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aurumacadicus · 2 years

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The Last Star in the Sky - Winteriron

You know, you guys give me such deep titles for this pairing. I've decided this makes it not entirely my fault when I write tearjerkers.

The Last Star in the Sky

"How long are you going to go on like this?" Steve asked, not unkindly.

Bucky didn't look at him, gruffly answering, "I told you that you didn't have to come with me."

Steve didn't rise to the bait. "You know I'm with you 'til the end of the line. I just want to know what I'm in for."

Bucky bit back his resulting anger. It wasn't Steve's fault that his best friend was a lovesick fool. "This is the last one," he said, instead of calling him stupid, or saying he'd be better off leaving at the next space port. He frowned at the map he'd been toying with for the last three days. There were no other galaxies that he could see. No where else left to look.

"...We'll find him," Steve said after a brief pause to take in all of the things he hadn't said along with what he had, promise in his tone.

"This is the last fucking solar system we can reach, Steve, and I haven't found him in the last eight years," Bucky snarled, spinning to face him, trying to goad him into a fight.

Steve reached out to grab his cheeks, staring into his eyes in a way that made him immediately lose all his hostility. "We'll find him," he repeated firmly.

Bucky couldn't help the way his eyes began to burn, trying to blink back tears. "What if he doesn't want to be found, and that's why he's never there when I look?"

"He loves you," Steve said. "And he didn't leave you because he wanted to. He left you because he had to."

"I know," Bucky muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Natasha said he cried the whole ride back to the main port," Steve continued.

"I know," Bucky repeated, adding a bit of acid to his tone as he jerked his gaze back up to his face.

Steve scowled back at him. "Then stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's embarrassing. You got to travel the galaxies to find Tony again. Tony has been stuck on his planet, ruling a people who don't respect him, so much that he was terrified they'd hunt you down and kill you to teach him a lesson when you know the only thing he ever wanted besides to stay by your side was to explore space. You've gotten to do everything he ever wanted as you searched for him, and all he's gotten to do is sit and worry that you might be dead."

Bucky dropped his gaze again. That was true. Tony had always chattered about exploring other planets, maybe extending trade treaties, but then he'd remember that his freedom had an expiration date, and he'd go quiet and grip Bucky's hand tight. He'd been afraid his people would be so intent on cutting him off from the outside world that he hadn't even told anyone the name of his planet, let alone where it was. Bucky had picked up things he thought Tony might like on his travels, but he'd known, even as he bought them, that despite any joy it might bring him, it would also make him wistful for a life he couldn't have.

And that was if Tony's people didn't kill them as soon as they found him, anyway.

#ask meme #fic title meme #winteriron #anyway all of the bad blood tony's people had was because of obadiah #once he was ousted they were like 'well that was embarrassing'#but then tony can't leave because his planet's economy was too unstable and hydra could have attacked and taken over #and as much as it hurts him tony is dedicated to his duty to his planet and his people #anyway steve and bucky land and everyone's like 'BUCKY!!!!! tony talked about you!!!!!!!!!!!' and steve's just like what am i chopped liver #but bucky's so excited to have tony back in his arms he ignores his complaining

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mik-mania · 7 months

Text

The Terror of the Twenty-Seven Seas

Part 1: Divenire

(Content warning: drowning)

Google Docs

There are plenty of great diving spots along the Miylas Coast. That’s what you’ve heard, at least, from other divers and well-known seadwellers who’ve made a visit or two to the area. Whenever you visit a diving spot, you like to immerse yourself in the culture there—it’s the least you can do: learn about a place and its history instead of shoving it aside like some tourist trap. It feels respectful, you think.

Port Laysian is no different. You’ve spent the past week learning about the history of the place from some of the museums and talking to the locals. It’s important to support the local economy of any place you visit. You feel that it’s only right in return for access to their diving ports. None of these places are required to share such local resources with tourists, but they often do, and you’re grateful.

The town was originally established as a local military base by trolls native to the planet way back in the day, when Her Majesty’s Imperial Army (HMIA for short, because it’s a mouthful) had been invading the planet for resources. HMIA usually wastes no time conquering a planet, but this one had been unusually well-prepared. Of course, like all other planets, it eventually caved to Imperial demands (you’re sure the planet's natives had been thoroughly beaten). Still, it held out for almost one hundred sweeps, which was almost completely unheard of.

You’ve found that imperial presence isn’t as strong here as it supposedly used to be, either. Initially, according to locals, it was impossible to turn a corner without running into some imperial guard. This was, of course, to prevent any rebel cooperation. A freshly conquered planet is a great place to find sore feelings and, therefore, so often the target of non-native rebels to increase recruitment numbers. Seeing as the planet had lasted so long against the empire—an amount of time that was unheard of, actually; you’re sure it was scrubbed from all general textbooks and records—you can only imagine the gold mine rebels saw it for.

Before Eraniel had been captured by imperial conquest, it supposedly had plenty of culture. No planet is ever without internal conflict, but this one had been as close to planetary peace as possible. It had a standard planetary ruler but in the form of a government where no one troll was ever solely in charge. In addition to that, the government members only ruled for a set number of sweeps before they were swapped out with another civilian. A randomly chosen civilian, might you add, of any blood color or denomination.

Apparently, the idea behind the government had been that it was a civic duty to serve their fellow trollkind. Obviously, the planet's population was too large for every troll of age to serve in a governmental position. Still, the idea was to have the common people represented by themselves. Where you’ve seen texts upon texts glorifying old leaders and governmental structures on other planets and of the empire itself, this planet’s recollection of its history seems... subdued, in a sense. As if it were as natural as the nose on your face.

The old relics and history placards you see in-town were almost definitely hidden away at one point, beyond the empire’s grasp. Were an important fleet official to see this today, it would be smashed to bits instantly for impudence. However, personally and privately, you enjoy seeing what remains of history. You would never say this out loud to another troll, but you don’t see the harm in reminders of history. Then again, when you look at the alien ways of a past society, thoughts of “what if” never fill your head, as they may for others. You’re admittedly a privileged person who has no reason to want change. You can’t honestly say the same for those beneath you. In a perfect world, you’re sure things could be better for everyone, but obviously that’s impossible. Under the current system, you couldn’t ask for much more—the Empress knows what’s best for trollkind.

When you reach the docks, you come across a large information board with a degraded banner that’s seen better days across the top. At some point, a tack must have come loose because the upper right corner of the graphic peels away from the board, obscuring itself and part of the information below it. With a glance over each of your shoulders, you remove the plexiglass that shields the content within. You carry multitudes of meaningless clutter wherever you go, so it only takes a few moments to find a pushpin somewhere deep within your sylladex before using it to pin back the unwieldy corner of the poster.

As you smooth it out, you notice tiny bits of color sticking to your fingers—you realize you’re damaging the banner and hurry to put the plexiglass back where it originally was. The banner must have been traditionally printed with paper and printer ink. Such technology is wholly outdated to the point most newer generations would have no idea what an ink printer is, which makes you all the more eager to preserve the printed work.

You finally stand back to observe the noticeboard. A few one-off notices pinned to the board remind beach-goers to pay attention to rip currents and current weather conditions. One poster depicts different flags and what they mean regarding the beach—double red means closed off, single red means high hazard, yellow medium, green low, and purple for marine pests. Glancing about, you spot a flagpole closer to the shore, but the flag attached to it hangs at half-mast, bleached by the sun in the sweeps it’s been up there. You get the feeling that the notices and flagpole serve no purpose but historical value at this point.

The main banner, the one you straightened out, touches either edge of the bulletin. You can tell the colors used to be vibrant at once. A Fuschia troll gloats over a treasure chest, one white boot atop it, the other firm in the sand. A ghastly scar runs vertically across the troll’s right eye, and, notably, said eye contains no pupil. Large hoop earrings pierce each of their fins, and you find yourself wondering if they ever get caught in the lengthy, wild hair that flows past their knees. They are adorned in what looks to be a white, gold, and fuschia naval uniform. However, with the gold coins scattered across the sand and the looming pirate ship behind the troll, you have the feeling that they were likely not associated with any governmental agency.

The most significant piece of paper on the board sits directly below the graphic, its title typed in a large, blue, horror-type font that reads, “BLUE HOLE OF MIYLAS: THE NECROSED.” You smile. You’ve never been one much for curses and legends and the like, but you do enjoy a good story. Skimming through the handful of paragraphs, you glean the majority of the tale:

Very long ago, before the conquest of Eraniel, a scoundrel of a pirate lived—"the worst to have ever roamed the twenty-seven seas,” according to the story. Apparently, the troll had started off as a Robinhood-type figure before spiraling into the bastard they came to be known as. One day, the captain’s crew finally had enough of them and started a mutiny. The sea troll was tossed overboard into the very sea stretched before you and drowned. Legend now has it that these waters, specifically the blue hole, are cursed. Supposedly, the troll—now known only as “The Necrosed,” their original name and title lost to history—lies imprisoned at the bottom of the Miylas sea, forever caught in a purgatorial loop. According to the poster, locals swear up and down that any troll who goes deeper than a specific limit is never seen again.

It's a cute story, you have to admit. While you’ve seen your fair share of horrors while diving (both expected and unexpected), this, if true, would certainly be up there in terms of rank. It also, you think, is a load of baloney. Nothing more than a warning disguised by prose, aimed at tourists and the like to discourage diving in the blue hole. Admittedly, the blue hole is mainly what you came to see. You have a liberal amount of trimixes and the like stored in your sylladex specifically for deep-diving. Optimistically, you would love to discover what lies at the bottom of the Blue Hole of Miylas, but you know better than to push your limits when diving. Plenty of seasoned divers have drowned here and in other similar locations, foolishly overestimating themselves and perishing as a result.

What’s fascinating to you, however, is that in the Miylas Sea, seadwellers are reduced to diving via land-dweller methods. As the tale mentioned, the sea is naturally anoxic, meaning there is too little oxygen to sustain a sea troll’s complex aquavascular system. So, even if the whole monster-stuck-in-purgatory thing is false, you can absolutely believe that a seadweller has drowned in these waters before.

You take your time preparing for the frigid Miylas waters. Temperatures on Eraniel are cooler than what you’re used to, making it necessary to wear a dry suit. You allow yourself extra time to ensure each piece of your diving gear is functional and meticulously in place. After securing the air tank in your backpack, you connect the regulators with a practiced hand before donning the equipment and securing it to yourself.

Before entering the water, you conduct one last thorough pre-dive safety check, verifying that all equipment is functioning correctly and your air supply is ample for the planned dive duration. Your dive plan, carefully calculated for this mystical dive site, promises breathtaking discoveries. The maximum depth you will be diving is 117 smoots—this is nowhere near the bottom, but you’ve heard tales of colorful and vibrant marine life along the vertical reef walls that descend down the blue hole.

The moment your body plunges beneath the pristine surface of the Miylas Sea, you're met with an ethereal world of underwater beauty. Sunlight filters down, casting an enchanting glow on the coral reef below. A kaleidoscope of colors greets your eyes as you glide through this underwater wonderland, the vibrant corals swaying gently in the currents. Schools of vibrant fish dart playfully among the coral, creating a mesmerizing dance of life beneath the waves. Graceful sea turtles glide effortlessly through the water, their ancient eyes meeting yours with an air of wisdom.

The vibrant marine life is thriving, a harmonious symphony of existence. While online forums and videos alluded to such underwater beauty, you now realize that nothing you had watched or read about the blue hole could compare to the real deal. The entire space around you—above, below, everywhere you look—is enveloped by sea life that pays you little mind. It feels like you’ve been deposited into an entirely different world, where no matter which direction you go, more beauty is bound to be. It’s difficult to characterize this feeling, although you and countless others have attempted to time and time again. There is something about floating in the blue space, where your place in the universe feels concrete as if you are where you truly belong, not merely a visitor. It’s this feeling that keeps you coming back to the seas.

As you venture further into the depths, the aquatic scenery remains breathtaking. Shoals of shimmering fish part before your approach, their silvery bodies flashing like liquid mercury. Majestic rays gracefully soar above the seabed, their wings casting shadows on the coral fixtures below. As you descend, the reef takes on a surreal appearance, entering an underwater realm that feels like an unexplored dreamscape. Ancient, towering structures of coral rise from the depths as if touched by the hands of the divine. The beauty and tranquility of the deep blue surrounds you, immersing you in a sense of awe.

However, as you venture deeper, you notice a subtle shift in the marine life. The once vibrant reef starts to show signs of life's absence. Coral polyps appear bleached and lifeless, their colors fading into a ghostly pallor. The schools of fish that once danced before your eyes are now sparse, their numbers dwindling as you delve further into the unknown. While this strikes you as odd, you suppose this isn’t outside the realm of possibility. Although the decreasing numbers of other marine life could be explained by your slowly increasing depth, you’re puzzled by the coral’s diminishing presence. Perhaps some variety of pollution poisoning caused by frequent divers? However, you hold your doubts in the back of your mind, as it’s a reasonably advanced dive and secluded area.

It's an eerie feeling, the sense of isolation growing as you seem to be the only living being in this hauntingly quiet abyss. A deep-seated unease creeps into your heart, but your desire to explore drives you forward. You want to at least reach your planned depth, although, at this rate of marine decay, you can’t confidently say there will be much left to see, if anything. As you descend even deeper, the life around you continues to diminish. The once vibrant ecosystem seems to fade away, leaving you alone in the silence of the depths. It's as if the ocean itself holds its breath, and a foreboding sense of loneliness envelops you.

In the face of this vast emptiness, you can't help but wonder if the legend of The Necrosed holds some semblance of truth. The thought lingers in your mind as you push forward, the allure of discovery conflicting with the haunting emptiness surrounding you.

Without warning, the water around you darkens, thickening into an ominous haze, obscuring your vision. It’s an unsettling sensation, this unexpected descent into darkness, especially when the nearest surface still lays hundreds of feet below you, and there’s no silt to be stirred up otherwise. Panic begins to claw at the edges of your mind, a primal instinct warning you of unseen dangers lurking in the depths.

Your heart quickens as disorientation grips you, and your surroundings blur and distort, twisting into grotesque shapes that seem to mock your senses. The once serene underwater landscape morphs into a nightmarish tableau, a twisted reflection of your deepest fears and anxieties.

Flashes of unfamiliar memories flicker like lightning in the murky depths, casting eerie shadows in your mind. A golden-lit ballroom, an off-color blueblood in a ballgown with sunny eyes. The sway of a storm-ridden seafront underneath the boughs of a moored ship, bright blue eyes twinkling beside you. Dark, ink-like stains along a wooden deck, blotted by rain pellets. Faces you don’t recognize leer out at you between scenes, their eyes filled with malice and contempt. Whispers echo through the water, a chorus of voices that distort each other.

Despite your sweeps of underwater defense training, you give into the panic. You begin to hyperventilate, wasting precious air. You try to push the visions away, to banish them and swim away, but you don’t know which way is up. The whispers cling to you like tendrils of darkness, pulling you deeper into the abyss. You struggle to make sense of the swirling maelstrom of images and sensations, but the more you fight, the deeper you sink into the labyrinth.

Time loses all meaning as you drift through the murky depths—is that where you are anymore?—lost in a nightmarish haze of fear and confusion. You try to remember why you came here, what you were doing, and who you are, but the answers slip through your fingers like water, leaving you grasping at shadows.

#mikwrites #this has been sitting around FAR TOO LONG so i decided to chop it up into bits #just so im more motivated to actually work on it #this guy doesnt get a name hes chopped liver #aipalo lovikk #the necrosed #mikart

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