#ive been replaying everything and paying really close attention and taking notes even

[ghoulliojr]

this opening cutscene where it introduces Ishgard to you is so sick, i love that the narrator is Edmont's memoirs.

[theawkwardterrier]

In the Bloom of Life

Steggy Positivity Week, day 5 Prompt: Tropes, Kinks or Cliches 

Summary: Five times Steve gave Peggy flowers, and one time she gave one to him.

AO3 link here.

i.

It's not the first time he's seen anything green — he was a Fresh Air Fund kid for a couple of summers, and there's Central Park, of course — but the lawn outside the barracks at Camp Lehigh is the first place where the green doesn't really belong to anyone. There's no groundskeeper, no housewife keeping a careful eye, and Steve doesn’t think anyone would even bother watering this spot, so he doesn't feel bad about absently picking at the grass.

He's not sure the sentry would agree about that, or even about him being outside instead of resting up for his big procedure tomorrow, though, so he makes sure to press into the shadows as a flashlight beam shines around.

“Best be quicker next time,” a voice says by his ear. “You would have been caught if Stokes were actually paying a bit of attention to his job.”

Steve scrambles up. “Agent Carter.” His eyes blur from looking into the light of the window where she's framed, but he salutes quickly at the negative space where he knows she exists. “I was just looking to get some air.”

“Relax, Private.” She sounds vaguely amused. “I'm not looking to write you up. I think you're entitled to a little relaxation.” After a very minor pause, not even long enough for him to think up a response, she adds, “I actually was coming to see if you were prepared for tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “No one's given me any real details about what's going to happen, so I don't know how prepared I can be.”

“A fair point.”

How is it that every time she smiles it feels as if he's won something? It even makes him forget the nerves that have suddenly decided to visit him, although he knows he has to take the chance.

“I guess sleep's probably the best way to prepare,” he says reluctantly.

“Oh, I've found stargazing to be a decent diversion to settle the nerves,” but she opens the window wider and holds out a hand to help him in.

He's placed his palm against hers before he realizes that he's still holding a flower, a clover, slightly bedraggled now that it's been picked and handled and pressed between them.

He blurts out a quick apology as soon as he's climbed through, but she just waves him off. “There's plenty of clover out there to go around. And I'm none the worse for having it.” She plucks it from his unresisting palm, twirling the thin stem. “Good night, Private.”

“Steve,” he says quickly. “You can call me Steve. If you want.”

She gifts him with another smile. “Good night then, Steve.” For some reason he expected her to trade places with him and lower herself out the window, but she just uses the door.

It takes him a while to fall asleep, but it's not really about nerves anymore.

ii.

For the first three days, she's furious with him. After a week, it's mostly faded to a vague disappointment that she could have misjudged him so badly. After a month she swears to forget the whole thing and stop replaying the details (how pleased and proud he'd looked, showing off his new shield, and how satisfying the bullets had been when they'd hit it). After two months, Philips casually recommends they go to the cinema on base together and casually glances over as the newsreel shows the first footage of Steve and his troops that she's seen in a long while. As the camera pans over his compass and his embarrassed, open-and-shut face, she wonders if she's misjudged him twice over.

A week after that, she finds out secondhand from a starstruck corporal that the Howling Commandos have been and gone from headquarters back into the field in a little under twenty-four hours. She presses forward for several hours before she realizes that the emotion she's been burying is disappointment.

The girl she’s rooming with is asleep by the time she makes it back that night, so she has to keep the lights very low. Still, even in the dimness, the first thing she sees is a new bouquet on the side table. Clara’s always getting them from different beaux. Peggy goes over to see them, hoping that something beautiful might cheer her up. She leans over, breathing in the scent of orchids and peonies, fingering the pink and white flowers delicately.

She’s about to turn away to prepare for bed when she sees the card on the table. The envelope has her name in a clear, neat hand.

I know I can’t take back the words, but I can apologize for then. I should never have said what I did, and I’m sorry that I made it seem as if I don’t value who you are and what you do. I’m also sorry I didn’t get a chance to deliver these in person, although this note is probably more articulate than I would have been.

All my best,

Steve

He’s included a small sketch: a cartoon of himself, complete with cowlick and broad shoulders tucked shyly inward, handing the bouquet to a pencil version of her. Her cartoon self looks dubious, but has something that might be a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

She leans against the table, card still in hand. Perhaps she’s misjudged him again.

iii.

“You think you could walk a little louder?” Morita hisses to Dugan.

The man himself just gestures rudely behind his back, but Falsworth says with an acidic simplicity, “I might point out that your whisper isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Any chance you all could pick up the pace?” Jones adds, and although his tone is perfectly polite and he had nothing to do with the coffee incident of the previous hour, the rest turn and glare at him. At this point, Dernier mutters something about how minimal an amount he’d trade them all for, and although they’re not all honor’s students in French, they get the point and start to glare at him instead.

“Just a little longer, boys, and then we can stop for the day,” Bucky tells them through half-gritted teeth.

“At what point are you going to tell them that you have no idea where we are or when we’ll get to stop?” Peggy says quietly to Steve from where they’re walking at the front of the group.

Steve winces. He’d memorized the map before they left, but that hadn’t meant much considering troop movements, the destruction of war, and the fact that they’re mostly walking through forest without a lot of landmarks in the first place. He’s a city boy, more used to streets and avenues than using the characteristics of trees to navigate. “Next clearing we see,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m telling them we were aiming for it all along.”

Peggy rolls her eyes and almost laughs, moving a vine out of the way. “Yes, and I’m sure they’ll believe you.” She turns back to check on the sullen group behind them. When she faces forward again, she finds Steve staring at her. Her eyes shift immediately to check their surroundings, keeping her voice calm and quiet and urgent as she asks, “Is something wrong?”

He startles. “What—? No. It’s just...You’ve got something. Here.” He gestures to his own chest, and when Peggy looks down at the corresponding spot on her body, she finds that a weedy, white flower has wormed its way between her layers of clothing.

“It seems these woods have got their hooks in me as well,” she says wryly, and moves to pull it out, but Steve actually stops walking, and puts a hand over hers.

With awkward politeness, he asks “May I?” When she nods, he removes the flower from her clothing, and replaces it in her hair, sliding it gently and carefully so that it is secure behind her ear. “There,” he says softly when he’s finished. “A little beauty’s important in a place like this.”

Everything is momentarily, impossibly still. Then Morita asks behind them, “Cap, why’re you stopping? Are we almost there?”

Steve’s glance around is so frantic that Peggy stifles a laugh. He must have heard anyway, because he throws her a playful glare before pointing at a spot up ahead and mouthing, “I know that crossroads!” Over his shoulder, he tells the boys, “Just another mile and we’ll be at the place.”

They groan, clearly unaware how close they came to being in no place at all. Peggy turns as well and says, “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I’m going to take the last mile at a jog,” and takes off. She hears Steve snicker behind her, and the rest groan before they pick up their knees and follow.

iv.

Captain America doesn’t spend much time in the Pacific. Even when he’s actually sent there, it isn’t for very long.

“Three camps, two days,” Steve tells her, his voice as quick as their steps along the hallway of SSR headquarters. “Brought back some memories.” His tone indicates that these aren’t entirely of the pleasant variety. Although Peggy assumes that the men would be more receptive to a Captain America who has actually seen combat, she understands why it might make Steve remember less enthusiastic audiences, and just how much more he might have done to bolster their numbers or morale. At least the latter was the only reason he’d agreed to a quick trip away from his missions.

“How did things seem?” Peggy knows that newsreels don’t show the worst of things, and that any reports she’s seen will have cloaked the truth in official language.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not sure who has it worse. I’m going to talk to Stark about trying to come up with something to ward off the mosquitos.” He spots Howard at that moment, and goes to break off toward him, turning to say goodbye to Peggy.

“You give it to her yet?” Howard calls, and Steve reddens immediately.

“Did you have something for me?” Peggy asks, unsure if Steve’s blush is charming or alarming.

He fumbles in his pocket and takes out a palm-sized wooden box. “I— They had these all around on the islands, and the fellas there said they were okay to eat. I grabbed a handful before I left. Stark dried them for me.”

Peggy opens the box, only partially to disrupt Steve’s babbling. Inside she finds a mass of reddish flowers all curled up, crumbling slightly when she touches them.

“They’re hibiscus. For tea,” Steve says. “I thought they might be nicer than the stuff they give us now.” Sheepishly, he adds, “You always make this once more into the breach face before you start a cup,” and demonstrates with a grimace.

“Carter!” Phillips barks from down the hall, turning away before she can say anything, assuming she’ll follow. She closes the box carefully.

“Thank you,” she says seriously. “This will certainly make things more palatable.” She lays a hand on Steve’s cheek for an incredibly brief instant, then moves to follow Phillips down the hall, only turning once to watch Steve disappearing into Howard’s lab.

She and Phillips are up late that night, looking over maps and memos. She makes a cup of tea around one in the morning. It’s just as lovely as she’d hoped.

v.

Peggy is ready and waiting by seven on the dot. By 7:15 on the dot, Steve has still not arrived.

“Oh, Peg.” Angie hugs her against her side. “If he can’t be bothered to show up on time, he doesn’t deserve to have you waiting.”

Peggy shakes her head. She feels as if all the residents of the Griffith are watching and pitying her. “I’m sure he has a perfectly reasonable explanation, Angie.”

“I’m afraid I agree with Miss Martinelli,” Mrs. Fry calls over. Peggy bites her tongue. “If a young man lacks the courtesy to arrive on time, who knows what other indecorous behavior he might be engaging in?”

Blessedly, Steve walks in before Peggy has to answer. Rain speckles his overcoat. He looks a bit taken aback by the number of women staring (or glaring) at him, but he moves forward with his focus on Peggy.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Buying these took longer than I’d expected.” The bouquet he holds out is lovely, an elaborate arrangement of bright Gerber daisies and wide fragrant lilies, all surrounded by greenery.

Peggy takes it in one arm. “Thank you,” she says, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “But there really wasn’t any need for these.”

“You deserve them,” Steve says quietly, in a voice only she can hear. Then he adds, louder and a bit offended, “This is how things are done, anyway. You bring flowers for a first date. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, your politeness has been noted.” She leans into the flowers appreciatively, showing them briefly to an impressed Angie, before saying, “I’ll go put them in some water upstairs and then we can go.”

“Uh.” Steve looks around again. Most of the girls are at least pretending to be otherwise occupied, but there are certainly quite a few eyes still on him, Mrs. Fry’s the beadiest of all. “You sure I can’t help you get that vase ready?”

“Oh, I can handle that on my own,” Peggy says merrily. “And regardless, the policy here does not allow men above the first floor.”

“You sure you can’t make an exception?” Steve asks as Mrs. Fry bears down on him.

“Oh no,” Peggy calls over her shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. “This is how things are done,” and she buries her grin in the bouquet.

Steve still arrives with gifts, but he is very prompt after that.

vi.

“Miss Carter, please don’t panic.”

Peggy finishes arranging her skirt (perhaps her mother would have been scandalized by a tea-length dress, but Peggy hadn’t considered anything else) and looks up. “Mr. Jarvis, I do find that such a preface only invites further panic.” Considering that her wedding preparations have been relatively panic-free so far, she supposes she’s due, but she was rather hoping to avoid such incidents.

“Oh Edwin, don’t worry her.” Ana walks into the room behind him and places a calm hand on his arm. “Everything is just fine. Captain Rogers and his friends have arrived, and they are all in place in the chapel.”

“What’s the problem, then?” Angie asks, helping Peggy straighten her veil.

Jarvis opens his mouth, but closes it again at a glance from his wife. “It appears that Captain Rogers has left behind his buttonhole, and he seems quite upset about it,” she explains.

Peggy begins to laugh, a long, breathless chuckle. She looks up at the ceiling of the bride’s room. “Considering all we’ve been through, Mr. Jarvis, this is no reason to panic at all.”

However upset Steve had allegedly been about his forgetfulness, Peggy cannot detect a shred of it on his face as she walks down the aisle. He looks, if she does say so herself, rather enchanted.

(Although, if she must say so herself, she is rather enchanted with him as well.)

“I hear you’re having a bit of a problem,” she says quietly as she reaches him.

He looks at her, dazed, as the priest opens his bible. “What?”

“I’ve a gift for you.” Out of the one of pockets she had added to her dress, she takes a small silver penknife. The priest’s eyes widen as she extends the blade, but to his credit, he says nothing. She eyes the measurement carefully, then very deliberately cuts a rose from her bouquet.

“There,” she says, pinning it quickly to Steve’s jacket, ignoring how this all must look to their guests. “Now you look just right.”

“I think we both look pretty perfect,” Steve corrects, tilted fully toward her now, and the priest nods at the two of them, smiles, and begins.