#Arctic Forge
Photo
Ex. Winter Forge // United States Army
#United States Army#U.S. Army#Army#military#armed forces#gunblr#milblr#Exercise Arctic Forge#Arctic Forge#Arctic Forge 2023#Finnish RK62M1#Finnish#RK62M1#Finland#Exercise Joint Viking#EUCOM#USAREUR-AF#Army National Guard#National Guard#Virginia Army National Guard#VANG#183rd Cavalry Regiment#Aimpoint#Valmet
62 notes
·
View notes
Photo
The Evermore Grimoire: Mermaids of the Seven Seas
The Arctic Mermaids are a pod of mermaids who have called the Arctic Ocean their home for centuries despite its harsh cold conditions. In fact they thrive in the colder climate simply because like all other mermaids, they don’t feel the temperatures of the oceans. They have beautiful tails that reflect the glistening colours of the snow and ice both on the surface and under the water and they love to adorn themselves with crystallised jewels made of ice and frozen sea life thanks to their power of Cryokinesis. It’s with this same power that they can control the environment around them from freezing the ocean’s surface, to forging deadly weapons made out of ice and even creating icebergs to help them evade danger. Whilst the Arctic Mermaids are elusive in nature they’re also not afraid of confrontation and will happily make the Arctic Ocean a perilous place to outsiders. Just like witches, these mermaids can combine their cold powers and turn the ocean into a harsh frozen landscape which can last for months, causing any nearby ships to come to a standstill. However over the years they have struggled to maintain their powers due to the Arctic Ocean gradually warming thanks to man made climate change. This has forced many of them to leave in search of a new home where they can continue to thrive and protect who they are from the surface world. Whilst some Arctic Mermaids refuse to leave their home it is believed that those who have left have been welcomed into a pod known as the Baltic Mermaids.
original artwork by Vlad Stankovic
624 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello!
I just want to say that I have no idea how I even came up with this but I’ll like to have your thoughts and opinions on it. Thank for listening.
So here it is: Primus or the other Original Primes possesses Optimus.
Like when it was discovered that the Earth was Unicron and the Team had to find a way to stop him for awakening, Primus or The Primes grind out what Optimus was gonna do and were like “NOPE! NOT GONNA LET OUT SON/LITTLE BROTHER DO THIS!” And like possesses him through the Matrix.
The Matrix was used to communicate to the Primus and The Primes, so why not it like do something like this too just for kicks.
Examples Include: Big Sister Solus possessing her little brother from doing something dangerous while she and Wheeljack create this big hammer to just knock Unicron out. I feel like Solus and Wheeljack would be like the bestest friends.
And that’s all. I’ll like to have your thoughts on this.
Thank you and I hope you have a great day!
This is literally one of the best ideas ever, so thank you for gifting me with it. Now excuse me while I write until my fingers hurt.
Guardian Angels
The Matrix is ancient and capable of not just forging Primes, but connecting the Primes of old to the current one. Primus himself was too old and far too out of touch to interact with his chosen, so the burden fell to the Primes long since gone from the living realm. Of course they were largely limited in their ability to intervene, only capable of whispering knowledge and wisdom during times of need in the beginning.
During the height of the war there were moments were Optimus found his attacks guided by grace he knew not to be his own, however those were few and far between, often coming when times were dire. Aside from those small moments, the Primes that resided within their realm kept out of the affairs of the living, only soothing and guiding gently when required for the sake of their brother. However upon Optimus's arrival to earth and the subsequent issues that came from that, they became more active.
Even then as a general rule they tried to not act, but there were just some cases where they couldn't help it.
The scraplet incident that ended with Optimus and Arcee stuck in the Arctic led to Prima temporarily taking partial control of the frame of his younger brother. It wasn't much, but with Prima's touch Optimus's frame was kept from sustaining serious damage until help could arrive. During that time he did nothing but mutter assurances to his freezing brother, doing his best to distract Optimus from the chill that froze the energon in his fuel lines.
The moments where the human children were in harms way often ended with Onyx taking up a place beside Optimus when it came to control. They worked together, often with Optimus not even realizing it to get the children away from Decepticon attackers. It wasn't obvious to others, but the way in which Optimus moved and his heightened senses when Onyx offered his aid spoke loud enough for anyone looking carefully to note something was off.
Solus made her appearance whenever there was a particular threat to Optimus that he was ignoring. Unlike her brothers, she was not gentle when she took control, often ripping it away from Optimus to get him away from whatever near lethal situation he was marching into with that stoic resolve she both loved and hated. Usually this meant having the team retreat, but when pressed she was not afraid to pick up the nearest hammer shaped object to beat the scrap out of whatever the threat was on her brother's behalf.
The other Primes occasionally gave their input or offered their assistance when something caught there interest, but it was never as often as Prima and Solus. Quintus was fond of making himself known whenever Optimus studied the happening and creatures of Earth. He worked alongside Optimus as a second mind, increasing Optimus's processing speed drastically when studying that particular subject matter. Micronus offered light hearted commentary now and then, sometimes taking partial control to lessen the tension around base with a joke that fit well enough with Optimus's personality to not seem too out of the ordinary. Liege didn't do too much largely because the other Primes did not allow it, but when he was offered an opportunity, he helped Optimus see through lies and spin half truths of his own for his team when required.
Optimus for his part allowed the possession without complaint. It was odd at first and rather jarring when Solus stripped control from him, but the Primes were his siblings. They protected him and guided him, even going so far as to take upon themselves some of his pains when it became too much. Sometimes he would even willingly offer them full control of his frame so that he could mentally rest while they kept things in order. While it was never stated outright, the team and most of the Autobots were well aware that whatever else was living in the Matrix sometimes made an appearance but "it's fine, Optimus will come back soon enough".
Of course this rather rare event of the Primes taking control was completely thrown out the window after Unicron began to wake. At that point they watched on in horror as Optimus stood against he avatars of the Unmaker himself and then rushed to his aid the moment the avatar took a swing at him. Their combined wrath led to all of them scrambling for control, each trying to lash out and fill Optimus with what power they could before Megatron launched his attack and eliminated the avatar.
Megatron offered his aid, but by that point all the Primes were in such distress that Optimus was shoved back until Prima could wrestle his way to the front and take control.
Megatron: His blood flows through my veins! I can lead you to him!
Optimus/Prima: You would lead us there, but how can we be certain you will not betray us?
Megatron: You want to save this world and I wish to rule it. Neither of us will get what we want if Unicron wakes. So until this common threat is annihilated, does it not make sense to combine our strength?
Optimus/Prima: ... You will guide us, but we will see to the success of this mission.
Upon returning to base the Primes kept up their control for a while before Optimus made his displeasure known. None wanted to back off, but Optimus was there brother, and so they adhered to his wishes thinking he had a plan. He most certainly did have a plan, one that the moment they deciphered what it was led to Solus putting her pede down and refusing to let it be.
It took a moment, but as soon as Optimus began offering the key to vector sigma to Jack, Solus snatched control away and shoved the key right back where it belonged. The team were startled, the children were concerned, and Megatron was left in complete confusion as Solus put her hands on her hips and loudly proclaimed her beliefs.
Optimus/Solus: No! We are not doing this!
Megatron: Don't tell me you are backing out now Prime.
Optimus/Solus: Not at all, but I will not allow my dear brother to go forward with his foolish plan. We have fought the Unmaker before with blade and blaster, there is no need for him to risk it all in this manner.
Bulkhead: Optimus, are you alright-?
Optimus/Solus: Oh, he's not here right now. Don't worry though, I am just as competent.
There was little for the team to do as Solus marched over to Ratchet' workspace and forged herself a hammer from what materials she had available. All the while Megatron and the team watched on in ever growing confusion as she finished and waved it triumphantly. The team didn't stop her when she took those able to fight down into Earth's core, nor did they stop her when she took a wild swing at Megatron the moment they entered Unicron's spark chamber. The Warlord was sent sprawling, and with the collective aid of the rest of the Primes, she was able to use the power of the Primes and channel it through her makeshift hammer to once again seal the chaos god with yet another swing.
Not a spark knew what to do when standing proudly was Optimus Prime, or rather whoever was inhabiting his body with a hammer that really shouldn't have been able to do half the scrap it had. Megatron didn't even bother trying to pick a fight and booked it. The team simply stared for a while until Optimus dropped like a box of rocks and came back to awareness groggy and exhausted muttering something about "Solus" and "his plan being totally viable".
Questions were forced to wait as Optimus recharged for a solid week afterwards and was too exhausted to think right for nearly an additional week after the matter.
#maccadam#transformers#transformers prime#optimus prime#team prime#megatron#the thirteen primes#possession#the ghostly primes are bored and want to help their baby brother out#he may be an adult#but older sibling habits die hard
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
Freak [ Pt. 1 ]
Genres: Smut, Modern AU
Warnings: Female Reader, Female Anatomy, Reader Has Box Braids, Explicit Language, Dry Humping, Biting, Light Spanking, Naughty Things Done Outdoors, Blue Balls, OOC Kyojuro, MDNI!
Musical Inspiration: This entire playlist.
Tag! You're it! @asirensrage @nanaoise08squad @potofstewie @cherryblossomsenpai @yeahitzally @superluckystar @goatman-againstgod
Thank you so much for reading! ❤️
It would be on the hood of his convertible, the aluminum still warm beneath the fat of your ass.
The residual heat pales in comparison to that of the massive hands kneading, pinching, and lifting your bum off his Challenger in his haste to feel every inch of you.
Nonetheless, the warmth is a pleasant contrast to the chill of the night air tossing your hair and ruffling the polyester of your dress. The arctic wind shaking your little neighborhood on its axis does nothing to deter the Adonis nestled between your legs. He’s on a mission to brand you in every way, shape, and form, your neighbors be damned.
“K-Kyo,” you keen, light and breathless, his teeth embedding themselves into the column of your throat.
On instinct, you crane your head back, the coarseness of your braids tickling your exposed shoulder blades. There’s a smile curving your painted lips. Carbon-black lashes fluttering, his name surfing on your tongue in a quiet hymnal.
Your fingers sift through the delicate hairs of his nape, urging him closer. Though your jean jacket, hooked around your elbows—he’d yanked it southward in his eagerness to taste you—sadly inhibits your movements.
“A little busy here, darling,” he huffs, blazing a trail down the curve of your shoulder with his mouth.
His kisses are wet, chaste, and open-mouthed whilst his hands embark on a journey to the swell of your hips. He sinks his canines into your collarbone, the prickle of them tearing a quivering sigh from your lips. Your hands thunk against the bonnet of his car behind you to keep you upright whilst he moves to pay homage to the other side of your neck.
The blond rubs languid circles into the bones of your hips, calloused palms continuing their excursion to your full, bared thighs as if unearthing treasure. Kyojuro hooks his hands into the bends of your knees, suddenly tugging you forward until your nether regions collide, ripping a gasp from your lungs. He cups your thighs in his hands. Isn’t at all subtle as he grinds against you, his weighted girth stroking your clothed cunt to life.
He mouths your jugular. Suckles on the meat of your shoulder, breathing the most sinister words into your flesh. How desperately he wants to fuck you. How devastatingly sexy you are, saying his name like that.
The car rocks as he pistons his hips against you, sweat beading on his temple whilst he buries his face into the junction of your shoulder, panting wetly.
“F-fu-huck, Kyo,” you moan, your arms coming up to encircle his neck, nails rooting into the blades of his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life.
He holds your thighs spread eagle, fingers cratering the undersides—you’re sure blue-violet petals will bloom in their wake come morning. His breaths are choppy whilst he continues his onslaught of thrusts, his pelvis seemingly moving of its own volition.
You’ve missed him dearly. His profession often drags him to remote parts of the world, far from the safety of your arms, into the dangerous world of demon slaying. You’ve had nothing but the company of cold sheets and an empty, king-sized bed this past month. So, of course, you aren’t initially opposed to the attention.
Outside. Unfettered. Raw.
That is until the wind picks up its tempo, and the telltale slamming of a screen door nearby brings you hurtling back to the present.
“Kyo, baby,” you plead, clawing at the lapels of his shirt.
It’s hard to keep afloat, your cunt twitching, nipples tightening beneath the soft lace of your bra. If your lover forges on, you might just cum from the friction and heat alone.
Kyojuro hums in response, his voice like sandpaper, the undulations of his hips never faltering.
“As much as I would love to continue,” a heave of breath, “would you mind if we took this party—hah—inside?”
You tug on his shirt to bring him to a standstill when your words don’t seem to faze him. He fitfully pulls away, hair tussled and irises gleaming like dual flames in the sepia glow of your porch light. You have to bite your lip at the sight, your boyfriend resembling a beast disturbed in the midst of its meal. When your eyes lock, your gaze flits over his shoulder, catching your nosy, elderly neighbor scuttling onto her porch, a grimace taking residence on her face.
Kyojuro searches your eyes. Needs no more indication, releasing you with a weighted sigh. Your legs slack against the bumper, the strain of your muscles ebbing into a dull throb. Your jacket pools around your wrists, and the flap of your dress falls back between your legs. Your baby hairs stick to your forehead, exhaustion taking possession of your features. With a brawny arm wound around the small of your back, he shepherds you the rest of the way down, your slick skin squeaking against the polymer.
Your chuckle stains the atmosphere whilst he pulls you into his arms. Peppers your mouth with kisses, promising the best of things into the swell of your lips. He swats your ass playfully when you maneuver past, ushering you beneath the awning of your carport into the sanctity of your home.
—
It creeps beneath the surface of your skin like a snake sidewinding through the sand, anticipation pooling in the chasm of your belly, sending little thrills careening into your center.
You’ve barely made it through the foyer, your home warm and dark save for the subtle glow of the entryway and stove lights illuminating your path. You feel them when you bend over to undo the straps of your sandals. Polychrome eyes boring into the arc of your ass with an intensity that makes your legs tremble.
You spin around to face him, your jacket falling into a serpentine pile at your feet, throat dry with sand at the visage that greets you. He’s a few paces off. A hulking mass of muscle, sex, and mahogany prowling towards you like a panther, loafers haphazardly kicked off by the door.
There’s a thick finger hooked into the collar of his button-down, skillfully undoing each knob without relinquishing eye contact. He cants his head to the side, gaze half-slit, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You could swear that you hear a growl rumbling like thunder through the base of his throat.
He sizes you up as if he intends to devour you, his shirt splayed open, bronze skin peeking out, stretched taut over pectorals and abs. Your stare wanders to the coarse, flaxen trail leading to the rim of his pants. Your eyes conclude their journey at the bulk of him throbbing between his legs.
It takes every ounce of you not to moan. Not to chew your lip. Not to throw yourself into Kyojuro’s arms, winding your legs around his hips, begging him to fuck you senseless.
You were raring to go earlier, murmuring obscenities into his neck over dinner, his palm wide and possessive, stroking along the meat of your thigh. But now, there is this fluttering sensation taking hold of your gut. Nervousness, excitement, eagerness, glee. You can’t quite place the feeling. Although, it has been some time since you’ve last felt him.
You stave off the moment, feigning nonchalance with a shrug of your shoulders despite the insistent pounding between your thighs.
“Thirsty?” you offer, taking a cautious step back.
He matches you with a long stride forward. A predator homing in on its prey. And you are the lamb laid to slaughter. “No.”
That previous feeling grows tenfold, your blood pumping ferociously in your throat and ears. Your voice grows shrill. Thin and light against the distant hum of the air conditioner.
“H-hungry?” Another step back until your back thumps against the glacial, textured wall by your kitchen. You’re clawing at it for leverage, your head spinning, spinning.
Two more steps forward, sinewy arms reaching out to cage you in. Kyojuro spills over you like liquid fire, blotting out everything but him.
“Not at all.”
Your breaths intermingle whilst he leans in, painting a hazy triangle between your eyes and mouth. Hair grazes your shoulder when he ducks beside your jaw, his lips red-hot as he huffs into your ear.
“Is there anything my darling needs before we retire to the bedroom?”
You shake your head numbly in reply, rooted to this spot, your voice and legs refusing to work.
“Good,” Kyojuro drawls, bending his elbows to bring himself closer, surprise purling through you like waves upon the shore.
He blisters the juncture of your shoulder with lazy kisses. And you nearly sink to the floor, the pheromones charging the air loosening your joints and making your pussy hiccup. He hooks his hands beneath the folds of your knees, effortlessly twining your thighs around his hips. You scramble for purchase of his shoulders, eyes swimming whilst the hard press of his dick finds the apex of your hips.
“Because when I’m inside you…unnff.” His tone is strained. Abrasive. Crackling like a fire burning through the underbrush. His forehead dips into your shoulder, his thick groan vibrating your skin. Open-mouthed against your flesh, “When I’m inside this pretty little pussy of yours, I am never coming out.”
#rengoku x reader#kyojuro x reader#rengoku kyojuro x reader#kyojuro rengoku x reader#rengoku kyojuro smut#rengoku smut#kyojuro smut#kyojuro x black reader#rengoku x black reader#rengoku kyojuro x black reader#rengoku kyojuro x you#rengoku kyojuro x y/n#rengoku kyojuro#kny x reader#kny x y/n#demon slayer fic
364 notes
·
View notes
Text
··· yanqing names · pronouns · titles !
､､ for @vampkyure
( NAMES ✦
: swordiette · sworia · swordria · swordelle · sworbelle · sworbella · swordia · swordina · swordlita · sworien(e) · icette · icyne · frostyne · frostbite · frosiette · glaciae · iciclae · iciclace · snowette · snowetta · snowelle · frostbella · frostbelle · icyrae · glaciette · glaciuer · icynesse · blade · bladiette · bladiane · frostheart
( PRONOUNS ✦
: swo / sword · sha / sharp · hi / hilt · sab / scabbard · ice · fo / frost · gla / glacial · fe / fen / fencing · bla / blade · cu / cut · swi / swish · hai / hail · fe / freeze · ⚔️ · 🗡️ · ❄️ · 🌨️ · ⚔️❄️ · 🗡️❄️
( TITLES ✦
: the general's retainer · the prodigy of swordplay · the master of swords · the gifted swordsman · prns (impeccable) swordsmanship · prn who is born to fight · the sword champion (of the Luofu) · the youngest lieutenant · the swordsman · prn who is gifted with the art of swordplay · the unrivaled fighter · the [x] of swords · the [x] who wields a sword · the [x] amidst the raining bliss · prns glacial blades · prns freezing attacks · prns forever frozen blade/sword · prns shivering slashes · prns frost-forged sword/saber · prns one true sword · prns frost thorns · the icicle's grace · the frost-bound duelist · prns arctic blade
[x] can be replaced with any nouns or terms you prefer
the angel who wields a sword
the vampire amidst the raining bliss
the serpent of swords
#（ ♥️ ) —— Ⅶ.#names#name ideas#name help#name suggestions#yanqing names#yanqing inspired names#yanqing themed names#yanqing name ideas#pronouns#neopronouns#pronoun ideas#pronoun suggestions#pronoun sets#neopronoun help#neopronoun suggestions#neopronoun ideas#titles#title help#title suggestions#yanqing pronouns#yanqing neopronouns#yanqing themed pronouns#yanqing inspired pronouns#yanqing themed titles#yanqing inspired titles#honkai star rail#hsr#star rail#yanqing
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
RECAP: LOUIS TOMLINSONS "FAITH IN THE FUTURE" TOUR
Photos by Tage Stenner
In the midst of the whirlwind 'Faith In The Future' tour, and under the shadow of a disastrous hailstorm at Red Rocks that led to fan injuries just days prior, Louis Tomlinson delivered a stellar performance in Vancouver at the Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Centre on June 26th, 2023. It was a night filled with heart, energy, and music that created an atmosphere of unity and resilience in the face of adversity.
Tomlinson, the former One Direction member, started the concert with an electrifying rendition of "The Greatest." This poignant opening number served as an uplifting affirmation of strength and set the tone for an evening of celebration, solidarity, and cathartic release.
The 'Faith In The Future' tour follows hot on the heels of Tomlinson’s successful 'Walls' tour and coincides with the release of his highly anticipated sophomore album. As he discussed in a SiriusXM interview, this album and tour represent a creative evolution for Tomlinson: “It's really important to me in the live show, but also in how the tracks are produced as well,” he explained. That boldness and expanded artistic vision were on full display throughout the Vancouver concert.
With the support of opening act Andrew Cushin, Tomlinson wove an emotional narrative through the night. His setlist, which encompassed hits like "Kill My Mind," "Holding on to Heartache," and "She Is Beauty We Are World Class," showcased his diverse range and continued evolution as a solo artist.
The crowd erupted as he introduced two nostalgic numbers from the One Direction repertoire: "Night Changes" and "Where Do Broken Hearts Go." The fan favourites injected an irresistible dose of nostalgia into the night, uniting both newer and long-time fans in shared history.
A riveting cover of Arctic Monkeys' "505" was yet another testament to Tomlinson's growth, highlighting his ability to honour his musical influences while offering a unique twist that is distinctly his own.
The night ended on an indelible high note with Tomlinson’s encore performance of "Silver Tongues," one of his most acclaimed numbers from the new album. The Canadian crowd, awash in the afterglow of a performance that seamlessly blended heartfelt honesty with energetic entertainment, responded with a thunderous ovation.
The 'Faith In The Future' tour is proving to be about more than promoting Tomlinson's new album; it's about resilience, about forging ahead through challenging times, about holding onto hope and, indeed, about faith in the future.
In light of the Red Rocks incident, Tomlinson’s commitment to continue his musical journey with his fans is a poignant demonstration of his strength of character and his dedication to the healing power of music. As the 'Faith In The Future' tour travels across the U.S., Canada, and Europe, it is set to leave behind an inspiring legacy of resilience, connection, and unadulterated passion for music.
[2.7.2023]
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
lady of the ghosts [chapter 4]
After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.
Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader
Warnings: violence, blood, religious worship, mention of war, mention of death, sexism, swearing, yelling, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 8.1k
A/N: oh my gosh this chapter got so big for what!! i had an entire extra section planned for the end of this chapter but it will have to go into the next chapter because i'm already 2k over my goal length. i watched a knights tale and had to add in the jousting drama because that movie is great. if you check out the chapter masterlist linked below there is some concept art i made (should i make some of the temple? idk if people actually like the art or just want to read lmk) as well as a map! i'm gonna be updating the map with new locations as the story progresses. thank you for reading as well as all of the likes/reblogs. as always, not proof read - sorry for any typos!
chapter masterlist | main masterlist
You had never found violence disturbing. Combat and fighting were a large portion of Faliene’s tradition; grievances and arguments were often solved with a fist or blade. In order to survive the arctic conditions, one had to be strong. The men of Faliene crafted themselves like a blade in a forge, one made with salt and snow. They constructed themselves to be as massive and colossal as the Stormfall Mountains and as strong and ferocious as the waves of salt water that pounded the shore. As a child, you never found value in a sharp tongue; instead, you watched as the sailors pulled in the cargo, deciding that their rippling muscles were the epitome of power. It was only as you grew older that you realized that words could be just as violent as a fist.
The Lady next to you flinched as splinters of wood exploded across the lists field, the crowd roaring as a knight slumped from his horse onto the muddy ground below. You had watched jousting before, but never at an event this size. Previously, you had observed the Haiford knights training while strutting and winking in front of the ladies watching from the balconies. Jousting had never been much of a sport in Faliene, with your people preferring to go straight to steel.
For the third time that afternoon, Steve paraded down the lists victorious. He had never mentioned to you his proficiency with a lance, but it seemed there were many things he hadn’t mentioned. Catching glances at Peggy all afternoon, you watched the way she blushed every time he won or covered her eyes with nerves as he galloped beside the tilt. From the way he looked back at her, searching the crowd after every strike, it seemed her feelings weren’t one-sided. Even if you were silently happy for the pair, you couldn’t help but let worry gnaw at your stomach. It was hard to predict how their flirtations might be perceived, especially by King Harrison, who seemed to still be in active negotiations with James.
It had been a few days since the dreaded encounter with Rumlow. A few rainy days had left the guests stuck inside Cala’s Keep for endless social teas and tours around every inch of the Keep. Thankfully, the rain had cleared, leaving the weather agreeable enough for the ladies, lords, and royalty to parade their way down for the tournament. Though dark clouds still hung in the sky, threatening to spill at any moment. While watching the rain thunder down the last few days, you came to realize why they called it the wet season rather than winter. You were grateful to get some space away from Lord Rumlow and King Harrison, even if they hadn’t spoken to you in days. You had watched them circle you like southern vultures. Often, you would find them whispering away to each other in corners, conspiring about your eventual marriage, no doubt.
The lists had been split into two sides. Your side featured a long wooden stand that traveled the length of the lists, divided into several boxes in which different groupings sat. The royal families attending the Galanta Season each had their own box to themselves near the center. You were seated with the lords and ladies of Haiford in one of the boxes further away from the central action. King James had a box in the very center, filled with his advisors and the higher-ranking aristocrats of his court. Running parallel to the aristocrat stands were the commoners' stands – men, women, and children all packed into the small space. You watched as they practically crawled over one another in excitement to catch a glimpse of Steve as he marched past on his chestnut stallion.
Steve was wearing heavier armor than usual, the steel thick and covering every inch of his body. You were surprised he could move in all of it, but you had read that heavy armor was often flexible and made specifically for the wearer. You had also noted how he was wearing his family's sigil – a bull's head – rather than his usual knight's armor of the Barnes’ shield. His stallion’s caparison and barding had been similarly styled to Galanta colors, the caparison being emerald green in color with silver and red accents. Across the sides of the fabric, a rearing bull had been embroidered. The barding had been designed with similar steel and leather as Steve’s armor, sporting two bullhorns that curled near the stallion's ears.
Steve’s blond locks disappeared beneath the steel helmet, latching the leather strap as he settled his horse in place. Steve had won all of his heats so far, leaving the final match of the day between him and Sir Wilson. Steve’s squire, Peter, nervously dashed around making final adjustments to the Knight’s armor before the match started.
The rules of jousting were simple: the opponents would race down each side of the tilt and try to knock the other off their horse by smashing the tip of their lance into the other's chest. The two would then decide whether to draw or continue the contest with a brief sword fight to decide the winner if both were simultaneously knocked off the horse. If you had any knowledge of jousting, you would know that Steve was skilled at it because he was brave. There was no real technique or skill that he possessed that was better than any of the other knights – only that he didn’t seem to fear being injured. The helmet Steve sported was an armet helmet, meaning his entire face was covered except for a small slit cut out for the eyes. The armet helmet had its benefits; in comparison to other designs, it gave the wearer a reasonably clear view of the target. Its drawback was that many of the wearers would suddenly raise their heads to shield their eyes from the lance when the wood splintered; otherwise, they ran the risk of getting the splinters in their eyes and becoming blinded. However, when they reared their heads, they lost sight of their target in the crucial seconds before the strike, running the risk of completely missing them. Steve though… Steve never reared his head. As the wood exploded across his armor, he kept his eyes on the target the entire run, gambling with fate.
The crowd exploded into cheers as Steve’s lance shattered across Sir Wilson’s chest, causing him to jolt backwards in his saddle. After a few strides of his horse continuing to gallop, Sir Wilson lost his seat and fell to the mud. Your lips curve into a smile, your eyes finding Peggy as she audibly gasps with a beaming smile. Steve abandons the remainder of his lance with Peter, making a short victory lap around the lists. With his helmet successfully placed in his lap, he grins at the crowd with the wave of his armored hand. As he passes by your box, you lock eyes. His blond strands are slick with sweat against the back of his neck and forehead. He gives you a toothy beam along with a curt nod as he passes by, only halting his stallion in front of James’ stand.
“Congratulations, Sir Rogers!” James exclaims with a grin. You watch his profile as he stands at the railing of his stand, hands lazily slung over the wood as he looks down at Steve.
“I was hoping to challenge you to a round, Your Majesty.” Steve shouts up in return, a smirk forming over his face as he braces his forearms atop the helmet in his lap. It was unfamiliar to hear Steve refer to James as Your Majesty. It was always Bucky, Jamie, or just James. It seemed that in the public eye, they conformed to formalities.
“You tempt me.” James chuckles. The lists have gone quiet as everyone watches the interaction with interest.
James had a reputation for being a laid-back and informal king ever since he was crowned. When you arrived in Galanta, you discovered that it would not only be with his knights and advisors as you had initially assumed. James was said to be a social king who was open to discussing how to improve his rule with all citizens of the kingdom, regardless of their status. You had heard how he had single-handedly won back his people after his parents blunder with Hydrina. In addition to winning a war, acknowledging and assisting bordering villages with Hydrina when raids were imminent, he also increased many of his subjects' economies and general well-being. You believed that he was King Harrison's opposite in many ways.
“I will send my squire to retrieve your horse and armor.” Steve calls to James, who nods his head at the knight.
“Very well.” James responds. The crowd burst into excited cheers. You watch as they push forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of their king as he descends the wooden stairs to the lists.
Your row of stands is alive with muttering and chatter as James disappears to suit up. Kings weren’t normally the type to enter tournaments; they were too dangerous, even if every precaution was taken. You expected that James had jousted with Steve before; it seemed like the type of activity that the two would have undertaken in their youth. You had heard Steve mention all the sword-fighting training they had completed in the muddy courtyard of Cala’s Keep as boys. Considering that James had led a siege on the capital of Hydrina and come out victorious, you doubted that a length of hollow wood would unseat him easily.
The field erupted into cheers once more as the two men emerged back into the lists upon the backs of their horses. They looked like a pair of warriors, near godlike. In stark contrast to Steve, James rode a heavy, pale-coated stallion. The stallion was a cross-breed of some type, sleek enough for speed and agility but drafty enough to be a descendant of a plow horse. The pale stallion's muscles trembled; you couldn’t imagine the pure force the animal must hold. Its caparison and barding were similar to Steve’s stallion, emerald green with the embroidered gold shield and plated steel to protect the horse from the lance's shards. James was covered shoulder to toe in steel armor, the starred shield engraved into the chest. His helmet sat in his lap, leaving only his face bare. You watched his brunet tendrils shift and curl in the breeze, a ragged smirk crossing his lips as he caught your eye.
His azure eyes consume you; you swear they are as blue as the glacier waters that flowed in Faliene. Sucking in a sharp breath, you watch with interest as James pulls his stallion to a halt in front of your stand, the animal shifting on his feet impatiently. The lords and ladies around you break out into whispers between each other. You ignore them, muttering turning to white noise as you study James with an inquisitive tilt of your head. He smirks at you cockily, his posture relaxed as he braces the heel of his palm against the pommel of his saddle.
“Lady Y/N,” James calls up to you as the crowd grows still and silent around you. It appeared that even the common people understood that what was happening wasn’t proper. Even if it was unspoken, everyone knew that James was entangled with Peggy; everyone knew you weren’t a prize but rather a burden. You can’t help yourself, unhurriedly rising from your seat. From the way he smirks at you, you know he can’t help himself either. Your walk towards the wooden railing was purposeful and graceful, aware of the thousands of burning eyes watching your every movement. You pause in front of the railing, hands delicately placed upon the wood.
“Dare I ask for a token of your favor?” James asks, the metal of his armor clinking as he raises his lance. A sweet smile graces your face, your hand reaching to steady the tip of the lance against the railing.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” You answer, much to the delight of James. Your fingers find the back of your neck, unhooking the clasp of your trident necklace. You wrap the silver chain around the end of the lance three times, clasping it back together tightly. The silver trident pendant dangles from the end of the lance, with the chain securing it in place. “May you strike hard and true.”
“With your favor, I am sure I will.” James replies, carefully withdrawing the lance from the railing. As you sit down, ignoring the whispers and stares from the lords and ladies around you. James’ voice echoes in your mind, a small smile forming as you clasp your hands in your lap. For just that moment, you decided to ignore the obvious reason why you shouldn’t be happy. James had practically announced to the world his interest in you; the backlash you would receive would be immense. But you didn’t care. You would live in ignorant bliss for that moment.
As James finds his position at the end of the tilt, you pry your eyes away towards Steve. It seemed that while you were distracted, Steve had asked for his own favor. A handkerchief was tied to the end of his lance, made of white cotton with gold embroidery around the edges. Even from a distance, you knew who it belonged to; you wouldn’t even need to read the initials that read P.C. While James had dared to ask for your favor, directly opposing King Harrison, Steve had asked for Princess Peggy’s favor, which she had given.
As the two horses dance in place, you watch as the silver pedant swings from the end of the lance. You doubted you would ever see it again, but you didn’t care. When the lance would break across Steve’s chest, it would be lost to the mud. You wondered if you failed your purpose – became one with the ghosts of Faliene – if they would find that trident in the mud centuries later. A piece of history, a piece of Faliene, sealed away forever.
A flag was waved, and the horses were off. You watched, breath held, as they charged towards each other. Even beneath all the armor, you could tell the strength the horses held, the intensity, and the pure muscle behind each stride. As they grew closer within seconds, neither horse nor rider shied away. Like Steve, James did not lift his head to avoid the splinters. Instead, he charged directly into them.
Bits of painted wood exploded, littering the muddy earth. Upon impact, James was thrown backwards in his saddle, slumping briefly as he gripped the reins with one hand, the other abandoning the remainder of his lance. Both men had struck true, yet they still held on. You watched as they readjusted themselves into their saddles, easing their horses to a stop. You could hear Steve roar with excited laughter beneath his helmet as Peter rushed forward to hand him another lance. You could imagine the smirk that would be across James face as he gripped the new lance that was handed to him. There was a cool ease to the way he held himself, like this was just child's play to him.
The crowd exploded into cheers and hollers as the two men lined up once more. Their horses' hooves ate up the earth with ease as they stormed forward. The second strike was more violent than the first, with the impact of the lance upon each other's chest sending them both flying from the saddle. The crowd hums with excitement, watching as James gets to his feet with a wheezing laugh.
If Steve was winded, he didn’t show it for long. Staggering to his feet, he pulls the helmet from his head, chucking it to the ground beside him. His hair is messy, an excited smirk across his face as he pulls his sword. James copies his actions, swirling his sword as Steve climbs over the tilt. The two circle each other for a moment, crowds pushing forward to the railing to watch the fight unfold.
Like Steve’s Ravensclaw, James' blade is similarly made from an Asgardian forge. You can’t make out the fine details from so far away, but you can make out the swirling black patterns that decorate the metal. The two men are quick and agile on their feet, despite the heavy armor. You can hardly process their movements; each strike and dodge is a blur as they flit around each other.
As the metal clangs together, you stand from your seat. You join a few of the lords and ladies by the railing, watching as Steve slowly weakens. You can tell they are both tired, their movements becoming sloppier as they sink deeper into the mud. The blades meet once more; Steve’s face strains as they brace their swords in a battle of strength. The crowds are teeming with excitement, and a roar comes over the people as Steve slides in the mud and falls to his knees. He goes to block, but James is too fast, driving his blade forward so the tip rests under Steve’s chin. There is a pause between the two, with Steve silently acknowledging James’ win with a grin. The two laugh, with James helping the knight to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder. You watch with a smile, joining the clapping that consumes the arena.
—
The tournament had ended with all the knights and James doing a final victory lap around the lists. The celebrations were short-lived as the skies opened up and torrential rain engulfed the arena, drenching all of those inside. The crowds scattered, returning to the shelter of their homes or taverns to celebrate. The knights used the colorful banners of their house sigil to cover themselves from the rain, retreating to the stables and courtyard while the aristocrats returned to Cala’s Keep.
You stood by the railing for a few minutes, hoping to catch a last glimpse of James. When the rain grew heavier and your hair became slick against your scalp, you finally gave in. You could tell yourself it was because you wanted an update on Rumlow after your conversation in the gardens, but you knew it was untrue. You hadn’t spoken in a few days, and yet you were craving to speak to him once more. As unusual as it was, you enjoyed talking to the king. You liked how you could be at ease around him and how he would laugh at your judgmental comments and speak his mind. It reminded you of how lonely you had been in Haiford until Steve came along. You found yourself subconsciously seeking their company because you enjoyed their presence. It would make marrying all the more isolated, knowing that you would likely never see them again.
By the time you returned to Cala’s Keep, you were half-drowned by the rain. Your hair had come loose in places, and strands stuck to your face and neck. Your dress was soaked; the light fabric turned heavy and clung against your skin. The main entrance was full of activity, with maids and footmen rushing around with clothes to be dried and fresh towels. Some lords and ladies still lingered, their hair and clothes damp, as they chatted excitedly about the day's events. They didn’t pay you much attention; your shoes were clicking against the hardwood floor. Dodging a panicked-looking ladies maid, you make your way to the grand staircase.
“You!” A scathing voice shouts over the babble of the room, causing it to fall silent. A few bewildered looks are shared, with footmen pausing in their place as a seething Prince Micheal marches across the room. You are stunned into speechlessness, taking a step back as Prince Micheal closes the distance between the two of you. Behind him, an aggravated King Harrison follows along with an amused Lord Rumlow.
“You really don’t know your place, do you?” Micheal snarls, his face barely inches from your own as you back into the railing of the stairs.
“I’m sorry?” You splutter, your hand bracing against the smooth stone. King Harrison watches with narrowed eyes, his crow's feet prominent, as he motions for Micheal to step out of the way.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, girl.” King Harrison hisses; his hands are shaking with rage, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. “You’re not worthy of a knight, yet you think yourself worthy of a king?”
This was the backlash you had anticipated. You just hadn’t expected it to be so public and immediate. A few of the ladies flash you a sympathetic look, while others sneer in delight. Ladies maids rush past, trying to make themselves invisible as the situation unfolds. Setting your jaw with a sharp exhale, you stand your ground.
“Apologies, Your Majesty. Was I supposed to deny him in front of all of his subjects?”
Blinding white rage flashes over King Harrison’s features, his lip curling in a snarl. You barely have time to register his movements before he has struck you, the blow of his palm against your cheek leaving you to stumble further into the railing with a gasp.
“I am sick of your words and your presence, girl. You should have known better than to have been put in that situation. I have seen you slinking around him like a bitch in heat.” King Harrison snaps, his voice loud in comparison to the deadly silence that has swept over the room.
You are silent, a palm raised to your cheek to cradle the tender flesh as pain blossoms. Prince Michael chuckles, eyeing you with an amused glare. “Who knew that a slap was all it took to silence the bitch?”
“You will apologize to Lord Rumlow.” King Harrison speaks, his voice low and deadly. Your eyes flash upwards to meet him, a dark glare settling over your features. Your mind is empty, only pounding behind your ears as an icy rage settles in your bones. You don’t shake or go red in the face, instead running a tongue over your bottom lip with a challenging smirk.
“Why should I? I am not going to marry him.”
Fury flashes over King Harrison’s features once more, and you watch his shoulders shift as he raises his hand once more. You anticipate the strike and the pain that will bloom across your smooth skin.
“Father! That is enough!” Princess Peggy cries, dashing between you and King Harrison, who quickly drops his hand. “There has been a misunderstanding, I assure you. Please allow Lady Y/N to return to her rooms, and I will explain?”
Prince Micheal grunts in annoyance, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. King Harrison swallows slowly, noticing the curious gazes that watch the interaction and nods. His expression has softened with confusion as he watches his daughter's concerned features. Peggy sends you a large smile, though there is a hint of panic laced into her expression. You graciously nod your head at her, your eyes sweeping over the three men who watch you with distaste.
“Your Majesties, Lord Rumlow.” You mutter, quickly ascending the stairs before any of them can change their minds.
—
The temple within the walls of Cala’s Keep was bigger than you expected. It stood on the other side of the castle gardens, its cobbled stone barely visible through layers of moss and ivy. The structure was huge and looming, with a high ceiling thatched with reed. There were numerous rooms in the temple, each honoring a different deity. Although the people of the Northern Continent were not strict about religious worship, many prayed in temples throughout the land.
Inside, the temperature was humid, with a foggy wetness clinging to the walls and the statues within. The entrance room was filled with plants, droplets dripping from their leaves onto the worn stone floor. You could make out strands of grass and groupings of moss within the cracks, left undisturbed to grow in the darkness.
Candles flickered in the dim room, barely igniting the curved stone doorways that lined the room. Your eyes flickered between each doorway, making note of the symbols carved above each. Wheat, symbolizing Dima, God of Harvest, and a sword for Bele the Headless, God of War and Chaos. Countless rooms and countless symbols paraded your vision; baskets with fresh food, precious stones, and wooden effigies were left as offerings in front of each. A familiar symbol greets you – a trident for Nemue, Goddess of the Sea. The basket outside her door is empty, with a few strands of grass poking through the woven twine. You linger there for a moment, feeling her call. The hem of your skirt is wet from the walk over, the grass of the gardens is still wet from the earlier rain. Your hair is loose, cascading down your back, and damp from the humidity. Despite being days away from the ocean, you can taste the salt. You can feel the crash of the waves beneath your skin, churning with a primordial power.
Your eyes snap away from the trident doorway you had meant to visit, instead turning to another familiar symbol – The Wolf Mother, Rieka. Goddess of Fertility and Motherhood. The symbol carved above the door frame is her snarling teeth. The basket contains one gift, a sheet of linen that has been carefully folded. You could recognize the red and gold embroidery anywhere, Peggy.
The room is brighter as you step in, and the floor is lined with hundreds of candles. A path is cleared for you to walk down; the stone floor curves where thousands of feet have previously walked the same path. At the center of the room stands a large bronze statue, towering nearly as high as the ceiling itself. The bronze shows the likeness of a woman, naked, with two children held to her breast. Her head is that of a wolf, teeth bared and snarling as she stares down the path. The candles cast light across the bronze, filling the room with an orange hue. Peggy stands before the statue, hands clasped in front of her. The light hits her skin with a glow, and the humidity makes loose strands of her hair curl.
“Does she call to you?” You ask quietly, pausing a few paces away. Peggy looks over her shoulder at you, a sad smile playing across her pink lips.
“No. She never has. Does she call you?” She asks, her own voice low. You are quiet in thought for a moment, the thumping in your heart more reminiscent of waves than flowing blood. You feel an itch under your skin and the piercing sting of salt water spraying across your face. A reminder.
“No.” You breathe, watching as Peggy outstretches her hand to stroke the shin of the statue. “The way of the wolf has never called me.”
“And you call yourself a Haifordian?” Peggy snorts.
“A Falienean, yes, never a Haifordian. I fear I was born from saltwater, and I am destined for a saltwater grave.” You reply, stepping forward so you are shoulder-to-shoulder with the Princess.
“You Falieneans are always so dramatic.” Peggy jokes before her smile slips into a frown. “I am sorry about my father earlier. He shouldn’t have struck you like that.” Withdrawing her hand from the bronze as she turns to face you. You subconsciously reach for your face, fingers trailing across the forming bruise along your cheekbone.
“It wasn’t your fault.” You reassured her.
“It feels like it is. Hiding these past few years…everything is my fault. I should have told my father earlier to avoid this mess and his expectations.” Peggy explains, and you give her a surprised look.
“Years? How long have you and Steve...?” You trail off your question as you see Peggy blush at the mention of Steve.
“Since the war. He was so strong and kind when everything seemed so…bleak. I knew my father expected me to marry, but I never anticipated him continuing his discussion of joining Haiford and Galanta.” You are silent as Peggy speaks, your mind churning. You had yet to process how Steve managed to keep this from you. He was a good knight and a kind soul, but at times he wasn’t the brightest. You were the bright one; how had you not seen this? Were you too caught up in your own life to notice the looks shared between them?
“Do you love him?” You ask, and Peggy sucks in a sharp breath.
“I think I do.”
“Marry him. I’m sure James will grant him land and maybe even a higher title for his contributions during the war. It will secure a connection between Galanta and Haiford like your father wanted; Steve is one of James’ most trusted advisors–” You start turning to face the princess, but she cuts you off.
“I can’t.” Peggy laments with a sigh. “I have a duty to my father, my brother, and my people. If my father wants me to marry a king, then I will have to marry a king. Micheal is too brash with decisions, he will find himself in need of help when he is king, and only a blood connection with Galanta royalty could provide it.”
“You are a Princess. You have every right to marry whomever you want. Galanta is in Haiford’s debt, Steve has James’ ear... The only allegiance you need is the one to your heart.” You express, hand reaching to stroke her shoulder comfortingly.
“It isn’t that simple. I don’t have a choice like you do.” She snaps, and you pause your movements.
“You think I have a choice?” You laugh bitterly. Peggy’s lips set into a fine line as she presses them together, her gaze refusing to meet yours.
“My father would kill Steve if I married him.” She murmurs.
“He wouldn’t. It would cause a war, you must know how close Steve and James are. The way they talk of each other, one would think they were blood brothers.” You comment, and Peggy glances sideways at you.
“You seem to know James well.” You catch her backhanded comment, biting your tongue with narrowed eyes. You know she doesn’t mean it maliciously, but you can’t help but feel defensive after King Harrison’s attack on you earlier.
“No. Not really, I just know all the things Steve has told me.” You start with words that are slow and purposeful. “And considering it seems I don’t know Steve at all, you two have managed to keep this a secret for so long. I fear I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Steve wanted to tell you, but we couldn’t for our own safety.” Peggy says, sighing through her nose. “But I think you know James better than you give yourself credit.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have known each other, what? A week? How can you know such things–?” You protest, only to be cut off.
“You are a better match for him than I! You have similar interests and similar life experiences. He has lost his entire family and nearly his kingdom because of Hydrina. I don’t think anyone other than you could truly understand that.” Peggy explains, her voice raised to get her point across. You shake your head in disbelief, watching as grief crosses her face. You understood her pain. She wanted so desperately to love James, to understand his pain, and to please her father. But she had fallen for another man.
“Marrying someone like James is a dream – a happy one, but nevertheless a dream. I can’t afford to dream, I too have a duty like you.” You sigh, your expression softening. “He has a kingdom to run, he won’t bother himself with the politics of another kingdom's dying city.” You mutter, and Peggy gives you a hard look before continuing.
“There is a darkness inside of you because of all that has happened in Faliene. You are angry, I can tell. The way you looked at my father today when he struck you...” Peggy trails off. “James has had that same darkness ever since Rebecca and the war. Steve has seen it too, and it scares him. He is restless and unhappy. I think you and Faliene would be a welcome distraction. I think you could help each other.” She looks at you with a smile spreading across her face. You reluctantly oblige as she reaches out, taking her hands in yours.
“I fear we are overstepping boundaries by assuming things we do not know to be true.” You say, wanting to change the subject. You don’t feel like filling your head with fantasies.
“It seems we are both too stubborn to take what we truly want. I only want you to find happiness.” She speaks softly, her hands squeezing yours.
“And happiness is all I want for you also, but you are running out of time by allowing your father to believe you are truly invested in James. Marry Steve, then we will talk of my happiness.” You reply dismissively.
“Maybe I will hold you to that.” She replies with a giggle. Your heart aches, wishing you could also giggle happily about the prospects of marriage. Instead, it filled you with dread. There is a twitch in your chest – a knowing one. That feeling told you that the both of you may never marry the people you truly dreamed of.
—
Standing in front of the doorframe, you could feel a thrumming in your ears once more. It sounded like waves crashing against the rocks in the port. The stone doorframe was slick with droplets of water and moss hanging from the cracks. The sound, the smell... It reminded you of the crypt that lay beneath the ground on the island of Tilla, which sat off the shore of Faliene’s port.
Peggy was long gone, disappearing from The Wolf Mother’s room back into the gardens. She had invited you to join her and come to her rooms in Cala’s Keep for tea. You had declined, instead deciding to answer the call that haunted the temple halls. So you stood, hesitating, outside the room of Nemue. You could hear the crashing of waves, despite knowing they were not there. You could feel the rush of water as the tide pulled the salt water between your legs, yet there was no tide to be found in the humid temple.
After a shuddering breath, you lean down, placing your bracelet into the twine basket beside the door frame. The bracelet was one that would be made by girls down on the shores of Faliene and sold to travelers and traders as tokens of luck while crossing the Northern Ocean. Strands of black seaweed had been dried and braided, looping carefully through small seashells that had washed up onto the beach.
The room of Nemue was cast in a blue glow. A large blue stained-glass window stood at the back of the room, the last of the afternoon rays streaming through. The light bounced against the water that filled the entire room, reflecting strands of blue and white light across the ceiling and walls. You carefully step onto the stepping stones, which form a path to the statue, being careful to avoid dipping the hems of your skirts into the water below.
The statue of Neume towered above you, made from carved white marble. Her form was naked below the waist; the only covering she had were lines of pearl necklaces that covered her neck, chest, and breasts. Her hair flowed out to her waist, braids entwined between them, and her face was obscured by a net that covered her features like a veil. She stood proudly and powerfully, one cupped hand outstretched downward to meet your eye level. At her feet lay a marble basin of salt water with a wooden ladle inside.
Your movements are slow as you scoop salt water into the ladle, pouring it into the statue's cupped hand. The water overflows, dripping down the back of her hand and back into the basin. You watch, mesmerized for a moment, despite having done these exact motions multiple times during your life.
“Show me what to do, Mother Neume. I fight hard for Faliene and for your sons and daughters. Yet I am lost. Lend me your strength and your wisdom. I am your daughter, one of the saltwater. Help me find my way, help me know how to fix this.” You whisper to the statue, watching as the water's reflection dances across the statue's obscured face.
Your finger dips into the pool of water held within her cupped hand. Using the moisture, you draw the symbol of the trident on your forehead, letting your muscles trace the familiar pattern without much thought. In silence, you feel a bead of water form, sliding down your nose before you capture it on your tongue. The taste of salt spreads across your tongue, the similarity and nostalgia of the taste almost making a sob rise in your chest. How many years have you been away from the sea? How many years had it been since you swam and tasted the salt waters of the Northern Ocean?
The sound of rushing water grows louder, and your stare locks onto a droplet of water that hangs from the statue's fingertips. The crashing is near deafening as you stare, like a tidal wave has swept through the temple and is smashing against the stone walls. You could see the spray of salt water silencing the candles in The Mother Wolf’s room, the way the water would swirl around the statue of Bele the Headless. For a moment, you swear the saltwater in Neume’s cupped palm is blood, sticky, and crimson as it stains her white marble. A ragged gasp rises in your throat as panic sets in, and the taste of salt in your mouth turns coppery and metallic–
“Y/N.” A voice calls, a short gasp leaving your throat as you clutch your chest. Halfway down the stepping stones stands James, the blue reflection of the water shimmering across his body. Blades of grass stick to the leather of his shoe, and the hem of his pants is damp. Had he followed you through the gardens? How long had he been standing there? The room itself was darker than you remembered; the afternoon sun was no longer streaming through the stained glass window.
“You have a habit of startling me.” You reply, your hand finding the edge of the marble basin as you compose yourself.
James is silent, his face set into a frown. He strides forward, easily clearing the stepping stones. His eyes examine your face, breath catching in your throat as he stands in front of you with an intense stare. His hand reaches out, gently lifting your chin. You oblige wordlessly, allowing him to guide you to tilt your head so he can examine the forming bruise across your cheek.
“If I had known King Harrison would do such a thing, I would have never asked for your favor like that.” His thumb strokes over the bruise, the touch light and feather-like. You draw in a sharp breath, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment.
“It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.” You murmur to him, swallowing hard as you feel his hand withdraw.
“Yes, but I should have known. It was careless of me not to think of the consequences.” He replies quietly, and you open your eyes fully with a frown.
“It is over now, do not worry yourself.”
“I should have the hand he struck you with cut off.” James replies with a grumble, his tattooed hand raising to rub the stubble across his jaw.
“You are angry.” You observe, head tilted.
“And you aren’t?” He replies sharply, nostrils flaring in annoyance.
“Of course I am, I am just not in a position where I can so openly express it.” You reply, your voice soft, as you turn around to face the statue once more. The marble is clean and white; the salt water is no longer blood. You frown slightly, your fingers tracing over the lip of the marble basin.
“Then let me be angry on your behalf.” You inhale a sharp breath at his words, freezing your movements. You have to remind yourself of your words to Peggy, men like James were a dream, not reality. As much as you wanted to lose yourself in such a fantasy, you had to stay focused.
“No.”
“No?” James responds, his voice laced with confusion and maybe a bit of disappointment.
“You are in debt to Haiford, it is best to keep them as an ally. You never know when Hydrina may rise again.” You explain, slowly turning to face him with a sad smile. His dark lashes flutter as he looks you up and down, eyes as blue as the stained glass window behind you. He stews in contemplation over your words, as if knowing you are right.
“I should have wiped out Hydrina when I had the chance.” He sighs. “That way I wouldn’t have to play these games with Harrison.” His tongue rolls over his bottom lip, and tattooed fingers are now running through his brunet hair. Some of the strands have curled due to the humidity, tangling around his skin.
“You still have a chance to get rid of Hydrina.” You reassure him, twisting the silver rings around your fingers. You hesitate over your next words for a moment, unsure, before deciding to take the plunge. “Peggy said you have a darkness inside of you because of all that Hydrina did. I don’t think she is wrong, but I don’t think you should be afraid of it. I think you should embrace it.”
“Are you afraid of that darkness? Like Steve and Peggy are?” Bucky asks, his voice low. His eyes dip to your fidgeting fingers, then to your face as you tilt your head in thought.
“No,” you state. “I think that kind of darkness, that kind of anger... I think it is powerful. If you truly wish Hydrina dead, then why not just do it?”
“Because my people are tired of war and tired of fighting. I want to be known for being a prosperous king, not a warmonger.” He explains with a sigh, and you shake your head at him.
“And how are you supposed to be prosperous with the threat of Hydrina raiding your bordering villages year after year? How will your people truly be at peace with the threat of death looming at their door? In order to be successful, you must take it.”
“You are saying that I should go to war?” He asks, his voice amused as a ghost of a smile graces his lips.
“No. I am saying that you shouldn’t feel guilty if you decide to give into this anger. You shouldn’t be guilty if a time comes when you must act. Hydrina has taken everything from you, why shouldn’t you return the favor? You are capable of greatness if you are willing to take risks.” You respond, daring to take a step closer to him. The stone around the statue is limited; your bodies are so close that you swear you can feel his breath fanning across your skin. His smile remains, his shoulders relaxing as he listens.
“Is it selfish that I am glad you are not marrying Rumlow? You would be wasted on him.”
“And who would you have me marry instead?” You reply breathlessly, keeping your gaze steady as one of James’ hands closes the distance between you, resting lightly on the curve of your waist.
“Someone you want to marry, not someone who has been chosen for you. Someone who will allow you to reach the greatness you are capable of.”
He is so close that a senseless part of you wishes to reach out and hold him. You couldn’t help but feel sour that Peggy was right in some ways. He understood you, your situation, and your dreams in a way that no one else had. You wanted to whisper to him right there in that temple that you would marry him. He could help you, and he could help Faliene. But you knew it would never work. There were other other circumstances: King Harrison, Peggy... you were two separate kingdoms apart and he far out-ranked you.
“I wish King Harrison understood my perspective as well as you do.” You choke out, your tongue feeling thick and bitter. If only society were not so strict and both your situations weren’t so complicated. If only you were a princess of a flourishing kingdom, or he was not in debt to Haiford because of the war.
“He has not lost everything. Everything he has is because it has been handed to him. He will never understand what we understand.” Bucky replies quietly, though you can see the disappointment in his eyes and the reluctance to move his hand or gaze.
“Why are you here, James?” You ask, eyes casting across the room. You had been so caught up in his presence and the vision you had received that you hadn’t thought to question why he was here. Or how he had found you.
“Your maid said you came here. I came to return this.” His hand leaves your waist as he reaches into a pocket, pulling your trident necklace from within. You are silent in surprise, watching the chain slide over his finger as he holds it out towards you.
“How did you find it? I thought it would be lost forever in the lists.” You breathe, hand outstretched, as he drops it in your palm. You watch as the chain pools against your skin, the metal still clean and shiny, like it hadn’t been lost to the mud mere hours ago.
“I spent an hour searching the mud in the rain. I think Steve’s squire thought I was insane.” He chuckles, and you beam up at him, a warmth spreading up your neck. “Here, turn around.”
You oblige, turning to face Neume’s statue. The room is darker now, with barely any light reflecting from the water. James’ carefully pushes some loose strands of hair away from the back of your neck, looping the silver chain around. The metal is cool against your sternum as he carefully clasps it in place.
“Now tell me, why are you hiding away in the temple?” James asks, breath warm against the back of your neck.
“I came here to pray to Neume and ask for guidance with the situation in Faliene.” You admit, fingers stroking over the cool metal of the trident pedant as you turn to face him.
“And what did she show you?” He asks, and he has to look down to view your face as the two of you are so close. You chew your lip momentarily, wondering if you should tell him the truth or not.
“Blood. The salt water turned into blood, and waves consumed the temple, swallowing the other statues whole.” You divulge, your gaze moving to look over his shoulder with a wince. You were unsure of his position on magic and deities; if it were like most Galantian’s he would think you were speaking nonsense.
“Sounds like a battle is ahead of you. Maybe greatness lies behind a series of battles for both of us? The more we talk, the more I find similarities in our destiny.” James hums in thought.
“Do not worry yourself trying to please me by decoding this madness. You probably think I am unsound, I know that most Galantians don’t believe in gods and magic.” You keep your gaze averted, shaking your head with a worried laugh.
“You would be surprised, I have witnessed some things that have changed my mind.”
Your eyes snap to him, blinking in surprise. “Like what?”
“Asgardian magic healed my arm during the war when all of the medics thought I was moments away from my last breath. It changed something in me, and I felt... a calling.” He confesses, and you eye him with intrigue.
“A calling to who?”
“Vitharn.”
You are silent. Vitharn, The Wraith, God of Vengeance and Death. One of the most feared gods, said to drive men to madness and bloodlust. His basket, you recall, was brimming full of gifts. It seemed that even in the fields of Galanta, the people feared Vitharn and his powers. One would pray to him and give him offerings in the hope that his cruel attention would sway elsewhere when battle came. The people who responded to Vitharn's call were brutal in battle, driven by rage and a desire to annihilate. They were called many names throughout the continent: bloodhounds, berserkers, reavers – you knew them as Korpr, Crows of Death. As you stare at him, stories and questions click into place. The siege on Hydrina’s capital – no normal man could have slaughtered all of those men as well as King Alexander without injury.
“The Wraith?” You whisper the question, watching as a dark look comes over his features.
“Are you afraid?” He asks, his voice husky. Your eyelashes drop in a slow blink.
“No.” You breathe; a smile forming. “I think vengeance called you for a reason.”
taglist|@kimomoraba @gostodosopa @sweetwritingfanficfriend @loonilupin
#bucky x reader#james buchanan barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes#beefy bucky#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes series#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#james bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky fluff#bucky x female reader#winter soldier#marvel au#marvel fic#mcu fic#my fic#marvel#my writing#my words#fanfic#fanfiction#fantasy au#medieval au#royalty au#lady of the ghosts
112 notes
·
View notes
Text
bridges break (v)
summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there’s one big secret he’s keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there’s no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.
(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)
Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I’ll tag it.
A/N: hello everyone !! i have been going through a bit of a depresh which is why i haven't responded or updated but i shall forge through. this godforsaken series demands to be seen. thank you for your kindness on this fic. i want to throw up u are all so nice
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
Tip #77: Stay away from landscape fabric!
Steve lets his eyes scour over the words, and then again.
He glances down at the picture and stares at it for a little over ten seconds before his eyes go back up to re-read the words.
He reads them again, and then again.
Leaves shake gently, like they're chastising him. He'd already spent ten minutes on Tip #43 of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas thinking of nothing, and now Tip #77 about the state of the world and his noticeable absence in it.
There's a tension in the air, a lingering awkwardness.
Your fingers nimbly card through another page of your book. A breeze blows and a soft exhale escapes past your lips.
Tip #77: Stay away from landscape fabric!
Steve tries his hand at it again and once it finally registers, the picture makes sense.
It'll stick around in his head for as long as he can remember, with the other 76 tips and a million other details he'd never cross again. It helps most times. HYDRA bases were easier to track down after a single glance at a map, but he also spent 5 excruciating minutes remembering what it felt like for the Arctic ice to crystallise his blood when Bucky stuck his cold metal arm down his shirt for fun.
A curse to remember.
Steve clenches his eyes shut tightly.
He shouldn't feel that way about his abilities. Shouldn't be ungrateful for what he was given. He forces himself to remember that he’s long moved on, spent so long quelling the simmering anger in him. But it nags at the back of his head that it's purely sinful to do so many things he does, think all the things he does. He does it anyway. Whose God would spare another second to damn him when there was already a place for him in hell?
Grass pokes out from under the blanket you've spread. It's soft and prickly and the moisture seeps through the fabric. The tree you're under overlooks a lovely part of the park, nothing in the distance for as far as he can see other than more trees over the valley.
His skin on his ankles itches from the burn of the sun, and so he readjusts.
Sitting on the ramp of the quinjet, looking onto rolling hills with Sam was, in spirit, similar. The platform was cold and hard and ridged, and Sam's laugh is still luminous as ever. The moon curtained by clouds is captured so neatly in their eyes; spending the night here in the jet they managed to finally break doesn't seem so bad.
Tomorrow was another day, another border to cross and other bodies to chase but for now, Sam's talking about the cartwheel that landed him and Sarah in the emergency room, and Nat's joining them the next day, unfortunately missing the story of a lifetime.
He wondered what colour her hair would be then. It changes like the wind.
He likes it.
Steve's back tenses on instinct, even though there is nothing to protect himself from. The tree is good support and there's a throw pillow separating him from the ground. Still, his muscles have a faint ache in them, the same as the morning after the sun rose over the hills and through the entrance of the quinjet left opened a crack.
A curse to remember.
"What’s wrong?" you ask quietly.
He snaps out of it, shaking his head and straightening up. “Nothing. Just zoned out for a second.”
"Flashback?"
Steve pauses. "No. Didn’t get much sleep."
You’ve turned away, and so he misses the scrunch between your eyebrows.
Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!
Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!
Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!
He looks down at the picture. Looks back up at the words. Mint.
"I'm sorry."
Your eyes flit towards him and quite possibly the umpteenth apology he had given in the last twenty-four hours.
"I know," you reply slowly.
"How do I make it up to you?" he asks again.
You don't reply.
Steve wonders when the last time was when he read a book that had pictures and still registered nothing.
You turn another page, but this time the novel lowers. You close it, using your finger as a makeshift bookmark to hold your place.
Steve hopes for a hum or a song, but none follows as you stare out blankly into the open.
He's about to ask if you're okay, if something's wrong even though he has a feeling that something definitely is when you shift forward.
Away from him.
Away from him.
Steve doesn't dare to look from the corner of his page, careful not to give too much away, but his stomach drops heavily.
Until he feels a certain pressure and your head shifts to lie on his lap. Not facing him, but still there. Not away from him.
His hand twitches, hovers even, for a few seconds before his fingers stroke over your head.
You let out a small sigh. Steve continues, waiting for any inclination on your end for him to stop. It never comes.
And while he sees you open your novel again, he can hear you thumbing the pendant that hangs from your neck. He thought you would have taken it off by now, thrown it, incinerated it. But he can hear the minuscule clink of metal against the chain and it's a sign that maybe, things aren't as hopeless as he thinks.
There is silence and the sky breezes by. The moisture seeps through the blanket. Your head rests on his lap.
He picks up his magazine again.
Tip #79: Fallen leaves: Mulch Ado About Nothing!
_______
The wind whips around the car. His elbow leans out, other hand on the steering wheel.
The radio jockey talks, laughs obnoxiously at a corny pun his co-host cracks. Steve had met them before; they hosted the celebrations at Arlington several years ago for Memorial Day.
They were half decent, if a little talkative, but he didn't mind.
It served well to distract him. After all, Arlington was where Steve was buried.
A corny reference to a Don McLean line about him, and a proposal to have him pick the songs to kick the next morning's show off, and Steve almost stops looking in the direction where he was informed Bucky's empty casket was lowered into the ground way back then.
That day, Steve was in a bombed-out bar in London. The skies that bled as he tried to drink himself to oblivion, were now bright blue overhead. It was a rush to get rid of the bile that rose to his throat as his oldest friend's tombstone flashed through his mind.
The stone was long gone, of course. After Steve's rebirth and Bucky's return, empty coffins were removed. Not to make way, but just out of respect.
Freshly dug up earth, though. Freshly dug up earth had a scent of its own.
Unfortunately, he'd buried the ghosts of friends who never made it back after a battle far too many times. And after the last time it happened, he isn't quite sure he'd be able to go to a cemetery again.
Not when he knows her body is somewhere on a planet he couldn't reach. Not when he knows that unlike Bucky or him, she isn't getting a second chance.
“Your side of it,” she responds. "I could read about the battle anywhere. What I’m interested in is your side, how you’re dealing with it.”
Steve wants to smile, bitterly almost, at the fact that she only knows what they wanted everyone to know. But he couldn’t tell her that either.
"I deal with it just fine, I think," he says distantly.
"What do you mean by just fine?"
If this was what one on one therapy was like, it's a wonder why he doesn't care for it much.
"Well--" he blinks-- "I'm here, aren't I?"
She stares at him a little while longer. Steve glances at the clock.
"Are you happy?"
It takes him a second to realise the hosts aren't speaking because you've changed the channel to something far less grating. How far he's gotten since he spaced out, he has no idea. He's only glad it's a straight road for the next few miles.
"How much longer till the motel?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained ahead.
"A fair bit," you answer, looking at the navigation you had open on the phone. "You want to stop for a while?"
"No, just checking," Steve says. "I'm good."
You nod silently, lending your attention to the world outside the window again.
"I hope it doesn't rain."
If anything, it makes his eyebrows raise slightly when you continue to talk. He finds himself not caring if it’s about the weather, the stupid advertisement running on the radio right now, or even the fucking space titan. As long as you were talking to him, you could speak about any damn thing in the world.
"Don't think it will." He cranes his neck to get a better look at the sky.
It wasn't the bright blue it had been that morning, but it wasn't entirely overcast.
"Better not. We got a landmark coming up that I've been dyin' to get to," you mumble.
"What is it?"
"You'll see."
"Is it a world's largest something?" Steve asks, dry tease optimistic in his tone but still cautious. "World's largest mothball? Stroller?"
"Patience is a virtue, Cap'n." You tsk to yourself. "You'll see it when we get there."
Steve catches a bit of your sight, turning just as a faded smile grows on your face.
"But if you're tired, we can just crash for the rest of the day."
"Can't bail on me now, you got me all excited for your mystery landmark."
There's a small scoff that leaves you, half a laugh. "Whatever you want, Rogers."
He keeps driving. Even as the noon slips into the humidity-gifted heat of a late afternoon and he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. The radio plays indie rock and summer feels like it stretches on for eternity.
______
“Jesus.”
“You know-" you squint- “I don’t think Jesus was nineteen feet tall."
Steve is inclined to agree.
"Or that he held a hotdog like a child.”
That even more so.
"Woulda made church a lot more interesting," he says wryly.
The Paul Bunyon statue--deliberately misspelt to avoid a legal charge-- stands proudly and, dare he admit it, rather dauntingly. Michelangelo���s David could only dream of achieving the level of artistry this enterprise possessed.
It was a cultural landmark, a must-see on this trip according to several websites. Though Steve initially couldn’t see why… he kind of could.
He has his hands on his waist as he looks up. “Well, we can cross it off the list.”
A bird caws from overhead, and a car drives down the street. Unlike the both of you, it only slows to capture a picture before carrying on its way.
“Guess we can.” You bring your palm shielding your eyes from the rays of the sun.
The longer he looks at it, the more it begins to morph into something beautiful. Ugly, but beautiful, in its own amusing, absurd way.
It's ugly.
It's there.
“You want a picture?” Steve finds it hard to stop staring at the stupid smile smirk the strong-jawed man had like he was proud of his wiener infant.
“Hell yeah.”
_______
Steve glances at you through the rearview mirror. He only catches a glimpse of your forehead, the rest of you hunched over your phone.
It drags through his chest again; the same, scraping rawness that had him opening his mouth before he could stop himself.
"If you're gonna apologise again, Steve, I swear--"
He shuts his mouth, lips pressing into a thin line before he compounds another topic.
A bead of sweat rolls down your skin, and he turns up the AC.
The beat of silence rests nicely between you both before he asks,
"So these weird things-- giant shoes, and whales and whatnot-- they're the whole niche for this trip?"
You look up from trying to connect your phone to the car Bluetooth, an attempt that had been fruitless the last few times you'd tried.
"Yeah. People've made whole careers out of it." You fumble with a dial. "It's got a real dedicated fanbase."
Small talk was good. Just surface conversations but he was thrilled by every second.
"Have you ever road tripped before?"
Steve keeps his attention on the road. He's come to see that some of them tended to run off into gravel, dead ends or simply dirt tracks. The signs weren't always right, and the maps you vehemently defended were also outdated on several occasions.
"Does running from law enforcement count?" he asks in return.
You narrow your eyes at him. "Were you listening to good music while it was happening?"
"Sometimes," he says. "Other times it was Sam’s rendition of Inner City Blues for 3 hours."
"Then it's a road trip," you decide. "Bless Sam, he knew exactly what he was doing."
"Yeah, singing into the comms in the middle of a stake out."
"It's called having fun."
Steve doesn't disagree, but he doesn't agree either.
"You've been on a road trip before?"
"One or two," you say. "Whenever my parents had time off work and my mom managed to convince my dad."
“Were they fun?”
There’s a slow down in your movement that he barely catches.
“As much as they could be, I guess. It was fun when they’d remember we were on vacation together. Otherwise, they’d spend a lot of time just talking to each other about their own world so it was easy to forget I was there,” you reply thoughtfully. “I didn’t really have anyone to talk to, so it was kinda quiet most times.”
His grip against the steering wheel tightens, the skin on his knuckles pulsating against the pressure.
“You haven't gone since then?”
"No, my friends-- I think a few of my friends planned one a couple of years ago? We were supposed to, at least, a few of us."
"Did you ever go?" He glances at you.
"Nah," you say, short. "I wasn’t in the best place in college and by the time I got okay again, people moved on. We didn't get the chance. But I know it would have been fun, they were great."
Steve watches another dilapidated sign whiz by.
You get back to whatever buttons you were clicking, wholly ignoring the instruction manual that came with the vehicle.
"After the Battle of New York, I got a bike," Steve pipes up. "Told myself I was gonna go check out the country and everything that had changed."
You pause, finger hovering over the power button on the radio. "Did you?"
"Not really," he confesses. "Got to check out Brooklyn, but after that Fury recruited me and I was back in training for SHIELD."
"Oh.”
"I've seen some parts of the country when I was on the run," he offers. "Most of our time we spent abroad 'cause it was harder for the government to track, and there were more HYDRA bases in other parts of the world."
"Didn't you also go after the Snap?" You poke at something on the display.
He opens his mouth to reply, only for you to cut him off with a jump when the car is flooded with loud, ear-splitting conversation. The hair on his skin goes upright in an instant, breath shortening and world shifting into slow motion.
You swiftly turn down the dial to restore the peace, murmuring in quiet annoyance to yourself the entire time.
"Fuck me," you curse lightly, "I'm sorry, you were saying?"
"That was also, uh-" he forces himself to recentre "-mission-related."
"Oh, right, yeah." You facepalm lightly. "Forgot you were back only for the last two years."
He doesn't blame you. Steve had spent the first three years in and out of the state, the country-- almost the planet at times. He could count on his hand the number of times he'd snuck away to see you in between his erratic schedule.
It'd gotten easier once he finally chose to stay back in New York, but by then it wasn't his circumstances that forced him to keep away from others, but his quiet choice to stay inside a lot more.
"So I guess I'd say this is my first real road trip," Steve says.
"No pressure at all," you mutter. "Just a whole lot of empty land and tiny windmill restaurants."
He looks at you. "I think they're nice."
"You'd say that even if you didn't think so." The corner of your lips upturn.
He thinks that he probably would, but most likely not if it were anyone else.
"Fuc- finally." You sigh loudly, dropping your hand and settling back into your seat and grabbing your phone. "Any suggestions?"
Steve shakes his head. "Your choice."
You shrug, scrolling through your phone before an idea hits you and you quickly type in the title.
Leaning back, you look out the window as the car slowly fills with the familiar tune of Inner City Blues.
____
Steve's sketchbook is nearly twenty pages into his journal-sketch book hybrid. At this rate he'd be forced to get a new one before two weeks were done.
A corner of the page has a piece of Arlington on it, a singular tombstone with indecipherable writing. Somewhere else is his best attempt at recreating the mastery that was the Bunyon statue.
Most of the page was just filled with what you saw today, what he did and what he ate. He didn't make much of an effort at journaling, as substantiated by his pathetic attempts earlier that left behind half-finished sentences and open-ended thoughts. When he did try, it was simply a skeleton of the day. Nothing interesting.
Steve runs his eyes over the filled sheet. He notices it does nothing to him. He feels nothing about the scribbles and pencil scratches.
Until there’s confusion.
In the corner, there’s a recreation of a familiar scene. The stores at the back and the road bear a scary resemblance to the original. The man sits at the front with his smoke, white shirt and hunched over.
Edward Hopper’s Sunday looks back at him in black and white, and Steve doesn’t even remember when he put it there.
But his eyes were wrong.
Steve erases it lightly, careful not to rip the page. Makes sure there are no smudges or strays.
The tilt of his brow is perfect, the scorn on his lips is harsh. Yet, when Steve looks at him, he doesn’t feel like his soul is being ripped out of his chest. Doesn't feel the drop in his stomach.
He can’t get the look in his eye right.
Steve pulls the book away from him slightly, letting himself really look at the image. There is no change. He feels nothing.
He turns his stare back to the wall.
Across the drywall, he knows you're there in a mirrored room. Your pacing stopped a while ago but your keyboard clicking still came in sporadic bursts.
There's a sudden sense of urgency in him. It makes his muscle twitch and his nausea set in his ribs.
Something-- he needs to do something now.
He clenches and unclenches his fist, even taking a step off the bed to shake off the sudden angst. But the feeling perists and so he exhales deeply, and it comes out shaky.
Checking the clock to make sure it was not too late, he picks up his phone instead for a quick search.
___
Steve knocks on the door, thrice, before letting his hand drop. It finds its way back to his pockets in nervousness, not before consciously being dragged away from where his belt buckle would be if he wasn't wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.
The entrances to the double-story building all overlooked the car park. Some of the brown imitation wood paint had peeled away from the banisters and one of the lights overhead didn't turn on. But all in all, it was a pretty good place; clean with working facilities--
He hears the chain unlink from the door before you tug it open.
"Hey," Steve says.
"Hi." You'd changed out of the clothes you were wearing during the day into something more comfortable and were looking at him in mild concern.
"I know you said we'd do takeaway, but there's this diner down the road with an arcade," Steve tests, letting it sit for a second before asking, "Maybe we could get dinner? Check out the games, if you're up for it?"
Your eyes flicker behind his figure to the moon in thought, before back at him.
"You gonna wear that?" you ask.
Steve glances down at his outfit. "Yeah?"
"Cool," you say, leaving the door open as you go to grab your stuff. "The likelihood of me saying yes depended on that."
"I could just throw on a tuxedo," Steve calls out.
"Close the door on your way out," you holler back.
He holds back a grin when you shut the door behind you and lock it, tucking the key into your pocket.
You mention towards the staircase that was too small to host the both of you at once with a nod of your head.
"Lead the way, Rogers."
_________
You don't say much on the walk over, nor when he buys an obscene amount of credits for the two of you to share.
Even the first game or two is spent in huffs in the form of laughter and quiet questions as to where to go next.
It takes nearly half an hour and him beginning to think it isn't a very good idea at all, before a grin makes its way onto your face at your first big win of the night.
"I don't care how close we are," you start, "I will wreck you at pinball. I will."
Steve's eyebrows lift as he glances at you. "We'll have to see about that."
"Careful now,” you warn and he can tell you're putting an effort in. "You're talking to the all-time arcade champ here."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you just lost embarrassingly at racing a fake car.”
You scoff, “It’s called a pity loss. Felt real bad for you. It’d be like beating my grandfather at a running race.”
Steve neatly tosses a ball into the basket. The score overhead had been updated to show his new record.
“Jealousy,” he states simply. “How sad.”
You stifle a laugh, picking up the next shot and obtusely missing the basket. It breaks his perfect streak.
He gives you a sidelong glance in amusement. “I still win.”
The machine corroborates his statement.
“Whatever,” you dismiss playfully. “PacMan’s the real test of skill.”
He wordlessly gestures for you to go ahead. If nothing else, the bleeps and bells chiming from different slot machines seemed to lift your spirits considerably.
Steve presses the coins into the back and steps away as you crack your knuckles. “Gonna make this game my bitch.”
He’s never played before, so he’s got nothing to refute you on. You, on the other hand, do seem like you’re gonna make good on your promise.
"Have at it."
Or maybe you were losing. He couldn’t really tell what the point was. He just stands watching for several minutes.
“So,” you bring up, eyes reflecting the light from the screen. “What'd you actually wanna talk about?"
Steve peers at you in mild surprise.
“You brought me here because it’s easier for me to talk when I have something to do with my hands,” you continue casually.
“That’s not the only reason.”
“I know,” you concede. “But you did, didn’t you? Want to talk about something?”
"Yeah," Steve replies carefully. “Wanted to apologise. Maybe a do-over from that breakfast, if that was alright.”
"Figured as much." Your lip twitches as your character narrowly avoids running into a ghost.
His smile comes back dry. "How?"
"You barrelling towards my door sorta gave it away. I could tell."
"You still said yes," he points out.
"As opposed to what, saying no and turning down free dinner?" You crack a small smile, immediately dropping when you see one of the ghosts round the corner to where you were. “We’ve been friends for too damn long, Steve. I don't want to let it go to shit over us not having a decent conversation. You mean too much to me.”
His heart jumps to his mouth. He swears that you could hear the audible exhale he just let out over the almost irksome beeping.
But now came the difficult part. What the hell does he actually tell you about? Time heist? Therapy? The stupid dream? List?
"I'm sorry," he says stupidly again. "I-"
Almost like you can hear his brain combusting, you ask,
“You want me to start?”
“Yeah, please,” he replies softly.
"Okay.” Your nose scrunches up when you lose a life. "When you said it was different-- what'd you mean by that?"
He sees you get right back into the game, and thinks it’s probably good that you’re not watching him directly. It doesn’t feel like he’s under observation.
"It feels like I just got out of the ice again," Steve says. "Doesn't feel like this place is for me. First time around, I was forced to accept it, y’know? Find something, or make something for myself. I don't know if I ever did, but I didn't have any other choice. This time, going and coming back, it’s like I-"
"Have another option.”
"Yeah." Steve watches your character pick up another bigger dot. "Watch out."
"Got it," you confirm lowly, taking another turn to narrowly miss one. "And you're going back how? The time travelling thing?"
"Yeah," he says. "I know there are more Pym Particles now that the doctor's back."
"And the machine?"
"Still functional. Pepper's got it with the rest of the old stuff."
You watch the little circle get killed again when the old joystick doesn't respond to your command, but there is no reaction on your face.
"You'd be safe?" your voice comes through instead.
Steve looks at your reflection in the screen. "I would."
"Okay."
You dive back in for the last round after your acknowledgement. You get killed in a much shorter time than the first two rounds.
"Boo," you say.
He silently hands you another quarter.
You take it from him, inserting it into the machine. "Don't you want to have a go?"
Steve observes at the starting screen of the game. "It'd just be embarrassing for the both of us," he decides on.
"One more game and then we hit Street Fighter 2."
He doesn't know what that is either, but it sounds more up his alley.
"D'you sleep at all these days?" you begin again, taking your time just as you had. "You've been looking a lot more tired recently."
"I do." He got three hours of sleep last night, a whopping two more than his usual. "You?"
"So and so." You shrug. "It'll get better."
He hears you at night sometimes, walking up and down across in the adjacent room.
You’re left in long, painful silence. It doesn’t take too much to realise how much he really fucking hates this. Not the silence, he’d sit in it comfortably with you for hours, but the awkwardness. The distance between you both when you were right there in front of him.
"What are you thinking about?"
You peer at him quickly and he holds it before you break the stare to go back to the screen when your little guy dies again.
"A bunch of stuff," you reply, restarting the round. "I just don't think I have all the questions right now. There's a lot I wanna ask, but there's only a few I can think of right now, and I don't want it to be something that I regret later."
"Anything it is, I'll answer. Whenever." You could throw even mumbled, garbage words out there and he'd piece it together like he had in the past. "But know that you don't have to sugar coat it. You can tell it to me straight."
Your jaw tightens until you force it to relax. The machine beeps get faster and fast with each passing moment, but he's all but entirely turning it out.
"It fuckin’ sucked that you didn’t tell me, Steve," you say steadily. "It’s a huge decision and I wish you had told me earlier. Like– even a text would have worked.”
“I’m sorry," he breathes. "I can't take it back, I know. I'm really fucking sorry, I should have told you earlier. Just tell me what to do-- I'll do it. I'll try to make up for it. I'm sorry. I really am."
You look him in the eye, not breaking contact for a second with your eyebrows knitted together.
“Steve, the biggest issue isn't that you didn't tell me. I know I'll get over that. Like yeah, it was-- is-- absolute shit for a while, but I’d get over it eventually.” You let go off the stupid joystick to spin towards him.
“But you’re leaving. You’re going away. I spent two years talking to you through voicemails and those stupid, secret notes and the fact that we might not even have that anymore?”
You look at him helplessly. He swallows back his guilt, fresh and heavy in his throat.
“How do I just do that?” you finish, lips pursing inwards.
Nine years of knowing you and this was the first time he’d seen you look at him the way you were. Even when he was on the run, you were sure he'd be back. There was no lapse of faith, no questioning. But now-- he doesn't know what to say because he had nothing.
“I’ll find a way to stay in touch,” Steve trails off. He isn’t sure how he’d do it. He doesn’t know. “I will. There has to be some way."
You look like you don’t believe him. He knows you don’t have reason to.
"We've always found a way," There's a pained smile on his face that is replaced with something more determined.
"You wanted to make it up to me?" you bring up again and his ears perk up. "I have a few things."
"Anything."
"No more keeping stuff from me. Not like this." You breathe out.
He holds up a hand to his chest and prays his heart doesn't burst into flames that very second.
"And no more voicemails," you continue. "I've had enough of them. Find another way."
"No more voicemails," he swears. "I promise you.”
That he could do. He could make good on his promises. That's what he was still trying to do.
“Better not.” Still, a sadness pulls at the corner of your lips, turning it upwards. “Or else you’re gonna have a bigger problem when I travel back in time to kick your ass.”
A laugh escapes him against the tense atmosphere. "I bet I will."
"You'll have to visit." You hold a finger up in a vague threat. "Don't care how you do it. You have to be there for my birthday, and the holidays and-- and St Patrick's Day, I don't know."
"I'll visit," he holds his hand up in an oath. "You'll be beggin' me to go back, you'll be so tired of me."
It makes you feel a little better, he can tell by the slight relief on your face. Fuck, he'd visit six months out of the year, if he had to. He'd figure out time travel on his own with a cord phone and a typewriter.
"And you need to invest in all the right places and save up a bunch of money and get it to me. Somehow. So I can retire early"
"Apple, right? What about the horse thing-- the Derby?"
"Yeah." You give him the first real smile he's seen all evening. "Apple and the Derby."
"Done," he announces. "You got it."
The game cries behind you when your last life is taken. You turn to it, sighing at the loss of your quarter.
"Want another one?"
"No, we've got other games to play. This shit's rigged against me anyway," you reply, looking around. "Before that-- one last thing."
"What?"
"I gotta be there," you say. "The day you leave. I wanna be there. No disappearing without a trace."
"Of course," he says softly. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"Good." You nod, a little more determined. "Okay, then. Dance Dance Revolution next."
Steve watches you turn on your heel and make your way towards the machine, completely discounting the fact that it was not the game you had initially named.
This was hardly the end of this conversation, he knows for a fact. And hopefully, he'd have answers for when you did ask.
“You good?” you call from a few feet away, hand on the railing of some new contraption with bright, flashing lights.
Steve nods, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m driving tomorrow.”
"You drove today," you remind.
Steve shrugs as he makes his way towards you and the supposed dance machine. "I know."
“Okay, Rogers.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head lightly. "Whatever you want.”
#steve x reader#steve rogers x reader#mcu fic#steve fic#steve rogers fic#steve fluff#steve rogers fluff#steve angst#steve rogers angst#bridges break fic#captain america x reader#captain america fluff#captain america angst
178 notes
·
View notes
Note
If you're still doing the character ask, please: Fingolfin
Character Ask Game 💚🤍🖤
I am always up for asks! Thank you @melestasflight, Fingolfin was very fun to tackle!
Give me a character and I will give you my thoughts on
Fingolfin
one aspect about them i love
Leading several thousand people across a desolate wasteland after cutting ties with their deities is THE most insane thing anyone does in the Silmarillion. This is true, and every time I remember Araman is right there as an option it makes me insane.
He is the single most interesting leader in this whole book for that. I don’t think it can be overestimate what a feat of every kind of resources it is. The commitment it takes, the huge amount of - even social control you need to have, to keep so many people united to the same goal, when the goal means fighting another worse deity, and vengeance, and sublimating the grief of the many partings and direct religious trauma while surviving the Arctic and facing constant privation?
In a way it’s a good thing everyone is busy creating steel-strong community concepts while on the Ice, because otherwise it would be a gigantic nightmare to deal with that fallout. The fact that he maintains the Flight of the Noldor as a Chase of Morgoth, creating unity and a shared ideal to maintain - the fact that his host only splinters under Turgon’s direction? Insane.
one aspect i wish more people understood about them
It is not even so much about Finwë, although of course it is also about Finwë.
Being ambitious is not a crime! It is however a strong character trait, and a way to define one’s life when it’s very existence is a cause of philosophical debate.
But politics, governing, those are Fingolfin’s true crafts, and Fëanor insisting on being always a step up on the dias and above him is maddening, and to a point feels like he is outright trying to stifle his calling on purpose.
Which he is, although perhaps not in a would-steal-your-forge-along- with-father’s-favoritism way. Not sure Fëanor cares to conceptualize leadership in such a crafting-equivalent way.
This may be more suited to headcanons, but I do think the idea that a social role can have such a strong impetus, even spiritual value to someone is mostly Vanyar, and having no material evidence of work, doesn’t fit so well in the Noldor’s material culture point of view about singular purpose.
one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character
Big tea drinker. Not much of a musician. Loves cool tones (Indis sorrows for the adorable emerald green and amethyst-bright onesies he refused to wear). Also a smith, as all Noldor princes are, but his interests are tied to infrastructures - steam-energy mostly, awfully boring stuff for most. Runs life according to a constantly updated list of priorities in his mind, that include meal times, coups, trips with each of their kids, divorce settlement negotiations with Anairë, etc.
This made him the logistics genius the host in the Ice needed, and was in fact the kind of basilar confidence that led him to it - among other things, I'm sure he studied the journey to Valinor extensively. He knew it would be incredibly difficult in their circumstances, that many would not survive, that the loss would change them utterly; but he also knew it was not impossible, and therefore it ought to be made possible.
His confidence in himself in never entirely wrong, but sometimes misjudged; he knew exactly he would be able to land up to five wounds on Morgoth. The last two were a freestyle bonus :/
as well as
one character i love seeing them interact with
Fingon! Father and son, king and heir, bright flare of despair and the inheritor of hope - they are foils, they are parallels, and they are painfully, painfully aware of it. Would love to read a JSTOR article comparing their rules, up to the yearly tax reports.
one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more
Lalwen (not a surprise!). The sort of loyalty involved is so interesting to me, but also the true that has to be based off true understanding and belief. They’re each other’s ride or die, and the idea of generally very magnificent and polis-minded Fingolfin being bffs with his irreverent younger sister is very amusing and fascinating.
(Also Turgon! Turgon and his disappearing act - well. He kind of commited treason, in a way? Treason-ish. It’s certainly a very pointed denial of Fingolfin’s direct authority, that’s for sure. Like. I crack up every time I think about this. Turgon must have been a nightmarish teenager, he’s very much like his father.)
one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character
Had a hard time connecting with Finarfin. They enjoyed each other’s company, mostly! Had a very clear understanding of who the other one is, which was even about 60% correct.
But the spark just isn’t there, and later on that’s something he grieves as much as Fëanor’s whole business. In part because idealized memories of Finarfin’s restful diplomacy are a succor in Beleriand, and in part because he has moments of clarity with some foresight, and sees Finarfin in a position of commander against Morgoth against his own.
That’s part of his despair - he thinks the war against Morgoth will go so badly it will be taken up against the elves of Amanyar in their own terrain, that all the efforts of guarding and defending in defiance will be for nothing, and even fair Valinor will perish with only Indis’ son to defend the Noldor.
This - is not correct. Finarfin fully takes the hosts of Valinor to Beleriand; but part of Morgoth’s power in battle is to take one’s worst fears and inflate them with the force of his own undeniable might. It gets him one dead Noldorin king, but also several painful scars, so really it’s a toss up on how well that works for him.
#fingolfin#feanor#melestasflight#asks and answers#turgon#thank you! i didn't know i had so many fingolfin thoughts#these asks are very useful to get ideas in order! in conclusion: he's very neat
36 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Ex. Arctic Forge // United States Army
#United States Army#U.S. Army#Army#military#armed forces#milblr#gunblr#RK62M1#Valmet#Finland#Finnish RK62M1#RK62#Virginia Army National Guard#VANG#183rd Cavalry Regiment#USAREUR-AF#10th Mountain Division#EUCOM#Exercise Arctic Forge#Ex. Arctic Forge#Arctic Forge
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
the terror fitzier fic recs below the cut for @skylessnights
this far from heaven by 5runner5 (1/1 | 10k+ | Ex)
fitzier; slow burn; missing scenes; masturbation; hurt/comfort; getting together
this man—this irritable drunk who apparently saw nothing of worth whatsoever in james—was a sad, far cry from the man he had imagined, when he’d first thrilled at reading the name crozier in dispatches.
forged in the ice by captaincrozier (28/28 | 97k+ | M)
fitzier; canon divergence; fix-it (of sorts); secret relationship; canon typical violence
something was forged in that arctic ice, something crozier will carry with him always, something that gave him hope, and the strength to get home. it was love... but the moment of its existence was cruelly brief.... and what is he without it now?
haunted by and faithful to its memory, he tries to carry on, but how does one continue when faced with its ghost, every day?
mirror, mirror by palpalou (2/2 | 26k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; sick fic; misunderstandings; getting together
in which francis flatters james back to health, without noticing how hard he's flirting, actually. [for the terror own language fest, english in chapter II]
sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me. by gwerfel, kt_fairy (19/19 | 85k+ | M)
fitzier; past francis/sir james; canon divergence; post-canon fix it; slow burn
they came upon a furrow in the landscape, too shallow to be called anything but a scrape, and all stopped in their tracks.
there were indeed men. a crowd of them, walking and talking or sprawled upon the ground, not raving or twitching or gurgling foul smelling blood. they were in appalling condition though, ross could tell even from this distance, but they were still men.
a figure stepped towards ross' party, and he would recognize that damned hat and the way hands were tucked up high into greatcoat pockets anywhere.
he scrambled with the harness, throwing it off and taking off in a stumbling, inelegant dash across the shingle.
"ross!" he heard francis gasp just before he collided with him, holding his dear friend in an embrace that nearly sent them both crashing to the ground.
OR
ross arrives in time, wounds are still open, and the risky business of having survived is navigated. the arctic does not let you out of its grasp with a wave and a goodbye.
untitled (perfect lovers), 2019, mixed media, london by caravaggiosbrushes (8/8 | 70k+ | Ex)
fitzier; au–modern setting; au–artists; enemies to lovers; self-inflicted wounds
sometimes there is nothing pretty in art.
when francis crozier, a conceptual artist with a long and successful career, is invited to the franklin art gallery to put up a solo exhibition of his artworks, the last thing he expects is to find james fitzjames, performer artist and Instagram phenomenon, there, ready to work with him.
penumbra by crafterofwords (23/23 | 84k+ | Ex)
fitzier; francis/sophia; canon divergence; period typical homophobia; angst with a happy ending
captain francis rawdon moira crozier and commander james fitzjames, of the royal navy, have survived their harrowing experience in the frozen wasteland of the arctic circle. a safe return to london has been these men's only desire through the very long nights in the arctic, so it is with confusion and discouragement that they find their homecoming has left them wanting. haunted by the memories and knowledge of horrors beyond the scope of what most men can bear, will they be able to find happiness, despite being given all they thought they'd ever wanted?
till human voices wake us by ktula (1/1 | 14k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; flatmates; repression; trauma recovery; tenderness
“thank you for last night,” james says, because it’s easier to say that than it is to say what he’s actually thinking.
“i wasn’t…you’re welcome,” francis says, his gaze going to the sideboard a moment before re-focusing on james. “did it help?”
“yes,” james lies. the second batch of nightmares, after all, hadn’t been francis’ fault any more than the first ones had been.
when all the world shall melt by neverfaraway (8/8 | 49k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; somebody lives/not everyone dies; fix-it; pining
i’ll not have a picture, he thinks, gazing grimly at james’ drawn, damaged face. i’ll not have a miniature to tuck inside my breast pocket, or a sketch made on a winter’s evening by the fireside. it will be my own burden to remember him, until such a time as this cursed land takes me, too.
twenty five men return to england. for francis, this means making a poor job of keeping james from scuttling his career, and working out what a sea captain might do with himself in the absence of a ship.
de remedio amoris by crownlessliestheking (1/1 | 14k+ | Ex)
fitzier; past/background francis/sir james; canon divergence; introspection; pining
francis has always been a grasping thing. covetous to the last, drenched in vice, and gripping tight to whoever—whatever—is closest, be it james ross or sophia or the the neck of a bottle. or all three.
now, there is james fitzjames.
a moon-blanched land by wildcard_47 (10/10 | 44k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; sharing a bed; hurt/comfort; retirement; pining
almost a year after their return to england, francis crozier is tired of london society and tired of fighting an inexplicable restlessness. when given the chance to move to a seaside cottage with his former second, james fitzjames, how can he refuse?
so much spring by icicaille (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; emotional hurt/comfort; angst with a happy ending; pining
in the half-year since their return, francis had become aloof, impassive, withdrawn. there was no logic to this strange metamorphosis. at greenhithe, francis had promised to look after him. had told james: come find me. yet francis had never been further out of reach.
on a cold spring day in 1849, francis drops everything and flees london for his sister's farm in ireland. james, hurt and hungry for answers, gives chase.
what ice does by what_alchemy (4/4 | 44k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; internalized homophobia; sharing a room; slow burn
captain parry’s third arctic expedition takes a year longer to prepare than planned. it leaves in 1825 with ship’s boy james fitzjames aboard HMS hecla. master's mate francis crozier takes him under his wing.
this changes everything.
a pair of finches in a brass cage by fiendlikequeen (1/1 | 5k+ | M)
fitzier; unrequited francis/sir james; canon divergence; POV sir james; accidental voyeurism
james clark ross brought francis crozier back from the arctic, but he finds francis a changed man—perhaps the most striking change being francis's constant companion, james fitzjames. james discovers, only partly by accident, the true nature of the relationship between francis and fitzjames.
i'll describe the way i feel, weeping wounds that never heal by velocity_owl87 (8/8 | 26k+ | T)
fitzier; canon divergence; hurt/comfort; career ending injuries; recovery; introspection
by sheer blind luck ross manages to find the remaining members of the franklin expedition, many of whom are at death's door. one of these being commander fitzjames and the main concern of crozier, whom ross judges far changed in ways he can't begin to understand.
he offers his friend and fitzjames a place to recover while francis faces both external conflicts and comes to realisations about his life, his ambitions...And the person he wants to have with him for the rest of his life.
all the while fitzjames struggles with coming to terms with lingering injuries, the ordeal of being known, and the possibility of finally getting his heart's desire.
trafalgar, happier by fiendlikequeen (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex)
fitzier; francis/sir james; canon divergence; jealousy; accidental voyeurism; angst with a happy ending
james fitzjames has decided that he is perfectly ambivalent about death— provided he may die with francis crozier by his side. but when james clark ross arrives with both a rescue party and competing affections for francis, things change.
the devils before us by masterofallimagination (6/6 | 42k+ | T)
fitzier; canon divergence; somebody lives/not everyone dies; slow burn; pining
after five years in the arctic, francis and james return to england and begin the long journey home.
starcross by reinetta (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex)
fitzier; au–historical; au–regency; misunderstandings; enemies to friends to lovers
“there is barely a ribbon or a feather or a scrap of silk left this side of exeter.”
“no woman under thirty is left unmoved,” tom said, grinning around the stem of his pipe.
“even our essie is taken up with the idea!” esther’s dark eyes were dancing in the firelight. “though she is far too young to think of marrying at present—least of all to mr. james fitzjames.”
sleeping felt like lies by the_ocean_weekender (2/2 | 41k+ | T)
fitzier; canon divergence; flatmates; depression; angst with a happy ending
escaping the ice is more down to sheer dumb luck than any happenstance of sight, divine intervention, or the not-insignificant amount of skill their crews bring to the occasion, but they all get out alive (bar unfortunate souls sir john and cornelius hickey, whose deaths are viewed by many as, contrarily, rather fortunate.) now, in london, pressed by commander fitzjames to saving their navy half-pay by sharing rooms together, crozier is struggling to return to normality.
it would help, he admits begrudgingly, if he could tell the difference between dreams blessed/cursed by the sight and just good old trauma-induced nightmares. and if he hadn’t started to develop feelings for the man who, even ridden with scurvy, still deserved the title ‘handsomest man in the royal navy’.
never seek him, defiantly, at night by veganthranduil (1/1 | 17k+ | M)
fitzier; canon divergence; slow burn; bunkmates; recovery; pining; alcoholism
“the loss of a ship is a small price to pay for the completion of the passage, wouldn’t you say?” james said, employing his best smile. make it look easy, make it look painless, and people would gladly follow you—he’d learnt that early on.
“well i’d not thought to see it,” said sir john, looking between the two of them. “if both of you are of one mind, there must be some truth to it. very well.” he clapped his hands together. “francis, james, the two of you can figure out the logistics. i’ll inform the men after david young’s funeral service. begin preparations immediately.”
to be made whole again by 5runner5 (10/10 | 29k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; eating disorder; survivor guilt; recovery; nightmares
james bit into a laden slice of toast with the undamaged side of his mouth. “i thought we agreed that thinking was very dangerous,” he said, and though his voice was light francis could feel a weight behind it. it was a weight made up of sleepless nights and crying jags; of francis punching a solid wall and of james shouting himself hoarse; of the unbearable social calls and wrenching letters and pitying looks which they could not avoid. they carried a great many heavy things with them, now.
london, 1848: francis and james try to put themselves back together.
each mortal thing by jouissant (6/6 | 26k+ | M)
fitzier; canon divergence; friends to lovers; gender identity; the dress
truth is a concept with which james fitzjames has been variously acquainted.
pressure ridge by alitneroon (8/8 | 18k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; missing scenes; POV alternating; happy ending
here, so far away from the world, it felt as though consequences didn’t exist. he’d already been through so much with the men, he almost imagined that they could know about this too and understand, that it wouldn’t matter. despite everything, the bleakness of the landscape and the food that was slowly killing them, francis managed to find a moment or two of happiness when he was with james.
SWIPE RIGHT (or: THE TINDER AU) by caravaggiosbrushes (2/2 | 29k+ | Ex)
fitzier; au–modern setting; POV francis; falling in love; author james; fluff
francis is 51, single, almost two years sober. he has a nice job, a dog, and a tinder profile he doesn’t use that much. one night, he decides to give the app another try. the rest is, as they say, history.
between the pain and the treasure by mysleepyrambles (2/2 | 22k+ | M)
fitzier; canon divergence; hopeful ending; slow burn; mutual pining; fix-it
with sir john wilfully blind to the danger they are in, francis takes matters into his own hands.
death is a sailing ship by maleann (7/7 | 27k+ | M)
fitzier; canon compliant; canon-typical violence; afterlife; POV james; body horror
james had died knowing that his heart, the core of his very being that no biographer would ever know, would carry on in francis crozier. would be protected, cherished even, because francis deemed him worthy of such care.
oh, how he had loved francis then. he had been at peace with this being his last living thought.
it’s his only thought now. in this undead life, his love has nowhere to go.
james fitzjames wakes up in the afterlife. it looks strangely similar to his cabin on erebus.
one fast move or i’m gone by cosmogram (3/3 | 25k+ | Ex)
fitzier; unrequited james/dundy; POV dundy; au–modern setting; au–academia
in a lifetime of unsubtleties, the affair with crozier is james’s worst. crozier’s hand resting on james’s lower back, there for all to see. crozier’s fingers nudging gently at james’s shirtcuffs when they stood around at receptions; crozier’s pale eyes going soft and foolish when james entered the room. sometimes simply crozier’s nod, sharp and proprietary, as though to say get upstairs, get in my office, close the door—as if the rest of them were not right there.
or, the one where james and dundy are bright young things (baby post-docs) in english literature, and there’s a cranky new professor in town...
let the river rush in, not wash away by kt_fairy (4/4 | 27k+ | Ex)
fitzier; canon divergence; established relationship; crossdressing; internalized homophobia
“it’s not something you wish known when you look like i do, i have learnt. ‘handsomest man in the royal navy’ feeling…” he shot a look at francis before bowing his face towards his teacup. “i had enough on the line, with my parentage, without everyone guessing how...how fine i felt in that dress. how soft and light and bright i felt, playing the very opposite of all i try to be.”
or
most people come home, boundaries are set, james (eventually) gets a dress.
let us live now / only this by furiously, ilcardinalecheballa (5/5 | 25k+ | T)
fitzier; canon divergence; slow burn; mutual pining; flatmates; friends to lovers
“i've put in for another commission.”
james' voice was perfectly ordinary: so much so, in fact, that francis was sure, for the space of two blissful seconds, that he must have misheard.
francis crozier and james fitzjames are alive. they are home. so are most of their men. but coming home—coming home together—is a more complicated proposition than it had at first glance appeared. then james' career comes to call.
'tis past, and so am i by glassessay (1/1 | 26k+ | T)
fitzier; time travel fix-it; everyone lives/nobody dies (eventually); POV james
james fitzjames dies as francis cries above him, bleeding out of too-old wounds and thinking if only we had known.
he opens his eyes in his cabin.
seen by ktula (9/9 | 97k+ | Ex)
fitzier; au–modern setting; BDSM; slow burn; author francis; explicit sexual content
against his better judgement, francis crozier goes to a kink convention in canada to promote his new book. it's the dead of winter, and he has a vague suspicion he should have stayed home.
then he meets james fitzjames, and confirms his suspicion is correct.
paper boats by Kt_fairy (4/4 | 25k+ | M)
fitzier; pre-canon; canon divergence; gender identity; period typical attitudes; the dress
james did not feel quite like himself, dressed up like a sailor. and, strangely, feeling unlike himself was rather satisfying.
he supposed it was all the change going on. in a few days he would step onto the pyramus and begin his life at sea, in the hope it was vast and varied enough that it contained a place where someone like him might be able to be honest about themselves, and still live a good life.
or
james fitzjames goes to sea, finds a place for himself, then finds a way to be himself.
rotten work by for_autumn_i_am (1/1 | 26k+ | Ex)
fitzier; au–modern setting; coworkers; pining; misunderstandings; enemies to friends to lovers
james fitzjames, COO of erebus voyages, has a tragic crush on his straight colleague, francis crozier. (well. he thinks francis is straight.) there’s no way his tender feelings will ever be returned, is there?
don’t you (forget about me) by soft_october (1/1 | 6k+ | G)
fitzier; canon divergence; POV sir james; outsider POV; misunderstandings; secret relationship
all oddities were temporary anyway! they were going home, francis would be well again, the enterprise would soon return to england, and there would be a farce of a court martial before a knighthood for francis and an easy retirement.
and as for fitzjames…well, fitzjames would be reassigned, of course, continue his meteoric rise within the ranks of the navy. he would send a suitable number of letters to francis from somewhere exotic and warm before the draw of newer company turned his thoughts away from the arctic, and those who came with it.
after rescuing the remnants of the franklin expedition from the ice, ross would prefer everything go back to normal.
it doesn't.
some unknown tropical bird by hauntinghouses (1/1 | 4k+ | T)
fitzier; canon divergence; ghosts; supernatural elements; fix-it; angst w/ a happy ending
even after returning to england, francis crozier is haunted by the past.
#skylessnights#reclist by cinematicnomad#fic rec#the terror#fitzier#francis crozier#james fitzjames#fitzier fic rec
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Time eclipse AU drabble
-----December 5th, 12,000 B.C.E-----
-----------Late Ice Age-------------
Time rasped, putting his weight against the trunk of a birch tree; it’s ash bark as white as the snow piled to his knees.
He put two leather-clad fingers to his bruised temple, a thunderous ringing slamming between his ears. It was an earthquake within his mind, the reminder of all he’d failed, and all that he now had to overcome.
Hyrule, his home, was gone--and by all rights so should he.
But he’s alive, by the goddesses he was alive.
Time fought back the cascading emotions of his hours-new remembrance, gritting his teeth as the scars of his first body etched themselves anew on his earthy form. He’d been struggling with the symptoms of his revived consciousness for as long as he’d regained it; barely making the miles walk back to his tribe’s encampments.
How would they view him now? Their leader returning from a foraging trip half-blind and scarred, a shadow of his former strength?
If he’d taught them anything--hopefully nothing at all.
Time winced; abject darkness overtaking his whitening eye, the emblazoned touch of the deity scaring onto his soul once again. He tried to avoid the thought of if he too made the breach; ignorance was bliss.
He grunted, straightening his shoulders despite the pain. He was more then his scars, more then his memories, his tribe nee-
“Watch out!”
Time swiveled to his rearward, reacting on instinct, too preoccupied to digest who was speaking to him. It was a futile effort though, as seven hundred fifty pounds of arctic feline crashed into him like a freight train from hell. They tumbled through the alaskan detritus, a snarling roar rumbling the frozen tundra.
He was on his back now, his hands in an iron grip around both of the saber tooth’s arms, a mask of stoic determination overtaking his adrenalined shock. The tiger struggled and squirmed in his grasp, unused to it’s mauling victims surviving the first gouging, or gouging attempt in this case.
Time’s move, however bold, was temporary at best. It was a miracle he wasn’t stricken immobile by the sheer force of the charging tackle. He wasn’t surprised, it’s not like he hadn’t survived worst.
“Hey, listen! It’s fangs are more brittle then they look, try attacking them with your gauntlets.”
*Navi?*
The gauntlets were a point of confusion too, given that he was stripped of his gear; answered justly when sheets of hammered metal and gold began manifesting around his forearms; emerging like crying tears from rippling air. They wrapped him in ribbons of molten light, their fiery embers coming right off the forges of their creation.
Okay then.
Uncapped strength surged within the forsaken hero, the thrashing predator atop him feeling lighter then a paperweight. He grabbed the Saber’s right fang, the ruby at the center of his gauntlets aglow--
He flicked his wrist right, snapping off eight inches of prehistoric bone from it’s source with unprecedented ease.
Howling in pain, the saber thrashed it’s unhooked claw at Time--It tried to at least. A rising uppercut hit from below, fracturing it’s bottom jaw in a spiderwebbing cracks.
The saber, now whimpering, scampered off Time; fleeing into the wilderness.
Time sighed, putting a hand to his chest.
“Stow the yawn, hero. You’re still on the clock.”
A flicker of blue light swam into his vision, impatiently hovering in place; their presence unabashed. A few thoughts struck Time’s mind, all in rapid succession--
Was this real? Was he having a stroke? Had he died again?
Normal things to consider, given he hadn’t seen his friend in over two and a half decades.
“I-..I-” Time stuttered, unable to find the words.
“Save it. We’ll talk whys and hows later, I’m just as confused as you are--but I do know that your tribe is in a heap of trouble, and they need your help.”
Time shook his head, trying to shake his bafflement.
“Our help, you mean. We’re a team, remember?”
Navi paused, a dozen regrets chasing her hurried mind.
“Of course..my mistake. We fight together, Link, ere the end,” Navi said, wistful melancholy infecting her tone.
Time nodded.
“Then lead the way, the stage is yours,” Time said.
“Good. We don’t have a moment to lose.”
#linkeduniverse#linked universe#fanfic#short fic#drabble#oneshot#lu time#navi#action#he gets his memories back#eclipse au#lu navi#linked universe fanfic#linked universe time#time linked universe#angst#hurt/comfort#kovac fic
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cladonia stygia
Black-footed reindeer lichen
Y'all, I am running out of reindeer lichens to post on Christmas. This may be my last year, so please give your appreciation for C. stygia. And if you aren't into Christmas, you can appreciate C. stygia for all the good it does keeping caribou and reindeer alive throughout the cold winter in the northern tundra! This fruticose lichen grows in thick, mat-forming patches in moors, bogs, moist-tundra, and montane heathlands in the northern hemisphere. It has an ephemeral, arachnoid to areolate white basal thallus, and shrubby podetia that are brown-black at the base. and blue-gray to ash-gray throughout the middle. The lobe tips are branched, and are often brown-black in color, with occasional brown, convex apothecia, but more often with dark pycnidia immersed in the lobe tips, which apparently have a red jelly? IDK it's the holidays and I don't have the energy to research what that means, but sounds awesome. Like other reindeer lichen, C. stygia makes up the majority of winter biomass in many tundra habitats, providing an invaluable food source for forging animals in Arctic and montane habitats.
images: source | source | source | source
info: source | source | source
#lichen#lichens#lichenology#lichenologist#fungus#fungi#mycology#ecology#biology#systematics#taxonomy#life science#environmental science#natural science#nature#naturalist#the natural world#Cladonia stygia#Cladonia#i'm lichen it#lichen a day#daily lichen post#i love lichen#reindeer lichen#trypo#cw trypophobia
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
Louis Tomlinson knew where to go on his second album Faith In The Future with rockier and smashing indie songs from Britpop inspirations to modern indie classics. His Place Bell’s Laval show was no exception with a stellar performance and the stage scenic effects on point.
First to hit the stage were Snarls from Columbus, Ohio with their fine twist of indie pop. With their fun guitar chords and dancey rock beats, it was such a refreshing and enjoyable time. The female-fronted band were solid on their first performance on Canadian soil with their jolly and emotive lyrics, singalongs and beautiful melodies.
Snarls set up for what was going to be a magical night, all smile on stage with such good vibes. Those who loves Haim, Tegan And Sara, jangly and strong riffs will be served.
We knew Irish indie- rock is catchy right now with the rise of many bands like Inhaler, Fontaines D.C, New Dad and Louis Tomlinson brought in another one, The Academic. Hailing from Mullingar (yeah that’s why the accent sounded familiar, hello Niall Horan!), the crowd was all over it, singing along dancing and jumping around on the upbeat indie pop songs.
Blending elements of pop with magnificently driven chords, the songs are powerful whether they sing rock songs or emotional ballads. Crowd went crazy on Girlfriends, singing a Capella on melancholic soothing drum snarls and bright riffs. Here’s a little snippet of The Academic performance that brought the magic to the French Canadian city. What a blast!
While waiting for Louis Tomlinson and the band to come on stage, pre-show playlist drove us back in time from Nirvana to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and Pixies while going in depth into British culture with some Foals, Maximo Park and obviously lots of Arctic Monkeys and never forget Oasis Supersonic banger from Definitely Maybe, a fire throwback to 1994’s Britpop era.
While roadies prepping the set up and Louis Tomlinson’s scribbling Faith In The Future on the big screen, people were so loud even before he hit the stage. Through the huge screams and claps, Louis and his band then hit the first note of The Greatest for a solid intro. Kill my mind followed with such a viral energy and the fans iPhone lighting effects and singalongs. While playing Bigger Than Me on the opening night Uncasville and skipping it the next show, Laval was so happy to get it back on the set list, this is such an anthem and live it’s totally an incredible vibe. Louis Tomlinson energy was all over going from side to side of the stage, interacting with the fans like a proper rock star (and we absolutely adored it!) while teasing and laughing at his amazing musician.
Britpop inspiration floated from every side of the 10,000 cap almost-full arena alongside the live versions of Lucky Again and the slick guitars of Isaac Anderson and Michael Blackwell. Louis Tomlinson’s vocals were solid and very emotional, happiness and smiles flowing all around the people crowd. We were definitely Holding Out To Heartache when the concert finished later on! The Doncaster-born singer never let negativity bring him down and he proved it with Face The Music. Rock and indie was always his thing and he finally step up on his last record to find his genuine sound. He’s thankful for the fans and never forget where he belongs. Dedicating We Made It for his supporters, people sang along loudly to the chorus. Forging his career since 2010 and even from a younger age, Louis Tomlinson is humble, grateful and gave us a very strong and rockier edition of his former band One Direction’s with Night Changes and the crowd was really into it screaming at the chorus.
Emotional and so impossible to describe the feeling, the Yorkshire singer-songwriter got this special bond with his fans. With few words, laughs and drinks, he sang back to back hits from Faith in The Future new album and bonus tracks with soulful songwriting like Chicago, Saved By A Stranger and kicked in with the dance feeling of Foals-esque number Written All Over Your Face, pointing his mic through the crowd with the infamous “SING IT” vibes. Louis Tomlinson knows how to rock in style with his eclectic influences and props to his musicians sparkling some magic with his wonderful new-wave infused mega mix of All This Time and She Is Beauty, We Are World Class. His stage presence and pyrotechnics effects were just incredible and added some spice and energy to the show.
How do you make a perfect setlist? Mix some rockier song with heavy tearful ballads. Following A Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy and the Oasis-inspired first album titled song Walls, Louis Tomlinson surprised the fans with Bebe Rexha’s collab Back To You. Add more guitars, hectic drums and you got a truly better indie version. It was so original and that’s the kind of rendition that could attract brand new audiences. Of course, we can’t skip how his voice truly fits Alex Turner’s shoes on his brilliant cover of 505 by Arctic Monkeys. Indie Louis is a pure gem. The Angels Fly in the room with all the phone flashlights moving in sync and people humming the chorus with Tomlinson. The singer brings hope and joy to the world and the confetti exploded in the room to the jolting guitar riffs of Out Of My System. People jumped around and Louis Tomlinson did his traditional hop in the front pit to interact with fans.
Lights went off and fans shouted and cheered for the encore. Few minutes later, Louis Tomlinson’s offered three last songs, kicking it with Where Do Broken Hearts Go? He gained such confidence slaying on the high notes on some guitar-centred version, inspired by The Who. It was theatrical and emotional just like the beginning of Saturdays and the lights blinking like stars all across the arena. The night closed the Britpop fashion way with Silver Tongues in such a very electric way. Louis Tomlinson presence on stage was so on point all over the show that we would even have take more and more! What a night!
Get Faith In The Future tour tickets, records and more here! Get to know more on Snarls on their website and The Academic here.
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
A piece of art I have had my eye on acquiring for months and months, I finally received my Jörmungandr-embosomed Mjölnir in the post today! 🐍
This is the blacksmith work of Anssi Routavirta / Frost Ferrum Forge, from deep within the Arctic heart of Finland.
I chose Berkano to adorn the piece as it means much to me in the lead up to my favourite fire and fertility festival of the year… Beltane.
This festival is very dear to my heart for many a reason now, not least for being the day I made my vows to Loki. And we all know what both Jörmungandr and Mjölnir mean to our Lundr Læva, Bringer of Gifts, son of Laufey…
I feel very lucky to have this piece in my hands now and will cherish it for years to come. ❤️🔥
#lokean#mjolnir#berkano#Finland#blacksmith#arts and crafts#beltane#loki deity#jormundgandr#Laufey#animism
44 notes
·
View notes
Note
say more asoif/succession AU HCs
this au is so insanely funny to me because like. so little would fundamentally have to change for the au to work! if you added ice zombies in the arctic to succession, it would become asoiaf. if you transplanted the characters in king’s landing from a medieval empire to modern-day corporate america, it would be succession. a snake eating its own tail, narratively.
ANYWAY here are the stark kids in the asoiaf/succession au. they’re not the main characters of the au because it needs the protags to be fundamentally bad people with bad intentions and sympathetic motivations. the starks are well-meaning rich people! that still gets dicey! but only the lannisters can encapsulate the raw fail energy and nauseating privilege of the roy kids.
robb: set to inherit the starks’ company, which is owned by king’s landing inc, a massive media conglomerate akin to disney. instead of going to war, he goes to soooo many board meetings. realistically he probably needs to be like 27 for the au to work (just graduated with his mba, idealistic and fresh-faced,) but it would be so funny if he was still 14 years old.
jon: joins the military to prove himself to ned and forge his own identity. is sent to northern iceland. finds ice zombies. gets disillusioned about the military and forms his own coalition against the ice zombies. he still has terminal main character disease. he just wants to count how many MREs and flare guns they have left.
sansa: i think sansa had all these dreams of girlbossing her way to the top as a humanitarian, forward-thinking High Society Figure. running a lot of charity orgs, being on nonprofit board. but she still has the mindset and judgments of the 1%, and it’s not until she works as an intern in King’s Landing Inc that her world expands. then her dad gets murdered. now she’s going to girlboss her way into a better future for everyone, whether everyone’s ready or not.
arya: she’s like if one of the roy kids genuinely wanted to destroy the roy family (the Roy Family being king’s landing inc.) she works covertly—she can put on the right costumes for a king’s landing ball, but she’s also exposing cersei’s embezzlement scheme. she’s pulling an ocean’s eight with gendry (working as waitstaff) and hot pie (hacking offsite from arya’s kitchen.) she also has some Nepo Baby Disease and isn’t always as self aware as she wants to be. cue character arc!
bran: his story also remains the same. jaime pushes him out of a window after witnessing him and cersei. years later, he goes to college and realizes the weirwood network still exists. has to hide out in arya’s apartment when the lannisters try to have him killed for that bc a magical tree spy network would drive stock prices down.
rickon: sells ecstasy to his classmates’ parents at his private high school
25 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
