#river!verse

[burberrycanary]

From <i>Not Language but a Map (The Grammar of Sensation)</i>:

"In a break between songs, Bucky looks over at him. He’s sprawled out in his seat and mostly in the shadow cast by the edge of the window, but his eyes still reflect the ambient glow of the room: blue light layered over that darker, more complicated shade that’s haunted Steve for so long.

Bucky watches him for a hanging suspended moment. 

Then he says, “A lot of bad things happened to me that I’m never going to talk about.”

With that Bucky knocks back the rest of his whiskey that won’t get him drunk any more than a whole bombed-out bar could touch Steve in the rubble—in all that rubble—and Bucky gets up to buy another round.

What do you do with rage in a world with too many broken things already?

What do you do with all that rage when you’re decades too late?

Drink bland beer and raw-boned whiskey and listen to a good set of stripped-down electrocuted blues that runs way past midnight. Turns out, that’s what you do."

More than a line, I know!! But this moment struck me as perhaps the most like a lobbed grenade of all the many Bucky tosses at Steve, sometimes entirely out of the blue like here (and as your Steve-in-the-bombed-out-bar reference so eloquently mirrors), throughout the series. Nothing Steve doesn't know, but what a moment and what a place for Bucky to acknowledge it, then immediately get up and leave Steve to stew in it. Would love your author's commentary here.

Thanks for the ask! I didn't mean to write quite this much meta, but here we are. 💛

In a break between songs, Bucky looks over at him. He’s sprawled out in his seat and mostly in the shadow cast by the edge of the window, but his eyes still reflect the ambient glow of the room:[1] blue light layered over that darker, more complicated shade that’s haunted[2] Steve for so long.

Bucky watches him for a hanging suspended moment. [3]

Then he says, “A lot of bad things happened to me that I’m never going to talk about.”[4]

With that Bucky knocks back the rest of his whiskey that won’t get him drunk any more than a whole bombed-out bar could touch Steve in the rubble[7]—in all that rubble—and Bucky gets up to buy another round.[8]

What do you do with rage in a world with too many broken things already?

What do you do with all that rage when you’re decades too late?

Drink bland beer and raw-boned whiskey and listen to a good set of stripped-down electrocuted[9] blues that runs way past midnight. Turns out, that’s what you do."

[1] How Bucky is lit here is a reference to the scene from CATWS when the Soldier visits Pierce in his home and puts a gun down on the table between them. A lot of fannish ink has been spilled about that gun with the most popular theory being that the Soldier has been programmed to arm his handler, which is typically horrific for Bucky’s time as the Soldier: the utter abjection of being forced to participate in his own subjugation. This association isn’t meant to be consciously made by the reader, but it’s a striking and memorable image of Bucky as the Winter Soldier that helps set the emotional undercurrent of this scene and subconsciously reminds the reader of how much Bucky has suffered. 

[2] The word “haunted” here is deliberate: there are a lot of ghosts in this story.

[3] “hanging suspended moment” is another phrase that’s meant to nudge a subliminal association back to a time between Steve and Bucky that involved hanging over a long bad drop: the moment of suspension when Steve feels that he should have found a way to reach Bucky, and didn’t. Steve’s feelings of guilt and shame, warranted and unwarranted, haunt the language of this story.

[4] This moment is a parallel to earlier in the story when Bucky tells Steve that he doesn’t blame him for anything from the war, and Bucky is being truthful there—he doesn’t blame Steve for his own choice to join the Howling Commandos. And honestly I don’t know where fandom gets the idea that Bucky would have been sent home after Kreischberg since thanks to the serum he would still be physically fit to serve and getting a medical discharge for “battle fatigue”[5] would both carry an enormous cultural stigma and be near impossible to get for someone as functional as we see Bucky be; more realistically Bucky could choose between serving under a person he trusts and respects—even if he’s still a little punk with absolutely no military training and less sense than god gave a gnat who now has a shiny new body that lets him pick insanely dangerous fights but who remains a person Bucky trusts all the way down in his bones to do the right thing when it counts regardless of orders or military discipline. And given that total lack of military training, whether basic combat or as an officer, boy does Steve need the help. So it’s help and protect Steve as part of an elite and structurally unconventional unit under the command of someone he trusts—or he could get processed in London, undergo an intelligence interrogation and then be reassigned to another unit under some other unknown CO. Those are his likely options.[6]

Joining the Howling Commandos and following that little guy from Brooklyn was an easy choice for Bucky to make—and blaming Steve for it would make no sense to Bucky, though Bucky has the empathy and emotional intelligence to understand that Steve could very well blame himself, which is why he wants to set the record straight with Steve about that. Steve and Bucky do have very different views about war and the military, which they discuss over the course of the series, but Bucky respects Steve even when he often disagrees with him.

But the attentive reader may note that Bucky says that he doesn’t blame Steve for anything from the war. 

The bombshell Bucky drops here about never talking about certain parts of his past is driven by a lot of things. As a baseline, Bucky grew up in a very different culture, which is an obvious statement. But I wanted to actually reflect this cultural difference in how Bucky views and performs masculinity, which is going to be less than healthy from a modern point of view. While Steve has been in the modern world for the majority of his adult life, Bucky has only been in the modern world for a handful of years and much of that time in varying degrees of social isolation. So of course Bucky isn’t going to talk about certain things that happened to him: in his mind that’s not what men do. Like Steve, the reader is left to fill in that terrible blank of the unspoken past for themselves.

But Steve “Don’t Bleed on Anyone” Rogers also grew up with and internalized the same cultural ideas around masculinity. So then the question becomes, why does Bucky bring this up at all? Bucky in this series is great at simply never bringing up things he doesn’t want to talk about. 

There isn’t one clear-cut reason but a whole tangled mess. Bucky here is gearing up to take Steve to bed for the first time and whatever each individual reader picks for the imagined specifics, Bucky has undergone a staggering amount of horrific abuse. If things don’t go well later or if Steve were to notice anything off, Bucky is building an escape hatch to avoid any conversations he doesn’t want to have.

Because another touchstone this version of Bucky holds, an important piece of his self-identity, is that he doesn’t lie to Steve (and my headcanon is that this extends to people he loves in general). Throughout this series, every time Steve asks Bucky a serious question, Bucky gives him an honest, good-faith answer even if he has to sit there for a while carefully constructing a response that often contains infuriatingly little specific information. There’s some canon evidence to support reading Bucky as a very private person, which I do, but I headcanon that Bucky also operates under a lot of “fair play” framings, which Steve brings out in him particularly. If Steve has the guts to ask a tough question, then it seems fair to Bucky that he give Steve an honest answer. But for Bucky, “honest” does not mean “fully transparent.”

A whole separate form of traumatization Bucky underwent was an absolutely abject loss of privacy—who knows what records are floating around and who has seen them? Even Steve participated in that by searching for and reading the records about Bucky he could find. Bucky was forcibly stripped of his interiority, which somehow, miraculously, he managed to rebuild on his own. Bucky built himself back up into a person from as close to nothing as exists. This is Bucky at a stage in his recovery where he is actively asserting his privacy and defending his interiority—even from Steve, who is having to earn back Bucky’s trust.

And here is where we get to the bloody pulpy wound that Bucky is trying to both protect and hide. After all, Bucky hiding his hurts, struggles and negative feelings from Steve is the vast majority of their canonical on screen interactions. The natural narrative resolution to this pattern is for Bucky to eventually learn that he can share his struggles and hurts with Steve, and vice versa. Collectively we have told tens of thousands of versions of that story and I hope collectively we tell thousands and thousands more, because I am a fan of that narrative arc. I firmly believe that this built-in hurt/comfort theme is part of the core appeal of bringing these two characters together.

It’s a great story.  

And, in a lot of ways, this is a version of that story, just the version that’s uphill both ways and isn’t trying to reach a form of romanticized codependency.

Because we see in TFATWS Bucky coming to the painful realization he had made Steve’s opinion of him a critical part of the foundation for his rebuilt identity and shaky sense of self-worth. That messy intimate fracturing we see within Bucky during TFATWS is devastating to watch. Bucky isn’t keen to go through that again, thanks. 

Bucky loves Steve and wants him. And Bucky isn’t the sort to cut off his nose to spite his face—from a curious blend of kindness and pragmatism that I see at the heart of the character. He’s happier with Steve than without him, even after everything. He has always wanted good things for Steve and for Steve to let himself reach for a little of the happiness that Bucky believes Steve so richly deserves. And what a marvel for Bucky Barnes, just an ordinary kid from Brooklyn who scraped the bottom of hell and crawled his way back out across a century of horrific violence, to get to be part of Steve Rogers finding some happiness, at last.

But if Bucky doesn’t blame Steve for anything from the war, the question becomes: what does he blame Steve for? 

Because as kind as Bucky is and as hard as he tries to be the same good friend throughout all this—to be the bigger person—he blames Steve for leaving, which is another in the long, long list of bad things that have happened to Bucky.

The psychology here gets messy and the analysis rather meta, so bear with me. Because Bucky is and will continue to be trapped in the stories the MCU writes for him. Bucky Barnes is a victim trapped in a story of retraumatization because the narrative and most of the characters he interacts with will continue to deliver the message that he was responsible for what Hydra forced him to do and the way to get better is to accept this message and make amends for things that are, in fact, not his fault. This toxic belief is being constantly shoved at Bucky—even by Sam—and it makes Bucky, who is a kind and ethical person horrified by what he did, feel in turn like he deserved the bad things that happened to him.

Steve leaving is another item on that list and I think a part of Bucky unconsciously applies this same toxic thought pattern: he deserved it. 

In order to forgive Steve, Bucky has to first acknowledge that he was wrongfully harmed. And in the series so far, Bucky hasn’t been willing to do this. 

Because, at the same time, blaming himself is also perversely Bucky trying to establish some feeling of control after all the situations that left him feeling powerless. Bucky is keenly aware of how little control he has over what happens to him: from the government that mandates visits to a military psychologist as a deliberate technique for maintaining a degree of physical and psychological control over him; from the Wakandans who gave him a weaponized prosthetic when they wanted him to fight only to turn around and show that they are willing to forcibly remove a part of his body as a method for controlling his behavior; from all the people who will judge and condemn him for his past; and from Steve who decided he wanted a life that no longer had room for Bucky in it. 

The attentive reader may note that in this sprawling series “the end of the line” is never referenced once, which is deliberate. Because that’s come and gone. 

It’s understandable but sad how easy it is to grasp on tight to the harmful stories we tell ourselves about the bad things that happen to us as an alternative to confronting our own helplessness and the terrifying moral arbitrariness of the universe. Because that helplessness is ongoing. If you were helpless to stop the bad things that have already happened, you are equally helpless to prevent more bad things from happening now, again, at any point, forever. And the human mind is not really designed to be able to confront our own awful vulnerability.

Rebuilding a feeling of safety in the face of this knowledge is a monumental challenge that requires so much resilience and a defiant, stubborn sort of courage. 

Bucky needs to get to a place where he feels safe enough to begin to let go of this indirectly self-protective but ultimately harmful story: it was my fault.

I deserved it.

We want the universe to make sense. We want life to be an ethically satisfying story. How terrible that it’s not. 

And Bucky Barnes can’t catch a fucking break because rather than help and support, he gets abandonment, retraumatization and everyone still left in his life conveying to him, explicitly or implicitly, that he was responsible for what happened. 

Bucky dropping this bomb—“A lot of bad things happened to me that I’m never going to talk about”—is all these various conscious and unconscious forces crystalizing into this self-protective gesture because Bucky here is under an enormous amount of emotional and psychological stress. And this is his attempt to make himself feel a little safer.

[5] “As more American servicemen entered into combat, the number of psychological casualties steadily rose. During the Normandy Campaign, army psychologists noted that the combat effectiveness of troops sharply declined after 30 days of combat. After 45 days, troops were in a near vegetative state. Psychiatrist John Appel, who studied combat exhaustion cases during the Battle of Monte Cassino and Anzio Campaign, came to the sobering conclusion that, ‘Practically all men in rifle battalions who are not otherwise disabled ultimately became psychiatric casualties.’

Military medicine finally conceded that it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ a soldier would break in combat, but a question of when.

With a war to be won and in the face of a manpower crisis, the military’s primary concern was to return men to duty as quickly as possible. This was done by evacuating psychologically traumatized men to aid stations just to the rear of the frontlines. There, casualties received a dose of Sodium Amytal which put them into a deep sleep for a period of up to 48 hours; afterwards they ate a hot meal, showered and put on a clean uniform, then they were evaluated by medical personnel. Most responded positively to the treatment and 50 to 70 percent of combat exhaustion cases were returned to combat within three days. More severe cases were sent to hospitals and never returned to combat.” (x)

[6] “The few Prisoners of War repatriated prior to the end of the war were primarily evaders (those who had been fortunate enough to avoid imprisonment by the enemy –ed) and escapees (those who had successfully escaped, filtering thru belligerent, neutral, and/or occupied countries in an attempt to rejoin their parent organizations –ed) from German prison camps who had managed to find their way out of enemy territory, aided by members of the ‘resistance’ movements in the occupied countries. These individuals (mostly USAAF personnel –ed) were initially evacuated to London and processed in a small hotel situated 63, Brook Street, London, operated by the Theater Provost Marshal, United Kingdom, and later to Paris, France, where from March 9, 1945 onward, the Hotel “Francia”, was the place where they underwent intelligence interrogation by Allied Headquarters. After their intelligence processing, they were reassigned.” (x)

[7] I really do love the visual expression of Steve’s devastation at losing Bucky in CATFA. Grief is a terrible form of knowledge. To borrow a line: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”

[8] I was interested in the decision to have Bucky drink in TFATWS. There’s no canon evidence to suggest that Bucky’s serum is less effective than Steve’s since they seem about evenly matched in fights, especially the iconic street fight when neither of them is holding back. So alcohol shouldn’t be intoxicating to Bucky. 

But for all its flaws, TFATWS shows Bucky trying to get back into the world and figure out how to connect with people again. I like the way Bucky’s social skills are depicted as uneven and how Bucky turns on and off caring about the social aspects of situations: sweet-talking a prickly old man into getting lunch or being a slightly shy and flirty sort of friendly to Sarah, but at other points just walking away from conversations he is done with without giving a single solitary fuck. 

But my take is that Bucky likes alcohol as something that’s social—drinking sake with Yori or having beers with Sam on the boat. It makes him feel normal, connected once again to human life and to his past self. (Prohibition was repealed when Bucky was 16.) And there may be some small unconscious placebo effects—I’m thinking particularly in TFATWS when Bucky comes back to the apartment in Riga and takes a drink with such a “fuck it, I need a drink” energy: the gesture itself may be soothing.

Here Bucky is absolutely going: fuck it, I need a drink.

[9] The correct word here would be “electric.” Steve slips to “electrocuted” because he’s got electrocution—and the other glimpsed and imagined horrors Bucky went through—on his mind.

Steve faces a curious sort of agony. Because, for all that Steve has fought and suffered, he’s aware that he can’t even imagine so much of what Bucky has gone through because he lacks the shared life experience. 

Because he couldn’t stop Bucky from falling. And he’s got to keep on finding a way to live with that. 

[deermouth]

Let Me Speak First Of Revelations And Next Of Dark Deceit Then I'll Speak Of Champions Of Lovers, Gods, And Beasts My Song Is Long And Twisted It Worms, It Winds, It Wends It Carries Few, It Drowns Many And Those I Love, It Rends My Song Has Taken Hold Of Me It Grips My Tongue, My Throat My Voice Cries Truths I Never Knew And To Fight Is Just To Choke So Let Me Dwell Eternal And In Ruined Flesh Ascend For My Song Has No Beginning... And The Current Flows On Without End If I Could Trace With Bloodless Fingers If My Hands Could Shape The Flow I'd Bear This Song To The Precipice And Rend Us Both To Dust Below We'd Both Go Plunging Downwards One Final Fall From Grace I'd Howl, I'd Scream In Victory And We'd Be Gone Without A Trace But We'll Never Be Rid Of Each Other My Song, My Sorrow and I So I'll Bear It Trembling Onwards To Drift On, To Dream, To Die And Where My Final Footsteps Fall Something Dreadful Shall Arise Its Gaze Shall Fall O'er Trembling Plains Its Wrath Shall Scald The Sun And Where Its Howling Forebears Walked Some Day There Shall Be None The Wise Man Knows The Taste Of Rot All Lovers Part As Dust And Even The Kings In Their Bowers Of Steel Shall Wither In Ruin And Rust This Rotten World Shall Wheeze Its Last This Hateful Hymn Shall Cease But As My Last Breath Splits My Throat I'll Wheeze Through Splintered Teeth One Last Song Of Revelations Of Prophets' Dark Deceptions Of Love, And Gods' Defeat Of Love, And Gods' Defeat

The Silt Verses (2021-2024), chapter titles

[twink-with-an-agenda]

Little preview for my Faulkner cosplay hehe (I'll probably post the pictures in multiple separate posts there's that manyyy)

[evergreensounds]

the reeds my beloved (sister carpenter tsv)

[catwyk]

em and mallory glass!! i drew the original maybe a month ago now, but i finally scanned my traditional stuff for paintovers :] design notes below the cut!!

their clothes are loosely based on some of mine and my brother's slightly more formal clothes from when we were <10y.o - a scout uniform and school pinafore respectively. em's ascot is shorthand for "rural formal" to me

the pattern on em's collar also features on my katabasian designs

the pattern on mal's collar is the same as the broken traditional pattern on faulkner's high katabasian robes, as foreshadowing for her losing her faith

mal is painted wearing greens because she is born to the land. em is blue, because he is born to the water

em is meant to vaguely resemble faulkner. he has dimples, freckles, and similar feature + face shapes

despite the dour air over them, this is just a grumpy boy not wanting his picture taken and his sister caught between his bad mood and her nana's stern direction - truly honestly nothing bad happening to them at this moment. im pretty sure there are pictures of my brother and me with the exact same vibe

[moomeecore]

a love letter to weasels ❤️🩷

[palhelp]

I personally prefer guavas!

A family @wejdan21 recently reached out to me. They're only at 19 percent of their goal. Please donate to them!

This family has five children, they need equipment for the cold!

Tags below

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[koiyoiki]

why tf is that your go-to response Near

Also yeah more Noelverse stuff in honor of it's 10 year anniversary hell yeah

[mx-information]

mr press secretary a second crab has hit the moridame

[gentlemean]

I present to you: The Whitegull River Symphony.

A classical symphony in four movements, inspired by @thesiltverses! The most recent episode swept me away in a river of creative inspiration, and I couldn't help but follow this stream to whatever murky depths it wanted to take me.

Creative thoughts and details beneath the cut.

The Whitegull River Symphony is written in f-Minor for a full symphonic orchestra. My rendition was created in FLStudio, using Spitfire's BBC-Symphonic-Orchestra plugin, as I am just one mediocre violinist without an entire orchestra at hand.

First Movement: River Angels, Allegro Assai

The first movement is dominated by the steady rhythm of the celli and violae, who act as the slow waves of our murky river. Among these waves, the faithful have prepared a sacrifice. Their hopeful prayers flick aross the water in the first half of the movement, and are answered by the scutteling, chittering spawn of the river in the second half.

Second Movement: Pilgrimage of the Prophet, Adagio

In the second movement, we focus entirely on our favorite little prophet (whose brilliant performance inspired me to make this. The existence of this symphony is your fault, @sassylich). He marches on through the silt with slow steps, while the clarinet plays his theme. His little schemes behind the scenes are played by the string section, the obvious warning signs are announced by the horns. Nevertheless: In the end, everyone is playing his tune.

Third Movement: The Withermark, Andante

And here we go, the river's might is unleashed. The angels of the river god approach unstoppably, drawn here by the prophet: His clarinet is setting the tune for the overwhelming wrath of the trawlerman. Nothing can stand in its way, but after the tides have calmed, new life can grow in their wake.

Fourth Movement: Katabasis, Allegro Assai

Katabasis, the descent into the depths. Nothing escapes the greedy maw of the Trawlerman, nobody can float above, untouched. All the instruments we've hear so far return, desceding into the roiling depths of the bassline. This is not a comforting or hopeful ending, this is an apocalypse.

[ashen-char]

we can be pirates

ship: river (all souls) x reader (gender neutral)

summary: river wants to give her daughter the best birthday party possible. noticing that it's personal for her, you help.

word count: 2400+

notes: requested here. split into two parts bc it surprised me how long it was getting. title from taylor swift's 'seven'. TELL ME THE SKULLS DONT GIVE PIRATE VIBES

River sits on the couch you two hauled off the road just last summer, flipping through the pages of a worn-out book on crafts. Beside her sits her mini-me, her daughter Jade who always loves being dressed up just like her mama. Big brown eyes go wide with excitement as the little girl points at one of the pictures.

"Mama, we can make this for my party," she exclaims, her small finger tracing the outline of a paper flower.

River hums, a tight smile on her face. "Yeah, baby. It doesn't look too hard. That'll be great."

Jade giggles and marks down the page number, already a small list of ideas on her pad of paper, her legs swinging.

Despite her smile, River can't help but think of how she wants more for her little girl. How she hates that Jade already knows they have to cut costs like this. Maybe if she pushed down her ego that told her she can do it all alone, without a cent of Silas' dirty money. River shakes her head, willing those thoughts out. She focuses on the pride blooming in her chest that Jade's still so happy and content with homemade efforts. She's raised a smart, kind, and wonderful girl. God, she can't even believe her baby's turning six in a week.

"You wanna help me?" she asks, poking Jade's cheek, who has now moved on to the section about invitation cards.

"Of course!"

This is when you walk in, joining them on the couch. You were busy preparing dinner so you didn't catch the full conversation, but the apartment's small enough where you could catch bits and pieces even without eavesdropping. Before you have a chance to tell them the food's ready, Jade shoves the book in your hands.

"You can pick one! I like this and this and-" Jade's pointing all over the place, choosing invitation cards she likes the look of seemingly by random if you didn't know her well. Luckily, you've had the chance to. Under River's upbringing and her own endless curiosity, Jade loves so many things it's hard to think of one straightforward theme. She loves her monster trucks as much as her stuffed puppy, as much as the manga the older kids in the apartment complex show her, as much as nature and princesses and scary stories.

"Woah, woah, slow your roll, kiddo." You wipe your hands on the apron before putting your hands on the book, knowing you'd get glares if you greased it up. "What's this about a party? I thought you didn't want to do a big one," you question.

"She doesn't. Says she'd be alright if it was just the three of us sharing pizzas and watching TV," River answers, to which Jade nods. "But Jade's in school now, you know? All the other moms already side-eye me for having her so young. I don't wanna give them more ammo, or make them tell their kids not to hang out with Jade anymore."

River has complained to you extensively before about the mom politics going on. Invite someone's kid to a party and they don't invite your kid back? Consider yourself dead to everyone. Couldn't bring muffins to their stupid bake sale? Worst mom ever award.

"I want Jade to have fun with her friends and not worry about being teased about not having a huge unicorn cake, or whatever. So..." River gestures to the book pressed into your hands, and you note all the marked pages of ideas.

You know the deeper reason too. How deep down, River wants better for Jade than what she had, never wants her to feel like she's going without. She wants Jade to feel like the other kids. To be able to stay a kid for longer, not cutting back on the toys she asks for just because you two are going from paycheck to paycheck. That's your responsibility as the adults. She shouldn't have to worry, shouldn't be punished for being born River's kid. It's something you've assured River about over and over again, that Jade's lucky to be hers and that the little girl knows it. But you can understand that wish too. Jade's such a sweetie. If any kid deserves to feel special on their birthday and get everything they ask for, it's her.

So it's no surprise that River isn't sold on the whole DIY party vibe. Resourceful is one thing, but she hates feeling cheap. Hates asking for or needing cash. She'll let go of her pride if the situation gets tough, but damn does she hate when people assume she can't take care of her girl.

"Hey, Jadey?" you ask, scooching down to address her directly. The two of you have agreed to not talk about money problems in front of her, so you know she should be far away for this discussion. "Can you go to the kitchen and turn the stove off? And when you're done, how about you write down all your friends' names that you want there, and draw them all a special invitation?"

Jade perks up at the request, liking to go on 'special missions' to help you or River. She likes the responsibility, likes that her favourite people can rely on her. It's part of what makes her such a good kid. "OK! Here!" As she hops off of the couch, she hands you the book. "They're gonna be the best pictures ever!"

"Don't come back too soon, OK? We're gonna come up with lots of ideas to surprise you!" you call out.

You turn to River, who shoves the book aside, frustrated. "Fuck. I don't wanna be a wimp about this, honestly. Or make it all about me."

"Hey." Your hand goes to her shoulder, rubbing right where she always seems to get tense. "It's fine. It's your first time living too. Or whatever the phrase is."

"It's just- I would've done anything as a kid to have had a birthday party," she shares, shaking her head like she thinks she's being ridiculous. But River does melt into your touch, letting you start to rub up, getting to the junction where her neck meets her shoulder. "This sucks to say, but I was always too ashamed to take any of my friends back home. I'm grateful for it now, but it was tiny and it smelled and I knew it. Didn't want them to give me shit for it."

Listening intently, your fingers trail over her shoulders as River sits up and tugs her knees to her chest. "And I didn't wanna hassle my mom. She was already doing so much to take care of me and put food on the table," River tells you. "My friends invited me to ones with the fancy custom cakes and the goody bags filled with toys and snacks, you know? The parties where the kids get to wear crowns and the parents take a million photos. My mom couldn't afford to take a day off of work, and I didn't have enough allowance to buy a gift anyways. So I never went to any."

And you can understand that. It's not like being a loner is always a choice. Sometimes you know that even if you try your best, you won't fit in, so why try? Pretend it's a choice. Pretend you're above it all, too cool for it, when all you really want to do is have fun with everyone.

"She's turning six. We could turn a sprinkler on and call it a water park and the kids would scream and laugh more than at some expensive party," you say. They're easy to impress at that age, at least in your own memory of being a kid.

River shakes her head. She wraps her arms around her knees tighter, resting her chin on them. "A water park? Really? She's six. She wants a real party with her friends, not just an excuse to run around like crazy. And it's not like we have a backyard for them to run in anyways." Something in her throat trembles, and it makes her voice rise with frustration. "I want to give her something special, y'know? I want her to feel like a princess for a day, not a charity case. Throwing around some paper decorations isn't gonna make the apartment bigger."

You know that tone, and you want Jade to have the very best too, so you fix on a more serious face, not wanting your girlfriend to feel like she's alone in this. "Fine. OK, so what's... special but free? Botanical gardens? Beach?" you start to pitch and brainstorm. "What's the best space to pizzazz with these paper flowers that Jade's gonna kick ass at making?"

When your hand reaches her ear, she just melts. It's a soothing gesture that helps when River gets these horrific stress migraines, pinching and rubbing along the lobe to coax blood flow. River thinks for a moment, considering those suggestions. "Yeah, the beach could work," River says slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Jade loves the water, and I know her friends would have a blast playing in the waves."

"We'd keep an eye on them the whole time obviously," you add. "Section off an area just for the party, probably with whatever decorations Jade's picked.

More on board with the crafts now that they have a space in mind, she hands you the list of ideas Jade already jotted down. "Here. If you can read her handwriting."

Just like Jade's interests, her ideas are all over the place. Not that you don't appreciate her creative process, but cowboys, aliens, and dragons don't sound very beachy. There are pages that she scrawled down that go together though. The foam sword, the paper pirate hat, and a treasure map. You'll pour coffee on it, crumple it a little, and singe the edges with a lighter to make it look authentic. A pirate theme sounds like the ideal way to make everything cohesive, especially since it'll keep the kids entertained so no one goes home complaining to their parents.

"It could be like a scavenger hunt," River says. She's been steadily getting into the whole idea, pitching all sorts of ideas to make Jade's special day great. "Kills two birds with one stone. The map is something they actually use instead of a set piece and we'll know where they are when they run around. Make sure they stay where we can see 'em.

"Yeah, I like that! When I was a kid, I read these Skullduggery books and was like, damn, imagine digging something up. Me and my siblings buried this time capsule at the beach, but I'm pretty sure it just got swept away by the waves."

"You shoulda dug deeper," River teases, but pecks your lips when you pout at the memory. "OK, so that's settled for the main activity. What can we put in the chest that won't break the bank?"

Chocolate coins, obviously. The two of you take turns listing out treasures that you'd find for cheap, like candy necklaces and plastic swords that will be sturdier than the foam ones. Eyepatches are a must too. Plastic telescopes and octopus pop-its.

River writes down a note that Jade could make her friends a custom friendship bracelet to thank them for coming and commemorate the occasion. Plus, it would get that rainbow loom set you two bought her out of the storage. Jade went on a bracelet-making kick two months ago but got bored, so now you've got all these extra loom bands around.

The two of you get to throwing around food ideas (you, personally, wanna serve chicken nuggets but brand them as 'gold nuggets') when Jade comes out of her room.

"Ta-da!" the girl says, holding out her birthday invitations. All told, there are seven, with radically different drawings attached. There's a horse (which looks like a giraffe with the neck honestly), a robot, a ballet dancer... "I've got six best best friends, so they've all gotta come. Mackenzie's got a little brother that should probably come too since they're always together, so I made him a smaller one."

"It's very sweet of you to think of your friend's brother." River shoots you a look as she says this, since Jade has been very fixated on siblings ever since you moved in. You shrug. You're not opposed to the idea but babies are expensive so the conversation has never gone longer than "that'd be cool!"

"These are awesome, kiddo! Think you could add something to each of 'em? Me and your mama thought a theme would make your birthday even cooler," you say.

"A theme? Oh, what is it, what is it?" Jade's already got her crayons in hand, ready to add to her masterpieces depending on your next words.

"Mmm, let's just say that you could be a mermaid, or have a peg-leg, but you can't turn up as a land-lubber." You cringe as soon as you're done saying it (you had been writing clue ideas for the scavenger hunt for the last ten minutes, OK?), but it makes River laugh so it's worth it.

"Pirates?!" You think the windows might shatter, that's how loud Jade's shriek is.

"Hell yeah, baby girl!" River says. "You like it?"

"I love it! Thank you so so much!" Jade leaps between you two, her tiny arms trying their best to wrap around and hug you both at the same time.

Upon seeing River's excitement as she shows Jade the list of ideas you two came up with, you can't help but smile. Your two favourite girls in the world are so hyped now that they're not even thinking about the cost, which was what you've wanted from the start. Jade pores over the list, nodding and adding little notes to the margins. There needs to be vegetarian options for her friend, Priya, for example, and she doesn't want it soooo different from the other food that Priya feels like she's missing out.

The day ends with half-made paper flowers, hot glue on foam, and Jade's rainbow loom taking up space on the kitchen counter and dozens of tiny colourful rubber bands all over the floor. Not to mention the dinner you cooked, which has gone cold and forgotten still on the stove. But when you turn to see Jade passed out on the couch, River's eyes lock with yours. Tired and pissed off from watching too many DIY YouTube tutorials, your girlfriend mouths "thank you. Jade was so happy," and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[burberrycanary]

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions)

Stucky, Endgame Fix-it, Road Trip Get Together

An expression crosses Bucky’s face like a shadow, tightly controlled and gone fast. But he rolls his head to the side, looking over at Steve, calm and steady, worn by life and changed so much but still here, by this small fire and lit with the unsteady golden glow, under these too many stars. 

“Everywhere I go,” Bucky says, “the past is this pit. But I’ve got to keep it behind me, because if I don’t, I’ll fall in. And someday I’m not going to have the strength to crawl back out. So it’s got to stay behind me, Steve—the big nothing right at the back of my feet.”

Steve stares at his walking-around miracle brought back to him by so much carnage and wretched injustice he’ll never be able to set right, not in all his remaining days. 

Because here’s the truth: he’s never once caught Bucky and every time he’s ended up following, he’s been too late to save him from all this suffering—the war, the future, and the long fall into the cold that came in between.

Honesty is all he has to give, which may just be adding to the burdens of a man doomed to carry a terrible load he can’t put down.

But maybe there’s something in the old paradox: the weight that makes you feel lighter. 

Maybe that’s what loving someone is.

Read Chapter 46 on AO3

Only one more chapter to go—I'm almost done with this! Many thanks to my betas @village-skeptic​​​​​​​​​​​, @booksandabeer​​​​​​​​​​​ and @zenaidamacrouras1​​​​​​​​​​​ 🥰

[siltblogging]

You know, there’s an interesting absence of fish in the river religion.

[catthlaf]

“Then become something else,” the Trawler-man says, with the first of his two faces. “My currents are kind, and your flesh is pliant. I will make you something that cannot be bound.”

-The Silt Verses, Chapter VI: It Winds, It Worms, It Wends

[blairdii]

nortrell, carlando, norstappen + moon river (frank ocean, 2018)

[catwyk]

roakes sentinel has been on my mind for months now, im SO HAPPY to finally have it drawn out !!! prelim sketches + notes below the cut :]

i think it's pretty obvious, but this was very much informed by the dog thing from The Thing. Rob Bottin is a huge inspiration to me in terms of body horror

the crab and dogs arent based on any specific species or breed. that's the problem with dogs and crabs -- theyre so diverse, you can't draw them generic without making them look a little weird in one way or another. and then that means picking a specific species or breed, which invites speculation as to why, which means it has to be done with symbolism in mind, and sometimes i just wanna paint a big scary monster with nothing else to it, yknow?

the dogs are (in canon) embedded in the shell, which i forgot about when i was envisioning the sentinel to begin with. thank god for artistic license !! sorry jon ware my crab now