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- Rank: Chosen One
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Here’s Pietro’s family for the 5th fanfic!!! š
All adopted, as already stated, and they are, from left to right:
Hope Kylie Maximoff, age 9 years
Ella Annia Maximoff, age 7 years
&
Lily Natasha Maximoff, age 1 year (adopted from birth; Pietro and Yelena adopted her only weeks after her birth mother had her, and they gave her the middle name Natashaššš)
@freedomwriter76
Awwwww!!!!!!
I need scenes!!! please write something, cause it would make my heart very happy
and the middle name Natasha!!!
(is this when I tell you in my fanfics they also gave Natasha as their daughter’s middle name?) we think a like
Do me a favorā¦. Tell Cress I meant it
-Thornethey as in Pietro and Hannah
Do me a favorā¦. Tell Cress I meant it
-Thorne@freedomwriter76
i’ve been quietly stalking this… AND I LOVE ITTTT!!!!š
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
- Rank: Chosen One
- Total Posts: 8156
@smiley @mineralizedwritings @keilah-h @euodia-vision @rae
Ok…uhm…do y’all wanna cry like I just did? šš
Soooo I may or may not have written a super sad and angsty Bucky short story…and uhm…it made me cry twice. š
So I got inspired by this post I sawā¬ļø
and even tho that post made me tear up (I’m so attached to Bucky, y’all XD), it made me think…and…uhm…uh…
it inspired me to write something short and sad.
and…uhm…here it is:
ššššš
*grabs 20+ tissue boxes to distribute to everyone, including me*
Footsteps echoed in his ears. Muffled voices sounded all around him, some low, some high, some rough and some soft, but all with a minimalist note of cruelty.
He forced himself to speak even though his parched throat and cracked lips protested. āSergeant James Barnesā¦32557038-ā
āHe keeps repeating his name and serial number. Heās insane, Doctor.ā
āNonsense. I have already run testsā¦his brain is highly functional. Even the fall didnāt seem to affect his brain. Perhaps he needs only a push.ā
A quiet scoff. āI highly doubt a āpushā is going to be enough, Zola. He refuses to do anything we ask.ā
A hand waved back and forth in the air, seemingly dismissing the words. āA harder push than what we have done.ā
He struggled against the leather straps that bound him to the examination table. Heād get freeā¦he had to.
If not, heād still get free.
He was a soldier. He was a Sergeant in the 107th Infantry. He was James Buchanan Barnes. He was Bucky.
He couldnāt forget who he was. He couldnāt forget where he came from.
He was Steve Rogersā best friend.
Steve would come, and they would work togetherā¦they would stop Hydraā¦they would stop the Nazis. Steve would rescue him just like last time.
He wished he could rescue himself, but if he couldnāt, Steve would come.
He had to.
He had to stay alertā¦he had to stay alive.
He turned his aching head slightly, ignoring the pain shooting from cuts and bruises on his face. Metal shone in the dim lamplight. Red stitching, marks, bordered the metal.
His head spun; bile rose in his throat.
His left arm was gone.
Metal lay where flesh once did. It would never be the sameā¦heād never be the same.
But he still had to remember who he was…he couldnāt afford to forget.
Zola stood mere inches from the table; Bucky swallowed a large lump in his throat. Zola nodded at the other man standing in the room. āLetās give him a harder push.ā
~~~
Cutsā¦bruisesā¦blood.
Everything ached.
Everything begged for mercy.
Everything cried out for releaseā¦rescue.
āS-Sergeant Ja-James Barn-Barnesā¦32ā¦5570ā¦3ā¦8-ā
A harsh blow punished his āmisspeakā. āWrong again.ā
Tears threatened, but Bucky fought them back. Crying wasnāt an option. He would be strong. He had to be strong.
Theyād taken his freedom.
Theyād taken his uniform and made him change into one of their own.
Theyād already taken so much.
But he wouldnāt let them take who he was.
He would be freed.
He would be released.
āNow, let me ask againā¦ā the agent tapped the tip of a metal rod on the floor, āā¦who are you?ā
Buckyās jaw clenched; fiery resolve pulsed through his veins. āSergeant James Barnes! 32557038!ā
Blows rained down upon him, but what did it matter?
Heād tasted victory and savored the sweetness of passionate defiance on his tongue.
He wouldnāt back down.
He couldnāt back down.
His metal fingers, still odd and often numb, enclosed around the rod.
The rod hit the wall with a thud.
āā¦I am James Buchanan Barnes.ā
The man called out several names.
Maybe this was his chanceā¦maybe he could escape. Maybeā¦just maybe-doors slammed open and several agents rushed into the room.
He had to get out. There had to be an escape.
He was Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, serial number 32557038, and best friend of Steve Rogers.
He was going to escapeā¦he had to.
Men wrenched his arms behind his back; a cry of brutal agony escaped Buckyās bleeding lips.
Others pushed him down to the floor, two men pressing down on his chest to keep his back on the floor.
Bucky struggled, fought, and raged. His arms flailed and his legs kicked out.
A needle poked into his right arm, cold and gentle yet firm.
He had to fightā¦he had to get freeā¦heā¦heā¦Buckyās limbs went limp.
His head lolled back.
And his world faded into darkness.
~~~
His wrists ached and even bled.
Freedomā¦so distantā¦soā¦soā¦oh, his brain couldnāt even think.
His teeth clattered together, chained in the drafty cell with nothing but thin clothing protecting him from the cold.
āSargeā¦Sergeant Jamesā¦J-J-James Ba-Barnesā¦325ā¦6? No, 570ā¦3ā¦8?ā
Shoes clicked against the cold stone. A short man stepped into the cell, adjusting his round glasses, flanked by two tall, burly men.
Maybe once Bucky had stood as muscular as them.
But low rations, even starvation, were beginning to strip those former muscles away.
He had to keep fightingā¦he had to keep standingā¦he had to keep defying.
Surrenderā¦surrender wasnātā¦it wasnāt an option. He had to fight.
Someone would rescue him soonā¦Steve would rescue him soon.
He just had to keep fightingā¦he just had to keep surviving. Theyād stop when they realized they couldnāt strip him of who he wasā¦they had to.
āI admire your fighting spiritā¦I really do. But soldier, I am afraid that resistance canāt last foreverā¦you must be pushed.ā
One of the taller men stepped forward at the end of Zolaās words; he tossed a newspaper to the floor with a quiet, almost intangible, thud.
Bucky strained and pulled on the manacles to seeā¦to read.
An American newspaperā¦a newspaper from home!
Did it mean anything? Could he finally-?
But the headline brought his fantasies to a skidding halt.
Captain America, Americaās Hero, declared Dead by US Government
Steveās face stared at him on the paper, donned in uniform, sporting the firm frown that was so unlike him that he had to wear for the cameras.
It couldnāt beā¦it couldnāt be true.
Passionate, patriotic, lively Steveā¦dead? The little Brooklyn kid that was too dumb to run away from a fightā¦dead? The amazing artist who drew everyone and everything he saw in his free timeā¦dead? Buckyās best friend who had been there through the thickest of itā¦dead? The kid that suffered from asthma and scared Bucky every time he got sickā¦dead?
It wasnāt true.
āItās not true. Itās not true. Youāre lying to me!ā
āIt is trueā¦it is very true. Iām afraid that Captain America has perished.ā
He was more than Captain Americaā¦he was Steve. He wasā¦he was Buckyās best friend.
Buckyās eyes tried to focus on the page.
Quotesā¦words of memory filled the columnsā¦names he knewā¦names he had once cherishedā¦but none of them were Steve.
They were alive, telling their memories of Steveā¦their thanks to him and the man he was.
But none of themā¦none of them were Steve.
Steve wasā¦Steve wasā¦gone.
Steve wouldā¦Steve would never rescue Bucky.
And Bucky would neverā¦he would never see Steve ever again.
A sob erupted out of Buckyās soul, guttural and deep.
Sorrow.
Loss.
Greif.
Pain.
Anger.
Regret.
Guilt.
Hopelessness.
Steve was goneā¦Steve was deadā¦Steve wasā¦Steve wasā¦Steve was never coming back.
Tears blurred the headline on the newspaper; tears landed in a pool at Buckyās knees.
He sank to the floor, wrists aching yet not caring.
His palms scrapped against the stone, yet he didnāt care.
āFightā¦Fight!ā His mind screamed at him.
But Bucky didnāt listen.
No one else could possibly know where he was.
Steve was gone.
Steve was dead.
Steve wasnāt coming back.
Bucky had nothing left to fight for.
and I’m tearing up again!!! šš
why did you have to make me love Bucky so much, Marvel?
*hugs Bucky tight, giving him a fluffy blanket and a pillow*
@freedomwriter76
Bucky!!!!!!!
why did you write this to make me cry???!!!
also, that post you showed an image, I have so many things like that save to my Pinterest board (they’re more about Wanda but there’s some other Avengers, mostly there to make me cry)
I could post some… if you want to see
Do me a favorā¦. Tell Cress I meant it
-Thorne- Rank: Chosen One
- Total Posts: 8156
Bucky!!!!!!!
why did you write this to make me cry???!!!
I WROTE IT BC I FELT INSPIRED. IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYššš
it made me cry my eyeballs out!!!! šš
also, that post you showed an image, I have so many things like that save to my Pinterest board (theyāre more about Wanda but thereās some other Avengers, mostly there to make me cry)
I could post someā¦ if you want to see
…….
*braces myself*
Yes please.
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