#Steadfast

[horse-breed-a-day]

Horse breed of the day: Belgian Draft

Height: 16-17 hh

Common coat colors: Bay, chestnut, and various roans

Place of origin: Belgium

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I’ve wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we’re all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however… I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“A tavern ahead,” the king declares as he slows the horse’s canter. “We should rest lest the bandits be upon us.” 

You shift and bow your head. You hold back from giving his title. “Yes, poppet,” you agree. 

He hums and approaches the low stone wall around the wood and wattle inn. As he does, you catch sight of a young boy sat upon a rootless stump. He looks up as he tucks away the sling in his hands. He approaches the gate as the horse stops at the post. 

“Board for the night. For the beast too,” the king puts on a gruff affectation. 

“No rooms, good sir. Only the loft above the chattel,” the boy replies. 

“You should bring clean hay,” the king stirs beneath his cloak and presents a silver coin. “Feed the beast sweet oats and you will have another.” 

He hands the reins to the stable boy and nudges your hip. He keeps hold of you as he helps you unhook your legs from over the mare and eases you to the ground. He slides off after you. The chestnut horse is led away as your muscles snag and tug. 

The king stretches with a groan then offers his bent arm. You loop yours through in quick acquiescence to his act. You recall the duke’s words. You must keep the king’s true self unfounded, thus you must pretend as he does. 

Inside, the space is dingy with the smell of unwashed bodies and yeasty ale. You follow your escort to the corner and sit with him on the wooden bench behind a table. He crosses his arms over the splintered surface as you wring your cold hands in your lap. 

“Pip,” he sits back, sensing your fidgeting, “are you very cold?” 

Before you can answer him, his large hand is over both of yours. He does not wear his embroidered velvet gloves, rather a leather pair he must have acquired from the stabler. You still and let him warm your brittle knuckles. 

“...it isn’t so bad,” you assure him. You are addled at not addressing him properly. In a castle, that would be an oversight worthy of a switch’s bite. 

He removes his glove and once more clamps down on your hands, “like ice. We must have you a better cloak for the road. Once we dock upon Gander River, the winds will not die.” 

You nod and your brows furrow with a question you dare not ask. It floats away from you as a servant in apron and cap approaches. She offers two flagons and a pitcher. The king demands bread and some hearty stew in exchange for another coin. She goes and he rubs his bearded cheek as he peers around. 

“I will not say much and more about our path, but I do hope you are not prone to seasickness,” he girds. 

You follow his gaze around the lantern-lit chamber. The hearth burns at the other end. You look down at his other hand still upon yours. 

“Come, wife, be close to me,” he says suddenly and you steel yourself as he leans closer. He whispers as he tilts his chin down. “Those who watch must believe we are not who we are. Be not shy with me.” 

He nuzzles your temple and draws away. A fluttery warmth rolls through you. You dip your chin. 

“As you wish,” you abide. 

He reluctantly draws his hand from yours. He pours a cup for each of you, offering the dark ale to you first. You sip and nearly choke upon its wheaty pungency. He drinks without pause and two bowls of soup are set down with heels of thick rye. 

You wait the king to eat first. He takes the bread from before you and splits it, offering you a piece. You accept it and lean forward. You dip the crust into the lumpy stew and stir it. You look at him. He watches you calmly. It will be a long road to be so unsettled. 

You take a bite. He mimics you, stirring the rye through his soup before he indulges. It is blander than the castle fare. You assume the king is not used to such plain sustenance. Merely the scent of the spices they baste upon the noble’s meals is enough to make you salivate. 

“Be mindful, little one,” he warns as he squints over his bowl. 

You follow his gaze. A man stares back but not at the king. At you. You shrink down as he sidles closer. 

“You will not leave my side,” he commands. 

You hum and nod, ‘your highness’ teetering on your tongue. You clear your throat, “yes, poppet.” 

“Good pip,” he praises. 

You eat until the bowl is empty. Food is food, you do not mind the staleness of the barley as you gulp from the brim. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and the king slaps his middle. 

He doesn’t speak as he stands. He takes your hand and draws you after him. The shadows flicker on the wall as you hide from the glances in your direction. Road-weary men are the villains of many whispered tales. 

The king brings you into the night and the boy sits on his stump, hunched beneath a wool cloak.  

“Is the loft ready?” The king asks. 

“Horse fed,” the boy assures and receives another coin. 

The king guides you to the stable. The stink would be repulsive to many unused to it. The droppings and horse-sweat do not bother you much. He slides shut the door and leads you to the ladder’s feet. He urges you up first, hands on your hips until you mount the first rung. 

He climbs up after you and pulls the ladder with him. Only the moonlight lights the space through the slats of wood. You crawl around in the fluffed hay as he bends beneath the slant of the roof. He unhooks his cloak and comes close. He surprises you as he sits next to you. 

He turns and lowers himself upon his side. He drags you close to him and fans his cloak over both of you. You shiver against his warmth. He nestles into you and rests his chin on your crown. 

“We will be off before the sun is here,” he bids as he holds you snug. “Sleep, my pip.” 

[scamallach-1]

When fellow “US” settlers tell each other that they wanna learn about indigenous decolonial land back here on this land but then spend time making an issue about their time, saying they don’t really have time to educate themselves, my autistic ass is at a loss. Cus I’m stumped. You say you want to learn and then when provided with resources your regular response is that you don’t have time? I see it constantly, this excuse. In comment sections when people ask questions and then claim they don’t have time to read the answer; in my own circle when my fellows blab about things they don’t know and then when presented with correct answers and sources, they get quiet and say they just haven’t had time to look into it (yet that doesn’t quiet their mouths on shit they don’t know). We settlers need to ask ourselves right now what we are willing to change for the greater good. If you make a bed from selfishness then expect to sleep in it, I think.

I can’t make other people work decolonial edu into their schedules, I can only send them the resources directly from where I myself am learning about decolonization: the First Nations educators and historians and scholars and Black New Afrikan educators, historians and scholars. If you want to learn about this stuff - and you must - I think it does require making the sacrifices in your daily life necessary for you to be able to do that. Settler-colonialism has us in a chokehold so we need to be more than what it ‘allows’ in order to unlearn it!

I don’t know what other settlers want me to say? Do they want me to be wishy-washy with them about it? Say that whole “if you have time, please consider, sometime…” No, i am not gonna say that because I believe that is bullshit and nothing will get done with that passive attitude.

I do think we working class/poverty class/disabled settlers need to help each other be able to prioritize this education NOW. The indigenous and Black educators we learn from also have jobs, also have children they need to care for, have personal responsibilities and important things to do - and have active genocides against their people. They believe full-heartedly in working toward decolonial land back because of course they do. This is their lives, and not just individual by individual. They’re working for their people’s liberation in the face of settler-colonial genocides!

And so when we look at our work and school and family schedules - as settlers, no different in status than the “Israeli” settler occupying Palestine - and we prioritize our own overwhelm when we are asked to make the fucking space and take the fucking time for this imperative education, so we can be ready accomplices to decolonial action in the coming years, you gotta know how fucked up that is. We should no longer snap into this typical self-serving behavior!

No, I’m not going to say anything less than what I believe is factual, based on the edu ive so far learned from the indigenous and Black liberationists who are telling us, with their radical perspective and wisdom, what we need to do and how we should go about it, even as potential settler accomplices. Prioritize decolonial edu. Make fucking room.

We settlers should all help each other to accomplish this. Plenty of settlers like me with learning disabilities are out there trying to encourage others and make it easier for people to read the histories and theories. People break this information down for you so you can learn it in different ways (audiobook recordings, forum discussions, infographics that take a couple min to read, key histories in “less than 6 minutes”, YouTube interviews and discussions, podcast discussions, free book banks with PDFs, free articles). We have different ways of learning and in different stretches of time available - I really think what matters is that you work to get it done regardless of daily constraint. Show some solidarity. Working class settlers are not the center of the oppressed under settler-colonialism. We are the settler-colonialism. We must actually work to dismantle it by following FN leadership.

The idea that anything liberating and meaningful just falls into someone’s hands is a white supremacist lie.

What I wish is that in my circle at least, fellow settlers would say “I want to learn this but it’s hard and I need help, will you help me?” — to which I would do all I can in order to ensure they can learn. I have more time than others do because I work only part time due to my disability - but that is time I have to give to discuss, share, read-to others (I have dyslexia but I will fucking READ TO YOU because I know how hard it can be!) The point here is, if you begin your edu, you won’t be alone. Reach for support to make it happen and there will be people who will take the endeavor seriously with you.

But you have to be committed to learning this going forward. You have to actually want to begin learning about decolonial land back.

[toyastales]

"You Can't Sway Me" by LaToya Cole

Acrylic on Stretched Canvas

https://www.saatchiart.com/lcolestudios

[wiirocku]

Isaiah 26:3 (NIV) - You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You.

[howifeltabouthim]

And who, among these myriads, loved him the most? Who would be the least likely to suspect him? Who would be the first to leap to his defence if he was accused, however plausible the accusation? Whose love could he rely on to see him through?

L. P. Hartley, from My Fellow Devils

[arabdoll]

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:

9 Whom resist stedfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.

[johnnyyumaisarebel]

she's driving in the night to where

her love is necessary

she stands fatigued but undefeated

moves the earth as needed

a new ambition underscored

i long to be a comet

searing at an altitude sufficient

to stand watch inside a western sky

where my venus is the starlight

i am not magnificent

i have no silver wings

i only have her beautiful

and my one desire

she's where she needs to be tonight

as every other evening

pouring out her mystic light

to her grateful lucky people

[heartofmuse]

Darkness calls me and whispers in my ears, "Do you not know everything can be taken in a glimpse of an instant and forever be gone?" My feet grow restless and my heart even more. I want to find the faith that will let me walk the path I chose without looking back, with a steadfast heart, through the thorns, despite the pain.

e.v.e.

[dangraccoon]

Steadfast: Shadows

@clonexocweek Day 3 Conflict

Word Count: 1520

Content: Umbara arc, grief/mourning, post-battle

Mando'a Guide: Kresta attempts to say "nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la" - "not gone, merely marching far away" (a tribute to a dead comrade)

Kresta

“What the hell is going on down there?” Obi-Wan growled into the comm. “Waxer? Shiner? Come in!”

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think–”

The feeling hit her like a swift punch to the gut and left her breathless, clutching her chest. 

“Kresta? Kresta, what’s wrong? Stat!” 

She heard Obi-Wan distantly. She could feel tears beginning to stream down her face as she gasped for air that would not come. 

She felt Obi-Wan and Stat supporting her, leading her to the chair at Cody’s bedside that Obi-Wan had been occupying before he exhausted himself, helping Kresta heal the unconscious Commander. 

“I-I have to go,” she whispered. 

Obi-Wan sputtered. “What? Kresta, you’re in no state to–”

“Obi-Wan, I can feel them! I can feel them,” she breathed, desperately trying to steel herself. “I have to go to work. Now.”

Her anxious eyes caught Obi-Wan’s. He nodded solemnly. 

“Stat, you’re going to need all the beds you can spare, even with the Resolute’s medbay and what’s open in the Steadfast,” she ordered. “Send the moveable patients to their quarters, those who can should form a triage squad. I need to borrow a comm; mine is broken, and I need to get my men to the surface now.”

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

Fluke

Something wasn’t right. The comm channels were too quiet for the active fighting on the planet’s surface. His leg bounced rapidly. 

He should’ve heard from Kresta by now. 

Get it together. Someone would tell him if something went south with Cody, wouldn’t they?

Finally, finally, his comm beeped. 

“Go ahead,” he said, hoping his desperation for news didn’t seep into his voice. 

“Fluke,” Kresta’s voice came through. She sounded… tired. 

“General! Is Cod–”

“He’s going to be fine, but we’ve got to get down to the surface,” she said, the usual lilt to her voice replaced with urgency. “I’ve got Stat setting up a triage squad and clearing all the beds he can–”

Fluke jumped out of his desk chair, walking swiftly towards the bridge. “After yesterday’s casualties, we’re nearly full up–”

“We’ll hopefully have the Resolute’s bay, but I can’t get a signal through to Kix.”

Fluke’s hands flew across his datapad, sending the orders ahead. “I’ll put Sig on it, he’s–”

“Our best comms tech,” she finished for him. “How are his slicing skills?”

“Top notch, but do you think–”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Fluke,” she said, her voice hinting at that anxiety. “I’ve got to go; I’ll meet you at the 501st’s HQ to coordinate with General Krell and Rex.”

“Captain,” Trace, the nav officer on duty, greeted as he walked through the bridge door. “We should be able to land in about 5 minutes.”

“Thanks, Trace,” he nodded, dismissing the man. “You hear that, General?”

“Loud and clear,” Kresta answered. In the background, he could hear the various clicks of buttons and switches as she prepped her fighter. “I’ll see you soon. Be safe, Captain.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied instead of his usual sarcastic remark. 

The call ended, and Fluke shoved down the urge to comm her again, just to hear her voice and reassure himself that she was safe.

Get it together.

He shook his head. Kresta could take care of herself. She was a hell of a fighter, and this protective streak of his was only going to cause problems in the long run. 

Fluke had long been used to the sounds of his brothers in pain. Groaning, shouting, and gasping for breath were all normal for him – as horrific as the thought was. What he hadn’t expected when he arrived with his men on the ground on Umbara was the relentless echo of his brothers crying. Some were practically sobbing; others emptied their stomach into the dark flora surrounding them.

He ordered his men to assist the efforts already underway from Stat’s triage unit. His eyes scanned the endless sea of white and gold and crimson until… there. His eyes locked onto a small huddle of their sea-green armor, and he briskly made his way to them.

“Wilde,” he breathed, allowing his relief to fill his voice as he caught sight of his twin’s blond curls.

Wilde looked up at him, and Fluke stopped in his tracks. His twin had always been better at masking his emotions than Fluke had been, but he could see the tracks of tears through the dirt on his face. 

“What is it?” he heard himself ask, his voice sounding distant.

The group of his men, he realized, were gathered around a brother. These few had all been part of the 212th before the 763rd was formed. He wrenched his helmet off as he dropped to his knees next to his batchmate.

“H-hey Two-One,” Shiner breathed, cracking a smile despite the pain he was obviously in. “Cap-captain.”

Fluke’s brain finally caught up to him, his eyes and hands already taking stock of his injuries.

“Why the hell isn’t anyone doing their damn jobs?” he growled at the few gathered brothers. “Rowdy, get–”

His order was cut off by Shiner's hand grabbing his wrist, his mismatched eyes staring with a kind of quiet sympathy. He realized suddenly the tag strapped around the strap of his old 01’s armor. He had a blue tag.

Unlikely to survive. Ease pain unless supplies are limited. 

Wilde’s hand landed on Fluke’s shoulder.

“Time to go, boys,” Shiner coughed. Fluke tried to ignore the blood that flecked onto his lips. “–mission’s… over.”

Fluke sat there too long. Wilde ordered the others away to do what they could for the ones who stood a chance at survival, taking charge. 

But he just sat there too long, selfishly stealing time to process this brother’s death. Gripp and Ram had died on worlds far away. The last time he saw them was their graduation and he’d silently wept for them in the quiet of the barracks. But seeing the light fade out of Shiner’s eyes, knowing that he was here and there was still nothing he could’ve done? That was going to stay with him.

“Fluke,” a soft voice called him. His shoulder felt heavy. He blinked up at the person speaking to him, eyes unfocused. “Can you hear me?”

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

Kresta 

Wilde was waiting for her as she climbed out of the fighter. “Sir,” he nodded. 

“Talk to me, Wilde,” she said as he led her through the makeshift camp they’d set up.

“Everything is moving smoothly, General,” he told her. “The triage squads have worked their way through everyone who made it back here, and the green tags are assisting each other with first aid as best they can.”

“Numbers?” she asked, despite wishing she didn’t have to hear them.

Wilde sighed. “Too many, sir. At least two hundred red tags, about four yellow. Three hundred green tags and another three hundred blue tags.”

Kresta sighed, mentally whispering a short prayer to the Force to rest their souls.

“We had twenty men on the ground,” she said. “I’m glad to see you unscathed.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded. “All but two of us made it back.”

A shiver seemed to run down his spine, and Kresta decided not to press for detail for the moment. “Where am I best utilized?” she asked, already starting to roll her sleeves up.

“We’ve got a tent set up for you on the side,” Wilde said, though his tone shifted to something uneasy. “But…”

“What is it?”

She watched his helmet shift as he looked over to the sea of bodies, following his gaze to the one trooper in the field who was still somewhat upright.

She felt her heart seize as she hurried towards him.

“Fluke, can you hear me?” Kresta asked, brow furrowed in concern. Her captain was on his knees next to a dead trooper from the 212th, seemingly dissociating entirely. His face turned up towards her, looking hauntingly empty.

She grabbed the scanner from her belt, lifting the trooper’s left hand. She pulled gently at the sleeve of his under-armor suit, scanning his wrist.

A holo appeared in front of her with the trooper’s face, status, and number. CT-7177.

Understanding poured over her as she recalled that number.

She heard Wilde’s footsteps as he came up behind them.

“Shiner?” she whispered, looking up at him. 

Wilde pulled his helmet off, tucking it under his arm as he nodded. His face was drawn into a carefully practiced blank expression, but his eyes looked like he was drowning in his unspoken emotions. Fluke’s held the same.

It was going to come out roughly. She’d had practice, but she’d never been quite as nervous to say the words before now. Not before kneeling in the dirt as a pair of twins mourned their only other remaining batchmate.

“Nu k-kyr’adyc,” she whispered as she stood. “Shi taab’echa–”

She was cut off by plastoid hitting her chest, nearly knocking the wind out of her. It took her a moment to realize that Fluke was hugging her, holding her tightly against him. But as her brain caught up to her, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

She wouldn’t be the first to let go.

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

⪡ Previous Day Next Day ⪢

Thanks for reading! - River

Steadfast Master List DangRaccoon Master List Tag List Form Read on AO3

Tags: @writing-positivelyexisting @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @serenityselene @nomercyforthewarrior @ravenclawbitch426 @luna-the-lone-red-wolf @Padawancat97 @wishyouthetest @orangez3st @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

[iknowseye]

“I’m not making excuses. I’m human—I have all the confidence in the world—I’m not worried about it.” - A.J. Brown

2025 Super Bowl LIX Champions

🦅🦅🦅

#freewillsun

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Be Strong

Be of good courage, and let us behave ourselves valiantly for our people, and for the cities of our God: and let the Lord do that which is good in his sight. — 1 Chronicles 19:13 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain. Cross References: 1 Chronicles 19:12; 1 Chronicles 19:14

Read full chapter

1 Chronicles 19:13 Commentaries

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[geraldofallon]

Attributes, Qualities, Quirks

Steadfast

[capitalism-is-a-psychopathy]

The Weight of Gold

Gold does not burn, but it drags the soul into the fire.

The pursuit of wealth, in all its forms, binds us. Some steal in darkness, others in broad daylight. A thief might slip a wallet from a pocket. A CEO might rob pensions from workers who toiled a lifetime. Both walk different roads, but the destination is the same: ruin.

Stealing a loaf of bread may feed hunger, but it leaves a mark. Breaking trust with numbers on a ledger feeds greed, but the mark is darker. A worker caught skimming the till will lose their job and be named a criminal. A leader inflating profits at the cost of others loses integrity, but often not before losing the livelihoods of thousands. Both debts must be paid.

The cost is never just money. It is trust. It is dignity. It is peace.

Crime, whether by the hand or by the pen, is never cheap. Its repayment is steep and inescapable. The weight of wealth wrongly gained is heavy, crushing the heart and darkening the soul.

To chase wealth is to chase shadows. The more you gather, the more it owns you. Leave the gold. Seek what does not burn.