedesbarnes · 7 years

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The Five Things You Know, and the One You Don’t

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2567

A/N: back for round twoooo…..I feel like we all need some Bucky fluff right now

“Dammit!”

You lost your second out of four lives in this Nerf war, thanks to someone—someone most likely named Steve. He’s a sneaky one. It’s pouring outside and nobody was in the mood to do anything productive, naturally the first suggestion had been a Nerf war.

“Y/N, you will be avenged!”

Pietro vaults over the couch, very action movie-esque, which would have been impressive if he hadn’t been shot right after.

“Oh. Sorry, I’m out,” he sighs.

“It’s okay, I appreciate the backup,” you say, sending your teammate a smile. By your count, it was only Bucky and you left on your team, versus Steve, Sam and Wanda on the other. You weren’t sure how many lives each of them had, but you all promised to be honest.

“Y/N,” Bucky hisses. He waves his Nerf gun in a complicated circle.

“What?”

“Shh!”

If there was a way to see your face, it would read ‘???’. A floorboard creaks behind you, and Bucky grabs your wrist and covers you until you’re safely behind the bar. A spark runs down your forearm but you attribute it to your socks shuffling on the carpet.

He turns to you. “Didn’t I tell you the code?”

“No, it looked like random flailing—“ You raise your gun over the bar and shoot Wanda.

She slouches. “How’d you know?”

You point behind Bucky. “The floating red stuff around the bullet about to hit him gave you away. How many more lives?”

“None.” She lowers her voice. “Sam’s got one more, but Steve’s got all four. Hurry, this game’s gone on long enough.”

Bucky mumbles ‘Steve’ under his breath and rises to go hunt for his best friend. It’s a good match, Bucky has all his lives too. Sam is yours. You tiptoe around the floor searching for any place that might house Sam.

“Oh, Bird Man,” you coo, knowing the nickname riles him up, “come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Just as you suspected: a poof from a gun misses your elbow. Bending down to pick up the foam bullet, you smile. Based on the trajectory, Sam was hiding behind the bookshelf. Quietly, you sneak up on him and bombard him with foam before he can retaliate. Good ol’ physics, who knew it actually comes in handy?

You feel the spark again the next morning while getting your coffee, but this time you’re nowhere near a carpet.

“There’s my partner in crime!” Bucky announces when he sees you, “Have I told you about her?”

“Multiple times,” Sam says, clearly miffed, he’s swirling his tea bag more than usual.

“I’ll tell you again. She kicked ass.”

“Is this coffee bitter, Sam?” You took a sip. “No. It must be you.”

Bucky throws an arm around your shoulders. His touch burns where your tank top can’t cover, and you have to concentrate on breathing properly. It’s like you had just come back from a run, your breath is completely knocked out of your lungs. Bucky’s holding onto you so his legs don’t give out from under him from the speechless look on Sam’s face; he’s laughing and declaring that you made his day.

First; he touches you and you light on fire. Your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. The burns don’t show, but it’s hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. It’s so hard to breathe. You’re suffocating daily.

“What’s up with you?” Nat asks, “I was talking to you and you zoned out.”

“She’s drooling over Barnes,” Wanda replies, nudging you lightheartedly. You confessed to your crush on Bucky at the weekly girls lunch. Wanda wasn’t surprised.

“Yes, Bucky is over there, and yes, I happen to be staring in that direction, but I wouldn’t call it drooling.”

“You’re so smitten! Y/N, I can see it even without my powers.”

“He doesn’t know, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

Bucky’s on the patio, settling in a chair to play cards with Steve and Pietro. You were staring at him, more specifically at his chest, since he had just emerged from the pool. Each droplet of water was having the time of its life trying to find its way through the maze of muscle definition, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away. You’re starting to get hot and bothered imagining your fingers as the droplets.

“Hey,” Nat murmurs.

She jerks her chin at the guys. Bucky is waving at you to come over and greets you warmly when the three of you pull up seats at the table and Pietro deals you into a game of blackjack. You’re sitting two seats away from Bucky; here he’s barely a head tilt from being in your immediate vision, and you have a full view of the six—no, eight pack. Yikes.

You don’t want to get caught staring, but you can’t not stare. Cruelly, the universe dips the sun lower in the sky, and its rays spill on Bucky like a goddamn spotlight.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you swear under your breath.

“Bad cards, Y/N?” Nat asks, and you jump on her excuse, nodding. You notice her subtly pointing down to her abdomen, then up at her face. It’s a silent way of saying, ‘his eyes are up there.’

Bucky stretches to grab his towel, and you can feel yourself blushing when his muscles twist and contract. At the same time, Pietro makes a joke and Bucky’s smiling in that cute way where his nose scrunches. It’s too much too much–

You put on your sunglasses.

Second; it hurts to watch him. He shines. He’s brighter than the sun, he’s too beautiful for your eyes. It’s hard to look at him. It’s even harder to look away from him. You’re going blind.

Two days later, you’re sitting on a bar stool tugging at the hem of your dress. Nat swears it makes your legs look a mile long when you walk, but you’re tired of standing and are in dire need of a drink. Preferably something strong.

“Tony, is your floor strong enough to handle this many people? I’m genuinely concerned,” you ask when Tony whizzes by, his arm around Happy Hogan, who is looking a little too happy. You have to duck when he tries to hug you, claiming you’re too pretty to be sitting on the sidelines.

“Yeah, I designed it, it’ll even withstand Banner if someone pokes him. Stark guarantee.”

“Come dance with me!”

“I’m okay here, Hogan, but next party, alright?”

Tony chuckles and guides his tipsy friend over to a couch. Once he’s sure Hogan has a water bottle to sober up with, Tony hops on stage. “Introducing our entertainment for this evening!”

“Here’s your vodka cranberry.” The bartender hands you a glass as a gorgeous woman walks up to the microphone.

You thank him and take a few sips listening to the woman singing a slow ballad. You scan the crowd, looking to see if Hogan likes the music, but then you see him. It’s common knowledge that if you are looking at someone you can hear their voice better, though with you it’s like your ears are always plugged in to the Bucky Barnes Radio Show.

“Stevie, when do these things end?”

“Late, Buck. Around two.”

“In the morning?!”

You want to unplug the microphone so you can hear Bucky better, his baritone voice is heaven to your ears. As the singer hits an impossibly high note, you wonder why people are clapping, impressed. Why is anyone listening to this, this noise when he’s speaking?

Struck with a sudden idea, you down the last of your drink and weave your way around the mesmerized guests. You squeeze past two middle-aged men—who, if you’re not mistaken, invented Google; they’re probably smart as hell, but they seem to like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, so you can’t give them too much credit—and find yourself behind the two supersoldiers. You poke the brunet’s bicep.

His bored face lights up at the sight of you.

“Y/N!”

“Hey, Bucky? Want to go play Monopoly?”

His reply was instantaneous. “Yes, absolutely. I’d love to play Monopoly with you. Bye Steve.”

“Bucky no—“

Bucky takes your hand and you’re around the corner before Steve can finish.

“You’re the best, Y/N,” he says, and the butterflies in your stomach flap their wings to the rhythm of his words. “I was dying in there.”

“I know the feeling.”

An hour later, you’re losing. Badly. Despite being from the 40s, Bucky is annoyingly good at real estate. You count forward three spots and land on Boardwalk, one of his properties. Slowly, hoping he’s not paying attention, you move your piece four spots, bypassing the danger of triple hotels.

“No, no, that’s four, not three!”

“Did I roll a three?”

“You did.”

You cover the die nonchalantly. “No, I didn’t.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and suddenly it’s a war, he’s trying to pull your hand up, and you’re trying to keep it down. To nobody’s surprise, he wins, and the number three is revealed.

“Mwahaha,” he grabs at the last of your pitiful money pile, throwing the coloured bills up in the air. “You’re bankrupt!”

The floor-to-ceiling windows around you show the stars, twinkling magnificently bright in the clear night sky. But Bucky’s singing We Are The Champions and he’s messing up the lyrics and he’s completely off-key and you’re positive it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Third; your ears are tuned to his voice. You could pick him out in a sea of thousands. His voice makes pretty singers who sing pretty songs sound dull. His voice makes everything else ugly.

Bucky’s eyes should be a crayon colour, you decide.

He has a habit. Whenever anyone says something ridiculous, Bucky looks to you like you’re the camera in The Office. And when they say a ridiculous paragraph, he widens his eyes in disbelief, pursing his lips to avoid cracking a smile. This happens a lot when Steve’s feeling particularly adventurous. It’s in these moments where time seems to slow, and you wish it would stop completely so you can study his eyes longer. Bucky has a myriad of blue that swirls to create a whirlpool of taunting winks and irritated smirks. The wrinkled smile lines and long, dark eyelashes accentuate it perfectly.

After all, if you email Crayola, you better have a description.

Your favourite shade is when he scrunches them up from laughing. They’re so blue they literally glow, as if they repel light instead of absorbing it. You’re rooted to your spot when this happens. Like you’re on a ship, and those eyes, blue like an ocean sea, are begging you to set sail with them, to cast your doubts away and leave the mainland behind.

You’re writing this fantasy into your journal when you realize how deep you are: you’re not on the ship anymore.

Fourth; the color of his eyes is blue enough to drown in. He is turning you into a cliched love-wrecked being. You’re drowning, always sinking. Down, down, down.

Screaming wakes you from sleep. Throwing off your covers, you don’t have to follow the heartbreaking sounds to know they are coming from Bucky’s room. When you knock, you find that the door opens at your touch.

“Bucky?”

Bucky is thrashing in his bed, the covers pushed down at his feet, the sheets underneath him dark. Your eyes rake over his anguished face; he’s sweating, and fighting some sort of invisible monster. Recently you’ve been helping him with his nightmares and you can tell, it’s a bad one tonight.

You climb onto the mattress and nudge him gently. “Bucky, wake up.” Nothing happens, so you shake him harder then duck as his metal fist flies at your head. It hits the wall with a sickening crunch, and this is what wakes Bucky up. He sits up, gasping.

“Y/N? Oh my god.” He reaches out like he wants to lift you up from your flattened position, but before he does, he sees the dent in the wall and recoils. The anguish turns to horror, and you can’t tell which one is worse.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

You take his hands from behind his back and intertwine your fingers. You push his chin up so he meets your eyes.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.”

“I nearly hurt you.”

“The key word here is nearly,” you soothe, “Let’s get you into new clothes.”

You slip over to his wardrobe and open his drawers to find another shirt. When you turn around, Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

He’s in pain, and you feel it too. You are also angry, angry at the world, because they victimized him; angry at Hydra, because they caused Bucky to feel this way. You want to track down each and every person who hurt him and rip them apart in increasingly creative ways, but you settle for collecting Bucky in your arms and wiping away his tears.

During your nights with him he’s confided in you the process of getting over his guilt and the fears that still haunt him. It didn’t happen right away, oh no, it took time to show him you would stay no matter what. Knowing Bucky, truly, bad and good, past and present, it could never push you away. Nothing could. You’re here for the long haul.

You’re lying on your back when he calms enough to fall asleep. Bucky’s torso is on top of yours, hugging you, and his face is angled so you can feel his breaths on your skin; you’re satisfied when you confirm they’re even. Playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, you glare at the ceiling like it’s going to come attack Bucky too.

“No more. Don’t try anything. Or else you have me to deal with,” you growl to the world.

You’ll fiercely protect this man with everything you have, with every word, every muscle, every breath. Adjusting your hold on his back, you match your exhales to Bucky’s and drift off, mentally making a note to take him to the zoo soon. He loves feeding the penguins.

Fifth; you know him. You love him. Through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars, you’d find him. You’d never leave. You love him. Till death do you part.

Bucky wakes to a rhythmic beating sound.

Opening his eyes, he sees he’s lying on you, over your heart, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards. Bucky recalls last night. Not the nightmare, no, because you chased it away—he remembers you. You being here for him, you saying the words of affirmation he so badly needed to hear to calm down, they further solidified the place he had carved for you to be forever in his life. He was so nervous and scared that you’d leave once you saw what he was capable of, but you stayed, and here you are.

On an impulse, he kisses your temple and you smile in your sleep. You’re so beautiful, he thinks.

Bucky watches your eyes move under their lids, and he wonders of what you’re dreaming. Hopefully it’s something good. You deserve it; you deserve the world, in his mind.

The sun is not yet up, so he relaxes again. He’s so comfortable and you’re so lovely, Bucky never wants to move. Your heart, with every beat, pumps into him more peace, and more clarity.

Bucky’s sure of one thing. It’s the one thing you don’t know.

Sixth; he loves you, too.

{insp}

still new, still small, still really love you all

@fxckmebuck @buckyywiththegoodhair @avengerofyourheart @bovaria@wndas-romanoff@thejamesoldier @caplanbuckybarnes @papi-chulo-bucky @buckybarnesismypreciousplum@redgillan @seeyainanotherlifebrotha @langinator @secondstartotheright-imagines

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vbutterflyeffect · 7 years

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Bird Brains elect first President - Trump-Pence- Bannon Regime - Homophobia and Islamophobia used to provoke a religious war and Constitutional Convention crisis

"...But Franklin’s bombastic extremism is markedly different from his father’s diplomatic spirituality. ..."

Source: Franklin Graham Wants to Be the Next Billy Graham: He’s not even close. - http://www.slate.com/articles/life/faithbased/2016/02/franklin_graham_wants_to_be_the_next_billy_graham_he_s_not_even_close.html

"... “Prepare diligently to inflict crippling losses on those who have disbelieved,” Hamza bin Laden, scion of the Sept. 11, 2001, mastermind, says in a thin baritone that eerily echoes his father. “Follow in the footsteps of martyrdom-seekers before you.” ..."

Source: Bin Laden’s Son Steps into Father’s Shoes as al-Qaeda Attempts a Comeback - https://english.aawsat.com/mwarrick/world-news/bin-ladens-son-steps-fathers-shoes-al-qaeda-attempts-comeback

"...It was at a campaign rally in August that President Trump most fully unveiled the dark vision of an America under siege by “radical Islam” that is now radically reshaping the policies of the United States. ..."

"... Mr. Trump was echoing a strain of anti-Islamic theorizing familiar to anyone who has been immersed in security and counterterrorism debates over the last 20 years. He has embraced a deeply suspicious view of Islam that several of his aides have promoted, notably retired Lt. Gen. Michael T. Flynn, now his national security adviser, and Stephen K. Bannon, the president’s top strategist. This worldview borrows from the “clash of civilizations” thesis of the political scientist Samuel P. Huntington, and combines straightforward warnings Saabout extremist violence with broad-brush critiques of Islam. It sometimes conflates terrorist groups like Al Qaeda and the Islamic State with largely nonviolent groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood and its offshoots and, at times, with the 1.7 billion Muslims around the world. In its more extreme forms, this view promotes conspiracies about government infiltration and the danger that Shariah, the legal code of Islam, may take over in the United States. ..."

"... Those espousing such views present Islam as an inherently hostile ideology whose adherents are enemies of Christianity and Judaism and seek to conquer nonbelievers either by violence or through a sort of stealthy brainwashing. The executive order on immigration that Mr. Trump signed on Friday might be viewed as the first major victory for this geopolital school. ..."

"... Rejected by most serious scholars of religion and shunned by Presidents George W. Bush and Barack Obama, this dark view of Islam has nonetheless flourished on the fringes of the American right since before the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. With Mr. Trump’s election, it has now moved to the center of American decision-making on security and law, alarming many Muslims. ..."

"... “They’re tapping into the climate of fear and suspicion since 9/11,” said Asma Afsaruddin, a professor of Islamic studies at Indiana University and chairwoman of the Center for the Study of Islam and Democracy. “It’s a master narrative that pits the Muslim world against the West,” appealing to Trump supporters who know nothing of Muslims or Islam beyond news reports of terrorist attacks, she said. ..."

"...Others with similar views of Islam include Sebastian Gorka, who taught at the National Defense University and is a deputy national security adviser. Mr. Gorka’s wife, Katharine, who headed think tanks that focused on the dangers of Islam, now works at the Department of Homeland Security. Tera Dahl, who was an aide to former Representative Michele Bachmann, Republican of Minnesota, is a National Security Council official. Walid Phares, a Lebanese American Christian who has advised politicians on counterterrorism, advised Mr. Trump’s campaign but does not currently have a government post. All four have written for Breitbart News, the right-wing website previously run by Mr. Bannon. They all reflect the hard-line opinions of what some have described as the Islamophobia industry, a network of researchers who have warned for many years of the dangers of Islam and were thrilled by Mr. Trump’s election. ..."

"... Among the most outspoken of those warning about Islam are Pamela Geller, of Stop Islamization of America, Robert Spencer, of Jihad Watch, and Frank Gaffney Jr., of the Center for Security Policy. All three were hosted by Mr. Bannon on his Breitbart radio program before he became chief executive of the Trump campaign in August. Mr. GaffnDEVOSey appeared at least 34 times. His work has often been cited in speeches by Mr. Flynn. Kellyanne Conway, now counselor to Mr. Trump, did polling for Mr. Gaffney’s center. Last year, the center gave Senator Jeff Sessions, who has warned of the “totalitarian threat” posed by radical Islam and is Mr. Trump’s nominee for attorney general, its annual “Keeper of the Flame” award. ..."

"...The day after the election, Mr. Gaffney told the Breitbart radio show how pleased he was with Mr. Trump’s win. “It is a great blessing literally from God, but also I think obviously from the candidate himself, Donald Trump,” he said. He praised the “superb people” around Mr. Trump, naming Mr. Bannon and Mr. Flynn, who he said “are actually going to lead us to saving the Republic.” ..."

Source: Trump Pushes Dark View of Islam to Center of U.S. Policy-Making - https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/01/us/politics/donald-trump-islam.html

"... Mr. Gorka came out swinging again on Thursday, after Mr. Trump’s contentious news conference in which he excoriated the media. Asked by Evan Davis of the BBC to assess Mr. Trump’s appearance, Mr. Gorka repeatedly declared the president’s performance “fabulous.” ..."

"... He has appeared in a number of television and radio interviews as a representative of the Trump administration and a member of a White House team called the Strategic Initiatives Group. The Daily Beast called it a think tank within the White House that was set up by Mr. Bannon and the president’s son-in-law and senior adviser, Jared Kushner. ..."

"...This month, Mr. Gorka told CNN that the group would bring private industry expertise to bear on a range of issues, including cybersecurity, veterans affairs and the modernization of government technological systems. ..."

Source: Who Is Sebastian Gorka? A Trump Adviser Comes Out of the Shadows - https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/17/us/politics/dr-sebastian-gorka.html?_r=0

"... In the decade since earning his doctorate, Sebastian has vaulted into the heart of the American national-security apparatus. At the White House, Gorka — who was born in Britain and became a U.S. citizen in 2012 — is a deputy assistant to the president. He reports to strategist Steve Bannon and includes the Strategic Initiatives Group, Bannon’s in-house think tank, in his email signature. ..."

"... That appointment, which includes a portfolio focusing on terrorism and national security, has befuddled mainstream counterterrorism experts, who recognize Gorka from his Fox News appearances but not as an influential thinker. ..."

"... Retired Col. Peter Mansoor, a former top aide to Gen. David Petraeus in Iraq who helped rewrite the Army’s counterinsurgency manual, also said he’s never crossed paths with Gorka. “What I've heard has not been complimentary,” added Mansoor, who now teaches at Ohio State University and remains active in military circles. ..."

"... The Gorkas are also strong believers in changing official U.S. government rhetoric to include the phrase “radical Islamic terrorism,” which Obama, and George W. Bush before him, shunned. “We are prepared to be honest about the threat. We're not going to white it out, delete it as the Obama administration did,” Sebastian Gorka told NPR last month. In November, the Council on American-Islamic Relations described the views of both Gorkas as “Islamophobic.” ..."

Source: The husband-and-wife team driving Trump's national security policy: Before they became a Trump administration power couple, Sebastian and Katharine Gorka were prolific collaborators on research about the threat of Islamist terrorism. - http://www.politico.com/story/2017/02/trump-national-security-gorka-234950

"... A recent addition to Donald Trump’s White House team is quickly becoming the new face of the administration’s foreign policy shop: Deputy Assistant to the President Sebastian Gorka. Gorka, who formally joined the administration in late January and previously served as an editor at Breitbart News, has been deployed across the cable networks and airwaves... ..."

"... In all of his appearances, Gorka communicated a singular message: the Trump White House is taking a 180-degree pivot away from Barack Obama’s foreign policy. “There is a new sheriff in town,” Gorka told Fox’s Sean Hannity. ..."

"...Like Trump, Gorka’s talking points are long on “America first” rhetoric and short on details about how the new administration’s policies will be implemented—everything remains on the table. ..."

"...Gorka declined to say whether Trump believed Islam was a religion in a Friday interview with NPR's “Morning Edition.” He went on to argue that the new administration’s overarching focus was targeting “radical Islam” as an ideology. ..."

"... “We understand that groups like ISIS have a religious verbiage, their justification for violence is always religion.” ..."

Source: Breitbart Staffer Turned Trump Aide Is Posterboy For New Admin’s Nationalism - http://talkingpointsmemo.com/dc/sebastian-gorka-public-face-donald-trump-foreign-policy

"...Dr. Sebastian Gorka, former national security editor at Breitbart News and newly hired deputy assistant to President Donald Trump, has called himself an “expert witness” in the trial of Boston Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev for years, but never took the witness stand. ..."

Source: 'Expert Witness' Sebastian Gorka Never Testified in Boston Marathon Bombing Trial - http://www.bostonmagazine.com/news/blog/2017/02/14/sebastian-gorka-boston-marathon-bombing-expert-witness/

"...is the San Antonio chapter president of ACT for America, an organization that brands itself as “the nation’s largest grass-roots national security advocacy organization” and attacks what it sees as the creeping threat of sharia, or Islamic law, in the form of Muslim organizations, mosques, refugees and sympathetic politicians. ..."

"...“We are on the verge of playing the most pivotal role in reversing the significant damage that has been done to our nation’s security and well-being over the past eight years,” ACT’s founder, Brigitte Gabriel, wrote in a December solicitation for donations. Stephen K. Bannon, the former executive chairman of Breitbart who has described Muslim American groups as “cultural jihadists” bent on destroying American society, is Trump’s chief strategist. Breitbart has published several articles Gabriel has written. Trump’s CIA director, Mike Pompeo, has spoken at ACT’s conferences and sponsored an ACT meeting at the Capitol last year. Retired Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn, who sits on ACT’s board of advisers, served as the president’s national security adviser before stepping down after revelations that he might have violated the law in communications with a Russian diplomat. ..."

Source: This group believes Islam threatens America: ‘It’s a spiritupolal battle of good and evil.’ - https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/this-group-believes-islam-threatens-america-its-a-spiritual-battle-of-good-and-evil/2017/02/16/3e5108c2-ed57-11e6-9662-6eedf1627882_story.html?utm_term=.d00401ab5514

More Birds Brains elect First President political cartoon series at http://vbutterflyeffect.imgur.com/

#donald trump #steven bannon #mike pence #Franklin Graham #hamza bin laden #GOP #robert mercer #bird brains #Election 2016 #vbutterflyeffect #Sebastian Gorka #katherine gorka #rebekah mercer #politics #political cartoon

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