#shipment visibility

[fleetroot-blog]

How To Maintain Shipment Visibility Throughout The Delivery Process

In order to achieve and maintain Real-Time Visibility of their shipments throughout the delivery process, Logistics and Distribution Companies have had to use modern tech tools like Cloud-Software, Data-Analytics, Mobile-Apps, and modern hardware (smartphones, cloud-servers, etc.) due to increased competition, the growth of tech-driven businesses like Amazon, Walmart, and Uber that drive the “On-Demand Economy,” and rising consumer expectations regarding their shipments.

Due to this, they have been able to meet rising customer demand (same-day delivery, 24-hour delivery, etc.) and cultivate a base of devoted customers to sustain a successful business.

Your package is on its way for delivery.

When customers enquired about their deliveries in the good old days, a simple “out for delivery” response sufficed!

But not for the consumers of today. They demand significantly more information about their shipments, including the “when, where, how, and why.”

Companies gain from keeping a system of cargo visibility throughout the delivery process in this situation.

These contemporary, technologically advanced technologies assist in resolving supply-chain problems and streamlining procedures.

What is visibility in the supply chain? The tracking and updating of a company’s fleet’s location in real-time as it travels through the logistics and supply chain is known as supply chain visibility.

This makes it possible for logistics teams to keep an eye on the location of their fleet, which may include ships, vehicles, vans, and trailers, in real-time.

Visibility of the Supply Chain: Historical Issues

· Legacy systems were inaccurate and inefficient.

· Manual procedures took a lot of time and were unable to retroactively track shipments.

· could only confirm an “issue” once it had already happened.

Why Is Visibility in the Supply Chain Important?

The way we conduct business has undergone many modifications as a result of the modern era.

The introduction of the “On-Demand Economy” is maybe the most significant because it has led to a major spike in customer and consumer expectations; they now want cheaper and faster shipping as well as to be updated on the status of their orders at all times.

Modern technological tools are used by logistic teams to maintain supply chain visibility and keep on top of the challenging issues brought on by the expansion of the world’s freight and distribution networks.

While it took the logistics industry a while to develop a technologically advanced and practical solution to address its complicated issues, current cargo visibility technology is now quickly achieving levels of effectiveness that were previously unthinkable.

Because of the improved visibility, logistics personnel can monitor their whole value chain from a single dashboard (or, command center).

They can act quickly if goods movement deviates from the planned dates and routes since they have real-time information on shipment movement (etc.).

Because of this, they can not only respond to emergencies and disruptions much more quickly and effectively, but they can even anticipate when disturbances will happen.

Real-Time Freight Visibility’s Advantages

The downside of poor shipment and supply chain visibility. Having a reliable and efficient freight tracking system will improve customer retention.

The following are some applications for tracking:

1) Customer satisfaction: Modern consumers want a very effective delivery system that keeps them continuously informed.

You must constantly keep customers “in the loop” by giving them real-time information on the status of their shipments, live tracking, online conversations, timely push alerts, delays, or refunds.

It’s critical to provide consumers with delivery visibility during the last-mile delivery stage so they may make appropriate plans and anticipate when their package will arrive.

2) Profitability: An organization’s business operations are optimized by a 24–7 shipping visibility system.

It increases topline and scalability while lowering operating expenses (inventory carrying costs, ideal delivery schedules, better resource management, prudent fuel usage, and decreased human errors) (more markets served, a higher number of transactions managed, and more SKUs handled).

The profitability of the company is impacted favorably by this.

3) Increased Safety: The Logistics and Supply Chain processes work in the “real world” on the ground.

Weather, traffic and travel concerns, criminals, local issues (including community instability), and internal abuse are all threats they must continually contend with.

These substantial dangers can be decreased with the aid of a reliable, real-time shipment visibility system, which also enables businesses to control the entire delivery procedure while keeping all parties safe and secure.

4) MIS, Data Analytics: Since everything is a “data point” in the information age and can be analyzed, this topic is crucial.

Businesses can gain a detailed understanding of their operations and how to improve them with the entire end-to-end data that robust shipment visibility delivers.

5) Taxation and Compliance: For Logistics and Supply chain managers, compliance with local and international tax regimes, anti-dumping laws, freight calculations, safety compliances, thirty-party stipulations, government regulations, etc., has always been a major change and is frequently the cause of alarm, losses, and fines.

Modern businesses can handle all these challenges effectively and at scale thanks to a transparent shipment system.

API for Supply Chain Visibility — Frequently Used Terms

(Application Program Interfaces). enables communication and information exchange between two applications.

ELD. Electronic hardware for tracking driving hours that is affixed to a commercial vehicle engine.

RFID (Radio Frequency Identification). is an automated technique that digitally encodes data in RFID tags or scans labels that are then read by an RFID Reader using automated contactless radio-frequency waves. After being scanned, the data is then saved and mined for knowledge.

RTTVP (Real-Time Transportation Visibility Platforms). Logistics companies utilize technological solutions to gather and evaluate telemetry data from multiple sources and display it in a unified way.

Issues Raised by Limited Shipment Visibility

A strong shipment visibility system has many advantages, but the opposite is also true; its absence has a detrimental effect on many aspects of the business, including the inability to provide same-day or one-hour delivery, insufficient revenue, subpar delivery cycles, subpar customer satisfaction, and unsafe logistics.

The following are 4 typical issues:

1. Subpar Performance Metrics: “Shipment visibility” affects many (all) components of the supply chain and necessitates the participation of many parties, including large and significant third-party providers, in accordance with established standards.

Performance measurements are challenging to create and to measure when there is not enough visibility at the operational level.

It will become difficult, if not impossible, to oversee whether deliveries are on time, whether there were unforeseen delays or diversions, what the root-cause analysis was, how productive the 3PL was, etc.

2. Unsustainable Costs: By using modern logistics tools for visibility, businesses can reduce operational costs.

Extended delays, resource duplication, pointless detours, excessive fuel use, and idle vehicles are examples of factors that lead to unaffordable expenses.

Lack of visibility also contributes to risky processes, which frequently lead to abuse, theft, and damage to vehicles and shipments. These deficiencies result in large losses when put together.

3. Negative Customer Experience: As was already noted, the days of a simple “your shipment is out for delivery” are long gone.

Customers today require regular updates on the status of their shipments, ETAs, and any delays (etc).

Companies can provide these updates thanks to real-time tracking, particularly during last-mile delivery, which is becoming a key factor in customer satisfaction. If you can’t, your rivals undoubtedly will, so take caution!

4. Unsafe procedure: As was already noted, unneeded delays frequently lead to issues like misuse, cargo damage, and theft.

Less than 20% of stolen shipments are thought to be found. It is much simpler for thieves and other miscreants to take their chances when there is no real-time visibility into the movements of your assets.

conclusion: increased customer demand quicker and more affordable shipping as well as the desire to be updated on the status of their shipments in real-time has necessitated that logistics providers maintain real-time visibility of shipments from beginning to finish. In today’s fiercely competitive market, it will become impossible to create a profitable firm without it.

Read More about How To Maintain Shipment Visibility Throughout The Delivery Process

[cmentary-drive]

Hm, unguarded shipment

[sensitel]

Check out the video to know some of the essential features of order tracking and delivery management software for improving the delivery experience. For more details: https://www.sensitel.com/

[doberbutts]

Hello all, informative trans guy post here. IF you are taking testosterone as part of your HRT or transition process, you've probably heard several times that testosterone is a controlled substance, very difficult to source, and that you are limited on the amount of which you can have at one time. You may even be wondering the truth of these claims.

Well... the answer is... that it's mostly true. But I can tell you how to make things a bit easier on yourself, if you're having a hard time.

This "guide" is 100% USAmerican based. Sorry, but I live here, and don't know how this works outside of my own country.

1: Testosterone is a controlled substance.

Well... it is. Testosterone is a controlled substance in the United States, being a Schedule III drug along with drugs like ketamine. This means that in some states, it can be very difficult to source at all and even harder to source in significant or consistent quantities. This is largely due to people taking anabolic steroids, and very little of testosterone's controlled status historically had anything to do with transgender people using it as part of their medical transition, though that is beginning to change as trans men become more visible. There are now some laws restricting the usage of testosterone for the purpose of transitioning, especially in cases of minors and young adults transitioning through their teens.

This is a little different from estrogen, which is prescription-only in its injectable form but does not have controlled status on a federal level. Testosterone, by comparison, is controlled in all of its forms and possessing it without a prescription is very illegal. While it is possible to source and make testosterone without a prescription, much like estrogen, the legal consequences for doing so are much more severe. For this reason, this is not a guide to doing so without using a prescription.

2: Testosterone is difficult to source.

Provided you have a doctor willing to give you a prescription, and either insurance or financial means of covering the cost of said prescription, testosterone is only difficult to source if you are living in a state that heavily restricts the ability to source Schedule III drugs (or has introduced laws restricting the ability to dispense HRT to transgender patients) or if there is some sort of shortage happening.

Testosterone is available at every national pharmacy chain in various forms, and can also be ordered online by pharmacies that may legally serve your state provided they operate within the state's laws. Remember, cis men take testosterone in various forms for their own hormonal function at times, so this is far from a niche transgender-only drug.

Your state may have restrictions on exactly how much testosterone you may pick up from the pharmacy at any given time, how frequently you're allowed to get it, and occasionally how much you're allowed to have in general. This may also change depending if you are picking your testosterone up from a physical brick-and-mortar pharmacy, or if you are ordering online for home delivery.

Some pharmacies will try to tell you they legally can't dispense more- this may conflict with what your doctor tells you, so if your doctor is willing to give you the maximum your state allows you to have and your pharmacy says a different maximum, you need to get your doctor to advocate for you.

Certain forms of testosterone are more prone to shortages and backorders than others. Gel appears to be commonly backordered, and manufacturer shortages are not uncommon. For this reason, my doctor prescribes me a three month supply at a time. For a long time, CVS would argue with me that they legally could only fill one month at a time. I mentioned this to my doctor, because this inevitably means that with the pharmacists at CVS screwing around with my meds that I am not consistent on my dosing month-to-month because when a shortage happens I simply have to go without until they finally get another shipment in.

Now, thankfully, she wrote me a prescription to navigate around that with the three month supply, but she also had someone from her office call and give them a dressing down on why they needed to actually comply with her orders for her patient. I happen to live in a state that the maximum is truly a three month supply, so CVS should not be arbitrarily shortening a doctor's prescription just because they don't think they should be dispensing that many.

Similarly, testosterone is unfortunately not cheap. I happen to take the gel version, which retails at about $400 USD per bottle, and each bottle lasts one month, so that's about $1600 USD worth of medication sitting on my bathroom sink in that photo with four bottles. Now, thankfully, I have insurance, and the insurance I have allows me to pick up all of my medications for free provided the insurance is actually willing to cover it. This means that I spent a grand total of $0 USD on these bottles. Insurance costs vary greatly, so it's wise to see exactly how much a larger supply will cost you prior to actually committing. My current insurance does not allow me to order medications online, but my previous insurance that I did actually have to pay for medications was often cheaper to order online ($40 for a three month supply) than pick up at the CVS ($20 for a one month supply). This is something to consider depending on your individual coverage.

3: You can only have so much testosterone at once.

As for why I have four bottles- due to my job change, I had an insurance change as well as introduced my state's version of Medicaid as a secondary insurance. My initial insurance did not cover these bottles but did cover individual gel packets dispensed as a sealed box of 30. My current insurance does not cover the individual packets but does cover the bottles. The packets are a slightly different dosage than the pump on the bottle, and when making that switch my doctor accidentally under-dosed me, which then created a significant excess when I went to pick up the next month's bottle. As a result, that initial bottle lasted roughly two months before we caught the under-dosing via my bloodwork, which means I opened the second bottle right as I was getting ready to pick up the third (and fourth and fifth).

This is not an illegal situation as there is a clear paper trail within my medical record and prescription history detailing this situation playing out, but it can be dangerous in certain states to have this much over the amount you're supposed to have. It can be illegal to stockpile a Schedule III drug, so I do not recommend intentionally creating this sort of situation for yourself.

That being said, this sort of worked in my favor. Schedule III drugs often need a prior authorization from your insurance before they are willing to cover these medications. Drugs that are not necessarily expected within your demographic, such as being marked as female but taking testosterone, also often require a prior auth. A prior auth can take up to a month to go through insurance, though usually is less than a week. I just passed my testosterone anniversary in late September, which also means my prior auth expired, as they're only good for one year. Instead of, you know, telling me my prior auth expired, CVS just sent me a text stating they were having a problem with my order and that they were in contact with my doctor about it. A week went by with no change so I called my doctor, who reported they never received anything from CVS but would look into the issue and see what the problem was. They called me back the next day to tell me about my expired prior auth and that they fixed it. I then got the text from CVS saying my prescription was ready to pick up about 5 minutes later. That does mean that if I did not have this excess, I would have once again simply not had testosterone for about a week.

4: Public vs Private Insurance

Whether or not your state's insurance will cover testosterone depends entirely on your state. Obama, when creating the Affordable Care Act or now known as "Obamacare", did make it so that states are supposed to be required to cover HRT for transgender adults and even minors in certain situations. Trump did away with several of these protections, which then emboldened certain states to whittle away at what was left. Other states, like my own, strengthened their protections in response, making it easier to access HRT.

This means that while my own state allows me to get free testosterone through the state's insurance (which is income-based eligibility, and I'm making a significant amount over minimum wage but still considered below my state's poverty line) - a friend of mine in another state cannot access HRT using his state's Medicaid, and is required to use private insurance. Additionally, I have insurance through my job, but it does not cover a large enough percentage for it to be feasible. This means that legally, I have to pay for my workplace insurance (barf, that's $200 out of every paycheck) but on the flip side because of my income eligibility I also can still have the state insurance as my co-insurance and that will clean up whatever leftover costs my private insurance leaves me with.

It also means my top surgery will be free, provided I can get it approved through my private insurance. My public insurance will pay the remaining balance of whatever my private insurance is willing to cover, but will not pay for things my private insurance isn't willing to cover at all.

This also means I have to attend exclusively doctors that will take my public insurance if I want to do things this way- however that's a fairly robust list in my state compared to others, so I didn't have to change doctors at all.

This situation is not always the case for every state's Medicaid- but it is worth looking into if you need options and your current insurance sucks or if you're not insured at all.

[copperbadge]

I was on a retail website on my phone recently and I was trying to get to some information it did not seem to want to provide -- and just in case, out of desperation, I clicked on the little "universal sign for wheelchair user" logo in one corner.

It pulled up this menu, which was intriguing...

[ID: A website sidebar menu, headed "Accessibility features"; it offers the option of turning on a number of features including those for blindness and colorblindness, epilepsy, motor skills disorders, dyslexia, and crucially for me, ADHD.]

I'm not someone who uses digital accessibility tools much but still, I don't think I've ever seen such a visible accessibility function on a website before, and I've definitely never seen one that offered ADHD accessibility. What did that even do? So...I clicked it, and:

[ID: A screengrab of the website with the ADHD accessibility turned on; most of the site is greyed out, including a header listing my subscriptions and a subscription ID. A narrow bar of the site is illuminated in normal white, showing my next shipment is July 25th and offering me the option to view or skip it.]

The damn thing darkens the entire page except for a narrow "light" bar that highlights whatever your looking at, which you can drag up and down the site with your finger. Honestly it's super cool. It's not something I desperately need, but I may go looking to see if there's an app I could acquire that would do the same for me across browser and e-reader functions on my phone.

[latenightdaydreams]

I can't stop thinking about Mafia Konig who never let his wife wear bras because once she complained about how uncomfortable her bra is. And he just loves to circle his finger on her nips through the fabric whenever they have meetings with allies, in front of everyone! But if any guys dare to make dirty jokes about her body (how plump her ass is, how round her breasts are, etc) he will shoot that mfker in the middle of his eyebrows in a heartbeat. That's so disrespectful respectfully 😩😍😍 thank you for accepting a lot of my previous requests, love youuuuu🎀🎀🎀

Ofc!!! 🩷🩷 I love breast man König

Mafia!König x Braless!Wife (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw fem/afab, blood, gun violence, groping

1.0k word count

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König has always loved the fact that you are a curvy woman. When he first saw you, you were dating one of his associates. He charmed you with his Austrian accent and icy blue eyes. Soon he had you coming to his office late at night, buying you expensive gifts, and bringing you home. One day, your ex showed up at a meeting with his boss, König, to just see you sitting on his lap. Your breasts were so large and filled his hands, and he knew you were his. Your body is just perfect for him. He can never keep his hands off of you; no matter what. That’s why he married you after only six months.

Your breasts are so large, bras are very uncomfortable. The underwire is always digging into you, the straps never feeling right on your shoulders. Sports bras never fitting right, always too tight. That’s when you approached König about the idea of giving up bras all together.

Obviously, he agreed quickly. Bras were only another barrier in between him and those bouncy, perfect pair of tits. König bought you light colored or sheer fabric tops and dresses. Your breasts are marvelous and deserve to be shown off.

König, seats you on his lap, you’re wearing a cream-colored shirt that clings to the curve of your breast naturally sitting on your chest. One of his hands is busy sifting through papers. The other squeezes your breast. Fingers slowly rubbing circles around your hardened nipple. You squirm over his erection as you lean your head back on his shoulder.

“Sit still, Liebling.” König whispers into your ear, his warm lips kiss your neck tenderly before looking away.

The table you’re sitting at has seven men seated, associates of König. They all look at your breast, watching as König’s finger begins to pinch and tug at your nipple that is visible through your shirt. They all share glances with one another; eyebrows raised with cheeky smirks across their lips. Some men had to adjust themselves as they watched König’s display of affection.

One man clears his throat. König’s eyes shoot in his direction. His gaze bore into the man waiting for him to speak.

“-Uh, sir, we have a shipment coming in from Hungary on Wednesday.” His eyes glued to your breasts as he speaks makes him forget his train of thought. “There are no set plans on who will be at pick up.”

“Mein Gott, your breasts are perfect.” König ignores the man to focus on you.

The man looks around at everyone’s eyes glued to you. “Sir?”

“You. Take Johan as well.” König’s attention shifts from you to the men. He notices their lustful gaze.

An awkward silence falls across the room as König pulls your shirt from the back as he looks over your shoulder at your breast. He perfectly sees the texture and color of your areolas and nipples. Perfection.

He continues to hold the back of your shirt with one hand. The other comes around and squeezes your breast. Cupping them in his hands before running them over your nipples, making you moan quietly. You turn your head to him and lift his hood slightly to kiss the pale skin of his neck. His cock is painfully hard. He cannot wait until this meeting is over so he can fuck these beautiful fucking breasts.

“Is that all we had to discuss?” König asks in a snappy voice.

“I can’t blame the guy; I’d want to hurry this up too.” One associate whispers to the one sitting next to him.

König hears him and smiles. His smile quickly disappears once he hears what the other man’s response was.

“I’d love to squeeze those massive breasts.” He lets out a low whisper before they laugh together.

König’s eyes fall on him, the both of them, and just glares. They don’t notice his gaze just yet, so they continue.

“Yeah, well, she was Christoph’s before, so we might get our turn.” They chuckle between them.

“Excuse me, my love.” König gently takes you off of his lap.

You stand and look up at König. His large hands come down and caress your face gently. “Take a seat Maus.”

König slowly walks past you around the table, his footsteps loud as he walks. He stops right behind the two men that were talking about you. Everyone at the table had eyes on the two men. Their fear was palpable.

König leans down slightly before whispering, “You know, this table isn’t big at all. And my hearing is wonderful.”

“Sir, I was just-”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before König quickly withdrew his gun and shot the man in between his eyes. His body lingered upright for a moment as everyone stared with wide eyes. Finally, the body fell forward onto the desk, causing a loud thump.

There was shock written all over the face of the man, sides of him that got all the blood splatter. König then turned the gun to the man that said he might have a turn with you in the future. His icy blue eyes bore into the man’s soul, almost.

Shaking, the man got out a short sentence. “I- I didn’t mean it…She’s your wife…”

“She is.” König nods and looks over at you sitting in his seat.

Your nipples are still hard and your breast jiggle lightly as you breathe rapidly from everything that just happened. My god you’re so perfect.

Without looking back at the man, König shoots him too. He puts his gun back into his holster and looks around the room.

“Anyone else have anything to say?”

A unanimous “no sir” breaks out across the remaining five men. All of them are too scared to look at König or me, so they keep their gaze down at the wooden table. König scans the table and looks at how they cower in fear.

“Gut.” König begins to walk back over to you. “Now, where was I?”

[cherryheairt]

Hi again (●’◡’●)ﾉ

Please can I request some oneshots of different genshin characters ( Diluc, Zhongli, Neuvillete) reacting to the reader getting into a bar fight when drunk.

hello! I love this ask it sounded fun

Diluc

Diluc was the last to know of y/ns activities tonight, despite owning the tavern that they happened in.

In the midst of his stacks of paperwork for the winery's many shipments, Diluc was interrupted by Adelinde opening the study door in a rush.

He lifted his head from his work, placing his pen down. "Is everything alright?" He asked, though assumed not. The always calm and collected Adelinde had a red flush on her cheeks, as if she had run to find him.

"Master Dliuc, I'm afraid there's been an incident at Angel's Share." She answered, catching her breath.

He rubbed a brow, nodding. "Isn't there one every night?"

She shook her head, exasperated. "It's y/n, she got into a fight with one of the regulars-"

Diluc wasted no time, standing from his chair and rushing past the maid. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!" He yelled behind him, a fury of red and black as he went to the stables.

Diluc made it to Mondstat's city in minutes, pushing the stead as fast as it could run. In front of the tavern, the amused face of Kaeya had just exited.

Before Diluc could speak, Kaeya carefully pushed his shoulders back, away from the door. "Calm down, Diluc. If you go in there in that state, nothing will get solved and the poor fellow will only get more hurt."

Poor fellow? Was y/n not the one who had gotten hurt? "I don't have time for this-"

"Though I have to applaud y/n, I never would have guessed that she had that kind of fire in her." Kaeya laughed, patting his brother's shoulder before leaving.

Diluc didn't have time to dwell on his words, slamming the door open.

Inside, only four people remained. Diluc went to y/n's side immediately, taking her face into his hands and inspecting it. Perfectly clear of aby blood or bruises. He scanned the rest of her exposed skin, nothing. "What happened?" He directed his question at anyone who would answer.

Jean, Charles, and a man Diluc vaguely knew as Albert were all crowded around, though Albert further from the rest with a wet cloth on his cheek, sulking at a table.

At the bar stools, the rest sat. Jean spoke up, "I am to mediate the fight when I heard of it. Kaeya beat me to it, though. I just stayed to make sure nothing else happened." She said, tired eyes barely staying open this late at night.

Charles nodded, "I sent someone to fetch you as soon as it stopped."

Diluc just crossed his arms, standing in front of Y/n as he glared at Albert. "What did he do to her?"

From behind, Y/n scoffed. "Nothing. He went down in one hit." The words were slightly slurred, though the amount of time that had passed waiting for Diluc to come most likely sobered her up a bit.

"Right, so what did he say then?" He questioned.

This made Jean herself bristle, though still silent.

"Bastard made a comment about Barbara, then tried to pass it off as 'oh, I'm just admiring her beauty and grace!'" Y/n mimiced Albert's nasally voice. Diluc looked to Albert, who shied away from everyone's gaze, clearly having no one in his corner. He shifted uncomfortably, leaving a bright ashy burn mark to be visible on his cheek.

Diluc whipped around to fully face Y/n again, spotting what he did not see the first time. A red vision, clutched tightly in her hands.

"You got a vision?" He asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

Y/n nodded, "I wish I got it in a cooler way, but hey, now we match." She winked, earning a small smile from him. He put a gloved hand on her shoulder, "is the matter settled, Jean? Clearly, he was in the wrong."

Jean, who might usually argue further about bar fights such as these, especially ones involving visions, nodded. It was involving her dear younger sister after all, some morals can be absolved.

Diluc and Y/n left first, dismissing Charles for the night and allowing Jean and Albert to discuss the matter in private.

Diluc led Y/n home, embracing her in front of him on horseback. "You're sure you're okay?" He asked.

Nodding slowly, she leaned back into his warm chest. "I'm great. Just wish Kaeya hadn't pulled me off before I could get another hit in." She admitted, amused.

Diluc laughed along, agreeing. "He's had that coming for a long time. It was time someone showed him his place.

They both went to bed contently, warm in each other's embrace.

On both of their nightstand lie two matching, glowing red visions.

Neuvillette

Y/n winced as a cold cloth wiped away at her swollen face. "Ow! Could you be any gentler, please?" She whined, attempting to tug her face away.

Neuvillette kept a soft but firm grip on her cheek, not allowing her to stop him. "If you hadn't gotten yourself into that fight, I wouldn't have to do this in the first place." His baritone voice reprimanded her.

She groaned, "That lady had no right to talk about you like that. The audacity to speak of the Iudex like that!"

He only raised a brow, patting at her split lip. "While I appreciate you defending me, there is no need. The people have a right to their opinions." Always neutral, Neuvillette stayed indifferent to the court's opinion of him.

"Not when they're wrong," she huffed. "She called you a cheater! Telling the whole tavern of how the Iudex rigged the Oratrice to send her husband to the Meropide because he insulted you."

"Lady Penny is simply upset, as any wife would be if her husband was sent to prison."

"Perhaps she should go join him if she misses him so much." Y/n rolled her eyes.

Neuvillette laughed softly, setting the towel down on the desk and taking her face softly in his arms. He caressed her bruise carefully, kissing it once, twice, then setting a final delicate kiss on her split lip.

"We can not send everyone we don't agree with the the Fortress, it would be anarchy."

Y/n giggled at his soft touches, squirming to the edge of the desk to hold his porcelain one in her own hands, which had proudly showed off her bloodied knuckles. "We won't know until we try."

He sighed contently, shaking his head in amusement. "What ever shall I do with you?"

[aheathen-conceivably]

Zelda was up late, reading the same book for what seemed to be the thousandth time. It was hard to find books out here, but she still had the collection she had brought all the way from England, and sometimes Mabel was able to lend her something through the town’s small school. But tonight of all nights, or the last few weeks really, she wanted nothing more than to read and reread the same words over and over again.

It had seemed absurd at first, hadn’t it? A tale of hidden identities and old loves, of gilded excess and fated tragedy. She remembered Antoine reading it over her shoulder, laughing at that fool Gastby who thought that anyone would buy such a charade. How didn’t they all know he was a gangster? It was plain as day. But even she could tell he found Gatsby’s tireless love and steadfast dedication endearing.

It wasn’t that absurd now that she thought about it though, was it? Not when she and Antoine used to sit on their balcony up in the sky, trying to guess who might be smuggling in that month’s shipment of liquor and who was the key holder for a speakeasy. No, it hadn’t been that absurd when she was living it, when she was the singer at one of Gatsby’s parties. Only now, in the darkness of a desert farmhouse in the midst of a depression, it seemed just as real as the book in front of her, until they started to mingle together into one glittering mirage in her mind.

Through the haze, the sounds of a guitar wafted in on the desert breeze blowing back the lace curtains. She was used to the sound by now, an ever present companion to these brief moments of peace. Usually they helped her to get lost in the sound of music that accompanied each party and every line of professed love so that she could visualize them in her mind. Like a lullaby that lulled her to sleep, it blurred the world around her so that she went into a sort of dream, one where her eyes were wide open rather than closed.

And that was often the point of this wasn’t it? To exist in a book so that a sort of hazy gossamer curtain fell around you, and the shadows of thoughts and people who never even existed infused into your reality. She needed them, what with the ticking of the clock that told her they had four months to find the money, or the gnawing sensation that she and Josephine had barely spoken for weeks.

The notes of the guitar become mournful, mingling with something she had never heard before, so much so that the gossamer curtain of Gatsby’s gilding began to fall away no matter how hard she tried to hold onto it. And beyond it was a pair of green eyes looking down at her, now only visible behind cracking paint and hazy memories.

Usually she liked reading in there with her, where she could imagine that the story was being told to her through her sister’s words and not some faceless author by the name of Fitzgerald. But the curtain had been pulled back now by the sounds of…what was it? Was it Antoine’s voice? 

She closed the cover of Nick’s confessions, so laden with the perspective of the outsider, the observer. All of it reminiscent of her own memories. As she put the book down she set her feet back into the world she was told she was supposed to inhabit; but especially under the cover of darkness, the world in her mind didn’t quite fade away as much as she thought it did, and the memories and the eyes of Dr TJ Eckleburg followed her down the stairs.

Down in the kitchen, she could hear him better. After years of practice, he had grown remarkably skilled, slowly and wordlessly transforming notes he knew on the piano onto the guitar. Under the protective guidance of the desert sky - at dawn, through dusk, and under the moonlight - the stars observed him just as she listened. She usually fell asleep to the sound of him playing wafting through her window, stretching out in their big bed with the knowledge that he was near, only to wake up in the morning to find that he had managed to place himself under her arm without awakening her. 

So she knew that this sound was different. It was personal. The way Nick’s confessions were to her or the ghost in her sister’s painting told her that she had to find a way to make Josephine forgive her, to make her trust her again. Her sister.

The creaking of the porch under her bare feet didn’t alert him; or if it did, he showed no signs of it. There was a curtain drawn around him just as there had been around her only moments before. That’s what had awakened her from her half imagined reverie. Not just the sounds of the guitar or the rawness of his voice. 

Like some sort of disturbance, she had sensed what had fallen over him from across the farmyard. Now she could see it surrounding him just like anyone else could see the firelight in front of him, flashes of shadows and emotions growing stronger with every word he sang.

Part 1/3

[brunchable]

Winter King, Chapter 7: Look What You Made Me Do

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen Reader Words: 11.5K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Acts of Violence. Attempted Murder. Summary: Y/N defies tradition by joining the equinox fetivities. Fitten in equestrian attire, she draws onlookers, including Thor, Loki and Pietro, while Bucky watches with visible frustration as others practically undress her with their eyes. Despite the tension, Y/N remains focused on the race.

Flashback: Edges of the Country

Isaac stood at the edge of the crowd, blending seamlessly with the common folk. His cloak was pulled low over his head, obscuring his features, and his eyes scanned the scene. The town was one of many far from the heart of the kingdom, and it had been growing increasingly restless. Isaac could feel the tension in the air, the unease that crackled like a storm ready to break.

In the middle of the square, Brock Rumlow stood tall and imposing, his voice carrying over the crowd with the confidence of a man who knew how to stoke a fire. The townspeople, desperate and angry, gathered around him, hanging on his every word. Isaac's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Rumlow incite the crowd, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“This kingdom has grown weak!” Rumlow’s voice boomed, his fists clenched at his sides. “Your king—your so-called leader—has been absent in his duties! While you starve, he is nowhere to be found. Where is he? Where is his protection for you?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. The townspeople, many of them gaunt from hunger and weary from constant struggle, nodded, their faces hardened by the truth in Rumlow’s words.

“The shipments of food, of supplies, have been blocked for weeks now!” Rumlow continued, his voice growing louder, more fervent. “And what has your king done? He ignores your plight! He lets you suffer while he plays the royal game in his palace, far removed from your reality!”

Isaac shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. He knew that this was exactly what those pulling the strings behind the scenes wanted—doubt, unrest, rebellion. Rumlow was merely a tool in a larger plan, but the power of his words was undeniable.

“And what of your queen?” Rumlow spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “She cannot bear a child, cannot provide an heir! Your king is absent, your queen is barren—is this not a sign from the gods? A sign that the crown has fallen out of favor?”

The crowd grew restless, some nodding, others muttering in agreement. Rumlow raised his arms, his voice dripping with venom. “The gods have turned their backs on us! This kingdom, this weak, crumbling kingdom, is on the verge of collapse! We cannot wait for the royalty to save us, because they won’t! They do not care about you!”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Rumlow was riling them up, feeding their fear and their anger. It was dangerous—more dangerous than Isaac had initially thought. His hand twitched toward the dagger hidden beneath his cloak, but he stayed his impulse. There was more to learn here, more to uncover.

Few days before: at The Siren’s Song

The tavern was dim with the faint scent of smoke and ale filling the air. Isaac sat at a corner table, his back to the wall as he watched the room carefully. Across from him sat Clint Barton, one of his most trusted spies, his face hidden beneath the brim of a hood.

Clint leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “Unrests are growing in the towns on the edges of the country.”

Isaac's brow furrowed slightly, though his face remained impassive. “How so?”

“There’s been talk of shipments being blocked,” Clint explained, glancing around the room before meeting Isaac's gaze again. “Food, supplies—everything’s being cut off. Rumlow’s been making speeches, stirring up dissent. People are starting to lose faith in the crown.”

Isaac's expression darkened. “Do we know who’s behind it?”

Clint hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet. But it’s coordinated. Too many towns are being hit at once for this to be random.”

Isaac nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. “Keep an eye on him,” he said quietly. “And on the lords. We need to know who’s pulling the strings.”

Clint tipped his head in agreement, his eyes sharp as ever. “I’ll keep you informed.”

Back in the Square: Rumlow’s Speech

“The king has abandoned you!” Rumlow shouted, his voice ringing out across the square. “He is absent, lost in the games of royalty while you starve. And your queen—she cannot bear the weight of an heir, much less the weight of this kingdom. The gods have shown us the signs—this is a bad omen—that they don’t want the line to continue. The crown has failed.”

The crowd erupted into murmurs and shouts, anger and desperation filling the air. Isaac’s eyes swept over the faces of the people, their pain and hopelessness. Rumlow had them in the palm of his hand, and Isaac knew that this was only the beginning.

Rumlow raised his fist in the air, his voice growing louder with every word. “We deserve better! We deserve a ruler who will fight for us, who will not abandon us in our time of need! The kingdom is failing, and if we do nothing, we will fail with it!”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he turned, slipping silently away from the crowd. He had heard enough. This unrest was spreading, and it was no longer just whispers in the dark—it was becoming a movement. He would have to act swiftly, but for now, he had to report back to Bucky.

Private Meeting in Annecy

The small council assembled in Annecy was tense, the weight of Isaac’s words hanging heavily in the air. Bucky sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he processed what had just been shared. Beside him, Steve, Sam, and Tony sat in silence, their faces grim, while Isaac stood at the opposite end, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

Isaac leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The unrest is growing faster than we anticipated. They're targeting the outer towns first, cutting off supplies and causing desperation. Once they have destabilized the edges of the kingdom, they'll start working their way inward, toward the capital.”

Bucky's brow furrowed as he considered the gravity of the situation. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked over to Tony, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting. 

“Tony, have you heard anything? Any whispers in your network?”

Tony, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, straightened at the question. His expression was serious, his usual wit subdued. 

“Nothing concrete,” he admitted, his voice low. “But there’s been some chatter—rumors about shipments being delayed, and certain noble families getting nervous. It didn’t seem like anything at first, but now that Isaac’s mentioned the unrest, it’s starting to make sense.”

Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to Steve, leaned forward, his voice filled with concern. “So they’re trying to isolate the kingdom? Make the people suffer so they turn against the crown?”

Isaac nodded grimly. “That’s the idea. They’re creating chaos on the outskirts, hoping it’ll spread like wildfire. The longer it takes, the worse it’ll get. The people are desperate, and Rumlow is feeding that desperation. He’s giving them someone to blame.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his hand forming a fist on the table. “And the lords? Do we know who’s supporting him?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not yet. But there are whispers—some of the more ambitious lords might be backing him, quietly of course. They want the crown weakened, but they’re too cowardly to show their hand until the time is right.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted back to Tony, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. “Keep listening, Tony. We need to know if anyone on the council is involved.”

Tony nodded, his face darkening. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They were not just facing external threats but the possibility of betrayal from within their own court. Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard as he looked around at the men gathered.

“We need to stop this before it spreads any further,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but firm. “We can’t afford to let them destabilize the kingdom from the outside in.”

Isaac’s expression was unreadable as he met Bucky’s gaze. “I’ll head back to the border towns. Rumlow’s stirring up trouble there, and I can follow the trail from him.”

Bucky nodded, a determined set to his jaw. “Be careful. If Rumlow’s got backers, they won’t hesitate to strike if they know we’re onto them.”

“I’ll watch my back,” Isaac replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sam looked between them, his brow furrowed. “And what about the people? They need to know we haven’t abandoned them.”

“We’ll send relief,” Steve interjected, his voice steady. “Food, supplies, whatever we can spare. But we’ll need to be strategic—if the shipments are being blocked, we’ll have to find new routes.”

Tony leaned back again, his eyes narrowing as he considered the logistics. “I can work with the traders, see if there are any alternative routes we haven’t thought of. But it’s going to be tricky.”

Bucky’s gaze hardened, his eyes dark with determination. “Do whatever it takes. We’re not losing this kingdom.”

The Dungeons (Back at the Palace, a few days after.)

The dim, flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the cold stone walls of the dungeon. The air was thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of mold. The guard they had kept alive, now shackled to a chair in the center of the room, sat trembling under the weight of what was to come. His eyes darted between the two brothers—Isaac, leaning casually against the far wall, watching silently with a cold smirk, and Bucky, standing directly in front of him, radiating a dangerous calm.

Bucky held a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand, his gaze hard as steel as he unrolled it slowly. The detailed portrait of Rumlow came into view, the artist’s precision capturing the man’s scarred face and cruel sneer with chilling accuracy.

Bucky’s voice was low, almost too calm, but the threat within it was unmistakable. “Do you recognize this man?”

The guard swallowed hard, his eyes widening as they fixed on the portrait. His breath quickened, his lips trembling as he hesitated to answer. Bucky took a slow step forward, the measured sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing ominously in the small chamber.

“I asked you a question,” Bucky said, his tone cold. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to the guard’s, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

The guard’s breath hitched, and he looked away, trying to steady himself. “I—I’ve seen him,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “At the docks… several times.”

Bucky straightened, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving the guard’s face. “And what was he doing there?”

The man swallowed again, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the room. “He… he seemed to be overseeing things. Shipments, deliveries… but it wasn’t normal work. He was careful and quiet. And he always had men with him—dangerous men.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, and he took another step forward, looming over the guard. “Go on.”

The guard’s voice shook as he continued, his eyes darting between Bucky and Isaac. “I overheard something once. I—I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but they didn’t see me. Rumlow was talking to one of his men, and he mentioned someone on the council.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the council, his casual posture stiffening slightly. Bucky leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Who?”

“I—I don’t know,” the guard stammered, his voice trembling with fear. His gaze darted around the room, avoiding Bucky’s cold, relentless stare.

Bucky’s patience snapped, he grabbed the guard by the collar, yanking him upright and slamming him back against the stone wall. The sound echoed through the room, and the guard let out a whimper, his breath hitching in panic.

“Who?” Bucky growled, his face inches from the guard’s, his grip tightening until the man could barely breathe.

The guard gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Alexander!” he sputtered, his voice barely audible. “He said the name Alexander.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as the name sank in. Alexander Pierce. He released the guard with a forceful shove, and the man collapsed back into the chair, wheezing as he clutched his chest.

Isaac, who had been watching in cold silence, exchanged a knowing glance with his brother. Pierce—one of the most influential and cunning members of the council. It wasn’t entirely surprising, but it confirmed their suspicions that the conspiracy ran deeper than just Rumlow’s schemes.

Bucky paced for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides as the information settled on him. He could feel the anger boiling under the surface, the urge to act immediate and violent.

Isaac’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone low and thoughtful. “It's Mother's birthday tomorrow. Then the Autumn Equinox the day after.” He glanced at Bucky, his expression calculating. “We can’t act on this right now. The court’s eyes will be on us the entire time.”

Bucky paced for a moment longer, his mind racing, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The revelation of Pierce's name added a dangerous layer to the already delicate situation, and every instinct in him wanted to act now, to confront Pierce head-on. But Isaac had a point—they couldn’t afford to make a scene with the queen's birthday tomorrow and the Autumn Equinox celebration right after. Too many eyes would be watching.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think clearly, before turning to Isaac. “Is Tony sending any relief to the affected towns?”

Isaac gave a curt nod, his expression steady. “It’s already in motion. Tony's rerouting the supplies through alternate routes—ones Pierce doesn’t control. Shipments are bypassing the docks and moving overland. The towns should start seeing relief soon.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a mix of relief and lingering tension. “Good. We can’t let them suffer while those bastards play their games. The people are losing faith in the crown.”

Isaac’s voice remained calm but firm. “The relief will help ease the unrest. But we can’t act too soon, not until we have Pierce cornered. If he suspects we’re onto him before we’ve gathered enough evidence, he’ll slip through our fingers.”

“No, we cannot wait! Our people are being forced to starve! We have waited long enough. The longer we wait, the stronger they get, and the more our people suffer.”

Isaac watched him intently, the wheels in his head turning. “Then I guess it’s time to spill more blood,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with dark intent. “I’ll start with their positions at the docks.”

Bucky’s gaze locked onto Isaac, his chest still heaving from the force of his anger, but there was a grim satisfaction in his brother’s words. Isaac, ever calculated and precise, had already started strategizing another plan.

“This time, don’t be clean,” Bucky advised, his voice lower now but laced with menace. “I want to see how Pierce would react.”

Isaac’s smirk widened ever so slightly, a flicker of dangerous excitement passing through his eyes. 

“As you wish, brother.”

× × × ×

Present

The Autumn Equinox Celebration was in full swing, and the town square buzzed with excitement. Lanterns in warm hues of gold, red, and orange illuminated the cobbled streets, casting a soft glow over the vendors selling hot cider, roasted chestnuts, and the season’s bountiful harvest. The air was crisp with the early bite of fall, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the bonfires that flickered in the distance. The people, dressed in their finest autumn attire, gathered in celebration of the changing season, their faces alight with joy.

It was a time-honored tradition, one that the royal family always attended. In previous years, their presence had been more symbolic—watching from elevated platforms or giving formal addresses before retreating to private dinners. But this year felt different.

You stood beside Bucky and the Queen Dowager, your eyes scanning the lively crowd that filled the bustling festival square. There was something in the air tonight, something electric, pulling you away from the suffocating formality that had become your life. The weight of the crown, the title of "queen," had forced a distance between you and the very people you had vowed to serve.

You were tired of it.

Tired of watching from afar, tired of being on the sidelines. Tonight, you had decided that things would be different.

“I shall participate,” you declared suddenly, your voice cutting through the gentle murmur of conversation between Bucky, Isaac and the Queen Dowager.

All three of them froze. Bucky’s head whipped toward you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, while the Queen Dowager blinked, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected declaration. 

Even Isaac turned his head sharply, his eyebrows raised as if to say, Did I hear that right?

You didn’t wait for them to respond. You had already made up your mind, your heart pounding with a mixture of defiance and exhilaration. With a firm nod, you began descending the steps from the royal platform, your gown flowing behind you as you moved purposefully toward the festival grounds. Your decision was final, your stride unwavering.

Scott hurried after you, “Your Majesty,” he began, his tone gentle but insistent. “I must advise against participating in the horse race… or the archery competition. You’ve been… frail as of late, and these are not activities usually undertaken by—"

"Women?" you interrupted, raising a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Scott shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that, Your Majesty, it’s just that—"

You shook your head, cutting him off again. “Scott, enough. The people need to know who their queen is, and standing on some platform like a distant figurehead isn’t going to do that.”

Before Scott could protest further, you turned to the Queen Dowager and Bucky, your eyes steady as you made your case. 

“May I?”

The Queen Dowager hesitated for only a moment, her sharp eyes assessing you. 

"Well..." she began, her voice laced with curiosity. She turned to her son, raising a brow, waiting for his response.

Bucky, who had remained quiet until now, felt a weight settle in his chest. He studied you, the determination in your eyes unmistakable. His initial instinct was to say no—to protect you from what could easily become reckless. 

But he could see it, the fire burning in you, the need to connect with the people in a way that felt real. The weight of upcoming events—the ceremony, the consort issue—still hung between you, and he knew this wasn’t just about tradition. This was about you asserting your place, your own strength.

He let out a soft sigh, reluctant but understanding. 

“Fine,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of tension. After a pause, he added, “But I shall be joining you.” 

Your lips tugged into a grateful smile, though you could see the concern lingering in his eyes. You nodded, your resolve only strengthening. 

Without another word, you turned and strode toward the festival grounds, the sounds of the bustling town filling the air around you as you prepared to show them exactly who their queen was.

"Scott, why don’t you fetch me some riding attire?" you called over your shoulder.

Scott, still flustered by the sudden turn of events, stammered, "B-but, Your Majesty, the attire is only for men."

You arched a brow, a glint of defiance in your eyes. "Even better. Find me a size that would fit, then."

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched you walk away with a newfound fire in your step. 

As Scott hurried off to fulfill your unusual request, you glanced back at Bucky, who was now following your lead toward the race track. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice calm but with a teasing edge as he walked beside you. 

“You are angry,” he repeated, though there was a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a faint smirk as you feigned innocence. “Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are. I can tell.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, though your expression betrayed you. The defiance in your stance, the way you had commanded Scott to fetch the riding attire—it all spoke volumes, and Bucky knew you too well to miss it.

“You are,” he said again, this time with more certainty, stepping closer until you were walking side by side. His voice softened, but there was still that lingering humor. “You’re upset about something.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hold onto your composure, but the warmth in his gaze made it difficult. He was giving you that look—the one that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but he raised his eyebrows as if to prove a point. 

“I see,” he said, his tone light but with that knowing edge that always managed to get under your skin. “So you're not mad. You’re just… a little defensive.”

You felt your pulse quicken, your composure slipping for just a second. 

“I said I’m not,” you repeated, but the sharpness in your voice betrayed the calm facade you were trying to maintain.

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright,” he said with a chuckle, though the amusement never left his eyes. “But you know you’re only proving my point, right?”

A huff escaped you, your gaze flicking forward as you quickened your pace slightly. 

"It is because you keep insisting that I am mad." The words came out faster than you'd intended, the frustration bubbling with you.

Bucky didn’t miss a beat, falling into step beside you again. He shot you a sidelong glance, his smile softening into something more understanding. 

"Perhaps... but I know you, Y/N. There’s something you’re not telling.”

You kept your eyes ahead, unwilling to meet his gaze, knowing that if you did, the wall you were trying so hard to keep up would crumble completely. 

Of course, you were mad—mad about tonight, mad about the expectations, mad about the fact that after everything, you’d be left to bear the weight of it while Bucky... while Bucky would have to fulfill the duties that came with naming a consort. But you weren’t about to admit that. You couldn’t.

Instead, you bit back your real thoughts, holding your chin high. “I just want to win this race,” you said with forced resolve, brushing past the truth and focusing on the task at hand.

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head, but there was no teasing left in his tone when he finally spoke again. "If it’s about the upcoming ceremony and the consummation, you know it doesn’t mea—"

“Don’t,” you cut him off quickly, your voice quieter this time but firm. You didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to discuss it—you knew you made this decision for him—but still.

Bucky hesitated, studying your face for a moment, then sighed softly. He didn't push further, though you could sense the tension still lingering between you both. Even though he didn't say it, you knew he understood. The heaviness of the night ahead pressed on you both, but for now, neither of you would speak it aloud.

You had an image to maintain, after all.

× × × ×

The field was abuzz with excitement as the riders gathered for the horse race, the energy palpable in the crisp afternoon air. Townspeople and nobles alike lined the track, eager to witness the festivities of the equinox. The usual banter of the crowd was suddenly replaced by hushed murmurs, the kind that always followed when something—or someone—unexpected made an entrance.

You stepped onto the field, your figure commanding attention in a way that immediately silenced those around you. Dressed in a fitted equestrian outfit that hugged every curve, the tailored trousers marked the first time people saw a woman in pants—let alone their queen. The absence of a helmet left your hair loose, a deliberate choice that only amplified the boldness of your appearance. The cut of the clothing emphasized your form in ways your royal gowns never had—every inch of you exuding confidence and power.

“This is blasphemy, how could he allow this?” Lord Carter muttered toward the other lords, shaking his head in disgust as he watched you stride confidently across the field, dressed in your fitted equestrian attire.

Tony Stark, overhearing Lord Carter’s complaint, raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Blasphemy, Lord Carter?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’d call it bold. A queen who knows how to make an impression. You should try it sometime.” He nudged Pepper, who was standing beside him, her expression calm but approving.

Pepper glanced at you, a smile tugging at her lips. “It doesn't just suit her—she’s setting a new standard,” she added, her tone firm. “If anyone can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”

Tony chuckled, giving Lord Carter a pointed look. “Quite right, let them grumble. She’s not just ruling—she’s rewriting the rulebook. You might want to take notes.”

Lord Carter scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “A queen rewriting the rulebook? That’s not how tradition works, Stark,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Before Tony could respond, Lord Pierce chimed in, his voice smooth and calculated. 

“Tradition has its place, Tony,” Pierce said, his gaze flickering between the queen and the lords. “But there’s a fine line between boldness and rebellion. And I’m not sure which side of that line our queen is walking right now.”

Tony, ever unflappable, raised an eyebrow. “Boldness, rebellion—call it what you want. But progress doesn’t happen without shaking things up.” He leaned closer to Pepper, adding with a smirk, “And she’s shaking things up in the best way possible.”

Wanda, standing near the edge of the crowd, watched with a mixture of quiet awe and tension. Her eyes flickered with admiration for your boldness, but there was a shadow of concern in her expression, knowing the stir it would cause among the more traditional members of the court.

Beside her, Natasha smirked, crossing her arms with a knowing glance toward Wanda. “She’s always known how to make an entrance,” Natasha murmured, her voice low, though the pride in her tone was unmistakable.

Wanda’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as she tried to stifle a smile, her gaze briefly shifting to the far end of the gathering. Her fingers brushed absently over a simple ring she wore—small and unadorned, hidden in plain sight yet easily overlooked. It was not a royal symbol, but one with personal significance.

Natasha’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the movement, and her smirk deepened knowingly. “I’d wager there’s more than one reason you’re watching so closely,” she said in an even quieter tone, her eyes flickering toward Isaac, who stood further back, observing the crowd with his usual intensity.

Wanda’s expression faltered for just a moment, the barest flicker of something unspoken passing between her and Natasha. She quickly composed herself, her voice soft but firm. 

“You know the court likes a good spectacle,” she replied, deflecting with a grace that only someone well-versed in keeping secrets could muster.

Across the field, Isaac’s gaze briefly locked onto Wanda’s, and for the faintest second, his lips curled into a smirk—a fleeting gesture, but one that carried a world of meaning between the two of them.

As you made your way toward your horse, the whispers grew louder, though no one dared to speak directly to you. But you could feel their gazes on you—on your legs, your hips, the way the trousers clung to your body as you moved to mount your horse.

Beside you, Steve adjusted his reins, giving you a knowing glance. “So, is this your plan tonight? To cause a stir?”

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re going to lecture me too, Captain.”

Steve chuckled, his eyes sweeping over the crowd briefly before returning to you. 

"Not my place. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "I don’t think anyone’s in a position to lecture you right now."

Your gaze flickered to Bucky, standing just beyond the track, his eyes dark as they followed your every movement. His posture was calm, but the way his jaw clenched and his hands tightened at his sides told a different story—he looked unimpressed. It was the way the majority are practically undressing you with their eyes, their curiosity and barely concealed admiration not going unnoticed by him.

Thor, ever the blunt one, muttered something under his breath that earned him a sharp elbow from Loki. Pietro, catching Thor’s comment, snickered and leaned over to nudge one of the nearby riders, clearly enjoying the stir you were causing.

“Sons of. . .” Bucky muttered under his breath.

You stole a glance at Bucky from your peripheral vision, noticing the sharp way he mounted his horse. His movements were precise, but the tightness in his jaw and the simmering anger behind his eyes were impossible to miss. He looked like a man barely holding back.

Steve also caught sight of him, his brow furrowing slightly. “Looks like the king’s decided to join,” Steve muttered, his tone neutral but observant.

You kept your eyes forward, not wanting to give Bucky the satisfaction of your attention. Your grip tightened around the reins, frustration still simmering inside you, unresolved and heavy.

Bucky maneuvered his horse next to yours, his presence imposing. He said nothing at first, but you could feel the intensity radiating off him, a storm waiting to break.

“Are you really joining the race now, Your Majesty?” you said, your voice tight, lacking the usual teasing tone. It wasn’t a playful question—it was a challenge.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes dark with frustration of his own. “Someone needs to keep an eye on things,” he muttered under his breath, though you knew his words carried a double meaning.

You didn’t respond, your jaw clenched as you stared ahead, trying to keep your emotions in check. Steve, noticing the tension between the two of you, stayed quiet, though you could sense he felt uneasy.

As the starting horn blared, signaling the beginning of the race, your heart pounded not just from the anticipation of the race, but from the unresolved tension hanging thick in the air between you and Bucky.

The horn blasted through the crisp evening air, sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. You nudge your horse forward, feeling the powerful surge of muscle beneath you as the mare shoots ahead. The pounding of hooves echoed all around, the cheers of the crowd turning into a muffled roar as you focused on the track ahead.

Beside you, Steve was a steady presence, his horse galloping in sync with yours. His gaze remained forward, his focus razor-sharp, but you could sense his concern, even in the midst of the race. To your left, Bucky pushed his stallion hard, his frustration clearly feeding into his determination to win.

You leaned forward, your grip tightening on the reins as the wind whipped through your hair. The scent of the earth beneath you, the thundering of hooves, and the rush of the competition were all-consuming. For a moment, the weight of the palace, the consort ceremony, and your own personal turmoil faded away.

Bucky drew closer, his horse nearly neck-and-neck with yours. You could feel his presence beside you, the unspoken tension between you thick in the air. You didn't look at him, your focus entirely on the path ahead. But you knew he was pushing just as hard, if not harder, trying to overtake you.

Steve, on your other side, matched your pace, his horse galloping fiercely as the three of you tore down the track. The crowd was a blur, their cheers blending into one cacophonous sound. You couldn’t focus on anything but the finish line, your heart pounding as you urged your horse forward.

The ground flew by beneath you, the wind tugging at your clothes as you edged ahead, your mare responding to your commands with every ounce of strength she had. Bucky’s stallion was right beside you, his breaths coming hard, his eyes locked on the finish line just as yours were.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a dark blur shot past both you and Bucky, startling the horses. You blinked, barely able to process what had just happened as a familiar figure streaked ahead of the pack—Isaac. His horse, sleek and black as night, thundered down the track with blinding speed, leaving dust in his wake.

Isaac, of all people, had appeared out of thin air.

“What the—” Steve muttered under his breath, his eyes widening in surprise as he watched Isaac speed toward the finish line, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

You and Bucky exchanged brief glances, both of you equally shocked by the sudden intrusion. But Isaac’s horse was too fast, and within moments, he had crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupting into wild cheers and laughter.

Isaac slowed his horse, turning it around with effortless grace, a smug grin spreading across his face as he trotted back toward the rest of the riders.

“Well, well,” Isaac drawled, his tone smug. “It seems I’ve beaten the king and the queen at their own race.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugged at your lips despite the tension still lingering inside you. Isaac, always the showman, had once again stolen the spotlight.

Bucky, however, was less amused. His jaw was clenched tightly, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins. He gave Isaac a look that could melt steel, but Isaac only laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

“Better luck next time, brother,” Isaac said, his tone teasing as he dismounted with ease, handing the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys.

You dismounted as well, patting your mare’s side appreciatively. Steve shook his head, still catching his breath, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watched Isaac bask in the attention of the crowd.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Steve remarked dryly, glancing at you with raised eyebrows.

“Nothing’s ever simple when Isaac’s involved,” you replied with a sigh, though a small part of you was relieved. At least, for a brief moment, the focus had shifted away from the simmering tension between you and Bucky.

× × × ×

The archery field was abuzz with excitement, the tension thick in the air as the nobles gathered to watch the competition. It was a favored event of the equinox festival, where skill, precision, and a bit of bravado were put on display. You stood at the edge of the range, the familiar weight of the bow in your hands calming your nerves. The festival had drawn in many of the lords, and though this was meant to be a lighthearted competition, you felt the eyes of the court upon you.

Across the field, Lord Carter stood with his usual haughty air, his gaze flicking toward you with thinly veiled disdain. He held a small scroll in his hand, one that he had been waving around during conversations, clearly making a point to anyone who would listen. The sight of him only fueled the fire that had been smoldering in you all day.

You took a steadying breath, narrowing your gaze at the target in front of you. Initially, your focus was sharp on the bullseye—your bow raised, the arrow nocked perfectly. The tension in the string built, the anticipation thickening in the air.

But then something shifted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Pierce—his face pale and tight with frustration. He looked as though he had just received dire news, and his entire posture screamed of someone desperately trying to leave unnoticed. 

Isaac, however, stood in his way, blocking his path with a casual but firm presence, his lips curled into an amused smirk as he conversed with the clearly flustered councilman.

Your lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Carter had initially been your target, but this new opportunity was far too tempting. With a subtle adjustment to your aim, you set your sights on Pierce instead.

Beside you, Steve stood still, his sharp gaze catching the subtle shift in your movements. He didn’t speak, but you felt the weight of his attention on you, ever steady and watchful.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” the official called out, waiting for your signal to begin the round.

You gave a slight nod, your eyes never leaving Pierce now. The bow raised, string pulled taut, the arrow perfectly nocked and ready to fly.

The arrow sliced through the air with deadly precision, the sound of it cutting through the stillness of the field. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd as the arrow veered away from the intended target—a bullseye—and instead found its mark: Pierce’s coat, pinning it cleanly to the wooden post behind him.

Pierce froze mid-step, his eyes wide as he looked down at the arrow now securing him in place. His face flushed with a mixture of shock and fury, but before he could fully react, another arrow swiftly followed the first, pinning the opposite side of his coat, effectively trapping him.

Isaac, who had been standing beside Pierce, took a startled step back, his usual composure briefly faltering as he flinched when the arrow thudded into the post. His eyes widened for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden display of your boldness.

But as quickly as the surprise came, Isaac’s face shifted into a toothy grin. He leaned against the post casually, the smirk deepening as he locked eyes with you from across the field. Pierce, now quite literally stuck, looked from the arrows to you, his face a mask of barely contained rage. But even he knew better than to cause a scene now.

The nobles, too, were silent, eyes wide as they processed what had just happened. The message was unmistakable.

You lowered your bow with the same calm, collected grace, turning away from the target as if you hadn’t just sent the boldest statement of the day.

Steve, mounted on his horse nearby, chuckled softly under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’d say that hit the mark.”

You smirked, glancing up at him. “I was aiming for something a little more symbolic.”

Across the field, Pierce’s face burned with fury, but the message had already been sent. The crowd had seen it, and no words could undo the statement you had just made. Isaac, though momentarily caught off guard, seemed to enjoy the chaos you had stirred, his smirk never leaving his face.

Isaac’s grin widened as he watched Pierce struggle, the councilman’s face contorting in frustration as he tugged at his coat, trying to free himself from the arrows that had pinned him to the wooden post. The crowd had already started to murmur, but no one dared move to assist Pierce, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Isaac leaned casually against the post, his arms crossed, an air of mock amusement hanging around him. He glanced down at Pierce, his tone light but dripping with playful malice.

"Having some trouble there, Lord Pierce?"

Pierce grunted, his hands desperately trying to pull one of the arrows from the wood. His face reddened further with each futile attempt. 

“Get these off, now,” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low but seething with rage.

Isaac chuckled softly, making no move to help. 

“You seem perfectly capable,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “But if you insist, I’m sure one of the guards could lend a hand. Then again,” he added with a smirk, “it’s quite the spectacle. I’d hate to rob the court of such entertainment.”

Pierce shot him a venomous glare, his anger only deepening as Isaac remained where he was, clearly enjoying the moment far too much. With a final grunt of frustration, Pierce yanked harder at one of the arrows, but the force only caused him to stumble slightly, his coat still firmly attached to the post.

Isaac raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Perhaps you should have a bit more practice at the archery field, my lord. It appears those arrows are giving you quite the challenge."

Pierce was panting now, his hands trembling slightly from the exertion, but Isaac only took a step back, waving his hand dismissively. 

"I’ll leave you to it," he said lazily, as if this were all just a game to him. "Good luck, Lord Pierce."

With that, Isaac turned on his heel and strolled away, his posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just left one of the most powerful members of the council humiliated and trapped in front of half the court. As he walked, he glanced back briefly, catching your eye from across the field. The knowing glint in his gaze spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, Pierce, still pinned to the post, continued his struggle, his pride preventing him from calling for help, even as the sweat beaded on his brow. The scene played out before the gathered nobles, each one pretending not to notice but clearly watching with bated breath as one of their own remained stuck, while Isaac walked away with an easy swagger.

× × × × 

The evening had descended into something almost ethereal. The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm, golden light across the festival grounds, the crackle of bonfires filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke. Along the shore, people gathered with lanterns in hand, preparing to send their wishes into the sky. The vast expanse of the ocean reflected the flickering lights, making it seem as though the heavens and the sea were one.

People gathered in clusters, their faces illuminated by the soft flicker of flames as they prepared their lanterns—small, delicate paper structures painted with wishes for the coming winter.

All around you, there was a quiet anticipation, a sense of magic in the air as families, couples, and children alike whispered their hopes and dreams into the night, preparing to send them into the sky.

You stood at the edge of the bonfires, the glow of the flames casting shadows across your face. Despite the crowd, you felt a strange sense of solitude, as though the weight of the night had draped itself over your shoulders, keeping you apart from the festivities.

The murmurs of the crowd fell into a soft lull, the crackle of the fire becoming the only sound as you watched people begin to release their lanterns into the sky. The first few floated up gently, their soft light flickering against the dark canvas of the night. One by one, they began to rise, slowly at first, then with more purpose, as though they were being drawn toward the heavens.

It was breathtaking, a moment that felt almost too perfect for the reality of the world you had come to know. The lanterns drifted higher, the soft glow creating a shimmering constellation of hopes and wishes above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s voice came softly from behind you, and you turned to find him standing there, his face partially illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. His eyes, however, were trained on the sky, watching the lanterns rise like tiny stars escaping into the night.

You hadn’t expected him to find you—not tonight. You hadn’t expected him to break away from the formalities of his role. And yet, here he was, his presence grounding you in a way that only he could.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The lanterns were already rising, drifting gently into the night sky, their soft light like stars scattered against the darkness. It was breathtaking, but the beauty of it only heightened the sense of longing that had settled deep within you.

“It feels like the whole world is wishing for something,” you said softly, your gaze returning to the sky. “. . . better. Something brighter.”

Bucky moved closer, his hand brushing against yours. It was such a simple gesture, but it was enough to ground you in the moment. His fingers curled around yours, warm and securing. You didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been wishing too,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you turned to face him more fully. “And what is it that you wish for, James?”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. There was a vulnerability you rarely saw in him—one that he only ever revealed to you.

“For you,” he murmured. “to be genuinely happy.”

Bucky's hand tightened around yours, his eyes, so full of unspoken love and longing, held yours with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

“What did you wish for?” Bucky asked.

Your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, your fingers still gripping his as though letting go might cause the world to crumble around you. 

"I wished for peace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For all of this—the chaos, the pressure—to end."

Bucky’s thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance. “And for yourself?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. His blue eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You swallowed hard, searching for the right words.

“I wished for…” you trailed off, the truth threatening to spill over. But you stopped yourself, the weight of duty pressing on you again. You forced a smile instead, your fingers tightening around his. “I wished for the kingdom to thrive.”

“That’s not for yourself. . .”

Bucky’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push further. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned his head back toward the lanterns drifting higher into the sky. His silence was deafening, but the way his fingers held yours told you he understood what you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Around you, the lanterns continued to rise, hundreds of them now, filling the sky with their soft, golden light. The bonfires crackled softly in the distance, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world felt peaceful. The magic of the moment lingered in the air, and in that quiet space, you allowed yourself to believe—just for a little while—that the wishes drifting into the sky might actually come true.

Bucky’s hand slipped from yours, but only for a moment. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, unlit lantern, holding it out to you.

“One more,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “For us.”

Your fingers brushed his as you accepted the lantern, a quiet understanding passing between you. Together, you lit it, the warm glow illuminating both of your faces as the flame flickered to life. Slowly, you both lifted it, ready to release it into the sky.

Just as you were about to let go, Bucky’s voice, soft and full of longing, stopped you. Your breath stilled as his fingers brushed against yours, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made the world around you fade. The noise of the festival, the glow of the lanterns, everything melted away until there was only him.

“I wish…” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze unwavering. “I wish that one day, we’ll have a child of our own. A piece of you and me, together.”

The warmth of the lantern’s flame flickered between you, casting a soft glow on his face, illuminating every detail—the way his lips parted slightly, the gentle curve of his jaw, the unspoken promise in his eyes.

And then, without another word, you both released the lantern together, you watched it rise into the night sky, carrying his wish—your shared wish—into the heavens. 

Bucky’s gaze never left your face, even as the lantern disappeared into the sea of lights above. 

× × × ×

It was the day of officializing the Consort.

The towering oak tree stood at the edge of the palace gardens, its massive branches stretching out like protective arms. You had always found solace here, the leaves whispering in the breeze, the rough bark grounding you when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control. 

Scott stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed casually as he looked up at you. By now, he had grown used to your need for solitude, often finding you up in the branches after difficult moments. He had long stopped trying to convince you to come down, knowing that this was where you found some measure of peace.

“They’ve sedated Lady Monica,” Scott said, his voice carrying up to you. “She had a mild wrist fracture, but the physician said she’ll recover quickly. You can visit her once she’s awake.”

You nodded from your perch, though your mind was still far from the present. 

“I’ll visit her before the Ceremony.”

The world felt muted, your emotions dulled by today’s event. You had wanted to visit Monica earlier but duty had held you back. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of footsteps on the grass drew both you and Scott’s attention. Steve approached quietly, his usual careful, measured strides carrying him toward the oak tree. His gaze flicked up to you, concern written plainly on his face. You knew he’d come to check on you.

Scott glanced at Steve, then back at you. 

"I'll give you two a moment," he said, his voice gentle. With a nod, Scott stepped back, disappearing into the distance to give you some space.

Steve stood at the base of the tree, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze soft. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with an expression you had come to recognize—gentle concern mingled with adoration that seemed to grow more obvious.

“Good Morning,” Steve called up quietly, his voice carrying up to your branch. “I figured I’d find you here.”

You glanced down, the feel of his presence tugging at the edges of your solitude. 

“I needed some air,” you replied softly, your voice carrying down to him.

Steve nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Understandable. It’s been... a long couple of days."

For a moment, there was only the rustling of the leaves and the distant sounds of the palace. Steve remained silent, giving you the space to speak if you wanted to—but you didn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly, letting the wind play with your hair, trying to push the ache in your chest deeper down.

But Steve, ever patient, didn’t press. He simply waited, knowing that being there was enough.

After a long silence, you opened your eyes to find Steve studying the branches above him, calculating something. Then, he lifted his arms up, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and began to climb.

Your brow lifted as you watched him pull himself up, his movements a bit more confident than the last time he attempted this. 

“Your climbing skills have improved,” you teased, leaning back against the trunk as he hoisted himself onto the branch across from you.

Steve let out a breath, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he settled himself on the branch, facing you. 

“Not like a schoolboy anymore, huh?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not quite.”

There was a brief silence between you as Steve adjusted his position, leaning his back against the trunk. He watched you for a moment, his usual guarded demeanor softening just a touch. It was clear he wasn’t here simply to check on you—there was something else in his expression, something deeper that he hadn’t yet found the words for.

“I figured I’d come see how you were holding up,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. His eyes never left your face.

You gave a small shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual. He could see right through the façade you were trying to keep up—he always could. “Thinking about the ceremony?”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers idly tracing the bark of the branch beneath you. “Among other things.”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful. He shifted slightly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his gaze out toward the horizon. 

“You don’t have to be fine, you know. Not with me.”

Something in his voice made you pause. There was a gentleness there that you hadn’t expected, a quiet invitation to drop the mask you wore for everyone else. For a moment, the walls you had built around yourself wavered.

“I know,” you said softly, your eyes dropping to the space between you. “It’s just… complicated.”

“It usually is.” Steve let out a small breath, nodding in understanding.

There was a brief silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt as though the two of you were suspended in time, the weight of the palace, the crown, the duties all falling away for just a moment.

Steve shifted again, this time leaning in a little closer, his voice quieter, almost conspiratorial. “You know, I was half expecting you to climb even higher. Maybe hide out completely.”

“And what would you have done if I did?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Probably tried to climb higher too,” he said with a shrug, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “Though I’m not sure how well that would’ve gone.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I think you’d manage.”

The lighthearted exchange brought some relief, but your thoughts quickly drifted back to the heavier matters weighing on your mind. You shifted slightly, drawing a deep breath before speaking again, though this time, you found it harder to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Steve,” you began slowly, almost cautiously. “What… will happen after?”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in your tone. “With… what, exactly?”

“The things that happen after the ceremony... I heard it’s a two-day ritual? Consorts weren’t a tradition in Zienna.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, clearly understanding the underlying tension in your question. He shifted a little closer, his voice soft yet steady. 

“Yeah, the council has their way of doing things, stretching it all out. There’s usually some symbolic rites for the consort to cement their place. A formality, really.”

You nodded, but your eyes stayed focused on the ground. “And then… after all that?”

Steve could see through your hesitation, the way your words trailed off as if you were too afraid to say what you were truly thinking. His heart clenched, knowing what weighed on your mind but not wanting to cause you more pain.

“You’re wondering about the heir,” he said, gently pulling the words from your silence.

You didn’t answer, but the slight tension in your shoulders spoke volumes.

Steve’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his voice filled with the quiet confidence you had always relied on. 

“Look, Y/N… I know the council will push for an heir, but don’t get caught up in their expectations. Bucky’s heart? It’s yours. No matter what they want or what they say… he’s yours.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, and for the first time in a while, you felt a small sense of relief. Steve’s words held a warmth that wrapped around you like a protective shield, something solid to hold on to amidst the uncertainty.

“But... what if…” you trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steve’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering. “It will not change his feelings toward you,” he said firmly, his tone steady and assured.

You let out a quiet breath, but the unease still lingered. “Really? I cannot help but think feelings do shift as one spends more time with another.” Your eyes held him with a knowing look, one that hinted at a deeper understanding of what lay beneath the surface.

Steve’s jaw tensed slightly, his composure faltering for a fraction of a second as your words hit their mark. His gaze flickered away, just briefly, before he composed himself once more, his voice low and measured when he spoke again.

"You should stop now, Captain, before it gets deeper."

Steve chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of resignation, as though he'd been caught red-handed. His tongue briefly swiped across his teeth, a small, reflexive gesture that gave away more than he intended. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but this time, there was something lighter in his gaze—something that spoke of a truth he'd been holding onto for too long.

“Hm,” he said quietly, his smile faint but genuine. “Guess I’ve been found out, huh?”

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You’re really obvious.”

Steve’s gaze flickered with amusement, though there was a trace of something deeper behind his expression. “Maybe I wasn’t trying too hard to hide it from you.” 

But then Steve’s expression softened, the playfulness fading into something more sincere. His hand dropped from his neck, resting on his knee as he leaned forward, his tone quiet but resolute.

“But you don’t have to worry. I won’t act on it. I won’t pursue you—because I can’t.” He hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if wanting to make sure you understood. “You’ve got enough on your shoulders as it is. I won’t add to it.”

There was a steady resolve in his voice, a reassurance that he wouldn’t let his feelings complicate things further. Yet, even as he spoke the words, you both knew that the tension between you would remain.

His smile returned, softer this time, though tinged with a hint of sadness. “Just know… wherever you go, that's where I follow. Always.”

× × × ×

You walked slowly down the corridor, Isaac at your side, his silent presence a steadying force, though unease curled deep in your chest. The weight of guilt gnawed at you, but you forced it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

Isaac's eyes were sharp, ever watchful, as you neared Monica's bedside. He hadn’t said much since he insisted on coming along, and though a part of you wondered why, Steve's lack of resistance made you push the thought aside. Isaac always carried that quiet intensity, a storm kept at bay but ready to break if needed.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a habit he never quite lost, even when no danger was immediately present. His demeanor was far from relaxed, his presence reminding you of the subtle tensions that still ran through the palace.

“Are you sure about this?” Isaac asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead.

You nodded, keeping your face neutral despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “I should have come sooner.”

Isaac gave a curt nod but said nothing more, pushing open the door to the infirmary. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter first, though his sharp gaze never left you.

Monica lay in the bed by the window, her complexion still pale, but her eyes open. When the door creaked, she glanced over, her lips curling into a faint smile upon seeing you.

“Your Majesty,” Monica greeted, her voice strained as she tried to sit up.

You moved quickly to her bedside, gently motioning for her to lie back. “Don’t strain yourself,” you said, keeping your tone as stern as possible.

Monica gave you a small smile, her hand reaching out weakly toward you. You took it, her skin cold against yours.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, your mind racing. The guilt was there, gnawing at you, but you refused to let it show. “I should have been here sooner, Monica. I should have known something was wrong.”

Monica squeezed your hand, though her grip was feeble. “Don’t… blame yourself.”

Your jaw clenched. “But I can’t help feeling responsible. I should have been more vigilant—I’ve been too focused on my own self pity.”

Monica shook her head weakly, her gaze steady despite her weakened state. “No, your majesty… this is not on you. They’re targeting you… you know that. But this… this wasn’t your fault.”

You took a breath, glancing toward the window. “It still feels like I missed something. I should’ve been paying attention to the signs.”

Monica’s gaze softened. “You’re doing your best, my Queen. Don’t carry a weight that isn’t yours.”

Isaac, who had been standing silently near the door, his arms crossed as he observed the exchange, let his gaze drift between the two women, his face impassive but his mind already calculating. His fingers drummed lightly against his arm, betraying the restlessness stirring beneath his calm exterior.

A long silence stretched between them before Monica’s expression shifted. Her gaze became more serious, a glint of worry creeping into her eyes. 

“Your Majesty… are you still drinking tea?”

You blinked as confusion crossed your features. 

“Tea? Y-yes, but not often why?”

“Any tea,” Monica pressed, her voice a little stronger now. “Not just the tea Lady Sharon brought you… have you been drinking anything else?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed sharply. He took a step forward, his voice low and measured, though his tone carried an unmistakable edge. 

“Why do you ask?”

Monica hesitated, glancing between you and Isaac, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke. “Because… I ran a test on the tea that was brought to you—I believe you saw me. . .Prince Isaac?”

Isaac recalled and nodded twice.

“What do you mean?”

Monica’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, her voice grave. “It wasn’t just tea. It was tainted with Silphium.”

Your brow furrowed. “Silphium?” The name meant little to you; you had never studied such herbs in detail. “What is that?”

Isaac’s gaze darkened, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes, though his expression remained inscrutable. 

He spoke, his voice a shade colder now. “Silphium is a contraceptive, Your Majesty. Highly effective… and not something that should have been anywhere near your cup.”

Monica nodded grimly. “And worse than that… it wasn’t only Silphium. There was also a small amount of wolfsbane mixed in.”

Isaac’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. He stepped forward, his posture predatory, a dark storm cloud on the verge of eruption. 

“Wolfsbane? Poison?” His voice was dangerously quiet, simmering with a lethal calm. 

Monica shook her head, her face clouded with concern. “The combination is dangerous. It could have harmed her far more than just preventing an heir. Silphium alone is potent, but adding wolfsbane could… well, it could weaken her considerably.”

Isaac’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile, though an ounce of humor was absent. He turned toward you, his eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. Isaac scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as if disgusted by the messiness of the situation. 

“Huh. I see now,” he muttered, his voice low. He met your gaze, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. 

The tension in the room mounted, the implications of what had been revealed settling heavily in the air. You felt your stomach twist, a cold realization sweeping over you—someone wants you dead.

Isaac’s voice cut through the charged air, dark and commanding. “This is an attack.”

Monica’s voice broke through the charged air, her tone still soft but filled with caution. “Please, Your Majesty, you must be careful. Whoever is behind this. . . have something against the royal family.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, but a steely resolve building within you. 

Isaac stood by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection, his demeanor now cold and calculating, ready to do whatever was necessary. As you glanced at him, you could see the fire in his eyes.

× × × × 

As you left Monica’s chambers, the weight of the revelation pressed down on you like a physical burden. The air felt colder, the hallways stretching endlessly ahead as you walked side by side with Isaac. Each step seemed heavier, your thoughts racing as the full implication of the situation crashed over you. Silphium. Wolfsbane. Someone had ordered to poison your tea—someone who wanted to weaken you, perhaps even kill you.

Your breath quickened, coming in shallow bursts, your chest tight as anger and fear swirled within you, threatening to spill over. The rage—it was too much to contain. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together, to keep the storm of emotions from escaping. But it was no use. Your breathing became frantic, fast and shallow, and you could feel the tingling in your fingers and toes as the lack of oxygen spread through your body.

Isaac’s sharp gaze flickered toward you. He sensed the shift immediately, the way your steps faltered, the way your shoulders trembled. Without a word, he moved closer, his hand resting firmly at the small of your back, guiding you forward, keeping you upright as your legs threatened to give way beneath you.

“Steady,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with a surprising gentleness, one that cut through the storm in your mind. “Breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air wouldn’t come. Your chest tightened further, your vision darkening at the edges as the tears spilled over. You tried to focus, to ground yourself, but it was like drowning in your own fury and helplessness.

Isaac’s grip tightened around you as your legs buckled. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you against him with swift, protective force. He held you up effortlessly, his expression hardening with concern as he watched you struggle for breath.

“You’re not collapsing here,” Isaac said, his voice firm, steady, but not unkind. His grip on your shoulders tightened just slightly, “Y/N. . . Y/N! Slow your breathing. Breathe with me.”

His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the haze of your panic, pulling you back. You were barely aware of your surroundings, but Isaac’s presence was solid. His breath was slow, deliberate, and he leaned in closer, bringing his face level with yours.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency. You forced your eyes to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze almost made you falter. But you held on, your breaths coming in short, sharp exhales, your chest tight with anger and frustration.

“Breathe with me,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he inhaled, his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm. You tried to follow his lead, matching his breaths, but the rage inside you made it difficult.

Tears welled up in your eyes, your vision blurring once more. Isaac’s expression softened, just slightly, as if he could see the storm raging inside you. His hands moved from your shoulders to gently cup your face, his fingers cool against your heated skin.

His gaze held yours, intense and searching. The world around you seemed to come back, his attention pulling you back to the present.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked onto yours. 

Your breath began to slow, your body responding to his calm, but your heart still raced, not from fear but from the intensity of the moment. His eyes never wavered, holding you there, steady and secure, until you felt yourself coming back into control.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Isaac whispered, his voice barely audible but sharp with purpose. His hands remained firm against your skin, grounding you. “Just a bit longer. The ceremony is coming, and everyone is there. You need to be ready.”

His words sliced through the haze clouding your mind, a harsh reminder of the responsibilities that awaited you. His eyes never left yours, as if willing you to find the strength within yourself. Despite the rage and the panic, you knew he was right.

With a deep, shaky breath, you nodded, feeling the last remnants of panic begin to ease. Isaac nodded, his expression softening just slightly as he saw the determination return to your eyes. 

“Let’s go,” he said quietly but firmly, releasing your arm and stepping back, giving you a moment to gather yourself fully.

You straightened, your heart still pounding but your mind now clearer, sharper. Without another word, you and Isaac turned and began walking toward the Great Hall.

The ceremony took place in the Great Hall where the council members stood in a semi-circle, watching closely, their faces impassive—except Pietro Maximoff who now seemed to be getting weird looks from other council members. The Queen Dowager sat quietly at the head of the hall, her expression indecipherable. Steve stood by the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze never leaving the center of the room. But Isaac who you swore was there mere seconds ago was gone.

× × × ×

The infirmary was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the nearby fire in the hearth. Shadows danced across the room, casting a faint glow over Monica’s resting figure. The heavy scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, and the soft rustle of linen was the only other sound.

Sharon stood by Monica's bedside, her eyes narrowing as she watched the stillness of her body. Her heart pounded, her mind racing with the grim task she had come to finish. With a steady hand, she reached for the pillow beside Monica’s head, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

Without hesitation, she lifted the pillow, bringing it close, her breath quickening as she hovered over Monica's face, prepared to snuff out the last remnants of life As Sharon pressed the pillow down, Monica's body jolted awake, her hands flailing wildly, clawing at the fabric with desperate panic. Her legs kicked beneath the blanket, trying to fight for air, her eyes wide with fear.

But before Monica's struggling could fully register, Sharon was suddenly ripped away from the bed. A powerful hand clamped around her throat, yanking her back with such force that she slammed into the stone wall behind her.

Isaac stood over her, his expression dark and commanding, his hand still wrapped tightly around her neck. His eyes gleamed with a cold, dangerous intensity, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he held her against the wall. The casual, almost predatory ease in his posture made her blood run cold.

“You’re really becoming quite the nuisance, aren’t you?” Isaac’s voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. His thumb brushed lightly over her throat, sending a shiver through her, though there was no mercy in his eyes. His grip tightened slightly, making her gasp.

Behind them, Monica's hands were still weakly reaching toward her throat, gasping for breath, but Isaac's focus remained solely on Sharon.

Sharon struggled in his hold, her eyes wide with shock as she grasped at his wrist, but Isaac didn’t budge. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You should have known better than to try something like this under my watch,” he murmured, his voice a soft, lethal purr. “Now, tell me… was this your own idea, or are you following someone else’s orders?”

Sharon’s chest heaved, her breath shallow, jaw clenched as she refused to answer. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“No? Well then, perhaps I’ll give you a moment to reconsider before I lose my patience,” he added, his voice like silk, though there was a lethal promise hidden beneath the surface.

For a moment, Sharon struggled to breathe, her eyes darting between Isaac and the doorway, her mind racing for an escape. But Isaac’s hold didn’t falter—he was in complete control, and he knew it.

Finally, after a few tense seconds, Isaac loosened his grip just slightly, enough for her to gasp for air. He raised an eyebrow, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.

"You have a choice here, Sharon," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with barely contained menace. "Answer me… or I can make this much worse for you.”

Tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

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[cr4yolaas]

the night shift — slow down

day 5 | masterlist | day 7

now playing: heart to heart by mac demarco

"you're late," she hums, with a lilt of tease and jest. she doesn't look up at him. the jingle of the doors opening cues her into fixing her posture, her spine fitting into the shape of her chair. he watches the action but can't quite process it, too overwhelmed with all the sweat and clothes and hair sticking to his skin.

an apology falls from chapped lips instinctively. he slips into the space behind the counter and discards his jacket from his figure, haphazardly throwing it into the break room before taking his usual seat beside her. "practice ran overtime," he heaves out as soon as he settles into his spot. like routine.

it's a slow day. the night shift is busy, for the most part, but there are the rare handful of days where the store is stagnant. they're silent, save for the hums of the heater and the refrigerators and the wind outside the window, and compared to the last shift they'd worked together, it's not so tense. it's light, almost, the burden of unspoken words and misdirected emotions no longer weighing heavily on their shoulders. he basks in it, just for a moment, before she gets up from her chair to busy herself with something, anything to escape the stasis. he follows suit.

restocks are her favorite task, he's noticed. it's her go-to to pass time, when her hands don't know what to do with themselves and her mind runs rampant. the boxes sit beside the snack shelves, the tape sliced open and the flaps lifted, ready to be emptied and organized. his shoulder brushes against hers briefly as he situates himself next to her, leaning into the depths of the first shipment and handing each product to her one by one. they fall into a slow, steady system. he passes. she places.

"remind me why you didn't go pro?" she questions almost a bit too loudly, failing to consider whether or not she's breaching a checkpoint that she isn't meant to pass yet. she notices the stutter in his movements, the flicker of a hitched breath, the avoidant stare. the perspiration still sticks to his forehead from before, evidence of the effort he had been putting into practice moments before clocking in.

kageyama stands, his shoulders rolling back and the bones popping slightly. an inhale through his nose, an exhale through his mouth, and he droops, as if physically bearing the mental baggage of what she presumed to be his passion. "i burned out, i think," he starts. it's barely there, barely audible. "i think i was also just scared. i was becoming someone i didn't recognize, so," he pauses. "i dropped it."

i think, i think, i think, as if he was still unsure in a decision he made years ago. she leans against the shelf with one shoulder, her eyes fixed on his while he fidgets with a bag of candy. "do you regret it?"

"sometimes," he whispers, almost sheepishly. "i do want to seek help for it. yachi recommended therapy, but," he pauses again, placing the candy in his palms into hers. he wills his mind into ignoring the way her hand ghosts over his, but his body can't seem to follow suit, with the ticklish feeling running through his palm and the dusting of pink on the corners of his ears (it's only visible if you look hard enough). the bag is set up neatly on the shelf, in line with all the others of its kind. "id want someone i know to listen to me. someone who actually knows me, not someone who's forced to."

she doesn't ask any more -- she knows not to. her shoes squeak against the tile as she makes her way to the next row, kageyama following behind her with the cart of boxes. they fall back into routine. he passes. she places. again, and again, and again, until it's muscle memory, so much so that they just barely miss the chime of the doors opening.

the pair from across the street -- none other than her two favorite new grounds employees (and his, though he'd never admit that) -- waltz into the building, steaming hot coffees cusped between their gloved hands and thick, wooly scarves (matching, of course) wrapped around their necks. "we thought we'd visit," yamaguchi explains first, taking his and yachi's drinks and placing them on the counter as if the place were their own. "it's slow tonight, and i think i'd rather kill myself than make small talk with our boss."

the two rid themselves of their garments -- the scarves, the coats, the gloves -- and just like the coffee, it all finds itself splayed across the counter.

a warmth spreads through her chest at the sight. it comes again when they all sit behind the register, two spare plastic chairs pulled out for the newfound company. and it rises once more when they all laugh in unison, the sound reverberating in both the store and her heart. it trickles up from the bottom of her ribcage to the top of her head, and with each pass it makes, she feels even lighter.

she wonders where it all was before. the white-hot glow of everything around her washes over the burden of being once riddled in her bones, and she questions the bigger picture that had consumed her life before: the false yearning for what once was, the reminiscence, the overbearing memory of someone that isn't quite her. a soft breath falls from her tongue, and another, and another, and another.

ᡣ𐭩 sooo cheesy LOL. but i loved when i first thought of this chapter bc the vibes were so cute and warm and i needed it to be in this series

ᡣ𐭩 updates r obvs going much slower be of school..... i need to be shot before APs kill me (AP phys and AP calc bc i will always hate you)

ᡣ𐭩 kageyama very often comes in sweaty from practice. do with that what u will

ᡣ𐭩 it's not very common for yachi n yams to come into the store at all. to kind of clarify the relationship btwn yachi yams and yn, it's like online they're oomfs and irl theyre just moots. do u catch my drift. in all srs yn is the one to visit them more often (bc it's new grounds, duh) which is kind of what sparked the household connection (outside of kenhina)

ᡣ𐭩 it's ALSO not very common for kageyama to be asked about the decision that sort of haunts his entire life. his roommates know it's a sore topic, and they were also there when the decision was made, and hinata brings it up way too much already, and it's just such an awkward conversation that they try not to pry too far. which is both great and horrible for kags, bc while he doesn't necessarily want to talk about it all the time (again, the theme of running away from his problems), he knows that bottling it up doesn't help at all

ᡣ𐭩 am i projecting? i guess we'll never know!

ᡣ𐭩 as i'm typing this i'm realizing that i need to finish mezzo forte (might discontinue it to be honest but ARGHHGHGHSD its so close to ending)

ᡣ𐭩 the fall of mezzo forte is like my fall of the roman empire. but this isn't about mezzo forte this is about the night shift

taglist: @causenessus @strawberryurii @iiwaijime @savemebrazilhinata @tiramizuloz @conrad4life13 @wyrcan @zazathezaer @nperoconelcositoarriba @cupidsblonde @thechaosoflonging @diorzs @aozui @fefesooli

[goosewriting]

Cover It Up

summary: after getting a scolding from Ashura, Reth and reader get closer (follows the cover it up quest). 

relationship: Reth x gn!reader

warnings: fluff!, spoilers for Reth’s dialogue 

word count: 4k

A/N: more Reth because i love him fr fr <3 i'm not sure how many parts there will be to this but make sure to read the previous part if you haven't!

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

You’re working on a new piece of furniture that Tish gave you the instructions for, when you see Reth coming through the gates to your house plot. A slight panic settles in the pit of your stomach as you realise that you were so absorbed in your work you’ve completely lost track of time.

“Oh shoot, I didn’t forget we were meeting up or anything, right?” you ask as you set down your tools, hurrying to clean up your workstation.

“Nope,” he retorts, coming to a halt before you. “I came here unannounced.”

“Okay, good,” you breathe a sigh of relief, facing him fully. “So what’s up?”

“Nothing much,” he says and gives you his signature smile, leaning on the worktable with his hips. “I just wanted to see your face, is all.”

You narrow your eyes slightly at him in suspicion, but can’t help mirror his smile.

“Well, take your fill.”

He studies your face for a moment.

“Ah, yes,” he concludes with a nod. “That’s the face of my favourite person right there. Good to know it’s still there.”

“Why wouldn’t my face be here,” you retort with a chuckle, but then furrow your brows in worry. “Seriously though, is something wrong? I’m not complaining about you being here; it’s just that it’s rare for you to come by like this.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping forward slightly.

“Yeah, I, uh, I actually need your help,” he admits. “Again.”

You motion for him to sit next to you on the bench by the entrance of your house.

“Sure thing,” you reassure him once you’re both seated. “What can I do?”

Reth takes a deep breath, gesturing with his hands as he talks.

“So, remember the whole thing where I made a huge dinner for Ashura and his friends because he kept seeing me going into the back rooms,” (How could I forget, you think.) “Well, turns out he didn’t believe me at all, actually. He’s keeping an extra eye on me now, and some shipments for, you know, have been suffering because of that.” He can’t hold your gaze and it falls to his lap instead. “I need to change bases for a while.”

Reth then asks for your map, and you hand it to him. He marks some places where you’re to leave some shipments in Bahari Bay. You look at the places he marked, mentally already tracing the path you'd take so as not to be seen, and hopefully not run into anyone.

“The shipments are in the storage room,” he adds. “Can you pick them up tonight?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” you say with a small smile. He’s visibly relieved at your words.

“Thank you so much.” He runs a hand over his face and shoots you a sheepish smile. “I don’t know why you keep putting up with me like this, but I really appreciate this.”

“Hey, we said no more of that negative self-talk,” you remark and give him a playful push to his shoulder. “I help because I want to.”

Reth looks at you for a moment with a slight tilt to his head. What did he do to deserve you?

“How about I have some food ready for when you come back?,” he offers, and you immediately perk up at that. “Any wishes?”

“You know I never say no to your food,” you laugh, and think for a moment about his offer. “I’m craving… something greasy. Finger food. With potatoes.”

He laughs at your odd request.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can come up with.”

– – –

You take an evening nap to get ready for the night, and when the clock strikes midnight, you set out for the village. You’re extra careful to not run into anyone, entering the Inn from the back to access the storage room, and stuff the merchandise into your backpack. It’s not the first time you’re moving things for Reth, and you have to admit you’re curious to take a peek. You have an inkling as to what could be in there – something Flow related and highly illegal, probably – but Reth made you promise over and over that you wouldn’t peek. The less you know, the better, he would always say. So you shove your curiosity aside, and make a quick exit towards the east gates leading to Bahari Bay.

You move swiftly, and actually take the opportunity to mine whatever iron you come across on your way to the marked positions. Making so much noise with the pickaxe probably isn’t the best strategy to remain hidden, but at least this way, if someone saw you, you could say you were mining. Besides, you seem to always be running out of it, so any extra ore is welcome. When you get to the spot Reth marked on the map, you hide the boxes behind some bushes, then start your trek back, picking up some mushrooms and Sweet Leaves on the way back to Kilima. 

Once you’re back, you make a quick stop by the storage room again to pick up the food left by Reth, then head home. As you unpack it, still warm, you see he cut potatoes into wedges, covered them in seasoning, then baked them with plenty of oil. You hum in surprise at how good it tastes, savouring every bite. You also can't help but feel that it tastes strangely familiar, like a comfort food from another life. There's still something missing, but you can't quite put your finger on what.

– – –

The next few days go by as usual, and you keep catching yourself itching for something to spice up your routine. Perhaps another “supply” run by Reth? You mean to go see him at the Inn to ask if there's anything for you to do, except that you don’t even make it far past your house, as the moment you walk out of your door, you see Ashura coming into your lot through the gates. With a smile and a wave, you greet him from afar, but as he steps closer, you can see he doesn't look too amused. You gulp.

“Hey Ashura,” you start as you meet him halfway. “What brings you all the way to my humble abode?”

He looks down at you, and sighs. You shift your shoulders uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I wish I could say I was here for a friendly chat.”

Ashura’s stern gaze softens somewhat, in the way a father gives in to the “not mad, just disappointed” stance. 

“What exactly did you think you were doing by helping Reth?” he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your gaze falls to the ground, brows furrowed. It’s none of your business, you want to say. But that wouldn’t be fair. He’s here because he’s worried, because he cares.

“How’d you find out?” you ask instead, daring to meet his eyes again.

“It was pretty obvious. Reth may be good at lying to others, but I know his tells. Besides, Hodari saw you sneaking around at night.”

Hodari you little snitch, you think and can’t help the grumble that escapes you. Ashura sighs yet again, his arms now falling to his sides.

“Next time you hide things in the bay, make sure no one sees you.”

“Well, I thought I was doing a good job at not being seen,” you mumble. “... But point taken.”

He raises a brow at you, still waiting for an explanation. You shrug your shoulders and raise your hands in defeat. 

“I- I was just helping him out,” you say truthfully. “If I don’t, he’s going to work himself to exhaustion and beyond, and you know that.”

“And this is how you decide to help?” he says in a somewhat scolding manner. “Look, Reth can spend the rest of his life running away, lying to anyone who might care about him. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and talks about you. He’d hang the moon if you asked him to.”

You can’t help the heat creeping onto your face at his words. I’d hang the moon and more for him too, you think to yourself. Suddenly you feel very self-conscious in front of the man that’s become a father figure to you, and seems to be one to Reth as well.

“Then, what do you suggest?” you ask. “You care about him, right? That's why you worry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Well, I care about Reth as well. Tell me how to help him.”

He hums, placing a large hand on your shoulder.

“Help lead him on the right path.”

You let out a helpless scoff; how do you even do that? There’s so many factors at play, and you're not even sure if Ashura has the full picture regarding Tish’s disease and treatment and all… Where do you even start? 

As he sees your brain is starting to work a mile an hour at his words, he retrieves his hand after giving you one last squeeze.

“Well, I’ve said my piece. Maybe I'm just an old man overstepping his bounds… But I want to see Reth thrive here,” he says and shoots you a smile. “And I want the same for you.”

“I- even if you were overstepping his bounds, you’re doing it because of the right reasons, so… Thank you for telling me. I think I needed to hear this.” You bite the inside of your cheek, considering if you should say the next part or not. it's something that's been eating away at your mind for a while now. You fidget with your sleeve, looking up at Ashura and being met with nothing but warmth and support in his eyes, and you can feel the last of your walls crumbling.

“You know,” you start after taking in a shaky breath. “Sometimes I forget that this is… real. Appearing out of thin air with no memories of anything at all except for my name. I think deep inside I expect this all to be a dream or something, and that I’ll be snapping out of it at any given time. So I guess I wasn’t taking my actions seriously, and dismissing the fact that what I do here has real consequences for the people surrounding me, as well as myself.”

Ashura looks surprised at your words, and for a second you regret telling him. Seeing the flash of panic on your face, he reaches out and envelops you in a hug. 

“Have you told Reth about this?” he asks, and you shake your head as you press your face into his chest, ashamed.

“You have a lot to talk about then.”

He pulls back, holding you by your shoulders and looking down at you affectionately.

“Whenever you feel like that, you can come talk to me, okay? Don't let it build up.” He pulls back completely, about to turn around. “And I don't know if it's much comfort, but you're very real to us. To me. And I'm glad you're here.” 

With the knot that formed in your throat, you can't utter out a word, so you merely nod at him, thankful. He says his goodbyes and leaves.

After the conversation, your mind and heart are a whirlwind, so you decide to take the rest of the day “off”. You basically stay in bed, cuddling with your palcat until evening. Once you find the strength again, and after feeding yourself and your companion, you set out to the village. Except that you find yourself taking the long way, heading West until you reach the Daya’s farm, although staying out of sight, then walking down the coastline. You twirl the Sundrop Lily you picked on the meadow between your fingers, trying to form a coherent sentence in your head with which to explain to Reth how you feel regarding, well, everything. That he’s putting himself in danger. That you don’t want to see him neither hurt nor burnt out. That you want to help him however you can. That you sometimes feel lost too, given the current circumstances of your existence. That you can’t stand the thought of being stranded here without him. That you care about him. So much. 

At the last thought, heat creeps up to your face, and your heartbeat quickens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you just allow yourself to feel.

By now, you're standing by the entrance of the sewers that lead to the Underground, so with one last deep breath, you climb in. Reth’s shift should end soon, so you could head back into the storage room together to have a much-needed talk.

As expected, you find Reth behind the bar. Things seem to be slow today, as he wipes down the surface with a bored look on his face. You quickly scan the place to see if Zeki is anywhere within earshot, but you can’t see him, so you walk up to the cook. When he spots you, his immediate reaction is perking up with a smile, but then he goes a bit stiff as he realises why you’re here.

“Hey,” he greets you as you come to a stop on the other side of the bar. “Wasn’t sure you’d come see me. I take it Ashura paid you a visit.”

“He did… Are you, uhm, done soon?” You look around again. “I think we need to talk. In private.”

The slight panic in his face doesn’t escape you, but he’s quick to push past it, trying to play it cool.

“Y-yeah, I was about to wrap up here, actually. Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll meet you in the back?”

“Okay. See you in a bit,” you offer with your best attempt at a reassuring smile. It doesn't seem to do much to calm him down, though.

Once in the storage room, you beeline for his couch, which he uses as a bed, and sit down with a pillow, hugging it to your chest. You can’t help pressing your nose into it; it smells like Reth, and you can feel yourself relax a bit.

Not five minutes later, the door creaks open and closes again, and you straighten up a bit. Reth heads to where you are, taking a seat next to you, and he leans into the back of the couch with a tired sigh. You don’t know how to start the conversation, so you just sit in silence for a moment until he heaves a deep sigh.

“I think I might have used up all my second chances. I really messed this one up,” Reth says, looking ahead instead of at you. “Weird thing is, Ashura didn’t fire me. He even asked me if I was okay. Guess I'm the world’s worst brother and employee.”

He lets out a wry chuckle, then leans forward to prop up his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands.

“I keep ruining things. Can’t keep my sister safe, can’t make anyone proud,” he mumbles, and it makes your chest tighten in pain that he thinks of himself that way. You’re about to say something when he straightens up and looks at you with a sad, resigned smile. “It’s like, I know that I'm doing it, right? But I just can't stop myself. Give me the chance, I'll ruin your life too.”

“That's not true…”

“But it is. I'm no good for you. If you stick around, you're only going to get burned.”

Then let me burn to ash, if it means I can keep you by my side, you think, and in the second it takes you to decide if that’s too much or not, he’s taking something out of his pocket. Your heart skips a beat when you recognise the metallic piece. You’ve heard from others about the Palian custom of giving pins as a sign of true romantic interest. Far more than a box of chocolates.

“Before all this happened, I was even gonna ask you to wear this pin,” he says, brushing over it with his thumb. “Stupid, right? I’ll just throw it in the gutter where it belongs.”

“Wait–” you finally find your voice again, and he looks up at you surprised. “It absolutely does not belong in the gutter. Don’t throw it out, I- I’ll take it.”

“Really?,” his brows rise in surprise and what you assume to be hopefulness, then a blush spreads on his face. “You know what this pin means, right?”

You nod. He looks down at it again, ears burning dark pink.

“It means I want to give us, you and me together, a real chance.”

“I know,” you say, putting aside the pillow you’ve been holding onto and reaching for his hand instead, holding his free one with both of yours and giving it a squeeze, which he reciprocates.

“Even after everything?” he asks, voice impossibly small.

“Even after everything.”

“I… Oh. I mean, okay, good. That’s- That’s good.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I was really expecting this to blow up in my face like everything else. I’ve never actually given my pin to anyone before, you know? Never thought I’d meet someone who wanted it.”

“Well, here I am. So… are you going to give it to me?” You let go of his hand, holding them out with your palms up.

“R-Right.” He carefully places the pin in your palms, folding your fingers over it and holding your closed hands in his larger ones.

You look up from your hands at him, and he looks at you so lovingly, genuine and vulnerable, that you start feeling the familiar prick of tears coming behind your eyes. But you don’t want him to see you cry, so you lean in and place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth instead, then slip your hands out of his grip to hug him.

“For the record, you're not the worst brother or employee,” you say, sneaking in a quick peck to his cheek in between words here and there. “You’re an amazing brother, caring, loving, selfless. You're a wonderful employee and Ashura wants to keep you around because he cares about you. And you’re the best boyfriend I could ask for. I am proud of you. And I know your parents would be too if they saw who you've become.”

At your words, Reth’s body trembles with a silent sob, and you hug him tighter. He lifts you up and you climb onto his lap so you’re straddling him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, while you lovingly stroke up and down his back.

“And don’t even think about saying that I'm too good for you or some nonsense like that. You deserve the world and more, Reth.”

He chuckles; you know him too well, as he was about to say exactly that.

“Thank you, sweet tooth,” he mumbles into your skin instead. “I needed this.”

After a moment longer, he lets out a deep exhale, then pulls back slightly to look at you. His eyes are a little puffy, and you cup his face, stroking over his cheekbones. You press your lips to his, kissing him once, twice, and wanting to deepen it, but you have to break it off to yawn, unable to stop it. Reth laughs.

“Long day?” he asks.

“Not really? Just glad we talked about this, I guess…” You give his cheek a quick peck. “Can I stay the night?”

“Of course.”

You climb off his lap and you both change into something more comfortable. Reth lends you one of his shirts, and you’re left in just that and your underwear, not really wanting to sleep in your work trousers that you were gardening in the day before. You neatly fold your clothes and put them on a chair, carefully placing Reth’s pin on top, and you take a second just looking at it.

When you turn around, Reth is sitting on his bed in his sleeping garments, looking at the floor with a violent blush. You look down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and you place your arms in front of you protectively, not that it does much at hiding anything though.

“I- I’m sorry. I just didn't want to sleep in my dirty work clothes,” you say sheepishly.” Does it make you… uncomfortable?”

“No! No, not that. It's just, uh,” he clears his throat. “It’s quite the view. I don’t want to stare and make you uncomfortable.”

Your heart is beating so fast, you can hear it rumbling in your ears.

“It’s okay, Reth,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You can look.”

He tears his gaze from the ground to your face, checking if you're sure, and when you give him a little nod, his eyes slowly start wandering downwards. They travel over your neck, chest, stomach until they reach your thighs, where he seems to linger for a bit, then he gives you a quicker once-over. You just stand there, doing everything in your power to not hug yourself or pull the shirt down to cover up.

You’re not sure what you’d even expect him to say except a ‘nice’ maybe, so you just walk to the bed, lifting the covers and climbing in.

“Well, if you're gonna sleep like that,” Reth says suddenly, standing up, and you watch with big eyes as he reaches over his back and pulls on his shirt. “I think it's only fair I take this off so you have something to look at too.”

In a swift motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere without much regard. His cooking outfit didn't ever really do much to hide his silhouette, so you knew he’s fit, but your heart was not ready for this. You can feel your face burning up significantly, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes are roaming his form: from his broad shoulders to the small waist, his toned arms and pecs, all you can think of is all the hickeys you want to add to his freckled skin.

Your eyes go back up to meet his, and even in the low light of the storage room, you see the dark pink blush going from the tip of his ears all the way to his sternum. He gives you a second to take it all in, seemingly pleased with the way your eyes are practically eating him up, then climbs into bed after you. Since it’s more of a couch rather than a bed, there’s not a lot of space to begin with, let alone for two people, so Reth hugs you into his chest, with your head tucked under his chin, and tangles his legs with yours, and he’s so warm, it’s almost too much. Sure you’ve cuddled and shared a bed before, but there was never this much skin contact.

His hand shyly slips underneath your shirt to give your hip a squeeze, and you involuntarily let out a squeak of sorts, to which he can't help but snort.

“Cute,” is all he says, as his hand travels further and comes to a stop at your waist, while your own arm snakes around his torso, holding onto him.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and his hand slips to the small of your back, softly drawing random figures. You merely hum in response. Your face is basically pressed to his chest already, so you place a kiss right under his collarbone, and you hear him inhale sharply. You kiss him again, and again, then give a tentative bite.

“Sweet tooth,” he growls the nickname warningly. “Neither of us is gonna get any sleep if you go there.”

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself,” you giggle, propping yourself up to properly kiss him good night, then you turn around, and he hugs your back into his chest as you hold his hand over your heart. “Good night, Reth. I’m glad to be here with you.”

“Me too babe, me too.”

~~~~~

🐥 [link to join my taglist is in my pinned post!]

[todaysdocument]

Officers of 366th Infantry Regiment

Record Group 336: Records of the Office of the Chief of TransportationSeries: Photographic Albums of Prints of Hampton Roads Port of Embarkation

Original caption: "Captain O. T. Thornton, 0-331267, Washington, D.C., Battalion Adjutant of Headquarters, 1st Battalion, 366th Infantry (Shipment Unit 2240-C) on pier 4 preparing to embark on USS General William Mitchell. A graduate of Howard University 1935, Capt. Thornton went on active duty 3 March 1941. Official photograph U.S. Army Signal Corps, Hampton Roads Port of Embarkation, Newport News, Virginia."

This black and white photograph shows two African American army officers (two others are just visible behind them).  They are dressed in uniforms with helmets on and holding their equipment.  They both carry overcoats over their arms.  The man on the left wears sunglasses.

[patang01]

Importance Of Global Shipping And Visibility Platform In Transportation

Global shipping helps to facilitate worldwide trade and lowers the cost of commodities, making it an essential part of the modern economy. Nonetheless, it can be a difficult process that needs a variety of parties to collaborate well. The use of shipping and visibility platforms, which offer real-time tracking, data analytics, and reporting capabilities to streamline procedures and guarantee that items arrive on schedule and in excellent condition, is essential for organisations to manage their shipping operations successfully.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Punk Kunikida

I just love the idea of Kunikida out of his work attire being mistaken for a member of the Port Mafia.

He’s offended by it but he does get it. The sleeves of his battle jacket are rolled up so several of his tattoos are visible.

Not to mention his piercings are in and he’s not exactly in the best part of the city right now.

He’s still offended though.

But after that fades Kunikida sees this as an opportunity. And so he plays along. Following them to whatever shipment they’re getting and making a note.

Kunikida’s in and out before snyond could realise who he is. But even then no one would bat an eye at him. Because despite his reputation right now Kunikida looks like one of them.

It is something to see the surprised looks from his friends the next day when Kunikida comes in and provides the missing clue they were looking for.

Ranpo just chuckles and says he hoped Kunikida had fun.

[greeniegaes]

From that one X-Files Audio lol

1) SQQ: “why would I make them so uncomfortable?”

2) SQH, scratching his face: “it probably has to do with your reputation.”

3) SQQ, surprised: “I have a reputation?”

4) SQH: “They feel your methods, your theories are…”

5) SQQ, eyes now visible: “Spooky”

6) SQQ: “Do you think I’m spooky?” SQH is thinking about in the past he spied on SQQ, who was at his table mixing this up

Explanation for this little comic, if people want to read it ig lol

Basically it’s after SQQ gets poisoned by without-a-cure, and he’s desperate has he can feel it starting to take a toll on his body occasionally. He’s chronically exhausted and in pain no matter how hard he tries to hide it and the qi flair ups are only getting worse. Mu Qingfang tries his best but he’s a doctor who can only do so much. SQQ however is willing to go farther, so he starts to hunt demonic creatures down to try and make his own cure for it. Rumors are going around that a peak lord had gone insane no matter how much they all try to hide it and SQH is told by MBJ to go check it out. He sneaks into the bamboo house (last panel) and finds SQQ crying into his palms with various rare ingredients that he somehow got. SQH doesn’t see him as some scum villain or some insane character like he used to now, SQQ was someone trying to survive, and he felt bad that he second handedly got him poisoned. So he starts to try and help him out, giving him a lighter amount of paperwork, more shipments of fire wood, easy stuff, until SQQ calls him out on in (comic) asking why he was doing this and what was wrong with the people around him. Everyone but SQQ can see how exhausted the man is but only SQH can see how terrified his fellow peak lord is under it all.