#white lipped python prophecies

[quornesha]

White Lipped Python Prophecy And Symbolism

The Following Channel is from higher powers, Divine, the ancestral plane and is prophetic through Quornesha S. Lemon|

Whether the White Lipped Python appears in dreams, visions, waking life or synchronicities, it is a sign and message that It’s payback time for those with the initials Q Through E, first name only . It’s going in this order for a reason rather than a-z. This snake is symbolic of Real estate, those without a license, who may have felt segregated or ostracized from the industry they're in. Real estate, specifically but can also be in other industries. The White Lipped Python is symbolic of a restate, finally your name coming up. A shift, Stability, and prosperity.

This season this release is for those who weren't able to win, they had the odds stacked against them. They were anointed and appointed all along. But they helped people when they had nothing. Empowered those who never empowered them. This is not for people who have a degree. This season is for those of us who could only afford the certificate. Those who had qualifications taken from them without cause. This is not for people who are materialistic and only out for appearances. But those who will regulate the economy in a conscious way. 

This season, it's time to win. It's time to rise, this isn't for the wicked, those that gatekept success for themselves. Blocked others from being able to rise. The ladder is being passed to you, who've been hidden. those that kept you in the dark. Now, they'll have to wait decades, for another turn. 

This will be something special and much better than a skyrocket during a pandemic. This season, the righteous will see the promised land . This is not for the already thriving. People who've been in top1-10% for years. But this is for those who have had nothing. Who've practically been in the desert. In the wilderness. You've had losses stacked against you. An angry raging spirit against you for years. Now, peace, beauty and a rising from the ashes is now. Today, is here. Soon is here. I release right now, keys into your hands. You will do real estate for decades. This will be a family legacy. You will be a living legend. 

For those who were gatekept from buying a home or selling one, it's your turn. Those who have been disqualified before. Suddenly become qualified. From renter to home owner. I see gold. Bricks of gold being in your hands. Paper money and coins. Get your blessing. The blessing of Abraham is here. The releasement of Abraham. No longer will you be called Abram, but Abraham. If you break down Abram, it says a b ram. He was destined to make a sacrifice but the A stand's for Allah/appointed, and b stands for breakthrough and ram stands for the sacrifice. Ham means you're getting ready to eat good for the rest of your life. No more struggle no more poverty. You're getting ready to receive the big payback.

For every enemy that tries to cut you down in this season, 10,000 more good things will rise. Your best days are here. Your best days yet, are here, now. God will tire out the enemy. No weapon formed against you will prosper. You will be like bamboo, no matter what they do, you'll make an instant comeback. Raising seconds, after they did what they did to you.

You may not have an office but the officiating is coming. Your appointed time is now. You're about to shake hands with destiny. and the devil gone help. The building is coming. The architects are coming, the team is coming. Those who are your destiny helpers are locating you now. You are their alpha after God. Don't be upset or fearful that this message comes in the form of a serpent. For as my late father used to say be wise as serpents but humble as doves. All things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. Jehovah Sabaoth Lord of angel armies, I receive, and declare this releasement upon my life. I initiate myself into alignment with this word. It is signed and sealed. and I am, that I am, delivered.

This message isn't, obviously resonant with all whose paths it crosses, as perhaps you may encounter someone of this vernacular, mastery or skill. Therefore, it is a sign from the universe that you're meant to work with such a person. 

Need further clarity or your own queries answered? Book your own reading as my schedule is full and I do not guarantee a reply on social media regarding this post.

If this is not you, then it is time to get clear to rejoin your tribe or the rest of the world of infinite beings. It's time to bring your light to the forefront. However, if you aren't able to invoke, heal or otherwise on your own, call on the assistance of shamans, healers, intuitive people, etc. to assist you. This synchronicity can possibly have specific meanings for you, it's time to get insight. 

The Gift that Quornesha Has can never be duplicated, She is a Shaman, Writer, Healer,  And Teacher with incredible prophetic/healing gifts. Please do not infringe upon her rights as the author. You are not permitted to reuse, nor are you to sale as you wish. This information has been made available to you for the purpose of introduction and demonstration. All rights reserved. If you'd like to use this in a magazine, online publication, or other, please ask for permission first. Legal actions will be taken if you proceed to impose. Be blessed, bless others and be at peace on your journey. What you do is coming back on you. Make sure that it is good, and all is well within you, through you and around you.  The source sees all and knows what you think it does not. 

[jungkookiebus]

A Sacrifice in the Temple of Apollo | kth

Credit for the gif here since the gif search wanted to be difficult.

Genre: mythology, GreekGod!au, smut Pairing: Apollo!Taehyung x mortal!reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: mentions of sacrifices to gods (non-graphic), semi-exhibitionism (you’ll see lol), cunnilingus, use of alcohol, intense finger fucking, sex in a religious space Summary: With your village ravaged by famine and plague; crops, livestock, and people are dying. The Temple of Apollo is just up the mountain and sacrifices have been left to no avail. You try to beseech the god yourself and get more than you bargained for.

The day was overcast as you climbed the mountain. Rain drizzled down on you, blanketing your hair and clothes until you were uncomfortable but not quite soaked. Shivering, you trudged forward up the roughly hewn stone steps ignoring the fact that the sandals you had on were too thin for this endeavor. You were desperate and willing to try anything. Below you, your village lay quiet, unnaturally so for this time of year. A sickness had spread through the people, crops, and livestock; effectively killing hundreds in its wake. It had taken your brother months ago. Your mother fell into a depression and your father’s barley crops had withered and died before they could even be harvested. The village was dark, bleak, and lifeless. People milled about in the market as if in a daze, children were starving, men were dying in the roads, and there was no one around to help you. Tears streamed down your face as the steps evened out, got more precise, as you grew closer. The trees in the forest thinned the higher you got. A column towered to your right, holding nothing, but there was a marker showing you that you were getting closer. The Temple of Apollo had been erected here many, many years ago; before you were even born. The steps were strewn with flowers, bug eaten bread, wine, and many other offerings as you climbed the final steps to the temple. Despite the collective effort of the village to offer Apollo the last of their food or drachma, nothing had changed. So, you were here to beg the god to listen. In your bag, you had the finest bottle of wine from your mother’s storeroom and a few coins jingled against the glass. The large, marble temple towered above you. Inside, oil lamps burned dimly, kept up by various villagers afraid to anger the gods further. The statue of Apollo stood, foreboding and intimidating, in the dim light. Expensive rugs, food, goblets, coins, and other various offerings littered the floor at his feet. Inside, it was quiet, eerie, save for the rain now falling harder outside. You looked behind you to see it like a grey wall, coming straight down with no inclination of slowing down. Water dripped from your clothes and your feet blistered in your sandals.

“Apollo,” you whispered, afraid to hear your own voice in the vastness of the temple. You coughed a little as you spoke again. “Apollo. I come here to plead with you. I know many have come before me, begging with you to have mercy on our village. I am sorry I have not come myself, but I am here now to ask for your help. Our crops and people are dying from this strange illness. Never have I heard of both being endangered at once, but please I’ve already lost my brother…”

Your voice caught in your throat; devastation washed over you as you thought about the loss.

The temple was just as quiet as when you walked in.

Then a raven’s call broke the silence. You jumped, turning around to see a raven fly through the sheet of rain, into the temple, and onto the outstretched arm of Apollo. Something brushed against the side of your foot and you looked down to see a thick, long python slithering next to you. Screaming, you fell back on the marble floor, bag landing in your lap as the snake ignored you and lithely slid amongst the offerings to the base of Apollo’s feet where it curled up and settled in as if he belonged there. Both the raven and the snake seemed to be watching the entrance of the temple behind you, unmoving as they looked.

Slowly, you turned your head. Your entire body shook with fear and cold as you breathed heavily, a soft cloud escaping your lips as the temperature dropped. The hair along your neck and arms stood on end as the air became charged and you chocked it up to the storm, but this felt different. The electricity coursing through the air wasn’t any you had felt before. Your chest felt tight and you willed yourself to breathe, but you were afraid that if you did, whatever was causing this would find you.

You looked through the driving rain and saw nothing. Squinting, you looked a little harder. The vague shape of a human was coming up the steps on the mountain. They walked smoothly, but slowly up the steps; in no rush to get out of the pouring rain. The closer they drew, the more you could make the outline of a man, much taller it seemed than the men in the village. Another raven emerged from the rain behind him, calling out as it whipped past his head within centimeters, but he neither ducked out of the way nor cried out as it flew past. It flew into the temple and perched next to the first. You only watched them for a second before you turned back towards the man, closer now as he started to navigate the offerings laid out and ruined on the steps. Your chest burned hotter and hotter as your lungs constricted, too afraid to breathe or move. He stepped through the rain and into the balmy, wet cavern of the temple, completely dry. His tousled, curly hair fell past his eyes and the dark strands kissed the back of his neck softly. His skin was dark and warm. Your breath was taken away as you looked at him. Smooth, unmarred skin disappeared under the soft white tunic that was made of a material you had never seen before. His brown eyes sparkled in the lamp light as he looked down at you. He seemed larger than life inside the temple, completely out of place yet strangely at home within the surroundings. He turned to survey the offerings, smiling as the saw the snake and ravens, before he turned to you and held out his hand. Your back was still to him as you sat frozen, head turned and looking at him. He gestured towards you more emphatically as if you were supposed to know what he wanted. His eyes widened as he looked at you in exasperation and pointed to your bag. Slowly, you swiveled around and with shaking hands opened the bag and pulled the wine from it. Mirth filled his eyes and a wide smile broke out across his face. You felt the warmth from his smile and his skin as he leaned closer to you in order to grab the bottle. Snatching up a goblet close by, he easily popped the cork out with his teeth, spit it to the side, and began pouring. He swirled the wine a little before bringing it to his lips and sipping lightly. He seemed to be in thought as he let the taste roll around on his tongue for a second.

“Tell your mother her wine is excellent,” he said turning his attention to you. “She can use her wine to play kottabos.”

You wanted your mouth to form words but all you could do was stutter as you struggled to think. He turned his head to look around the temple and that was when you saw the laurel wreath nestled in his curls. Some of the leaves looked as if they were freshly grown while some were a solid, thin gold.

“Are you…?” you finally were able to mutter.

He got down on one knee in front of you, forearm rested across it as he leaned into you. He smelled sickly sweet and a little like rain, even though he was completely dry. He stared into your eyes searchingly before his gaze directed to the large statue behind you. One of the ravens gave a single cry as you watched his eyes rake down the statue, past the snake, and back at you.

“Doesn’t really look like me, but I appreciate the effort.”

Could Apollo be right in front of you right now? Or were you so desperate for help that you were hallucinating?

“How do I know it’s you?” you clutched your bag tightly against you.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and then furrowed as if caught off guard. Surely no mortal meeting a god had questioned their validity before? He let out a low whistle that blew the sweet smell of wine across your face. His eyes flitted to point behind you and once again you were slowly turning your head, unsure of how to prepare yourself for whatever phantom you were about to see. A young girl stepped out from behind the statue and stood next to the python. Beautiful blue robes laid across her shoulders and pooled past her feet. Ornate gold threading depicted Apollo receiving his golden bow and arrows from his father Zeus. Her eyes were as white as milk, but she looked at him as if she could see everything in the room.

“That,” he said pointing to the woman who was as still as a statute, “is the Pythia, Oracle of Delphi.”

Her face was impassive as you looked at her, the soft glow of the lamps lit her features. Her hair was softly braided, thrown over her shoulder, and golden thread was woven within the strands.

“What day is it?”

“Seventh day of the month and the number of Apollo,” he said winking at you. “The only day the Pythia will give prophecy.”

“Can she help us? Can…you help us?” You threw all caution to the wind as you chose to believe the man claiming to be Apollo himself.

“Of course, I can help you,” he said running his finger along your jawline before cupping your chin. He leaned your head back a little as he brought the goblet to your lips. “Now drink, my little bird.”

The familiar taste of your mother’s wine washed into your mouth as you drank, but there seemed to be something different; a taste foreign to your tongue. The tepid liquid ran down your throat and the strange taste seemed to coat it. Your vision blurred a little and your mind buzzed as if you were instantly drunk, but something within you lit like a flame. He smiled when he saw the look in your eyes change and pulled the bag from your lap, ignoring the coins as they clinked together inside. Leaning in close, he pressed his mouth against yours and the heat inside of you seemed fueled by the kiss as it burned hotter. He pulled away, eyes not leaving your swollen lips as his chest rose swiftly.

“You look so much like her…,” he said wistfully as his thumb brushed your bottom lip.

You shivered again from his touch as he placed his open palm against your neck. Heat radiated from him like the sun on a summer day and he seemed to shine just as bright in the dark temple. The flames from the oil lamps created flickering shadows on the walls. The statue shown even bigger and more intimidating in shadow with the two ravens still perched on the arm. His other hand came up to your face as he knelt in front of you, hooded eyes surveying every inch of your face.

“Wine kissed lips,” he whispered, head tilting in thought as he ran his thumbs over your features, “eyes as clear as the sea, skin kissed by Helios, and a face fit for the gods.”

The heat between you grew and amplified, filling every corner of the temple. The fires in the lamps dulled a little and soon the whole room glowed softly and you saw the flames perfectly in his eyes. Swiftly, he grabbed you by the waist and was sitting with you perched on his lap facing him within seconds. The Oracle still stood behind him, eyes distant as she stared out of the door of the temple, unmoving.

“She couldn’t love me,” he continued, “but you can.”

His lips were on your neck as he pulled you closer to him, hands tangling in your hair. He seemed desperate to be closer to you in every way and his breath quickened with each kiss.

Daphne. Eros had shot Apollo and made him fall in love with a nymph. That was who he was talking about; the nymph who turned herself into a laurel tree to escape him. Now that he was here in front of you, you weren’t sure why she would ever want to do that.

“Can you love me?” he asked breathlessly between kisses to your neck, shoulder, and face. He didn’t give you time to answer before his lips were on yours again, pushing your robe from your shoulders and his warm hands were on your ribs, pulling you against him and your breasts rubbed against the soft fabric. You moaned as the sensation made your entire body shiver. His hands were on your lower back now as he slid your hips even further into his and you felt him grow harder amongst the plumes of fabric.

He stopped suddenly, hands still grasping at your skin, chest heaving against yours as he looked up into your eyes. Flames flickered there as his pupils were blown wide with desire. “Will you be the sacrifice that saves your family?”

His question took you off guard, your mind clearing just a little. Were you willing to sacrifice yourself to save others? Hundreds had died and many more would due to famine. You had already lost so much, so what would be one more thing? Nothing.

“Yes.”

Something seemed to transfer from him to you as he devoured you body and soul. It filled you until you thought the feeling would be unbearable, somewhere between pain and pleasure, you were stuck in the balance between the two and you wanted to rupture to alleviate it. Your skin burned hotter than a fever and his lips were hotter still. He kissed the place above your breast as he grabbed your ass and pulled you harder against him. The shadows around you danced dangerously along the walls and vaulted ceiling. This time, you pushed the fabric from his shoulders to reveal a toned chest, the golden honey tone of his face matching perfectly to the rest of a him. A band of gold wrapped around his upper arm and you blearily watched as the muscles flexed beneath it. His mouth was on your nipple and hot pleasure raced across your skin and directly into your core. You felt yourself beginning to drip on the expensive fabric of his robes. He inhaled deeply as he came up from your breast, spit stretched to his lips as he detached and before you knew it his lips were on yours. His tongue was at your lips, darting past your teeth to explore the depths of your mouth. He moaned now, as he deepened the kiss and ground himself up into you as he kept a firm grip on your hips. He dipped his hand into the folds of your clothes and instinctively found your clit. He ran his hand past it, to your folds, to collect the slickness now gathering there and ruining his clothes. He placed two fingers over your clit and began to draw small circles, gradually applying pressure. Your legs quivered and threatened to close against the pleasure, but he kept you spread with his. Fiery red bruises blossomed along your neck and collarbone as he moved his lips anywhere he could reach, sucking and biting as he went. He slid both fingers back and curved them up into you, sliding deliciously in and out until he had your eyes rolling. Your fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders, back arched as you leaned more into him, riding his fingers. He stilled his movements as you began to roll your hips, using him to pleasure yourself. He pushed his thumb against your clit as he sucked your other nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, as he teased the sensitive nerve endings. Tears slipped slowly out of your eyes as your pleasure mounted. He moaned as your body shuddered, close to the edge. Hand completely still, you fucked yourself over him until you were dripping well past his wrist. Your eyes flew open as your orgasm hit. The shadows on the wall seemed to grow larger as you came. The Oracle still stood, as still as ever, gazing out of the doors of the temple. Your fingernails raked into his skin painfully and he sighed as he brought your face to his once more, kissing you deeply. His fingers were out of you within moments as he stood easily from the floor, taking you with him as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His tunic fell away as he stood, leaving you the only one semi clothed. Turning, he walked up the steps to the altar, raked every offering off onto the floor, and laid you gently on your back. You gasped as your hot skin hit the cold surface of the marble, but that did not deter him as he pulled your clothing off completely. He dropped to his knees in front of you as if offering penance to himself, here in his own temple, yet he was worshipping you. Wrapping both arms around your thighs he pulled you into him, burying his face into you as he fucked you with his tongue. Off to the right and higher up, the Oracle still stood motionless next to the sleeping python. The rain still poured outside, semi muted through the stone, but loud on the steps outside. The heat inside of you grew once more as he sloppily ate your cunt; the stone beneath you becoming slicker. Your hands were in his hair, buried deep at the roots, and pulling him harder against you. He moaned against your clit as he flicked his tongue over you. Chills of pleasure rippled through you as your legs closed hard around his head. The small, golden leaves bit into the skin of your thighs but you ignored them. Almost involuntarily, you began moving your hips against him, desperately always wanting more. He moved with you, hands firm on your thighs as his enclosed mouth and tongue worked over your clit. One leg curled in, the ball of your foot digging into the edge as your toes curled, while the other stretched out behind him. Your back arched up off the altar as you came a second time, but he continued eating you out into overstimulation as you pulled at his hair. He came up not a second later, rising from his knees in front of you, and face glistening. The heat still burned in his eyes as he looked down at you, an offering, laid out on his altar.

He leaned down, hands on either side of your waist, as he looked you in the eye.

“Are you a willing sacrifice?”

“Yes,” you muttered between swollen lips.

“Then I give myself to you.”

He filled you up so completely and, in that moment, you had never felt so full. He still seemed to be connected to you not just by body but also something deeper, something that transcended this place. His thrusts were easy, you were so wet he slid inside with ease. He wrapped his arms around your knees, holding your legs up as he fucked you, hitting so deep inside of you it bordered on painful. You cried out as your body slid with each thrust, but he was pulling you back, bouncing you on his cock and starting over again. He let go and leaned down, folding your legs with him as his thrusts slowed but got deeper. Keeping you hanging in a balance of standing right at the precipice and falling over the edge, he kept the torturous pace until you were nearly begging him to go faster. He leaned back once more to let your legs fall to either side of his hips before leaning back down again. He still lazily thrust inside of you as he grabbed some of your hair and brought your face close to his.  

“Such a pretty little bird sacrificing herself to me,” he whispered hotly. Every now and again he’d thrust harder and deeper, causing you to moan, which he seemed to be enjoying immensely.  He reached between the two of you and placed his fingers on your swollen clit. “Now give me another part of you.”

He deepened his thrusts to the point the he was barely moving, ensuring he was brushing over that bundle of nerves each time. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t see, and you couldn’t think.

That’s when the voice resounded in the room. Your eyes fluttered open as you saw the Oracle still staring into the rain, mouth unmoving as a woman’s voice seemed to come from the air, as loud as thunder, and as soft as a bird’s wing.

“The sickness that has wrought this land shall be smote with the rainfall.”

He didn’t even seem to notice that she was speaking as he continued to fuck you, bringing you close to the edge once more. Sweat dripped from his brow to your breasts as he watched your face. Pure ecstasy was laced into your features and he was fascinated by it.

“In three months hence all trace of the disease will be wiped from your people, livestock, and crops.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he maintained his pace inside of you and on your clit. You opened your eyes to look at him. He glistened in the firelight and he seemed even more god-like as he glowed. The laurels on his head glinted, giving him an even more heavenly appearance. But what you noticed the most was the look in his eyes. He didn’t look at you like a sacrifice, he looked at you lovingly, truly appreciating the offering given to him, and treating it with respect. He wanted you to feel every bit of elation and pleasure that he did. The room dimmed immensely as you came, almost completely tamped down. The ravens both cried overhead as they rose in a flurry of wings and flew out of the temple into the rain.

“And with this sacrifice to Apollo, your land shall never know the touch of disease or famine until the end of your days.”

The snake at her feet uncoiled and stretched to its full length, slithered between his legs as he thrust into you harder now, and out of the temple. The Oracle turned and walked back around the statue and disappeared from the temple once more. The fire in the lamps returned to a dull glow, illuminating the statue with less intimidation. He slowed his thrusts again until they were deep and even. His face was pressed against your shoulder as he gathered you in his arms, holding you closer and reaching his end. Your hands explored every inch of his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his skin. He held you aloft with one arm as he came, falling forward onto his other hand, holding the both of you up as he rode out his orgasm, thrusting a few more times before he stopped. He breathed heavily against you, still holding you, as silence and rain cloaked the temple once more. He lowered you, gently, back down onto the altar before pulling out of you. He donned his tunic before pulling yours from the floor and holding it. You sat up on the altar and he lightly pulled yours over your head. Softly, he placed a kiss on your forehead before smiling.  

“Brother?” you heard from the doorway.

He turned slightly to look as you too leaned to the side. A woman who looked almost exactly like him, but with much longer hair stood in the doorway. Furs covered her shoulders, leather gauntlets protected her arms, a saffron hunting tunic reached her knees, and a highly detailed carved bow was slung across her back. In every sense of the word she was a hunter, but she seemed a beautiful force to be reckoned with.

“Artemis,” he said simply.

“Are you done?” she asked, eyes scanning you as you sat on the altar. “The ravens preceded your return, but you did not come.”

“I didn’t tell them to leave.”

“You should know your place.” And with that she turned and walked off into the rain, a large hound following behind her.

He turned back to you and smiled sadly, holding your hand in his.

“May your family be blessed by the gods,” he smiled.

“Wait.” You were genuinely confused. Weren’t you his sacrifice? You were expecting him to pull out a golden dagger at any moment and plunge it through your heart. You’d thank him, too, if it meant saving your family.

He let go of your hand in favor of cupping your face in his palms.

“You gave yourself to me,” he whispered against your lips as chills ran up and down your spine, “and that’s all I wanted.”

He kissed you softly, but there was something unsaid behind it; a true reverence in his followers and an appreciation you had never felt before. He let go of you slowly, backing away with a grin on his face and looking at you as if he were trying to remember this. Gods rarely ever crossed a mortal’s path twice. You watched as he grabbed a bottle of wine, took a sip, and sauntered back out into the rain and down the steps.

You sat dumbly on the altar not sure what to do. Do you tell your family? Do you keep it a secret? Maybe the Oracle was wrong. Instead, you trudged back home through the rain, until you reached the village. Going to bed that night, you were unsure if your sacrifice had been enough.

Within the month the barley was growing back better than ever, signs of sickness had been eradicated from the people, and the farmers were sure the livestock would come back from the loss. The sun shined bright each day, glinting off the surface of the sea. Within five months, the village was back to normal again. You still felt the loss of your brother and friends, but you were happy that the suffering was over. From time to time, you’d visit the temple, leaving an offering of your mother’s wine. Each time Apollo would follow behind, grab the bottle, pull the cork, and take a long drink.

With a smile on his face and mischief in his eyes as he thought back on your night together, he’d take another, long drag of the sweet wine. Even with age he still thought you were beautiful.

“Good enough to play kottabos.”

[ineffable-dads]

A. Z. Fell and Co.

Good Omens OCs, Peter Walsh, Isabelle Crowley, Snake!Crowley, FLUFF, Awkwardness, Peter being a soft bean

Summary: The first time Peter Walsh and Isabelle Crowley meet.  Crowley is amused.

A/N: I know nobody is going to read this, but I just wanted to write about my OCs meeting. If, however, you do read this PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG!!!

Word Count: 3.3K

           Peter Walsh stood silently for a long while staring up at the words scrawled carefully across the top of the corner shop. 

          A.Z. Fell and Co. had long been a rumor among the lecture halls at University, particularly in the religious studies department.  Students, professors, and even professors of the professors talked about the shop like it was a mystic castle on the moors, only appearing in the light of a blue moon.

          Despite his major or perhaps because of it, Peter put little stock in the supernatural.  Similar description of the supposed owner across all tellings as a dapper, slightly plump middle-aged gentlemen with white blonde hair and blue eyes and a propensity to kick one out of the shop with polite determination, could be written off with some degree of logic.  

          Strong genetics could certainly be a factor if the business was passed down through the generations. There was also the fact people had the amazing ability to create images out of whole cloth.  For example, it is widely accepted in the western consciousness that the devil is associated with fire and the color red.  There was no evidence for it and even some decidedly against, but the image isn’t liable to die any time soon.  A.Z. Fell and Co. and its mysterious owner had simply fell victim to a similar affliction, Peter was sure of it.

          All the same, there were things about the stories that did intrigue him; namely, the supposed quantity of quality religious text which lay within it’s walls.  It was why he had tried to find it when he was in London, how he came to discover it had moved some twenty-five years previously, and was what finally brought him to the South Downs to a tiny shop snuggly placed in the corner of a quaint seaside village.  It had taken him some time to get there and he wanted to breath in the moment of a job well done.

          “Right,” he told himself.  “Best foot forward then.”

          A small chime of the bell welcomed him as the distinct musk of old books washed over his senses.

          It was a bookshop if ever a shop had books in it.  It was the kind of bookshop he read about as a child just before the protagonist was whisked away on some wild adventure. It had the right smell, the comforting soft browns of faded spines and the perfect temperature for curling beside the nearest window and laying there for hours.

          He only had to take a cursorily glance at the titles to know the rumors didn’t do the collection justice.  He picked up a random book to find not only was it a first edition of The Voyage Out, but it was signed by Virginia Woolf herself.  

          Upon seeing the signature, he all but snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. He wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to breath near the collection.

          His eyes made a quick turn around the space.  There was no one else there.  Not even the mysterious owner who he was growing more curious to see.  The door was unlocked and there was no closed sign. Just as it occurred to him, he ought to call out to someone, he heard a small rustling behind one of the shelves followed by low, indistinguishable whispers.

          He let out a small breath, relieved he hadn’t accidentally committed a minor felony, and wandered over to the line of shelves.  He turned the corner ready to greet the mysterious Mr. Fell, but the words died before they could even enter his throat.

          A woman stood before him.  A very pretty woman.  A very pretty woman near his own age, who looked more at home among the shelves than anyone had a right to.  She was dressed like a bookkeeper from her long skirt and buttoned up blouse to her large round spectacles. In her hand was cradled a tanning copy of what could only be a first edition of Oscar Wilde’s Poems in Prose. Even her mass of black curls only seemed to cement the impression of an eccentric intellectual as they perfectly framed her high cheekbones and brought a compliment to her dark skin.

          The only thing to prevent his eyes from focusing solely on her, was their current preoccupation with the massive black python wrapped around her neck as comfortably as a knitted scarf.  Its large head hung gently in the air at the same level where the woman held her book. If Peter hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was reading along.

          “Can I help you?”

           The words snapped him back to attention as he tore his eyes away from the snake.

          He was suddenly very aware of the pounding in his chest and the fact his eyes had been wide open for solid minute.  He blinked a few times in a row to make up the difference all while willing his heart to move back to a jogging speed.

          He focused his attention now fully on the woman. This did little to help his nerves, but he found it easier to deal with.  He had only been scared silent by something capable of killing twice in his life.  One time after crossing through the neighbor’s yard when he was six only to be confronted with their rather enthusiastic guard dog and another after nearly getting hit by a spooked horse when he was twelve. Both experiences left him rather shaken and he hadn’t developed a system for coming down after the experience.  Being scared silent by girls decidedly prettier than him, however, was something he had perfected.

           “R-religious texts?” he managed.

           The women stared at him a moment, a look of surprise quickly running across her features.  “Two shelves down, near the front desk.”

           Peter nodded, and quickly moved in that direction.

           He was only partially aware of the murmuring behind him.  The words “your idea” and “doesn’t scare easy” being the only clear ones. A part of him wanted to linger on the words and their meaning, but more pressing matters pushed the urge aside; namely, the largest collection of Bibles and books of prophecy he had ever seen in his life.  

          His mouth gaped as he stared at the titles.  It was a theologian’s dream come true.  

          He let his eyes wander up and down the shelves not daring to soil any of the spines with his bare hands. He wondered if he should ask for a pair of gloves, but quickly dismissed the notion. The idea of having to face both the woman and her snake gave him a fresh wave of anxiety.  Instead, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and carefully pulled a book off the shelf.

          A deafening hiss came from behind the book just before a flash of black scales snapped out of the dark opening.

          Peter jumped back, barely managing to keep hold of the book.  The snake stared back at him with dangerous yellow eyes. Another hiss filled the air as its tongue flicked in and out of its open mouth.  Peter then remembered snakes smelled with their tongues and was left with the same feelings a chicken has when cornered by hungry fox.

          “That one isn’t for sale.”

          The voice came straight into his left ear.  He whipped around to see the woman standing barely three feet from him. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed, and her lips were pressed into a fine line. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if he should be more frightened of her or the snake.

          With caution, he slowly moved his hand back toward the shelf.  

          The snake seemed to understand as it retreated from it hole, allowing him to put the book back in its place.  Unfortunately for Peter, the snake had decided to take a more precarious spot on top of the bookshelf, allowing it to keep its eyes on him and within biting distance.

          Peter moved down the shelf, his eyes glancing between the snake, books, and the woman equally.  His hand went for another title only for the snake to give the same warning hiss.

          “That one isn’t for sale either,” the woman confirmed.

          Peter didn’t even bother to look as he hand when for another book.  

          Another hiss.

          “Not that one either.”

          A pause followed.  Peter felt the need to stay something, but the number and variety of stressors currently looking at him left him drawing a blank.  He could only think in clichés and so let out a cough.

“Are these all on reserve?” he asked.

          The woman’s expression didn’t change. “They’re not for sale.”

          He nodded. His mind clinging to the wall as it crept cautiously towards an idea. He wasn’t going to leave empty handed. He was sure about that, but clearly a change of tactics was in order.  Part of the legend of this place was the owner attachment to all of his books. Of course, he wouldn’t have a shop if he didn’t want people to at least look at the books, would he?

          “Well, what if I don’t want to buy one?” he said, his mouth moving at the same pace as he mind; slowly, but with forward momentum.

          “Excuse me?”  The woman’s tone was more curious than accusatory.  

          Peter felt a small relief, giving him the boost he needed and picked up speed.

          “I just want to look at them,” he explained.  “I’m a student, you see, and frankly I can’t afford this stuff to begin with.  Not stuff! I don’t mean it like that.  I just mean…this is an amazing collection and I wouldn’t want to sell them either.  But, you see, I really, really need to look at these books.  Study them, I mean.  I’ve got a dissertation to finish by PhD, and I literally can’t find works like this anywhere else.  You don’t have to sell them to me, if you don’t want.  And if you’ve got buyers for some of them, I understand, but if I could just read them.  I’ll rent them if you like.  Or hold my kidney’s ransom or whatever it is you want, but…”

          He took a breath, finally getting his thoughts in some kind of coherent order.

          “The simple fact is; I need these books.  And they’re not going to be much use to anyone sitting on the shelf.  Books are meant to be read and appreciated and learned from, and that’s what I’m trying to do.  So, let me. Please.”

          The woman, stared up at him with an unreadable expression.  Despite his instincts, Peter maintained eye contact. Even if he couldn’t express why, he knew it was imperative he didn’t so much as blink during her investigation.

          A small tug came to the corner of her lip until it formed into an amused half smile.

          “That was quite an impassioned speech.”

          She looked just a little impressed with him, and Peter felt his heart beat harder against his ribs.  He was sure he was blushing too but was in no position to do anything about it.

          “I meant it,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, given the state of his insides.

          “I’m sure you did. Was that your plan all along?”

          “What?”

          “Well you’re not from around here, obviously,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So that must mean you heard about this place when it was in London.  And if you heard of it, you must have also heard about how the owner doesn’t actually like to part with part of their collection.”

          Peter knew this was coming to something and so said cautiously, “More or less.”

          “So that begs the question,” the woman continued, “was your plan to come all the way down here to the South Downs, to treat the shop as your own personal library?”

          Peter opened his mouth.  It hung there a moment, but no sound came out.  He closed it again.

          She looked at him expectantly, with the same unreadable expression he was starting to think was her default setting.

          “It wasn’t plan A.” He said it slowly, unsure what line he crossed but trying to show atonement for whatever it was.

          The woman let out a laugh.  It was clear, bright, and if it hadn’t been at his expense, he would have enjoyed it immensely.

          “I’m just messing with you,” she assured. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

          Peter blinked. “What really?”

          She nodded.  “I’ll have to double check with Papa, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

          “Oh,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.  The legend might still have some truth to it yet.   “Your Papa is the owner, then?”

          “Yes.”

          “So that would make you Ms. Fell?”

          “It would make me Ms. Crowley,” she corrected.

          The look of confusion must had been evident on his face as she elaborated. “My Dad got first dibs on the name. Though that does leave me curious, do you call every girl you meet, miss?”

           “Only the ones that scare me.”

           A wide smile spread across her face and Peter was faced with the mortifying realization he had said the words out loud.

           “If I told you my name was Isabelle, would you be less scared,” she asked, still laughing at him behind her eyes.

           Peter’s lip twisted upward despite himself.  He did like her laugh, even the silent ones.

           “Just a bit,” he said. “I’m Peter by the way, Peter Walsh.”

           He offered her his hand, which she immediately took in hers.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Peter Walsh.”

           “Nice to meet you too, Miss Isabelle Crowley.”

           Their hands dropped.  Peter swore he could feel his hand tingle ever so slightly.

           “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then,” she said.  

           “Yeah,” Peter said, the thought of seeing her again leaving his brain a little fuzzy.  He would be seeing her quite a bit if this worked out with her Dad. Almost every day.  He did have a paper to finish after all.

          Her head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.  

          His stomach dropped then.  He had been staring too long.

          “Right!” he said, just a little too loudly. “Of course you will.” He pointed vaguely towards the door behind him, not having it in him to fully turn away from her. “I’ll just see myself out and see you tomorrow, maybe?”

           She shrugged. “Only if you want to get started sooner rather than later.”

           He stared to nod. “Yes. Good. Research. Books.  I definitely need to get started. Tomorrow.” He couldn’t stop nodding, even as he slowly made his way towards the front door.

          His back hit something hard, and it was only then did he realize he hadn’t bothered to turn around.  He whipped around to see the shelf he had run into rock slightly, but not damage had been done.  

          Just above his head, he heard a small hiss.  He looked up to see the snake staring at him. He didn’t think snakes were capable of showing any real emotion, but in that moment, he could have sworn the serpent was laughing at him.

          He looked to Isabelle.  She was trying her best, but the smile on her face would not be contained by the hand over her mouth.

          Peter gave a short laugh, as if that would make it less embarrassing, and all but ran out of the shop.

           The door shut behind him with a chime as cool sea air poured into his lungs. He took heaping gulps of it as if he had just come up from a deep dive.  It hadn’t been real, had it? Logically it must have. It had just happened.  All the same, the cobble stones beneath his feet, the sun glowing behind thin cloud, and the breeze against his skin felt more real than anything he had experienced in the last ten minutes.  He turned back around, half expecting for the shop no longer to be there, like in all the story books where the protagonist can never find the little door beneath the staircase or the hole in the fence once they come back from the other side.  But there it stood.  The sign A. Z. Fell and Co. still hung over the shop door.  Shelves of books could be made out through the window and Isabelle Crowley walked among them, book in hand, and the snake draped once again around her neck.  

          Peter took another breath and let it out slowly.

           “Fuck me.”

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           Isabelle couldn’t hold it in any longer.  As soon as the door chimed shut, she let out a hearty laugh.

           Her Dad joined her, his laughter coming out in a series of high pitched hisses.  

           “I think that went rather well,” he mused.

           “Yes, you’ve successfully traumatized a grad student,” Isabelle said.

           “Asss if you wasn’t your idea.”

           Isabelle rolled her eyes and walked over to the shelf the serpent was perched on. She held out her arm, allowing him to slither down and curl himself around her neck.

           “Do you think he will come back?” Isabelle asked, idly.

           “Oh, I think ssso,” Crowley answered.  “Ssseemed like the determined sssort.  Besidesss, he’s got a reason to come back.”

           Isabelle nodded, taking a quick glance around at the shelves of books and all the knowledge they contained.

           “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “There really is no other place like it, is there?”

           Crowley hissed out a chuckle.  

           She looked down at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

           He shook his head.  “Nothing Izz, just sometimes, you act exactly like Aziraphale.”

           She laughed it off, or at least tried to.  The sound never even made it to her throat.  She had assumed he was referring to her clear love of books, but something in his eyes told her otherwise.

           “What did you think of him?” Crowley asked, before she could linger on the feeling.

           “Who? Peter?”

           Crowley shot her a sardonic look.

           She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.  “I don’t know.  He seemed nice enough.  A nervous wreck, but you did almost bite his face off.”

           “Is that all?”

           She stood silent for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to make of him.  Everything in his demeanor and tone painted the image of a shy, slightly awkward academic. He was slim, but not overly so.  Tall, but not too tall.  A little pale, no doubt from the lack of sunlight in dark achieve basements.  His hands fidgeted, but she didn’t get the impression he was perpetually nervous.  All the same, there was something else about him.

          His little speech spoke of an underlining passion. He knew what he had come there for and wasn’t going to leave until he got it. It hinted at a confidence she was interested to see more of.

          Yes, she would like to see him again.  She would like to talk to him and see if she could get him to smile that wide smile which lit up those green eyes of his. She couldn’t think of a single person she’d met with proper green eyes like that.

          “Wouldn’t mind talking to him again,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”

          Crowley rocked his head from side to side, giving the effect of shrugging without shoulders.  “No reason, just ssseemed like a bright young lad.”

          Isabelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why is it I feel like you know something I don’t?”

           “That’s because I do.”

           Isabelle frowned, but Crowley countered by playfully nudging her with his scaly head.

          “Nothing you need to worry about, my girl, crosssss my heart.  All will reveal itself, soon enough.”

           She wanted to press the matter, but let it go.  If her Dad wanted to play his little game, she’d let him.  No real harm could come of it.

           “So, which one of us is going to tell Papa we’re allowing someone to rent his books?”

           “I did no such thing,” Crowley defended.  “That’sss all on you.  You explain it to him.”

           She let out a groan.  

           “No good deed goes unpunished,” he teased.

           “Right,” she grumbled.

           It really was going to be a trick convincing her Papa.  But then she thought of Peter, and all her doubts melted away. She could do it.  She told him she could, and she would.  No matter what it took.

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Neuron, Ch.5

Bucky x Named (Mutant) Reader

Warnings: nothing too bad, some bad jokes, some violence

Masterlist

Word count: 2659

Note: I love Bucky gifs, and Sebastian Stan gifs, so I’m going to keep using random ones as page breaks.  They won’t have anything to do with the story, and aren’t mine.  But they’re beautiful.  There will be repeats, I’m sorry. (no I am not, okay on with the story)

“So,” Vision started, hands clasped by his mouth, “This fortune teller gave you a real prophecy?”

“I don’t know about that,” you said hesitantly.

Wanda scoffed, “You obviously believe it.”

“What I believe isn’t the point.  It can’t happen.  I can’t…” you trailed off, nauseous again.

Vision nodded, “You are right.  It would be disaster.”

You nodded vigorously.  “That’s the favor.  If I go down this road, you two are the only ones who could stop me.  You have to stop me,” you pleaded, nerve wearing off fast.

Wanda met your gaze with a surprising touch of kindness, “Okay.”

A sigh of relief escaped you as a grin spread across your face.

“On one condition.”  Of course.  “You have to tell Bucky.”

“Tell Bucky what?”  You jumped, the very man materializing behind you, eyebrow quirked.

“I, well, I just, and um, I,” you sputtered, sharp dread coiling around the more logical bits of your brain, squeezing like a python.  This was not how you’d imagined this conversation would go.  At all.  You’d expected some resistance from Wanda, absolutely.  This, though, you didn’t anticipate, and hadn’t prepared for.

“You tell him, or I will.”

You shot a sideways glare at Wanda, as indignation replaced your fear.  “Fine,” you snarled.  You nodded towards an unoccupied corner of the jet before you stomped away from the Scarlet Witch, Bucky following you.

���Everything okay?” he asked, amusement playing on his face.  You grumbled into your hands.  Bucky waited politely for you to look at him to say, “Denna, you gonna tell me what’s going on?” and then, teasing, “Are you sure you’re not just nervous?”

Laughing mirthlessly, you retorted, “Nervous?  Are you sure it’s not time for bingo?”

“Oh, burn.  You’ve, you’ve cut me so deep with the old man jokes.  Wow.”  Your smile faded, and a new flavor of concern met you in his expression.  “Spit it out.”

“I don’t even know how to phrase this.”

“Well, try and we’ll go from there.”

Sam hollered back into the cabin, “Landing in twenty.”  You figured it was now or never and pushed the words out before you had the chance to swallow them.

“A few years ago, I met a fortune teller in Milan, she read my tarot, you know, standard stuff.  But she said,” you paused, “She said I’d bring the world to its knees.  That I would be a tyrant because of this.”  You raised your hands, bitterness in your voice.  “I asked Wanda and Vision to stop me if I… Telling you was the condition.”

“And if it hadn’t been, would you have told me?” he asked quietly, brow furrowed.

“I-I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I’d like to think I would have.”  He chewed on his lower lip, thinking.

“Just how many secrets do you have, Denna Reese?”

You thought for a moment, “Aside from the estranged, rich uncle?  That’s it.  I think.”  He shook his head, silently chuckling.

“You’re gonna give me an aneurysm.  Mm, no.  I know that face.  No old man joke.”

The jet touched down before you got the chance to play Mario Kart with Peter.  He told you he could kick your butt on the way back just as well.

You took one look around you when your feet touched the ground and said, “I take it we’re walking to the airport?”

Tony laughed, then laughed again but more boisterously.  He revealed a suitcase, seemingly from nowhere.

“If this is another car…” Wanda started.  She sighed when, in fact, it was.  “You have a serious problem, my friend.”

“You know, I like to think of it as preplanning.”

Tony’s suitcase was a seven-passenger SUV.  Sam stayed with the jet because he “wouldn’t trust Bug-boy with my bicycle,” to which Peter corrected, “Arachnid!”  Once again you found yourself smushed next to Bucky in the very back.

You grumbled, “What’s a girl gotta do to earn a window seat around here?” in between Peter and Bucky.

They all responded with things like, “Stop an alien invasion,” and “Diffuse a bomb,” and, your personal favorite, “Be a kiss ass.”

“Okay, who said that?” Tony exclaimed, “I will pull this suitcase over.”

“You really are horrible at bluffing,” Vision said, grinning.  Steve laughed in agreement.

With exaggerated exasperation, Tony sighed and said, “FRIDAY, can I get an update on General Andre Marino’s location?”

“It appears he’s still in Linate Airport, Mr. Stark.  Security cameras show him entering a shop on the second floor.”

“Mr. Stark, I have to ask,” you began, “Does everything you own have Bluetooth?”

He thought seriously about the question for a bit before saying, flatly, “Yes.”

“Where did Peter go this time?” you asked Bucky, who never took his eyes off the crowd when he shrugged.  The three of you were supposed to be sweeping the second floor for Marino, but one moment Peter was behind you and the next… Well.  Teenagers, what’s there to do?  You spotted a gigantic Lego man outside a shop.  That had to be it.  You touched Bucky’s arm ever so lightly.  “Come on, I’ve got a hunch.”

He followed you obediently into the store and you fanned out as best two people can.  A cornucopia of gadgets lined the shelves, right up Peter’s alley.  You wanted to find him before any development in the task at hand.

At last you found him playing a demo X-Box with a child that looked about ten years old.  You and Bucky converged on him with near-comedic synchrony.

“Peter, what the heck?” you said, hands on your hips.

“We are in a foreign country, you can’t just wander off!” Bucky exclaimed, arms crossed.

Peter’s gaze flicked to the two of you sheepishly.  “Just give me one second…” he trailed off, concentrating again on the game.

His opponent scoffed, “Your parents here to save you from an ass whooping?”

“Excuse me?” you said, appalled.

Bucky let himself steam a little before saying to Peter quietly, “May I remind you that we are here on business?”

“May I remind you, that we’re supposed to blend in?  I can keep an eye on this whole wing from here.”

Bucky surrendered, growling, “At least tell me where you’re going next time, kid.”

A voice from the watch Tony had lent you said, “Denna, anything?”

“Nothing on the North side, Steve.”  Steve was presumably finished with speaking to building security, and Wanda and Vision had taken stairwell duty.  Tony was drawing the attention of other shoppers by, well, being himself.

“Let’s go, I think he’s got this covered,” you said with a pivot, heading for the entrance.  In a few feet though, you felt him stop.  You turned to find him looking thoughtfully at a new drone model.

“Thinking about spying on your neighbors?”

He sighed and smiled, turning to you.  “I’ve been myself in this century for years, but every time I think I’ve grasped the technology of the age… There’s always one more thing I can’t wrap my head around.”

“You should talk to Stark about this stuff.  Once he gets going, he doesn’t stop until somebody’s passed out.”

Bucky’s expression grew troubled.  “He doesn’t like me much.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I killed his parents.”  Well, that you didn’t know what to do with.  Though, it did seem to explain why you’d never seen them talk directly to each other.

“Ah,” you said, frowning, “That would do it.”

“Guys,” came a different voice from your watch, “Café across the floor, North side.  Visual on Marino.”  You turned your head slowly, trying to be casual.  General Marino was in fact directly across the floor.  A short blond greeted him with a chilly smile.  Tiffany Strucker, you presumed. 

You let your gaze linger a heartbeat too long before you realized she too was sweeping the crowd.  Your attention snapped back to the drones.  When you glanced back in her direction, she was looking right at you, smirking.  She said something you couldn’t discern to Marino, who followed her eyeline to you.  Shit.

“She saw me,” you muttered into your watch, letting Bucky pull you deeper into the store.  The two of you ducked behind a display of remote control boats, creeping slowly along the wall to the back corner.

“My, my.  The picture in your file really does not do you justice.”  Tiffany Strucker stood in front of you.  As you looked up, you saw black pumps covering small feet, conservative flesh-colored hose and a skirt suit on a dainty frame, and a greedy smirk below a high ponytail.  “Oh, get up,” she said, suddenly annoyed.

Your fists clenched, but you obeyed.

Her smile was brilliantly white as she continued, “And Sergeant Barnes, good to meet you.  How is our mutual friend, Winty?”

“Dead,” he replied, tone cold with hatred.

“Is he now?  Interesting.”

“What do you want?” you interjected.

She giggled, waving Marino over.  “Isn’t it obvious?”

At the edge of your vision, you saw the flash of a familiar color.

Tiffany groaned, “I had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Now would be a great time for Model 20 C!” Tony yelled at you in between firing blasts out of his suit at the Hydra foot soldiers that seemed to flood in from everywhere.

Steve had General Andre Marino in handcuffs and marched him down the stairs.  Vision and Tony spoke to building security.  Wanda had been roped into a conversation with a tourist and their small daughter, who looked at her in awe.  Peter was back in the toy store.

Bucky looked around for you wildly.  He had just seen you playing with one of Stark’s ridiculous suits.  Okay, it wasn’t ridiculous.  It’d certainly shielded you from a few hits, which he was grateful for.  But now he couldn’t find you, and it was freaking him out.  He didn’t know where that tiny Hydra psychopath had gone either, and he had a sinking feeling that those two things were related.

“Did you see where Strucker went?”

Bucky whirled around.

You stood in front of him, hands on your hips.  The look in his eyes took you off guard; it was an odd combination of frustration, relief and lingering concern.  He held your gaze and shook his head.

“She must’ve gotten out in the struggle.  Eh, at least we got him.”  You gestured at Marino.

Tony waved at you, “Back to the jet before we all get arrested.  Where’s Peter?”

“I’ll get him,” Bucky grumbled and ducked back into the store, returning soon with Peter in tow, still wearing his suit.

As you followed the rest of them down the stairs, you noticed the people looking at you through their phones’ cameras, glad Model 20 C had a helmet that covered your face.

“This is absurd, you can’t extradite me.  I am a United States General, who authorized this?”  General Marino was indignant.  The handcuffs were not helping.

Tony scoffed, “Maybe you forgot, but the Sokovia Accords were dissolved two years ago after all that nasty business in Wakanda.  We,” he made a helicopter motion with a finger, “aren’t under the government.”

“General, we just want to know what you know,” Steve stepped in, the picture of composure.

“Ah, yes.  Captain America.  Good to see you following foreign policy.”

“General, Hydra sent some odd thirty men to capture two of my friends, twice, and you just had lunch with a high-level operative.  You’ll have to forgive my lack of diplomacy.”

The General turned his attention to you and Bucky, the both of you glowering in the corner.  The singular difference between your expressions was Bucky’s pulsating right temple.  Marino suppressed a gulp, which would have made you laugh, if you hadn’t wanted so badly to hit him.  He was an imposing man, but, come on, Bucky had a metal arm and one hell of a glower.

“What, is he your enforcer or something?”

“You’re changing the subject General.”  Vision approached the General slowly.  “Let’s start with Hydra.  What’s the end game?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why is Hydra after Denna?”

“Don’t know”

“How about Tiffany Strucker.  Where is she?”

“Listen, pal, we can go around in circles all day.  Or.  We can cut to the chase.”

Vision mumbled, “I thought that was cutting to the chase.”

“Yes,” said Bucky, stalking up close to an uncomfortably short distance, “Let’s cut to the chase.  You can go down for attempted kidnapping, or Strucker can.”

“Nothing you have would be admissible in a court of law,” the General scoffed, uncertain.

“No, no, think bigger.  What happens when your friends learn you’re not just a communist, but a Nazi?  Or when your family learns you sent two dozen armed men after a mutant girl?  Or when your superiors learn that you were part of an armed assault of a public place on foreign soil?”  Bucky shrugged and rejoined you in the corner, satisfied with his intimidation.

“I-I never.”  The General cleared his throat.  “You have to understand, that was all Strucker.”

Steve demanded, “Then tell us where she is.”

“Last we talked about it, she was taking a train to Florence, direct connection.  If you leave now, you might be able to catch her.  Milan Central’s about twenty minutes from here.”

Bucky nodded, accepting a fist-bump from you.  “I know it.”

“Now, um.  Can I get out of these?”  The General raised his hands and wiggled his wrists a bit.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder, forcing him to sit down.  “I wouldn’t count on it.”  The rest of you gathered closer together, speaking quietly.

Steve began, “Alright, we have our marching orders.  Let’s go.”  He paused and pointed at Tony, “You should stay here.  One person sees you and we’re all blown.  And you two,” he looked at you and Bucky, who threw his head back in a groan, “You’re sitting this out too.”

“Would you save it?” Bucky growled, “I’m done hiding.”

Steve looked at you expectantly, “Denna?  Should I expect a protest from you too?”

“No.  I’m good, today was headache enough.  But, you definitely want Jim along if he knows the area.”  Bucky gestured at you in a “there you go” sort of way and Steve caved, much like he usually did.

“Fine, fine.  But keep an eye on Marino, will you?’  You nodded and felt an inexplicable pang as you watched them leave the jet without you.  Sam hopped along giddily, talking about taking ass and kicking names in a sing-song voice.

Bucky was the last one out, and at the last moment he turned back to you to say, “This will be over soon.”  Th hatch closed with a heavy whoosh and you exhaled, suddenly very tired.

“So.”  Tony sidled up to you conspiratorially.  “You and Barnes gonna be a thing now?”

“What? No,” you said, nerves gathering themselves in the pit of your stomach and a strange burning sensation sparking close to your eyes.  Of course, you’d noticed how time-stopping his beauty was when you’d met him.  But, given your circumstances, you didn’t know if you could ever be with anyone, and had put it out of your head.  At least, you tried.  Changing the subject, you slipped off Tony’s watch and handed it back to him.  “Thank you for this.  Really.”  He smirked in his genuine smirky way and nodded, slipping the device back into his suit pocket.

“You look terrible.  I can keep an eye on this meathead if you want a nap.  We may be here for a while.” 

A yawn surprised you just as you were about to decline.  Instead, you thanked him and curled up in a corner using your arm as a pillow.

“Trap… Bucky… just like the last time… the train… he’s… on our way back… need to regroup…” 

A hodgepodge of words over a comm broke through your slumber.  But three consecutive words managed to reach you.  And they seized your gut with an icy vengeance.

“Strucker has Bucky.”

[millylotus]

Cassandra Sanvanterules

WARNING! THIS CHARACTER WAS MADE BEFORE I EVER PLAYED DND AND THIS IS HER FIRST DRAFT SO BE WARNED! IF YOU EVER USE THIS CHARACTER PLEASE AT LEAST TAG ME IN IN IT, AND CREDIT ME IF YOU GET A GOOD CHUNK OF YOU INSPORATION FROM HER! THANK YOU :D!

Cassandra Sanventarules

Appearance : Pixie cut longish light blue almost white hair, slim and a tad muscular, soft thin lips, oval-ish face, caramel skin, about 5 foot 9 inch

Age : Looks 25 years old most definitely older than that.

Class : Cleric

Family : Sanventarules - The Sanventarules worship a being called The Master. They have been around since what seems like the beginning of time. Every generation a blessed child is born. Given the ability to hear the voice of The Master. The second blessed child has the ability to hear the voices in people’s head.

Blessed children can only die when the next child is born. They stay physically the same as a 25 year old.

Backstories : A small town ruled by a hyper religious Duke was going through some problems. Because of this he used his power to get the best prophet family for his duchy. He was able to secure the Sanventarules family. They worshiped a deity simply called The Master. For a while it worked. The duchy avoided major problems and assassinations (on the duke and his family).

A generation after the Sanventarules came, two twin sisters were born. The eldest daughter was named Pythia, the younger was named Cassandra. They had silky light blue hair and icy light blue eyes that could see things untold. Their skin is soft caramel colored, and faces gorgeous and beautiful in their own way.

Pythia was soft and kind, she was swift to act and most of devout the twins. She was blessed with the ability to hear The Master at all times, she was pampered and spoiled.

Cassandra was sharp and quiet, she was quick witted and sarcastic. Most never talked to her, she always gave the air of, don’t talk to me. She was neglected, but at times if you listened she would tell you of people’s minds.

At age 13 Pythia was appointed high priestess, and became more indented in high society. Everyone loved Pythia.

At age 16 Cassandra made her debut into high society, she became the confessional priestess, everyone trusted her and told her everything, even the nobles would tell her their sins. It only took 4 years at age 20 when she started to sell this information. People were hurt. But they never learned to stop confessing to her. Everyone loved Cassandra.

Even if people believed the sisters were enemies, they were peas in the pod. They told each other everything. The loud and joyful Pythia calmed down around her noise sensitive sister. The reserved and rude Cassandra spoke out and aired her grievances. They gossiped and giggled every Friday night. They trusted each other more than anyone.

But not everyone loved the sisters and not everyone liked the Sanventarules. The prophecies became harder to decipher, making it harder to avoid tragedies. Stories were spun about the family. Pythia was accused of attempted murder on the duke’s daughter. Everyone knew Pythia was in love with the girl’s (duke’s daughter) fiancé so it wasn’t impossible Cassandra was accused of breaking her vow of purity, and sleeping with a slew of men.

The rumors spread like wildfire, getting too bad for even Cassandra (the socialite she is) could fix it. The prophecies got harder and more confusing. More tragedies happened and the dukes daughter even came close to death.

The people of the duchy were furious. They demanded the death of the witches.

An angry mob stormed the temple grounds, killing the followers and nomads passing through. Setting the buildings on fire and destroying the land. For the entire day Pythia and Cassandra ran away in a twisted game of hide and seek. They couldn’t leave the temple grounds because it was in the middle of the town (filled with angry people).

They were soon caught and taken to prison. They spent a week waiting for their trial. The entire trial was against them since the beginning, they lost the trial. Their standing as priestess of The Master helped ease their punishment, but it was still horrible.

Pythia was sentenced to execution by axe. The axe was old and rusted, they did it on purpose. Her death was painful.

Cassandra’s punishment was more creative, in a twisted way. They removed her uterus and gouged out her eyes. Leaving her for dead in the middle of the forest.

~0~

A week of pure pain, and fear was all Cassandra felt. She made her way through the forest by relying on the voices of the animals and plants. Those voices were quieter then sentient beings, but it worked.

After a month she became accustomed to the darkness and forest. She finally kills a fish, eating something solid for once. She made her way to a town, covering her distinct hair with the rags she had. She made friends with other homeless people on the street. They pity her and give her a simple cloak, and food. In return she would tell them stories, whilst taking care of the orphans.

A year passes and Cassandra has gotten accustomed to her new life of poverty. She gets a job as an assistant cleric in the town. On her 25 birthday her boss gifted her a Doberman puppy she named Hermes.

Three years pass and Cassandra hasn’t aged a day. She decides to go out into the world using her connection with Hermes to see the world (yes she is colorblind whilst looking through Hermes’ eyes).

And then her journey begins, as a blind cleric with not so great color coordination.

Bits & bobs :

The master has no discernible gender or age. Each blessed child gives a different description of what The Master sounds like.

~0~

The master is always depicted as a genderless figure in flowing loose clothing. That is only ever to be worn by The Master. Any other copy is considered sacrilege and is burned.

The only people allowed to wear anything like it are the blessed children and their imitate family.

Next to The Master are two animals, the Python (reticulated python), and the Great Dane. Both animals are revered by the Sanventarules, and their disciples.

~0~

There has only ever been one blessed child living at once. But because of the immense amount of power given to, either Pythia or Cassandra, the power was split between the two. Making two blessed children at once.