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  1. Public Bookmark 11

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    Summary

    Tony's life is thrown into disarray when a one-night stand becomes a lifelong commitment.

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    English
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    13,694
    Chapters:
    6/?
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    24
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    78
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    21 Jan 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “Shock of black hair the likes of which I've never seen, your little one, and feisty too. Early or not she seemed eager to make her entrance. ” Or to make her exit. If he’d been subjected to Brenna’s shrillness for that long he’d have been busting down the doors too.

    “I imagine she'll do just fine, Mr. Stark.” He nodded, somewhat absently, distracted by the tiny little incubators that had come into view and struggling to find anything familiar about their inhabitants.

    “Here we are. May I introduce you to little Miss Quinn.” Quinn? Had Brenna changed her mind?

    “Oh, sorry, it’s procedure. We always label the babies using their mother’s surname. Less chance of confusion.” That made sense. It still hurt though. He hadn't even thought about surnames. Would they give her his? Or would that be too obvious? Little Miss Stark. For some reason he liked the way that sounded.

    Finally they came to a stop and so did the rest of the world. At least that was how it seemed. There was no longer a doctor, a hospital, nothing - just Tony Stark and this delicate little creature with tubes taped to her face, circular little monitors stuck to her torso and, yes, a shock of black hair. She was laying peacefully. Eyes closed, knees curling up to her chest and her tiny little thumb pressed to her lips. Before he knew what he was doing the awestruck engineer had reached out to her, placing his hand gently atop the clear plastic of the incubator, as that familiar stinging sensation made itself known behind his eyes.

    “I'll leave you two alone.” Had she not already?

    “...sure.” he muttered, not really paying her much mind. In that moment everything had changed. He found himself contemplating the argument he’d had with Brenna and every decision he’d made since that day. Sure, he could hand this little bundle of mixed-emotions over to Siobhán and go about his life as if nothing had ever happened.

    Keep on the way he had been before his life got overly complicated.

    That had been the plan. Reach out to Grandma and see if she’s willing - which she had been - but could he really send his kid, the only kid he had, over to Ireland? And be happy with nothing more than the occasional letter and a few photographs? She was so small. What if there were other health issues they didn't know about? Was the Irish health system cut out to give her the kind of care she’d need? The kind of care she deserved? And what if she was too clever for the school systems there? Or she was bullied? What sort of person would she become?

    As he stressed over every possible scenario his daughter could ever encounter the babe slowly wriggled her fingers, pushing her thumb beyond her lip and sucking for a second or two before settling again. That was the moment that Tony knew that he was completely and utterly screwed.

    “Hey there, Half-Pint,” he cooed quietly. A weak smile playing upon his lips as her tiny fingers wriggled in response to the sound of his voice.

    “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  2. Public Bookmark 3

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    Kakashi tells Sakumo of his origins. Sakumo is not happy.

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    Language:
    English
    Words:
    5,665
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    4
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    15
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    3
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    20 Jan 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    For some reason, though everyone he loved was alive right now he still found himself in front of the memorial stone searching for familiar names and finding it jarring yet pleasing that they weren’t there. He felt something warm grow in his chest at the thought. He had been avoiding his old team in this time or dimension with the exception of the younger Kakashi, not wanting to see the ghosts of his past revived.

    He had saved this Sakumo because he wanted at least some version of his father alive and well for a small Kakashi that would need him in the coming years. The relationship was an added bonus and now one he was shot of considering his father’s reaction to learning who he was. He stared at the memorial stone hard, trying to reform the emotional barriers he hadn’t realized he’d let down around Sakumo. He should have known better than to let down his guard.

    He should have known by now that everyone could see him for what he was no matter the masks he donned. As far as he was concerned, he was a ghost haunting the graveyard until his body expired and he left it behind. He would either meet with his actual loved ones or if he was lucky the afterlife didn’t exist and he could just stop feeling. It was a comforting thought.

    He didn’t think he could face up to the weight of his sins. Not right now at least. He lost track of time looking at the stone and before he knew it, it was dark and he was starving. Still though, he didn’t move.

    He didn’t know if Ichiraku was still open at this point in the day but even if it was, he would only be eating a quick meal and then what would he do anyway? He wasn’t wanted in the compound anymore and it’s not like he had anywhere else to go. In the end he had no one but Sakumo here and of course he had to ruin that for himself by telling his father the truth. He ended up sleeping in a tree overlooking the clearing with the memorial stone because sleeping in a tree was better than the idea of facing his father right now.

    When he woke the next morning it was to a hard branch beneath him and a cold chill in the air that spoke of the changing of seasons, as mild as they tended to be in Fire Country. He shivered from the cold as he made his way to Hokage tower, intent on asking for a mission away from the village for a while. He didn’t know if he could bear seeing that disgust on Sakumo’s face again, knowing it was for him. He got his wish, receiving a three month infiltration mission that took him neatly away from Konoha and away from his latest source of heartache.

    He was thankful he had proven himself useful when he had arrived in the past if only so he could go on missions like this when he wanted. He allowed himself to lose himself in the mission, essentially allowing him to become the person he was posing as for the three months he was to be there. It was a relief to shed the worries and heartache of Hatake Kakashi and be someone else for a while. Of course, once it was over he had to be himself again but it was nice being someone else for a few months.

    Even on his way back to the village he didn’t allow himself to think of Sakumo. He wasn’t worried about saving the man from himself anymore as he knew Sakumo had gotten past his depression with the help of both versions of Kakashi. Instead, he thought only of his mission, compiling the information he had gained into a cohesive report in his mind. Once he had arrived back in the village, giving his report took little time and he was soon dismissed.

    It occurred to him only after he was handed his pay that he had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Sakumo had made it clear he didn’t want Kakashi around and he wasn’t going to force his presence on the man. In the end he ate at a restaurant and slept in the tree by the memorial stone again. It was well into winter by now but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that or the biting cold he woke to.

    He cared even less that his core body temperature was dangerously low due to sleeping exposed to the cold all night with no real insulators. His days were spent doing missions or staring at the memorial stone as if sheer force of will could etch his name into it and bring Kakashi closer to his version of his loved ones. Eventually he even started to ignore his hunger pangs, not caring about how hungry he was. He didn’t see the point in eating anymore.

    The food would be wasted on a walking corpse such as him anyway. Sakumo was still avoiding him so there was no one around to notice or care that he was wasting away. He had even stopped going on missions due to the concerned looks the people at the missions desk had started to give him at his appearance. Now all he did all day was stare at the memorial stone and hate himself for his continued survival.

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    The Winter Soldier is on the run and no one is more surprised than he is by the fact that he is accompanied by a little boy who seems convinced that he is his father:

    “What’s that, Papa?”

    Papa flinches and looks at Stefan. “It’s called a Kalashnikov,” he says, in a strange voice. “You’re not to touch it, okay?”

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    18,145
    Chapters:
    6/6
    Comments:
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    20 Jan 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “You know what this means, Yakov.”

    Papa looks tired. “It means we have to get out of Russia.”

    “Don’t be too hasty,” says Lyonya. “Yes, you must go but they will be watching for you. You should wait here. Two weeks, maybe a month. They’ll think you’ve gone east. I can arrange for a sighting in Ekaterinburg, if you like.”

    Papa drains the glass again, with a wince. “Why are you helping us?”

    “Why did you come to me, Yasha? Not because you trust me, surely.”

    Papa shrugs. He rolls his neck and his arm shines. Stefan likes to trace the star. “You are a dead man.”

    Lyonya laughs. “It does not make me any more trustworthy, or any less.”

    “You are L’venok,” says Papa. “If you know anything about what Stefan is-”

    “Stefan is what he is,” says Lyonya. He looks towards the door and Stefan gasps and holds himself very still. There is a faint smile on Lyonya’s lips and it frightens Stefan. “He is the son of the Winter Soldier.”

    “How can you tell?” asks Papa and now he is reaching for the bottle himself. He drinks straight from it, much to Stefan’s horror.

    “Because he looks like you, genius,” says Lyonya. “He’s practically a clone.”

    Papa slams down the bottle and somehow it doesn’t break, though the table creaks. “You don’t think they-”

    Lyonya holds up his hand. “No, no. They don’t have that technology yet. My guess is that they milked you like a fucking cow while you were sleeping and some pretty girl offered to do her bit for comrade and country.”

    Papa doesn’t look any happier. He closes his eyes. “What were they thinking?”

    “Probably the same thing they were thinking with me. A child of the Red Room. How wonderful.” Lyonya claps his hands together once but Stefan doesn’t think he’s really applauding. “How can we mould him? How can we make him greater even than the Winter Soldier or the Black Widow? There’s another question, though, Yasha. A more important one.”

    “And what’s that?”

    “What were you thinking, dragging the boy out of the only home he’s known?”

    “You think I should have left him? You, of all people?” Papa bows his head. “He calls me Papa. He remembers me.”

    “And so you stole him away and lit up the whole goddamned factory while you were at it.” Lyonya suddenly chuckles. “Well, at least you destroyed the evidence and some of the most goddamned valuable material on the planet.”

    Papa frowns. “What do you mean?”

    Now Lyonya is wheezing with laughter and he sounds like the car that Papa and Stefan drove in to Vladimir. “The Winter Soldier’s spunk’s gone up in fl-flames,” he says, “and all that’s left is here-” He jabs at Papa between the legs, making Papa yelp, and then he points at Stefan’s door. “And in that little boy. Oh, they’ll be looking for you, Yasha.”

    Papa growls at Lyonya and picks up the bottle again. Stefan creeps back into bed and he falls asleep until Papa comes in to lie down. Papa’s breath smells kind of funny, sour and sweet. Stefan tries to squirm away but then Papa’s arm wraps around him and it’s the first time in days that Papa has cuddled Stefan without Stefan crawling into his lap. Stefan settles down and whispers, “goodnight, Papa.”

    He thinks Papa is already asleep until he hears a hoarse, “goodnight, medvezhonok,” and it is the first time Papa has sounded like Papa all evening.

     

    “Does your bear have a name?” asks the waitress, when Papa and Stefan sit down for dinner that night and Stefan’s new teddy sits on his very own chair.

    “Yes,” says Stefan, beaming. His new Captain America comics are nestled in his new Iron Manbackpack because he told Papa that he preferred Iron Man to Spiderman and Papa mostly looked confused. “His name is Bucky Bear.”

    Papa chokes on his water.

  4. Public Bookmark 68

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    Petunia Dursley will wake up one morning to a babe on her doorstep. This will not be a dark-haired boy with her sister’s eyes.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,009
    Chapters:
    1/?
    Comments:
    13
    Kudos:
    206
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    68
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    20 Jan 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    She is anyone anyone expects her to be, and a few more besides.

    She doesn’t really exist, she comes to conclude late at night as she listens to her aunt’s dreams. Her hair is bleeding red by the time the nightly images fade into some grotesque imaginations of her mother’s death, and she feels the sorrow/hate/disgust like thorns in her skin.

    She is some piecemeal mirror that has no real identity, just a mask for every person she comes across, and she can’t even feel any sorrow for that because she still, to this day, doesn’t know what it means to have one. She can’t understand something so fundamentally outside of her reach.

    That’s okay though. Every childhood is entitled to its fair share of existential crises and nightly terror at the void that is personhood. She knows, through the truly horrendous poetry of her peers, that all children go through a macabre fascination with the boiling anxieties of learning how to be people. She’s heard more than one teacher bemoan the teenage angst of their young students, as if they don’t too have fears of the dark and sleep uneasy for the clouded future.

    Hyacinth, who’s had more experience being people than she thinks most others’ twice her age do, tucks the dark thoughts into the corner of her mind and pays them no real attention. What does it matter that her sense of identity shifts from moment to moment like the changing of tides? She is transient, and formless, and she cannot fear the things that make her so.

    So she is many things, at many times. A daughter, a son. A cousin fit for soft dolls and pale dresses. A studious student and a rebellious friend.

    A wizard.

    Oh she doesn’t really see it at first, hidden as it is in Petunia’s fear and Vernon’s anger, but the shape of something becomes apparent by the time she is six. There’s expectation in her aunt’s skin, some sort of dread in her thoughts that’s tied to Hyacinth’s mother like an umbilical cord.

    She doesn’t really understand. Has no real notice of what is considered magic, and what is not. There’s the sense that she is different, but that has more to deal with the fact that her skin changes with other’s moods.

    But an entire world expects their saviour. How could she be anything else. How could she?

    There is a moment that shivers down her back when she first gets her letters. Addressed to Harry Potter, as if Hyacinth never existed. She feels her bones rattle, start to shrink. Feels her hair turn black and shorten, as if it was burning away into ash on her head.

    She remembers trying on Harry Potter’s skin like it was an ill fitting coat. She does not relish the idea of being him again.

    For once she reaches inside of herself and chooses. Chooses to settle the change into something that’s not what everyone else expects her to be. To twist her features into something that, although it might feel unnatural, at least feels right. It is hard, the hardest thing she has ever done, but she wins. She wins against an entire world and things shift, just a little.

    The new Hyacinth—Harry, is blond, greyed eyed. She has short messy hair and the dark colouring of her paternal line. She’s short, almost as short as Harry Potter should be, but bulkier, with more fat and muscle than he would ever be blessed with. She’s Hyacinth, and she’s Harry, and she’s her classmate’s brother with his earthen build.

    It is not an identity. Not one that most would recognise. She can still feel her shifting skin, still feel how a new face is just a thought away. It doesn’t feel like her, like any of her faces feel like her. But it doesn’t feel like someone else either.

    Expectation says a saviour, but she decides then and there, at the front door of a family that would hate her given a chance, that she might conform for survival but she will not play nice for someone else’s pleasure.

    She has the faces of thousands under her skin, and she won’t be caged by anyone’s desires.

     

    What more could she want from life but a malleable existence living as she pleases? What more can magic do than what she already does instinctively?

    There is also the fear that these wizards will see the faces she wears and not understand that they are all her. That they might consider it a malady or curse, to not know who one is.

     

    “It is quite likely you inherited a magical ability called metamorphmagic. It’s the ability to change one’s outward appearance, and it’s a trait that was passed down your father’s line. That would explain why you appear to have taken on the colouring of your guardians,” she says, finally taking a sip.

    McGonagall continues, “I must ask about your chosen form. I knew you as a baby, and I must say it’s quite the change.”

    Potter thinks on it, hands cupped around his tea as if he’s getting something besides warmth from it.

    “How do you know what I was as a baby is who I actually am?”

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Sometimes even the tiniest bit of snow can set off an avalanche. Sometimes even small, seemingly unimportant events can change the course of history forever. And sometimes, meeting a snake can lead to falling in love with your worst enemy. Fate has always had it in for Harry Potter, hadn't it?

    Language:
    English
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    183,262
    Chapters:
    48/?
    Collections:
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    850
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    20 Jan 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Harry had no idea how he did it, maybe with some help from his magical eye, but Moody always had a backup plan and always knew whenever somebody was close to finishing the Potion, thus ruining it next. Or just causing some random noise to startle them and make them forget either their potion or their protection...

    "Time's up!", he finally shouted, looking at them as most of the students seemed horribly relieved. Especially Neville, if Harry judged his facial expression correctly. "And while some of you had some nice ideas, all of you missed the two most simple solutions, really: Option A would have been just leaving the room to brew somewhere else."

    As he was met with incredulous and frustrated stares he just shrugged. "I never said you weren't allowed to leave, I just wanted to have a finished draught at the end of the lesson. Learn to exploit the rules you are given and never try to brew with a lot of other people nearby. And Option B would have been even easier: Teamwork. If you would have tried to combine your ideas or just took turn in brewing with one or two people guarding the cauldron of a third one, passing those defences would have been a lot harder. I never said not to partner up either."

    "But Professor Snape-" Pansy started before getting interrupted. "-is not here, girl! Just because hemight not tolerate this, don't assume everyone thinks the same. Never assume two people think alike just because you found some similarities. In fact, if something is unclear about a person and you are able to, just ask! If they won't kill you - and this would fall under the 'you are not able to ask'-part - you will be fine!"

    There was a lot of grumbling and Harry couldn't quite believe it either, but at the same time, Moody did have some valid points...

     

    "I take it he didn't introduce himself yet," Tom commented dryly, causing Harry to shoot him a dirty look.

    "No, he didn't. Didn't you say the people you had here were alright?"

    "I did. And I will not take it back. None of them tried to hurt you, did they?"

    That actually caused Harry to pause for a moment, before shaking his head.

    "Well, no, but... it's Greyback! He's best known for biting - if not outright killing! - children of his enemy, in case you had forgotten!" he finally retorted, not sure if he was supposed to be angry, afraid or both... Hearing Tom snort didn't help his mood in the least though. "What?"

    Tom shook his head, amusement in his eyes - something that actually put Harry out of his anger, for he still couldn't quite believe that Tom was even capable of positive emotions - before answering.

    "Nothing. It's just amusing to see how humanity so easily believes any kind of rumours as long as it fits into their picture of a person."

    Harry scowled, having the feeling he was missing something that made this funny.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Well, Greyback spread those rumours himself. It was shortly after he came to Britain and was working on creating his own pack. He needed some sort of reputation and what's more evil than attacking children?"

    Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but there was still disbelief in him.

    "You mean he just faked all of this? And you knew and worked with him anyway?" He had done his reading after all, especially regarding the last wizarding war - and Professor Drakul had talked about that too - so he knew how Voldemort had been closely working together with the werewolves.

    Tom shrugged at that.

    "I found out only recently. Never cared enough about him to check the sources when I was still insane. For while he certainly isn't as bad as he makes himself out to be in the public he is a very good fighter. Even if you disarm him or if he is in wolf form. You shouldn't underestimate him. But away from fights he is... Well, you saw how he is. You wouldn't think such a personality would work until you meet him. Also, for some reason he is obsessed with muggle technology."

    "Yeah, I noticed that," Harry answered slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the possible fact that Fenrir Greyback wasn't quite as evil as he would have thought.

    That made already two, he just hoped this wouldn't turn into a habit... It was way too creepy, seriously.

    "Do you have any other Death Eaters who, in truth, are incredibly nice people and just fake being evil?" Harry dryly wondered after another moment, causing Tom to raise an eyebrow.

    "Oh, make no mistakes, none of us is nice, in the truest sense of the word. But we're also not just plain evil. Everyone has their selfish times, when they are aggressive or even plain cruel, but that doesn't mean that they can't be nice when surrounded by people they like - or at least not actively hate. Only very few Death Eaters are truly evil or even insane and I'll work on not letting those near you until you are ready."