#star-spangled afterlife

[astro-vibes-bro]

⚠️Major Wip⚠️

I made this a little after I read the first episode of star spangled afterlife- though due to stuff and art block I never exactly finished. But anyway enjoy!

[baltimoreghosts]

Embark on a chilling journey through the Haunted History of Fort McHenry, a storied bastion entrenched in American lore. This 19th-century coastal stronghold, famed for inspiring "The Star-Spangled Banner," harbors a darker past. Ghostly tales whisper of fallen soldiers, their ethereal specters roaming the eerie corridors, still guarding the fort's secrets.

[just-a-beatlemaniac69]

Bucky: “Can we keep him?”

Steve turning around to face Bucky: “Keep wha-? OH JESUS.”

Rocket sitting comfortably in Bucky’s arms: “Hey”

Steve: “BUCKY WE ARE NOT KEEPING HIM”

Bucky: “WhY nOt?”

Steve: “WE WILL NOT BE KEEPING A LIVE RODENT AS A PET”

Rocket: “Well fuck you too, you star spangled fuck-”

Steve:

Bucky:

Rocket:

Half of the avengers watching this take place from across the room:

Tony in the afterlife laughing his ass off:

[kettlefire]

Vomit Pile #2

Fandom: Avengers (Ironman & Captain America), Danny Phantom

Danny couldn’t slip the grin from his face as he settled his seat on Cujo’s oversized form. The larger dog was munching away happily at a giant bone the halfa had pulled in through a portal. Danny, on the other hand, was excited to tear into the three burgers resting in a fast food bag.

It’s been almost four days since his last actual meal, and as much as being half dead made it easier to go without food, he still needed to eat at times. Being on the run like he was, quietly waiting for some sign his mother wasn’t going to come after him with another gun, was slowly taking a toll on his human side. 

His injuries weren’t healing as fast as they used to, even if his ghost side seemed to be ready for anything. With a sigh, the young halfa patted Cujo’s green fur before digging in.Shifting the thermos below his shoes for a reminder of its presence. Life wasn’t the easiest it’s ever been, and new surprises followed him around every corner, but oddly enough he found more relaxing and calming moments.

Blue eyes scanned the surrounding trees, keeping an eye out for any sign of life- or afterlife- as he quickly choked down two of the burgers. The crumpled wrappers laid on the soft woodland floor near his now empty cup of soda. He’d only just opened his last burger when the sound of a figure descending caught his attention. 

Danny only tensed ever-so-slightly, feeling a growl vibrate below him. His eyes instantly landed on a familiar red and gold suit of armor, pulses of blue energy expelling for the hands and feets until it came to a solid landing. 

“This isn’t something you see very often.” The voice spoke as gears whirled, the face plate sliding up to reveal none other than Tony Stark himself. Danny groaned, softly patting Cujo in reassurance, only stopping the motion when the dog settled to ignore the intruder and continue to munch on his own treat. 

“Look as much as I’m a big fan, I really could do without this right now.” Danny replied, taking a bite out of his burger. He watched one of the billionaire’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. 

“Kid, you’re sitting on a giant green dog that I'm pretty sure is glowing.” Tony retorted, metal arms crossing over the glowing emblem. “There’s no other time to handle this.”

“Cujo’s harmless eighty-five percent of the time.” Danny shrugged, smirking when Cujo gave a small huff. “The other fifteen is when he's protecting.” 

“Cujo? Really?” Tony asked, motioning towards the red-eyes ghost. “Couldn’t be more on the nose, could you?”

“Hey, he came with his own name.” Danny replied through another mouthful, quickly crumpling up the last wrapper and dropping it with the rest. “Please tell me the rest of the dress-up squad isn’t with you?” The question was quickly answered when another hero broke through the surrounding bush. Danny’s gaze instantly fell on a red, white, and blue cladded Steve Rogers. 

“Welcome to the show, Star-Spangled.” Tony smirked, glancing towards the shock-stricken man. “Looks like I found Cujo, and his human pet.”

“Who said I’m human?” Danny  countered, letting his eyes flashing green for a split-second. Maybe taunting the world’s mightiest heroes was a bad idea, but it just seemed a little too easy of an opportunity to pass. Then both heroes instantly tensed, ready for a fight, Danny couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, I don’t think I look that threatening.” Danny motioning one hand towards his appearance. He knew he was scrawny, and he knew he was short, pretty much everyone underestimated him. 

It didn’t help that the ripped black jeans and dirt-stained red hoodie were much too large for his size. He tilted the thermos under his shoes ever-so-slightly, letting it softly drop to the ground before hopping off of Cujo. 

He didn’t pay the two men any attention as he gathered his trash and belongings, dropping them all haphazardly into his over-used black school bag, clipping the thermos to his waistband.

“What are you?” The super soldier was the first to speak, Danny turned his gaze on him, shifting to the shield that was placed onto his back. 

“Why do you care?” Danny asked, meeting blue eyes. “It’s not like I’m bothering anyone.”

“For one, we can’t exactly have a teen running around the city with a giant demon dog.” Tony quipped, motioning towards Cujo as the ghost just finished off his bone. Danny laughed, shaking his head slightly. 

“Considering you just found me, I say we know how to hide pretty well.” Danny turned, slinging the bag over his shoulder and snapped his fingers. “Ŝrumpi.” Cujo jumped up, slowly shrinking down to the size of a puppy.

“Holy shit.” Danny heard from behind him, but he was focused on getting ready to leave. He shifted the bag, the largest pocket open and empty, leaning it towards his friend. 

“Kaŝi.” Cujo  gave a small, happy bark before hopping into the bag, letting Danny zip it with only the smallest opening on top. “See, nothing odd here.” Danny turned back to the men, smirking at the surprised look they brandished. 

“Kid, everything about you is odd.” Tony shook his head, eyes raking over the teen. Danny bit back a groan, he knows he looks like a mess, knows he looks like a homeless teen… Which he is, but that’s besides the point. 

He didn’t need extra attention right now, what he needed was to stay as out of the spotlight as possible. Maddie could be anywhere right now, and who knows if she got help from any other hunters she knows. God forbid she actually manipulated his dad into helping. 

“Look, I get you have this duty to keep the world safe, but I’m the least of your problems.” Danny slipped the other strap over his shoulder, the familiar weight of Cujo easing his anxiety just a little. “I don’t have the time, patience, or ability right now to deal with this.”

“Our duty is to also help the people of this world.” Steve spoke up, taking a small hesitant step towards the teen. Danny tensed, ready to pull his core forward if need be. He tried not to go full ghost as much as possible, or use any large abilities because he knew it could be tracked. “And from where I’m standing, it looks like you need it.” 

Danny barked a laugh, he couldn’t help it. Sure he liked the heroes, but he didn’t need help. Not from them, there wasn’t much they could do. So leave it to them to think he was able to be saved. He was damned the day he walked into that portal. 

“Not everyone needs help.” Danny shot back, he wasn’t sure why he was bothering entertaining them. Maybe because he hasn’t had an actual conversation with someone that wasn’t hate filled in so long. “I, for one, would rather-”

Danny’s words died in his throat when a familiar beeping came from his watch. A curse left him as he slid his sleeve up, glancing down at the face of the watch. Sixteen. Sixteen fucking feet away. He didn’t have time to really run. 

“What is that?” Danny glanced up, meeting the billionaire’s eyes. 

“Trouble.” Danny grumbled, quickly clicking the sound off. His eyes quickly surveyed the area before returning to the number. Twelve. Fuck. “Look I’ll answer all your questions, I’ll do whatever you want, but when she shows up, tell her you haven’t seen me.”

“Wait-”

“Please.” Danny swallowed, meeting their gaze. Steve was the first one to nod, pulling a sigh of relief from the teen. He pulled a small pocket knife from his pocket, ignoring the words behind him as he cut a small wound into the palm of his hand, he racked it over a few rocks nearby before turning towards them.

“I’m not going anywhere, you just won’t be able to see me.” Danny spoke, letting invisibility take over. Nine. He really hopes his blood will do the trick here. 

“Hey, wait!” Tony’s eyes scanned quickly over the area he was just at. Danny walked over to stand behind Tony, if anything he hoped the reading coming off the suit would throw off the tracker. 

“I’m still here.” Danny spoke from behind him. “Act natural, she’ll be here soon.” Five.

“Are we really?” Tony asked, motioning towards the clearing. 

“We’re here to help.” Steve reminded him, dropping the shield from his back. Danny shook his head even if the two men couldn’t see it, there wouldn’t need to be a fight if this worked. 

“Seriously Steve-” Tony stopped the moment a figure burst through the trees and bushes before them. A somewhat short woman, although not as short as the teen, stood before them. What was clearly a tracker in one hand, and a small sci-fi-esque pistol in the other. 

“Did you see him here? He looks like a teen boy.” Her words were quick and steady, eyes glancing from the tracker to the area around them.

“Who are you?” Tony asked, arms tensed and ready at his side. Danny on the other hand was trying to control the hammering in his chest. He hasn’t been this close to her in so long, the last times he’s seen her, she tried to capture him or end his life. He held his breath, trying to push down the growing fear inside.

“I’m a scientist and a hunter, there is a dangerous creature on the run.” Her posture was perfect, her words holding little place to argue. “He can manipulate and play on your emotions. I ask again, have you seen him?”

“I’m sorry ma’am.” Steve spoke before Tony could, eyes taking in the woman. He wasn’t sure who she was, or if what she said is true, but he does know the fear in that teen’s eyes was real. “We came out to investigate a weird energy reading, but nothing was found.”

“That can’t be right.” She spoke, glancing back down to her tracker, placing the pistol onto a hip holster. “He should be here… Maybe the readings from the suit…” Tony glanced between Steve and the woman, both Avengers were unsure how to get her to leave. Then he remembered the blood.

“The only thing we found was that.” Tony spoke, pointing towards the slightly red rocks. The woman’s head peaked up quickly, steps determined as she stepped towards it. The tracker was held before it, after a beat a soft beep sounded.

“Of course, this must be it… It’s still fresh.” She spoke more to herself than the other two. “It must have just left here, which means I’m on the right track.”

The smile that slid onto her face even made Steve uncomfortable, there was a twisted plan hidden behind it. The super soldier stopped himself from reacting when a cold hand gripped his forearm in a hold, in the corner of his eyes couldn’t see anyone, but he knew who it was. 

Danny couldn’t help it, ever since what happened, ever since he saw who his mother really was… It felt like he was a five year old boy again, and she was the biggest thing in the room. The strongest urge to flee screamed throughout him, but right now the two heroes were his only bet in getting out alive. 

“Thank you.” She turned to them, placing the tracker into her waist belt. “No need to worry about him, I’ll have him captured in no time.” 

Tony wanted to speak, ask her who she worked for, who she was, but his ears picked up a soft sound from behind him. The softest whine of a scared animal, instead he bit his tongue, watching the woman leave the clearing. 

“Friday, tell us when she’s out of range.” Tony orders, waiting until Friday deems it safe before turning to Steve, and the empty space between them. “What the hell was that about?”

Danny exhaled, releasing his grip on Steve’s arm and flickered back into view. He swallowed, appreciating the constant pulse of ectoplasm against his back. After a moment of collecting himself, he looked up and was met with two concerned eyes.

“That was… That’s my…” Danny swallowed against the lump in his throat, he hasn’t told anyone. Not even his best friends or his sister. 

“How about we get back to the tower, then talk?”

-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -   -   -    -    -     -    -    -    -     -   -    -  

“Wait, you’re telling me that was your mom?” The words left Tony the moment Danny finally told them who that was in the clearing. 

“And she’s trying to… kill you?” Steve pushed out, tone trying to be steady but Danny picked up the underlying thrum of emotions. 

“More like to turn me into a lab rat.” Danny muttered, picking slightly at the table before him. Cujo whined softly in his lap, pushing his head under the teen’s chin. “It’s alright boy, she’s gone, vi estas sekura.” Danny reassured, running a hand along vibrant fur.

“Just because you're different?” Tony growled, glancing between Steve and Danny. “You’re shitting me right?”

“I wish.” Danny let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “I turned into the one thing she hated, it doesn’t matter anymore, not to her.”

“Do you have someplace safe to go?” Steve asked, voice soft and hesitant. “Anyone you can go to until things blow over.”

“If they blow over, but no. The only people I have are back in town and it’s way too much of a risk for them to try and hide me.” Danny exhaled, looking up at the two heroes. “You don’t have to worry about me, I appreciate what you did back there, but I’ll be fine.”

“Really kid, what happens the next time she shows up?”

[mceproductions]

New Year Button (2021 Countdown Recap)

Now we review our entries.

Best of 2021

    Movies

 1. Dune

2. In The Heights

3. Spider-Man: No Way Home

4. The Suicide Squad

5.  No Time To Die

6.  Free Guy

7. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

8.  Raya and the Last Dragon

9.  Jungle Cruise and Zack Snyders Justice League

10. A Quiet Place Part II

11. Ghostbusters Afterlife and Luca

12. Godzilla Vs. Kong

13. The Matrix: Resurrections

14. F9 and Black Widow

15. Space Jam: A New Legacy

  Runners Up:

Army of the Dead

The Green Knight

Paw Patrol: The Movie

Dear Evan Hansen

Venom: Let There Be Carnage

  Honorable Mention:

Demon Slayer Kimetsu No Yaiba: Mugen Train

  Worst Movies:

 1. The Boss Baby: Family Business

2. Chaos Walking

3. Eternals

     TV Shows

 *Nominee for Best New Show of 2021

^Winner

 1.  Fena: Pirate Princess (ADULT SWIM)^

2.  Ted Lasso (Apple TV+)

3.  The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (CBS)

4.  My Hero Academia (ADULT SWIM)

5.  Late Night with Seth Meyers (NBC)

6.  Conan (TBS)

7.  Squid Game (NETFLIX)

8.  Loki (Disney+)*

9.  Brooklyn Nine Nine (NBC) and SNL (NBC)

10. WandaVision (Disney+)

11. The Daily Show with Trevor Noah (COMEDY CENTRAL) and RWBY (ROOSTER TEETH)

12. Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO) and The Good Doctor (ABC)

13. Mare of Eastown (HBO) and Close Enough (HBO MAX)

14. Ducktales (DISNEY) and Real Time with Bill Maher (HBO)

15. D4DJ (Crunchyroll)

16. Invincible (AMAZON PRIME)* and The Quintessential Quintuplets (FUNIMATION)

17. Animaniacs (HULU)

18. Attack on Titan (ADULT SWIM) and Star Wars Visions (Disney+)

19. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Disney+)

20. Bridgerton (NETFLIX)*

21. The Simpsons (FOX)

22. Superstore (NBC)

23. Marvel What…IF? (Disney+)

24. Superman & Lois (CW)*

25. Infinity Train (HBO MAX)

   Runners Up:

 Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Disney+)

Young Sheldon (CBS)

Tuca and Bertie (ADULT SWIM)

Miss Kobyashis Dragon Maid S (FUNIMATION)

Shadow and Bone (Netflix)

  Honorable Mention:

Yellowstone (PARAMOUNT TV)

  Worst TV Shows:

 1. SpongeBob Spinoffs [Kamp Koral & The Patrick Star Show] (NICK/Paramount+)

2. Riverdale (CW)

3. Girlfriend, Girlfriend (Crunchyroll)

   Music

  1.  Oliva Rodrigo “Drivers License”

2.  Jon Batiste “Freedom”

3.  Coldplay “Higher Power”

4.  Anthony Ramos and In The Heights Cast “In The Heights”

5.  JUNNA “The Sea and the Pearl”

6.  BTS “Butter”

7.  Kathryn Hahn “Agatha All Along”

8.  Ed Sheeran “Bad Habits”

9.  Adele “Easy On Me”

10. The Weeknd “Save Your Tears”

11. Bruno Mars, Anderson Paak, and Silk Sonic “Leave The Door Open”

12. Lil Nas X “Montero (Call Me by Your Name)” and Lorde “Solar Power”

13. Katy Perry “Electric”

14. Billie Eillish “Your Power”

15. Drake “Whats Next?”

16. Jeff Williams and Casey Lee Williams “Friend”

17. Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Melissa Barrera, Leslie Grace, Gregory Diaz IV, and Olga Merediz “Blackout”

18. Taylor Swift “Willow”

19. Coldplay & BTS “My Universe”

20. HAPPY AROUND “DJ TURN”

21. Ben Platt and Dear Evan Hansen Choir “You Will Be Found”

22. FranChouchou “Sagajihen”

23. The Kid Laroi and Justin Bieber “Stay”

24. The Captain America Drum Corps “Star Spangled Man”

25. Vitamin String Quartet “Bad Guy”

26. Malia J “Smells Like Teen Spirit”

27. Nelly and Florida Georgia Line “Lil Bit” and Post Malone “Only Wanna Be With You”

28. Olivia Rodrigo “good 4 u”

29. Thad Cockrell “Swingin”

30. Ty Dolla $ign, Jack Harlow, and 24kGoldn “I Won”

  Runners Up:

Florence + the Machine “Call me Cruella”

Lin Manuel Miranda “Piragua”

Taylor Swift “Today was A Fairytale (Taylors Version)”

Ben Platt “Waving through A Window”

Celina Sharma “Nach Mera Hero”

  Honorable Mention:

 Themes of WandaVision

  Worst Music:

 1. Kirk Fraklin and Lil Baby “We Win”

2. Cardi B “Up”

3. Saleka “Remain”

    Game of The Year  

Ratchet and Clank: Rift Apart^

Deathloop*

Metroid Dead*

Resident Evil: Village*

New Pokémon Snap*

   Worst

 Taxi Chaos

[365days365movies]

Horror October V: Poltergeist (1982) - Recap: Part One

The afterlife is an unsolvable mystery.

Since mankind’s been around, we’ve questioned what happens to us after death, and we’ve come up with every possible answer. What you believe is up to you. Personally, I’m open to most ideas. Maybe it’s a heaven or Hell, maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s reincarnation, maybe it’s just one bench in the middle of an empty void while a dude named Wycliffe plays the mouth harp for eternity. Honestly, I don’t know, but I’m not gonna count Wycliffe out, just saying.

But because of these endless possibilities, our cultures have created unified and pervasive ideas about the hereafter. The Greeks had the Underworld ruled by Hades. Christians have Heaven and Hell, with different complexities depending on who you ask. Atheists have the inky blackness of the void. And media...oh God, media has all of those and FAR more.

The depictions of the other side are numerous in film, and it’s impossible to quantify them here. Personally, I immediately thought of the Underworld in Hercules. My girlfriend thought of Beetlejuice and the waiting room of souls. See how different those are, in and of themselves? It’s insane. What Dreams May Come, All Dogs Go to Heaven, Heaven Can Wait, Angels in the Outfield, Field of Dreams, the list goes on and on and ON.

But this is October. This is horror month. And so, we need to ask ourselves another question. What happens if the dead don’t move on to the other side? What happens if they linger in the land of the living, due to unfinished business or unfulfilled desire? And worse, what happens...if you wake them up?

That...is when ghosts are present.

This staple of popular culture is more than that: for some, it’s a bona fide fact. I’m sure that some of you reading are believers in ghosts and phantoms. I’m not, personally, but no worries if you are! After all, if the afterlife is a mystery, then who’s to say that ghosts aren’t part of the answer?

But, rather than parlay into belief, we’re talking straight fiction here. Similar to werewolves, I’ve always appreciated a good ghost story. I grew up in the hey day of nostalgia for the 1950s and ‘60s rearing its head, and part of that was the reappearance of a friendly ghost named Casper. And as an adult, watching that film again for the first time in about 20 years...Casper is a creepy-ass ghost.

FUCKING RUN CHRISTINA RICCI HE WANTS YOUR SOUL

Anyway, I’ve always been partial to ghosts in fiction, if not the concept in real life. So, it’s genuinely surprising to me that I haven’t seen some of the createst ghost stories of all time. I’ve seen Casper, Ghost, Beetlejuice, and the Ghostbusters movies...and that’s basically it.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not begrudging any of those stories. Some of them are extremely funny movies, and one of them brought to new prominence the pottery industry, and also that one song. It’s in your head RIGHT NOW, if you’ve seen Ghost. You know the one. YOU KNOOOOOOOH MYYYYYY LOOOOVE

So, yeah, how did tonight’s movie escape my notice? Well, let’s answer that question by watching it, huh? Time for Poltergeist!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap: Part One

We start by reaching the end of our broadcast day, as the Star Spangled Banner plays over images of Americana on a television, late at night. As the TV fades to static, we meet out family of the evening: the Freelings. As their dog roams around the house grabbing as much food as humanly possible (as a dog do), he wakes up our first member of the family: Carol Anne Freeling (Heather O’Rourke).

Heather goes down to the television, and starts talking to it. Doing so wakes up the rest of the family: dad Steven (Craig T. Nelson), mom Diane (JoBeth Williams), son Robbie (Oliver Robins), and oldest daughter Dana (Dominique Dunne). They come downstairs to see Heather telling the static that she’s five years old, and answering various other questions. Which is...creepy, gotta admit.

From there, we go right into a sprightly musical theme by the one and only Jerry Goldsmith, and view the sprawling California suburb that the Freelings live in. That next day, we get a look at a normal weekend for the Freelings. Steve’s watching the game while battling with his neighbor fot the remote signal. Diane unfortunately comes upon Carol Anne’s deceased canary, Tweety, and has to guide Carol Anne through the difficult process of grieving and burying him.

Robbie climbs a tree in the backyard, and looks out upon a definitely not ominous cloud bank rolling in. That night, after getting a brand new goldfish for Heather, the family lays down to rest as the storm builds outside. We fid out from Diane that she used to sleepwalk as a child, as she suspects Carol Anne is doing. They make light of it, though. However, Robbie’s not having the best time. The storm is unnerving him, and...well...clown.

Yeah, buddy, why the fuck do you have that in your room? It is...terrifying. And I’m not afraid of clowns, don’t misunderstand me, but if I had that thing as a child, I WOULD be. Robbie covers it with a jacket, then goes to his parents. Poor kid; I was scared of thunder and lightning, too. Dad goes to comfort him, and then tucks both Robbie and Carol Anne into bed. It’s sweet, all things considered.

So, one scene later, when the kids are in bed with the parents (which is a very cute cut, honestly), everyone is asleep as the TV once again ends it broadcast day, and cuts to static. And this time...we can hear whispers coming from the screen. So can Carol Anne, and she gets up to greet the television. And the television greets her as well.

They’re heee-re.

The spectral hand shoots out of the television, then goes into the wall above the family’s heads. The entire house shakes, and Carol Anne delivers her iconic line. The next morning, it’s time for school and work, while Steven is under the impression that an earthquake was responsible. However, Diane can’t let go of what Carol Anne said the night before about the “TV people”. Neither can Carol, as she continues to stare at the static. Even their dog, E. Buzz is acting up, barking at a scorch mark left on the wall by the ghosts.

In the backyard, construction begins on the pool, and the construction workers not only creepily hit on Dana, but they also steal the coffee and food from the house. Uh...fire them. Like, what the hell, man? Diane goes to investigate Buzz’s barking, then comes back to see that the post-breakfast kitchen is completely clean. She turns around, and

...Ah. So, interior decorator/artistic ghosts.

Refreshingly, Diane IMMEDIATELY believes Carol Anne about the “TV people”, and it’s hard to argue with spontaneous chairs on a table. As soon as Steven gets home, Diane drags him inside to show him what the fuck is going on. And also refreshingly, the phenomenon makes itself known to Steve, as a chair mysteriously moves across the floor right in front of him! Hell yeah, buck that tired-ass trope!

The two, shocked and intrigued, try to figure out who to whom to go about this. They talk to their neighbor Ben (Michael McManus), but he’s kind of a dick, and they keep trying to figure this whole thing out. But before they get the chance, the storm rages again. And this time, Robbie’s having an even WORSE time of things.

But then, while the family is trying to save Robbie from the Whomping Willow, Carol Anne’s closet opens with a ghostly light, and sucks her and all of the room’s interiors into it. Carol Anne is gone, and they’re STILL trying to save Robbie as a tornado comes and sucks up the tree, only to disappear entirely.

Um...holy shit. This got fucked real fast.

The family saves Robbie, and heads into the room to find Carol Anne. However, she’s nowhere to be found. While they search the swimming pool, an absolutely freaked out Robbie finds Carol...inside of the TV. And I’ll be honest with you guys: I already knew a little bit about the plot, so this doesn’t surprise me. But how this is executed...DAMN. That’s fuckin’ excellent. 

Completely and immediately lost as to what they can do, a distraught Steven goes to a local university and speaks with paranormal investigators Dr. Martha Lesh (Beatrice Straight), Dr. Ryan Mitchell (Richard Lawson), and Dr. Marty Casey (Martin Casella). They’re enthusiastic about seeing the house, and they go to help the family find Carol Anne. And when they see Carol Anne’s room, they realize how ABSOLUTELY FUCKED THEY ARE

This...is an EXCELLENT place to pause. See you in Part Two!

[anika-ann]

Walpurgis Night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word Count: 9860 (oh, oh, dammit)

Summary: For the once wandering eye of the former King Howard of Starkerbürg, the kingdom suffered a terrible loss.

As winter blossoms into spring, the night of Walpurgis arrives and another man is chosen to bring the long-lost princess, sister to King Anthony, home. No one has ever succeeded in the task; another spring equals another life lost.

Steven was not meant to be selected; he volunteered, taking another man’s place. It is up to him to set foot into the woods where myths come to life and men of the kingdom meet their death.

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​. Congratulation to your rightfully earned milestone. May you gain more loyal followers in the future. I thank you for allowing me to take part in your challenge. Prompt: Fairytale AU

Warnings: mentions of death(s), minor injury and blood, supernatural elements, fluff extraordinaire, a little bit of angst

Note: It’s not a habit of mine to inset links for music, but if anyone wishes to listen to the song responsible for this fic, link is in the text (and the non-Marvel pics above are from the music video).

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

“May the Gods lead your sword and bring you home safe, my brave lord,” the Queen pronounced as she placed a cowslip to his collar and beckoned to him to stand up.

If Steven’s heart wasn’t beating its way out of his chest with a barely contained restlessness, he would have chuckled bitterly. ‘Lord.’ As if he was anything but a peasant, as if his life had any value to the King or the Queen; and yet, Queen Virginia’s gaze rested upon him and observed him with sorrow; as if he mattered to her.

As if she regretted her husband’s madness, one he had inherited from his father.

King Howard, passing away last winter, had never bothered hiding his wandering eye. Queen Maria, his beloved wife, had graciously tolerated her husband’s predilection for other women, seeing as he never acted upon it. Many ladies of the court had found themselves blessed when the King decided to spent an evening in their company; although never left alone with his highness, never granted even a gleam of hope of being taken as a lover, they cherished their moments with him and held no grudges.

However, an exception to the rule had always solidified its validity.

One of the King’s chosen companions had fallen for him, refusing offers of marriage which had been not scarce as she had foolish faith in king’s short-lived attraction. She – and her name could never be spoken in the land of Starks ever again, one of the most serious offences punished by death – deluded herself into believing he would leave the Queen, blind to the deep affection shared between her sovereigns. Oblivious until the second royal child was born.

The Princess, barely days old, went missing overnight, the very night of Walpurgis, when the powers of evil were believed to be most potent. With the ringing of tower bells, the King’s Guard saw to find the heiress to the crown.

Before the night was over, all they discovered was a laughing woman, having gone mad with heartbreak.

“You took everything from me,” she spluttered, spitting on king’s shoes as she had been forced to her knees, hands restrained; eyes teary and yet smiling. “Now you shall know how that feels.”

The woman had laughed and laughed as she burned at the stake, crying tears of joy at king’s torment. She had carried away the baby to the woods; left it for the malicious intentions of fauns, elves, dryads, nymphs, hulders and witches, all the evil spirits from myths much truer than prophesies read from the stars.

The Princess was lost ever since.

Steven had only learned this history from his mother’s narrative (Gods may grant her peace in afterlife) and from rumours spreading all over the Stark’s lands.

How could it not still be spoken of?

Every Walpurgis Eve, the night of the evil spirits’ power ruling and yet assumed to be most vulnerable, a brave man would rise and offer his service to the King, attempting to save the Princess from the claws of darkness.

Every morning after, all that was left of him was his armour; king’s armour, the finest quality, abandoned. With each life lost, the King turned more furious; with every life laid down, fewer and fewer lords were willing to meet their certain death.

Thieves and tavern brawlers were dragged to the edge of forest in their place, meeting the same fate; death cared little for nobility and wealth, greedily hoarding all souls offered.

Steven was no thief, had never been caught in a middle of a brawl. However, Pietro, the brother to Wanda, born moments apart from her as their mother left them before they were blessed enough to meet her, had not been as fortunate.

While King Antony had promised to end the never-ending madness of his father once he would inherit the crown, swearing that no other man would be coerced to try and complete an impossible task (as the people of Starkerbürg whispered of the Princess being long dead, eaten by wolves or the forest spirits), the day had come and he had chosen another innocent soul.

No amount of cries from the broken woman, who had no family left but her twin brother, had mollified the King. He himself had lost his mother to grief, his father to illness and his sister to pointless vengeance; why should he care for compassion when he could hold onto the senseless hope instead?

Steven could no longer watch the tragedy unfolding in front of him, less so having met the twins before. He had stepped forward and took Pietro’s place.

Steven had no family of his own, not anymore, not yet; not for the lack of sudden interest from women who had never as much as spent him a glance only few winters prior when he had been fighting all illnesses the kingdom had ever suffered. His mother had worked tooth and nail to keep him alive; and Steven wished to find himself a mate just as loving, not a fickle female who turned around for the man most impressive at given time.

Perhaps he was abandoning that foolish dream for his very recent actions. Perhaps, he wouldn’t live long enough to meet such kind soul who would care little whether his body was a fragile vessel (which it used to be) or as strong as a horse.

In the end, Steven had nothing to fear, barely anything to lose. Should he fail, he might encounter his father who had offered for the similar task many years ago.

Men had been laying down their lives, involuntarily. Steven was willing to do so if he could spare the poor Wanda suffering and gift her the life of her brother. If there had been one thing Steven craved more than a beautiful loving wife of a kind heart, it was him being a good man.

Returning to the present, Steven rose as the Queen had commanded, his fingers deliberately brushing over the yellow flower nestled in his collar. A cowslip; for protection from evil spirits. The castle, the towns, the villages… they were flooded with cowslips these days, fires lit long before sunset. The whole land feared the creatures of the forest.

His mother had always warned him from them, keeping the fate her husband had met in mind.

Sarah, Steven’s beloved mother who had worked herself to an early grave to put as much as a bread crust to his mouth, would have cried her eyes out if she learned her son was being foolish, coming voluntarily; her heart would have shattered with sorrow. Her heart would have burst with pride had she learned he had done it to save another man’s life.

With peace in mind Steven bowed to Queen Virginia and King Anthony once more before turning away. The Queen’s sorrowful eyes followed him as the crowd parted, forming an aisle for him to walk through; gracelessly stepping aside so he may walk towards his death.

A small hand curled around his wrist, forcing him to halt and meet a pair of familiar emerald eyes.

“Natalia,” he granted her with a reassuring smile and she sprang towards him from James’ side, throwing her arms around him in an unladylike manner, losing nothing of the warmth of her gesture.

“Steven. Trust nothing you see,” she warned him with a knowing glint in her eye, worry for her dear friend creasing the elegant arches of her brows.

Steven stiffened, taken aback by both her heartfelt assault and her words. He gently squeezed her waist, wary of letting people see their affection. She was to wed soon, to his best friend no less. James understood, however the people of the court and other commoners like himself might not.

“I shall return to you all, Natalia. Worry for me not,” he whispered, allowing her to slip from his arms, nodding at his friend who reciprocated the gesture, patting his shoulder covered in expensive cloak.

“Don’t do anything foolish, brother.”

Natalia shook her head, tight-lipped smile on her face, brief and too weak for anyone to believe that she had that much faith in him.

It wounded Steven, yes, but feeble-minded he was not. The truth was merciless; not one man had ever returned from the path he was about to set foot on. Not a single one.

“You are a fool,” Natalia lamented, her palm tenderly laid on his chest, as if she could feel his heartbeat under the many layers covering his torso, including the thick chainmail. “May the Gods protect you, Steven. Be careful.”

He nodded, only having taken a single step aside when another person appeared in his path.

Wanda. The sister. Realization dawned to Steven, for the first time since the unfortunate morning of Pietro being chosen, that she had barely reached the age of a woman, rather being a child still. Bending down to her as her frame seemed even smaller than usual, her thin shoulders scrunched in guilt, Steven could see clearly her tears-stained face.

Her petite hands, cold to touch and trembling, wrapped around his left one, watery eyes looking up at him. Steven didn’t hesitate to give her a smile, to assure her that she owed him nothing for taking her brother’s place.

The redhead didn’t seem to agree, seeing as her skirts swirled and she fell to her knees right in front of him in a gesture of subservience.

“My la-“ he exclaimed, alarmed, more so when she turned his hand in hers, her lips hovering above his leather-cladded palm, another sign of inferiority to him, leaving him horrified. Overtaken by shock, rendered speechless, he only observed as she took his other hand and repeated her action, clinging onto him like onto a dear life.

Only when she raised her teary eyes to him, he shook himself at last and kneeled to her level, regardless of the mud staining his attire. She had clearly cared not for her skirts either as the plain dress she was wearing were now soaked in dirt.

“My lady, Wanda-”

Her lips quivered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as she released his hand and reached to the curve of her nape, unfastening a thin chain carrying a pendent.

Breath caught in Steven’s throat when she handed it to him without hesitation, curling her tiny fingers around his before he could even consider giving it back. Her whisper, peculiarly deep and so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear it, resonated in his soul, her gaze trapping him.

“Shall the kindness of your heart be your lifeline in the dark. May it shine and keep you warm, perish not its honest spark.”

Mesmerized by a red gleam which Steven would swear he saw burning in her eyes for the shortest of moments, he nearly missed the flicker of fire running through his veins.

Mind foggy, he blinked quite frantically to clear his vision. Wanda’s eyes welcomed him with their inviting brightness, her hands squeezing his. The illusion of the flame disappeared.

Snapping from his trance, Steven got a hold of her forearms and assisted her in standing up to her full height. She appeared unbothered by the state of her clothing, her gaze never leaving his face, focused and sincere.

“Blessed be your kind soul, son of Joseph,” Wanda whispered, voice as soft as her grateful smile.

Steven, feeling a strange tingle in his fingertips, at the base of his spine and in his very core, only nodded, his father’s name echoing in his ears. How had she heard of his father? How did she know?

Sensing the eyes of all onlookers on them, he swallowed his confusion and the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins and finally continued walking, the crowd closing behind him like sea. He readjusted the sword in its scabbard, the shield – a gift from the King himself for every man marching to find his own end in the woods – sitting heavy on the straps on his back.

The pendent from Wanda burned in his palm and so he secured it around his neck, hoping he would bring the precious piece of jewellery back to her.

Unknown to him, Wanda’s eyes followed him with content, an inconspicuous watery smile on her lips, a knowing glint in her eye as her brother placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

The glittering aura, now glowing bright due to her little enchantment, drawing sights of all powered creatures, just might mollify the spirits of the woods and cause them to spare Steven’s life as they never wished to harm a man of a pure heart.

The sun was nearly at the end of its path behind horizon when Steven walked through the city gate.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

♪

Steven couldn’t recall how he had found himself in this place of magic. His feet had led him of their own accord, the fire of his torch long gone; an absence barely acknowledged as the moonlight was shining bright, illuminating the scene unfolding in front of him.

A meadow soaked in silver, serene and yet bursting with life, laughter and music, men-like half-goat creatures romping in the middle, a circle of dancing women-- beautiful, beautiful women, light on their feet, nearly floating, their modest white clothing swirling with each movement---so exquisite that Steven forgot how to breathe, all coherent thought leaving his mind as his eyes remained hypnotized by the grace and joy of the dreamlike goddesses.

Laughing, voices as hundreds of tiny bells, two of the stunning women turned their head, spotting his lone figure standing motionless between the trees. Eyes sparkling, they sprung forward, bare feet barely touching the ground as they twirled around him, delicate fingers tracing the lines of his wide shoulders and his heart fluttered and begun to hum an ancient song he had never been taught and yet he knew.

His cloak pooled on the ground by his feet as their quick fingers unclasped the buckle and Steven was overtaken by gratitude, for the cloak had been weighting him down, a superfluous piece of heavy cloth, too warm, standing in the way of their pleasant touch—the chainmail was lost next, having him bound, suffocated---he only had the mindfulness of the precious doves to thank to for freeing him of his burdens.

His sword long abandoned beside the shield and his dagger, their giggle echoed in the open space, whispered back by the lindens and oaks, as they aided him to lose his boots too, those shackles preventing him from joining their joyful dance.

Each of the goddesses interlaced her fingers with his, pulling him into the whirl and twirl, his heart light and overflowing with happiness unknown until that very moment.

The sheer beauty of his female companions would have been enough to bring him to his knees, already growing weak from exhaustion; the delicate lines of their physique, hair he would serenade for its softness, lips lush, begging to be tasted, eyes sparkling with life—and one pair of the most dazzling eyes glassy with unshed tears, smiling, yet heavy with sorrow, never leaving his frame, never shying away from his fascinated gaze, her own boring into his very soul and weeping for it.

Steven truly ceased to breathe and his heart rose to the moon and stars themselves when she broke the circle and reached out to him the exact moment his legs gave out under a sudden wave of dizziness. Steven succeeded at staying on his feet only for her and the brief hint of a smile on her tempting lips.

Then, this incarnation of the goddess of beauty herself was drawn back to her place as the dancing and singing went on, weariness settling deep in Steven’s body. Too frantic, too swirly, too noisy—too little breaths, too little beats of his heart, his feet too slow, not even hoping to match the swift and elegant movements of his dance partners.

Glancing at the stunning woman-like creature following him with her mournful gaze, Steven had been offered a sight of her tears. His heart ached for he saw her sadness; he wished to dry the salty droplets, to wipe them with the pad of his thumb, to kiss them away-- but his hands were trapped in strong grips of his companions, not allowing him to as much as budge.

Darkness edged his vision and more and more tears escaped the wells of her eyes. Before Steve realized what was to happen, his worn feet tangled and he collapsed to the ground, grass and moss soft and damp under his cheek.

The music and singing didn’t cease, the circle simply shifting few feet away so his heavy body wouldn’t be in the way of the ancient dance, old as time itself.

Steven’s vision blurred; the last thing he felt before his mind abandoned the feast of the forest spirits was the woman – for whose smile to see he would both kill and die – cupping his cheek.

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

From the moment the sunrays ceased to paint the sky in warm colours, your heart appeared to be called out by a presence unknown to you until tonight.

Tonight--oh, the precious night, the dreaded night, as every year, a man would appear in the middle of the celebration of the gods and joined your circle, only to leave it before the fire could even begin to be lit.

Too weak, your sisters always whispered, dismissing the human as a lesser being, consumed by the feast, the most cherished night of the year.

It is to be as the Gods wish, they would laugh, pulling you back to the circle, the dance swift to take up all of your attention.

It is as it was meant to be, they would assure you as another soul left its vessel by the dawn, their elegant fingers scattering cowslips all over the cold body, enchantment whispered in deep voices resonating in your very soul, until the corpse was swallowed by the sacred ground.

You’d only contribute by tears, watering the earth with salt and sorrow, until your sisters – in soul, not blood – would hold your hands, tugging you to join them in collecting the sweetest dew, healing all plant life and animals, the magic of the previous night persisting in its droplets.

And as day blended into night and night into another day and night—you’d be soothed by the beautiful circle of life, for until the Walpurgis Night crept in anew and the history would repeat itself.

But tonight, oh, tonight, Gods bless this night and curse it-! Let it never end—for that the man who had appeared this night was too good, too beautiful, his presence blissful and warming, radiant, his kindness as if glowing through his whole being--- basking in his light alone brought tears of delight to your eyes—turning to ones of sorrow and terror when your sisters pulled him into your dance, a dance macabre for every ordinary human being.

Every human being; except you. Mother’s magic sheltered you, keeping you safe, but oh, oh, if he was to die, then who were you to live--

His eyes barely ever left you, as if he could hear the trees whispering it was you, it was on your conscience; pointing their barky fingers at you, they accused you of every life lost and the truth they revealed. All the men, they had been seeking you, seeing to bring you to the castle where you had been stolen from and then left to die.

They don’t deserve you, Findling. You are ours to protect, ours to love. Don’t you love us too? Have we not given you home? You are safer in the forest than with them; they gave you up before.

And the truth they spoke too, your sisters; here you were welcomed. Only Gods withheld the secret of what would await you in the city. It could be death for all you had learned.

And did you not belong here?

Were you not grateful enough to stay?

Not tonight-- oh, tonight, you wished to leave, to redeem the kind soul trapped in the claws of death, ugly claws slowly dragging him away since the moment his strong body found its nest on the forest floor.

Breaking the circle was an offence, the greatest; yet, your heart begged you to do so, to hasten to kneel by the handsome and the oh, oh so good stranger, your fingers tracing his lovely features, gazing into his eyes – the colour of the sky meeting a glassy surface of the lake – watching you intently until they fell close.

Tears dampened your cheeks, the swirl and twirl of the wind and dance cooling them down, but only vainly hoping to sooth the burn in your heart, the pounding ache.

Your sisters let you, finishing their gift to the Gods, the exquisite dance of life and only then, Aeliana kneeled beside you, fingers curling around your wrist and pulling you away, your handsome stranger remaining motionless aside from shallow breaths, thin clothing over his body and nothing else; he had discarded it all, left at the mercy to the cold of the night. Just like every man before.

“Come, Findling, leave the fellow to his fate.”

Your feet moved unwillingly, step after step building a distance from him, your head spinning from the ache squeezing your chest.

Could she not see?

“He’s of such kind heart, sister. Should we not spare him? Do we not protect kind men from harm?” you queried, interceding on his behalf.

Such a handsome man he was. And his soul, so gentle-

“Kind as he might be, he shall meet the fate the Gods have prepared for him. Come now, little Findling, the fire is to be lit soon!”

Your vessel heavier than you remembered, you followed her back to the gyration of joy, sparing your stranger one more longing glance.

“May the Gods protect you for you are already dear to me,” you prayed for him, having no power similar to your sisters to keep him safe, your words nothing but simple sound. “May the Gods protect you.”

And should they not, then I will.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Cold seeping into his bones was the cause of a rude awakening; his fingers and his toes hurting, a biting coolness blended into pain with how insistently it clawed at him.

A shudder shook his whole frame and for several moments, as he walked the thin line between wakefulness and the bliss of a dream, Steven remembered how he had once believed that the sensation would be everlasting. He thought so every winter, when due to ever-present cold, his weak body suffered from the illness with ferocity unknown to stronger men.

He grew up strong and healthy, yet the memories of icy cold remained, a reminder of how he had to be grateful for every little blessing in life. Steve didn’t recall feeling such cold for few winters now, certainly not when welcoming a new day; and a new day it was, the sun, lacking its summer warmth still, danced behind his closed eyelids.

A weight on his chest wasn’t feeling any more familiar, far from the sensation his covers ever offered and that, more than anything, caused him to open his eyes.

Steven was welcomed by green; a green of the meadow, a green of the lindens and oaks and… and a fading green of a wreath resting on the head of the sweetest creature lying – to his profound astonishment – on his chest.

His heart sang as he recognized her soft features at instant.

It was her. The beautiful woman with the mesmerizing regretful eyes was sleeping on his chest, covered in droplets of dew, sparkling in her hair and in the withered flowers of her wreath, causing her to look even more ethereal than the night before. She felt a warm feather-light weight on him despite the see-through spiderweb-thin fabric, only so-so covering her fragile body in places where Steven’s eyes shouldn’t even wander if he was to remain proper.

He observed her, perplexed and grateful to Gods; what for he wasn’t certain yet. For letting her live?

She appeared so dream-like, so fragile, yet her body kept its warmth as if not affected by the freezing cold biting into Steven’s own skin. He would have thought he had been the one to protect her from freezing to death; and yet somehow, it appeared as if it was the exact opposite. When he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and found courage to trace the pads of his fingers over her bare arm, her skin felt soft and warm, unlike his.

The breathing weight on him shifted at his daring touch and Steven would have regretted disturbing her sleep hadn’t it been for her luscious lips parting, her small hand over his heart flexing in his shirt, the tinniest movement sending a strand of her hair tickling his face and wrapping him in a heady flowery scent.

Hadn’t he been lost to her the night before, he would have given her his heart the very moment her eyes fluttered open, thick eyelashes calling for attention, framing a pair of the most mesmerizing irises he had even seen.

Hours could fly by and Steven wouldn’t have noticed; not when her gaze lingered on his face, locked with his and then… then she smiled, a wide and yet soft curve of her lips and Steven, who might have suffered from cold gnawing his body only a moment before, felt his heart melt; wondering what had he done to be blessed by the Gods guiding this stunning fairy into his arms.

“You are to live,” her voice caressed him and his hand acted at its own will, curling around the smooth arm it had stroked earlier.

Only then, her words rang in his ears, their meaning, and he couldn’t but reciprocate her smile. A complete fool he was not; he had a solid ground for believing she was the very reason he was still breathing. All of his predecessors had caught their death, only for their armour and clothing to be discovered untouched; seeing as he had apparently shed his own as well, he hadn’t been meant to survive.

The stunning beauty on his chest had saved him from freezing to death.    

“Yes, my beautiful fairy. I feel like I have you to thank to for such blessing,” Steven whispered reverently, his heart swelling in his chest. What had led her to such action? Why had she protected him? And how was she not freezing? Was it her magic? “How is it you are not cold yourself?”

Seemingly unbothered by his touch, she brought her palm to cup his bearded cheek, as she had the night before. “It’s a gift, one of many from mo-- oh Goddess, you must go, now-!”

Ignorant to the dread in her eyes, Steven revelled in her tender touch, nearly crying out when she withdrew and went to stood up in one graceful motion.

“Fairy mine, of what-“

“You must leave! Surely Mother would be furious to see I have not left you for death to take! Go, run-“

At her words, Steven’s brows furrowed. He did not want the woman’s mother to be angry with her for she had helped him. Climbing to his feet, bare toes stiffened and almost blue, he barely found his footing. His suddenly fearful fairy took his hand and guided him to where he had left his attire.

“Hurry-"

Steven’s body listened, his fingers, slightly numb from the cold, reaching for his chainmail and cloak; yet, his eyes remained fixed on her, basking in the light of her presence. She truly was exquisite; for all she had been breath-taking in the moonlight, in daylight she glowed brighter than the sun.

“What may I call you, fairy mine?”

Her delicate hands, frantically aiding him with his cloak, ceased their movements, resting on his shoulders as she looked up at his face and while confused, she replied with a gentle shook of her head, sending her silky hair sliding down her shoulders.

“I do not have a name. Mother and sisters call me Findling. It is of old language, it stands for a-“

“- foundling,” Steven stole the last word from her lips, astonished. At that moment, he could be knocked out with a feather. She was-- his beautiful savoir, his stunning fairy--- his hands rose to her cheek to caress the skin, impossibly warm given her modest clothing.

She truly was still alive. The long-lost princess, believed to be dead for years by nearly everyone… was still breathing, a tragically forfeit daughter growing into a beautiful woman with a heart of gold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, shy gaze lowering to the sacred ground.

“You’re human,” slipped past Steven’s parted lips and her features, already tender, softened as she elevated her gaze, irises deep as a sea and sorrowful for whichever cause.

“Yes.”

“I found you—no, you found me. You are--- come with me-!”

As if a lightning struck her very being, she slid from his grasp and retreated several steps, heading towards the trees. Without hesitation, Steven followed her light footsteps.

“We must go. You must leave the forest before the wrath of Mother finds you,” she said, voice carrying nothing of its earlier softness.

Steven mourned its loss; his strides much longer than hers, he stooped in her path and carefully took a hold of her wrists. She appeared agitated now, frustrated that he was thawing her plan to lead him to safety as quickly as she could.

He cradled her jaw then, seeing as she halted in her steps despite her indignation. Even angered, she was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Why wouldn’t you come to the castle with me? Your family mourns you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek unwittingly. “And I-I--“

I can’t even think of not seeing you again. Your smile. Gods, your smile…

Lost to the emotions swirling in her eyes, dancing across her features, a sudden thunderclap snapped them from their intimate conversation, practically causing his heart to stop in fright.

Steven instinctively stepped between her and where the noise had emitted from; the menacing sound had not been sent from the sky, he was certain of it as the sun still illuminated both him and the Princess.

“Mother,” his fairy whispered fearfully, easily slipping between Steven and the woman-like creature materializing between the trees, only few steps from them.

Steven liked little what his beautiful foundling had done for he was supposed to be the one to protect her. However, he could barely deny that he stood no chance against the Goddess, the Mother. His muscles could not even hope to compare to her magic; and could he feel it, the power crackling like a lightning in the air, a premonition of a death sentence.

Before Steven could as much as speak a single word, his fierce defender fell to her knees, head bowed in submission to her judge and jury.

“Mother, please, punish me for my insolence, for my felony—but harm him not. He is nothing but an innocent soul, too good to-“ she pleaded frantically, voice honest and trembling, striking Steven right in his heart, causing his chest to tighten.

His stunning fairy, the kindness incarnated, begged for his life.

No hesitation. No remorse. No care for her own well-being.

“No!” Steven blurted out, sidestepping her, only to freeze in his tracks when the Mother raised her hand, commanding him to stop without uttering a word.

Stunned, Steven didn’t dare to speak more, to move an inch; the creature carried herself a Goddess indeed, the Queen of the woods, the sovereign of magic itself. Purple and red twirled in her eyes, strict and yet somewhat kind, powerful. She walked measuredly to the pair of them, her outstretched hand slowly falling until she could reach the precious fairy, palm laying down on her head, caressing her hair, sliding lower until she forced her to raise her chin.

Then, the Mother smiled a gracious smile, seeing her daughter’s tears, tears which made Steven’s ribcage ache. She spoke in a voice deep enough to touch Steven’s soul, mighty and yet gentle.

“Did you believe I would punish you, Findling?” she questioned, sorrowfully almost. “For the love you carry in your soul, your kindness to strangers whose good heart you see even without ability to match ours? No, my sweet child. But you shall be reminded of the warning.”

Steven stiffened further. What warning?  Was a punishment still to be carried out? In contrary to her words- he could not let that happen, not to his little fairy he had only just found--

As if sensing his outrage, as if reading his thoughts – and for the briefest of moments, Steven wondered if the powerful creature possessed such ability –, she levelled her gaze with his, one corners of her lips twirling, her smile turning into something resembling a smirk.

“Be at ease, soldier, I do not wish to harm her, quite the opposite. We have her wellbeing in our hearts always,” she assured him, an army of women, actual fairies, appearing behind her back out of thin air, side by side, serene and beautiful. “You think us savages, son of Joseph. We are not. We would never abandon a child, crying and starving in the woods, left to die. Certainly not for a twisted vendetta.”

Struck by genuine surprise at both the sudden emerge of the ethereal creatures and the Mother’s words, Steven couldn’t let out a sound. He was rendered speechless, overtaken by the memory of Wanda addressing him the very name the Mother had, similar magic reflecting in her eyes.

What did it mean? What—how-

“If I should leave…” the former princess whispered, rising to her feet for her sovereign, only to be interrupted.

“You lose our protection, yes. You shall be an ordinary human again. Short of the joys our life brings.”

Steven found himself utterly lost in their conversation, a hunch nudging at his mind, an inkling of what the Goddess could mean by her words, painting a picture in his head he couldn’t quite grasp. Like a fool, he only observed the scene unfolding in front of him, feeling useless and ashamed for his inability to as much as move an inch.

“Thank you, Mother. Sisters,” his fairy bowed with a smile on her lips and tears sparkling in her eyes. “You have been kind to me. A true family. Perhaps the time has come for me to leave.”

The Mother smiled at her kindly, nodding and taking her hand between both of hers, squeezing gently.

“May your life rest in the hands of the good man tasked to bring you to your birthplace and tear you away from where you had found home.”

“May I… visit?” the Princess asked shyly, rewarded with a chorus of chuckles, thousands of tiny bells ringing in fine tune.

“You may always find a home with us shall you ever feel the desire.”

“I shall,” she echoed and turned to the awe-struck Steven, her shining eyes finding his gaze. “Shall we be on our way?”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Your feet were on the verge of giving out; unfamiliar with the cold biting into your skin, every step a rough sensation, every branch and stolon hurting, each thorn felt like a dagger in your soles.

And yet… your body was floating, a hand, gentle fingers, curled firmly around yours; you had lost sense of who was leading who. It was you and then it was him, it was a dance you had never knew and it had your breath caught in your chest; slightly painful, endlessly blissful.

The absence of words bothered you not. The chime of the birds and the whispers of trees carried a lovely tune and all was well.

“What will happen to you?” he asked, your handsome stranger, the kind soul calling out to yours since before your first encounter. “What was the… Goddess talking about?”

Moved by his concern for you, a brief smile passed your lips. You did not have the heart to tell him of the sensations, so human, yet unknown to you. You could sense it already, a true weariness – and finally, the vivacity too. You were nothing but a human again, the protective spell, casted upon you to keep you from harm commonly deadly to ordinary men, fading.

“Oh, Mother? Do not wear your head, I shall be quite alright,” you assured him and he, the sweet man he was, raised your hand to his face, caressing its back with his lips ever so softly.

“It is my duty to wear my head for you, fairy mine…”

His duty was it not. A heart-warming sentiment? Certainly. Your smile widened, a hiss escaping your lips only a moment later.

A sharp pain cut through your sole again, a shiver running through your whole being.

Cold and pain; your life from now on.

Faster than you could hope to comprehend, your companion stopped in his tracks, kneeling in front of you, tender and rough fingers examining your left foot; to your astonishment, a red liquid stained your cold skin, thick and heady. Blood. You had never bled before.

Genuine worry creased his forehead, his bright eyes looking up at your face as your teeth sunk into your lower lip; partly to cover your pain, partly from guilt as he observed you with tender accusation.

Pulling out a knife, he released your shaky foot in order to cut off a band of fabric from his thick cloak, swift fingers wrapping it around your wound.

“Thank-- thank you,” you stuttered, taken aback by the strange sensation of the cloth against your skin, your world swaying to side for a bit. You were bleeding, the fluid of life leaving your veins. So strange.

He shook his head, rising to his full height; a peculiar thrill it gave you, tilting your head back to maintain eye-contact.  Mesmerized by the colour of his irises, you barely noticed he stripped the cloak, securing it over your bare shoulders.

Before you could utter a word of protest, he scooped you into his strong arms, cradling you as if you belonged there and nowhere else. A feeling of infinite rightness overwhelmed you, nearly rendering you speechless.

“Oh no, put me down. It only is a brief faintness and pain-“

Securing you in his hold as if he had not heard you, his embrace grew firmer and looked into your eyes with gravity.

“You are not to walk barefoot, let alone on such cold morning, in the woods no less,” he argued, his hands warm against your unusually cold skin, his fingers caressing you and effectively causing words to get stuck in your throat. Taking a notice of your sudden speechlessness, he smiled. “Rest, little fairy. I will protect you.”

“I am not a fairy, son of Jo-“

“Steven. You should call me Steven, shall you be willing.”

As delighted as you were to learn his name at last, your concern remained unshaken.

“You will tire yourself… Steven.”

Swallowing the peculiar sensation of thrill his name created on your tongue, you busied yourself with the matter of his wellbeing. He soon would exhaust himself should he carry you. Surely, he must know that? He was strong, yes, an impressive mass of a man, shoulders which could carry the weight of the world and the curses of all Gods shall it come to it… but-

“With what, my sweetness?” he questioned lightly and began to walk. “You barely weight more than a feather. And you do appear a fairy to me. Beautiful. Ethereal. Like a fairy from the tales told to the good children so they would dream a sweet dream.”

Charmed by the compliments, your heart felt like it grew in size, filling your chest with each beat, sweet and dizzying. Uncertain how to show your gratitude and favour, you reached out. Your palm cupped Steven’s jaw, a touch featherlight indeed.

His breath caught in his chest and for a moment, you worried you must have done something which was not to his liking. But then, he nuzzled your palm, eyelids falling shut, a soft smile painted on his lips and you understood you had merely surprised him by your actions.

“You are too good to me, Steven.“

“Oh, my sweet fairy… you are too. Know, I would lay down my life for you this instant if you asked me to.”

An uncomfortable lump grew in your throat at such admission, tears stinging in your eyes as you thought of how little would suffice for him to meet his death for you, only the night prior.

“I would never ask. So many have lost their lives for me… I am feeling the deepest regret-“ you sobbed and his arms wound around you tighter as if shielding you from grief and regret weighing both your heart and conscience.

“It is not for you to blame yourself for what your father has done to find you.“

“Steven-“

His lips—oh Gods, his lips, warm and tender, brushed your palm still laid on his jaw, then proceeded to your forehead, warm breath caressing your hair. You lost your voice at the affection gifted to you, a single silent tear rolling down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetness, my name on your lips is like music…” he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion that sent a shiver – this time somehow pleasant – down your spine. “Lay your head down now, fairy mine. We have a journey ahead of ourselves still. I shall watch over your sleep like you have watched over mine.”

Your hand hesitantly slid from his neck, settling on his chest, his strong and oh so kind heart humming under your palm. Obediently you laid your head into the crook of his neck, a scent unknown but pleasant curling around you, causing your head to spin.

You closed your eyes and laid your life into the hands of the good man who had come to bring you back where you had been born; precisely as Mother had said.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

He had been greeted with delighted shouts full of excitement and surprise, people dropping whatever had they had on their hands only to follow him as he had carried his fairy, the Princess, to the castle, to her family.

The King and the Queen had been spending over a day with the long-lost princess, agreeing she truly was who she was, while Steven had been treated like a knight, provided with luxury unknown to him, luxury he found unnecessary; yet, who he was to refuse and offend the hospitability? Especially should it outrage the King?

Facing King Anthony now, he was asked to rise from his knee as he was promised to receive the greatest honours, enough food and money for a lifetime and a place at King’s Guard.

“You have done my kingdom an inestimable service, Steven. What else do you ask? Say the word and your wish should be granted,” the King of Starkerbürg offered generously, gesturing to encourage him to speak his mind.

And Steven wondered.

What could a man wish for? What more than he had been offered? For the people he loved to be treated in the same manner? Certainly, he could demand that? To give his friends a wedding they deserved, to ensure they would never have to worry about a place to lay down their heads, about feeding their children and themselves?

As his mind wandered to his friends, so deeply in love, he couldn’t but think of the Princess, of his beautiful, precious fairy. Oh, how had he already missed her, not having seen her for two days almost. His heart ached for her smile, for her soft touch.

However, a fool he was not. Asking for her hand would be unacceptable. The King would never allow it for Steven was nothing still; the King would never agree to wed a potential heiress to anyone but a lord, a prince of another land perhaps. Steven would be not surprised should the King already set plans in motion to offer her hand to his friend, Prince Thor of Asgard.

Steven couldn’t even dare to ask for what an insolence- a laughable demand would it be.

Swallowing his grief at that, his heart torn, a gaping wound in his chest, he asked for a fraction of what he desired. What more could he wish for that for being allowed to bask in her presence at least? Watching her afar, yes, but perhaps… he could speak a word with her, from time to time-

“My King… I—”

“Yes, Steven, please. Speak. I am listening,” King Anthony hurried him, short of impatient.

Shy and bold at the same time, Steven could barely raise his voice enough to be heard.

“Shall the Princess ever agree to it when she is recovered… may I—may I speak with her again?”

The crease forming on the King’s forehead meant nothing good and Steven stiffened, instantly scolding himself.

A fool! Natalia always told him he was one. The most foolish of all fools!

“Of what could you possibly speak with her? What motivation could you have? Perhaps… why should she ever as much as look at you, Steven?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Steven lost all will to speak as his voice betrayed him. He shook his head in defeat.

“Oh no, please. Do enlighten me,” the King continued, slowly rising from his seat, towering above Steven due to the three steps which led to the throne.

Steven bowed, shaking his head again. “Forgive me, my King. I should never have asked such a daring question-“

“Oh no, colour me curious, I would like to know what you have to say to me to this matter.”

“My King, I do apologize, I—I-“

A suffocating silence fell on the Royal Hall when Steven trailed off, tension heavy and menacing as he could sense the realization dawning to his King.

A complete fool, Steven. For all he survived the journey to the woods, he returned only to be beheaded by the King for a moment of rash boldness. A damn half-wit!

A gasp left the King’s lips and Steven clenched his jaw, hanging his head, awaiting his sentence.

Blood pounded in Steven’s temples, growing in intensity with each moment no words were spoken.

Two sharp claps of hands, as loud as a thunder in the empty hall, bounced off the walls instead and a rustling of chainmail instantly followed, heavy boots rushing to King’s aid.

Without much decorum, brute force knocked Steven down to his knees, a sharp pain jolting up his joints as they dug into the hard floor, one pair of firm hands pushing him down, another grabbing his wrists to keep them locked behind his back.

“Gods protect us from minds as feeble as yours,” King Anthony snarled, awe-struck and outraged all the same.

A pang of longing gnawed at Steve’s heart as his suspicions were confirmed. While the indignation at being thought of as of a lesser human being flared in his chest, the injustice nothing short of irritating, he didn’t utter a word. A harsh hand gripped his jaw, yanking it upward, forcing him to look into King’s eyes where rage twirled with contempt.

“You foolish nitwit! How could you even think I would ever allow you to—to WHAT? Court her? Gods forbid wed her?! To put your—your filthy hands on her?! Oh my, MY! You will not as much as LOOK at her ever again, you UNDERSTAND?! Gods- you--- you- TAKE HIM! Dungeon! Right this instant! You fool, you scum, you PERV!! Get him off my sight-!”

Yanked up without fight on his side – because truly, what the point would be, he was in the castle, he wouldn’t escape the many men of King’s Guard –, Steven was dragged away, meeting the raged glare of the King for the shortest of moments. King’s much obvious disgust hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of never seeing her again.

His beautiful, ethereal fairy.

Because he would never as much as get a glimpse of her ever again--- or perhaps he would, at his own execution? The King would make a huge spectacle of it, he was sure-

The heavy door to the hall were pushed open, Queen Virginia walking through them gracefully, the guards only bowing their heads frantically before they proceeded to tug Steven away.

Steven’s heart ceased to beat when his eyes fell on her; no, not the Queen, but her companion; and then it started singing, bliss and delight at his wish being granted not by the King, then by the Gods themselves.

She carried herself as light as she had when he had seen her the first time, the night of Walpurgis, shining brighter than the moonlight, than the sun itself, as exquisite in her royal blue gown as she had appeared in her modest attire of thin white fabric.

Gods, she appeared ethereal and where the Queen’s shoes clicked against the floor, hers tapped, causing Steven to smile. She might be wearing a dress worth a months’ living, but she remained barefoot. He would be afraid about her catching cold; however, he rested assured that her newfound family and servants would never allow it to go as far.

Where Queen’s brown furrowed, her face lighted up impossibly at the sight of him; and Steven knew he would die a happy man. Such delight in her eyes was the greatest gift he could be given and he shall accept it and take it to afterlife.

“My King,” the Queen greeted her husband shortly, apparently confused at the scene unfolding in front of her. Steven paid her no mind as the gaze of his stunning fairy followed him, the spark in her eye fading, clouded by bewilderment. Steven’s chest tightened at the loss. “What-“

“Wait!” the Princess piped up and Gods bless, the guards halted in their steps, hesitant gazes casted upon their king in question. “What is it we have walked into?”

The King instantly fixed a smile for the newcomers, not providing an answer to the guards on how they should proceed. Who should they listen to? The King or the Princess, an unfamiliar woman put on a pedestal?

“Oh, simply a little quarrel, dear sister. Worry not your pretty head.”

Steven grinded his teeth at the patronizing approach.

She was not a child; and naïve she might be, untrained in the procedures of the court, but feeble-minded she was not. She might have not grown up around ordinary men, but her eyes displayed wit and understanding of human nature deeper than of several people Steven had encountered.

Her gaze flickered between the King, the Queen and Steven and her face lost any resemblance of a smile for a moment long enough to bring sorrow to everyone present. Her eyes lingered on Steven the longest and while aware he should not, he basked in her softened expression, his chest heaving in pride.

A brief smile passed her lips as she turned to her brother, her long eyelashes fluttering. Steven couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a dream coming to life.

“A little quarrel? Then surely it can be solved without such violent behaviour, without handling a man, who brought me home, with brute force,” she said, innocence incarnated.

Her gaze flickered to Steven again, a spark of emotion he couldn’t hope to unravel in them.

King Anthony wavered, silent for a moment as expectant gazes of his wife and his sister were casted upon him. Pretending to be mollified by his sister’s remark, he beckoned to his Guard to release Steven; much to Steven’s surprise.

Upon that action, his brilliant fairy smiled brightly, her fingers getting a hold of her skirts to get it out of her way, scampering to Steven as the guards took a step back. And Steve truly could die a happy man at such gesture, feeling blessed. She chose to grace him with her attention; him, not the King, her brother.

Against his will, a smile formed on his lips, all ache disappearing from his chest, his knees, his roughly handled wrists. Her whole demeanour glowed with sincerity as she came to a stop only a step from him, her head tilted back a fraction as he stood taller above her.

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the King stiffen, his hands balled in fists. Steven paid him little attention; how could he do any different with the breath-taking woman so close to him, looking up at his face with her full lips curled up in an inviting smile, eyes mesmerizing as always?

“You are not to walk barefoot,” he remarked, quickly catching himself and in hope to maintain at least some etiquette, he took one painful step back, bowing to her, “Your Highness.”

The grind of King’s teeth could be heard as Steven spoke up without permission. In all honesty, Steven had no care in the world. If he was to die, he might as well walk through paradise before meeting his end.

“Whatever has happened to ‘my fairy?’” she questioned sweetly, eyes full of wonder, the corners of her lips losing its happy curve.

In another world, a world outside the lovebirds’ little universe, the King was searing, nothing but a growl coming deeply from his chest. Queen Virginia laid a soothing hand over his heart, scolding him by one single look for his barbarian ways.

In his own paradise, Steven’s heart pounded and swelled, touched by his fairy’s hopeful question. He cleared his throat as a lump grew in it, torn between the need wrap her in his love and keeping his head on his shoulders rather than have it cut off.

As much as he was in her favour, surely the King would hate him should he as much as attempt to court her.

“It is not proper, Your Highness. I should have not-“

“But you should, Steven!” she whispered feverishly, her tender hands cupping his face, tears turning her eyes glassy. Steven’s breath hitched, his insides twisting painfully. “Or do you not feel for me what you have felt before?”

The very moment, Steven realized he could not care less about being a fool as long as he would be a fool for her. His shoulders hunching, he bended down to meet his beauty’s gaze properly, his palm covering the back of her hand on him, caressing affectionately.

“Oh, sweetness, fairy mine, I shall cherish you for as long as I live,” he declared. Which might not be too long, he thought, considering the King fuming as he watched them, prepared to tell the guards to pierce Steven’s heart with a sword right here and now, apparently.  

However, the beautiful smile reappeared, a single tear rolling down her cheek as one of her hands slipped lower to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering no doubt.

“Then I shall hope you will live long…” she whispered, inching away to look at the King with undying hope indeed. “Shall I not, brother mine?”

Oh, feeble-minded she was not and she very much did understand what she had walked into.

If Steven was bold enough to read anything into her actions, her gestures, her affection, he would believe she carried him in her heart, in her mind as much as he had been in his and truly-- when had he deserved such blessing?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake! You want to keep him?!” the King demanded, exasperated as he was aware his question was nothing short of pointless for her favour was evident.

“Keep him? In my heart? Oh, how I wish for it, brother dear!”

The King shuddered at the addressing, moved by her voice holding such joy and wistfulness. Oh, how she had him wrapped around her finger! Her persona was as enchanting as the night Steven had encountered her; a human and yet a fairy, her charms stronger than the magic of the forest creatures who could only wish to match its power!

“Husband. Anthony…” the Queen chimed in, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Do you not recall your father’s disapproval? Fond of your choice was he not. Not fond of me in the slightest.”

“For he was a fool,” the King scoffed, meeting his wife’s gaze.

“Then do not be the same fool,” she retorted and despite himself, Steven couldn’t stop the corners of his lips twitching, more so when the King pouted at his wife’s remark.

Peace in his mind, recognizing his head was not to be chopped off in the near future, Steven feasted his eyes on the stunning fairy, her touch still soft on his cheeks, her smile illuminating the Royal Hall, nothing but pure love as she gazed up at him.

The King grumbled something incomprehensible, sighed and finally gave his approval.

The Princess’ laughter rang loud and joyful as she dropped her hands from Steven’s face in order to run to her brother, assaulting him with a fierce hug which caused the King to stumble backwards.

“Thank you, brother! Thank you! I would have come back to the woods should you not-“

“Whoa, whoa! No woods, you stay right here, even if it’s with this fo-“

“I am so happy, brother mine!” Her kiss smacked on the King’s cheek, his sudden panic resolving, an actual blush colouring his face, much to Queen Virginia’s amusement.

“Alright, alright, no need to smooch me, young lady-“

While was the King in fact basking in the affection from his long-lost sister despite his words demanding restraint, his eyes met with Steven’s. And for the briefest of moments, they shared a deep understanding; a similar knowledge of what was of the highest import.

As long it would make her happy, they would do anything. Even put up with each other’s presence.

Without a warning, the Princess left her brother’s embrace again and rushed back to Steven’s arms. Worrying not for being scolded and executed anymore, he smiled at her widely and welcomed her, hands locked on the back of her thighs, lifting her from the floor so she towered over him for once.

Awed at the heights she found herself in, she bent down to Steven’s face, her lips brushing his, loving and euphoric; her kiss sealed the deal and their happy beginning. 

No one – not the grumbling King or his Queen, not the delighted Princess Fairy or her beloved, let alone the still perplexed members of the King’s Guard – noticed the gust of wind dashing through the Royal Hall and the silent click of the door.

In a ramshackle house at the edge of the town, Wanda smiled when her brother brought her the joyful news and her fingers brushed the powerful pendent, a gift from her Mother, once more resting heavy on her chest.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Notes: Yes, it got away from me, AGAIN, and more than usual. Sorry?  

I hope you had not been repulsed by the possibly crappy and totally mixed up representation of old religions; then again I think all is fair in a fairy tale AU 😇 Also, sorry if the language sounds weird; I tried.

I’d like to thank @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ once more for letting me participate in her challenge and I thank you all who have made it to the very end of this long-ass fic. Any feedback is always appreciated.

P.S. - if you feel brave enough, I’d be delighted if checked out my Masterlist

[lbibliophile-mcu]

Ice Bound - pt 1

For: @whumptober2020​ - day 20: lost @star-spangled-bingo​ - soulmate au @buckybarnesbingo​ - Y1: image of Steve and Bucky post-Azzano [fill details at end]

Words: 620 Also on AO3

Steve and Bucky are Bonded. From the day they first meet they are inseparable – best friends and brothers – hardly a day goes past without the other’s company. People say they are lucky, finding each other so young, so close, never having to search and wonder; they say that it is a sign of the strength of their bond.

 They will need that strength.

 -----

 The war is hard on both of them. It’s the first time they’ve been separated for any length of time, and they both know the danger Bucky is walking into and his chances for survival.

Steve becomes Captain America, but is restricted to publicity tours back home; the whole while, his heart and mind are reaching for his brother half way round the globe.

-----

Bucky makes friends and fights and gets captured by Hydra. Sometimes he wonders why he’s the only one that Hydra experimented on who survived. Weeks later, he discovers that having a Bonded who is already a supersoldier helps when you are given a diluted version.

-----

Steve finally gets to the Front and discovers Bucky has been taken, and nothing is going to stop him from getting him back. Bond-luck apparently makes finding someone in a secret base merely improbable rather than impossible.

Together again, they and the Howlies run around Europe wreaking havoc on Hydra bases.

Then comes the train.

And Bucky falls.

And Bucky dies.

It’s odd. Normally, when a Bonded dies, their partner’s grief is an empty aching void, a part of them reaching out to someone who can no longer answer. But Steve’s grief is pain, searing loss and a burning desire for revenge.

It takes several weeks to get everything organised for the final assault on the Red Skull’s base, and Steve is there every step of the way, a frenetic energy forcing him into action.

Finally the day comes and he faces Schmidt, fights him, sees him lost to the power of the Tesseract.

Steve is in the plane, and knows that his only option is to crash it into the ocean. But that’s ok. The pain and anger is gone, replaced by a creeping freezing numbness. He sees the ocean rushing towards him and smiles; if there is an afterlife, Bucky will be waiting for him. He barely feels the freezing water as it soaks through his uniform.

-----

The Valkyrie crashes and, half a continent away, a cryo-chamber finishes bringing its contents to a stable temperature for the first time.

 -----

Hydra had found Bucky when he fell from the train, and recognised him as both Captain America’s friend and Zola’s experiment. They rescued him and healed him, and began the first stages of turning him into a tool to be used.

But they knew of Schmidt’s planned attack, and saw preparations for the Allies’ counter; the organisation’s direction would soon change, either for the better or the worse. This was not the time to dedicate resources to a new long-term project. So they stored it until more favourable conditions. They froze Bucky. (Bucky was lucky; he was the first to survive that experiment too.)

Over the years, they wake Bucky several times. First for conditioning, then for training, then for missions.

They are surprised by how easily Bucky bends to their will, particularly in comparison to their records of his last stay. It is as though a part of his mind is still asleep. But maybe it is the effects of the cryo-chamber; after all, they thaw him, but he never seems to become warm. They call him the Winter Soldier.

-----

In the ice, Steve dreams. He dreams of pain, faces, words, pain, horror, defeat, pain, guns, blood, pain, cold.

Then, Steve wakes.

----- -----

BBB fill details Title: Ice Bound Collaborator: LBibliophile Link:  AO3 Square Filled: Y1- image of Bucky and Steve post-Azzano Ship: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers (or Bucky/Steve if you choose) Rating: T Major Tags: Soulmates au, cryofreeze, implied passive suicide Summary: Steve and Bucky are Bonded. From the day they first meet they are inseparable – best friends and brothers – hardly a day goes past without the other’s company. People say they are lucky, finding each other so young, so close, never having to search and wonder; they say that it is a sign of the strength of their bond. They will need that strength. Word Count: 615

[betheflame]

creator tag game

tagged by my darling @onlymorelove

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2019. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

1. And I’ll Give You A Safe Place to Land

My first fic written since 2008 and my first fic in the MCU fandom. What a kind and lovely reception I got, even though I wrote a rare pair and didn’t even know it! 

Love is complicated but it always wins.

Before the suits and the super soldier resurrections, Pepper loved Tony. Then he ended up in a cave and got brave enough to tell her he loved her, too. Then Steve showed up and needed a family, and then Peter needed one, too.

Then there was the Winter Soldier and trips to Wakanda and battles against Thanos and through it all, they all needed a safe place to land.

(Complete fic that's essentially my re-write of the Tony & Steven centric MCU canon (Iron Man 1 - Endgame) with SIGNIFICANTLY more smooching and guaranteed happily ever afters.)

____

2. Turns Out, I Have a Rose Garden

The reception on this political AU still blows me away. 

President Steven Grant Rogers was gearing up to run for president again and he had yet to deliver on his major campaign promise from the first term: reverse the effects of climate change by at least 40%. Luckily for him, billionaire genius inventor Tony Stark had just the technology to do it.

Less luckily for Steve, he was totally into Tony, who had no idea Steve was gay because essentially no one knew Steve was gay. If Steve has to choose between a second crack at the office or a first crack at true love, which one wins?

____

3. He Used to Be Mine

My first Stucky fic - it’ll always be close in my heart for that reason. I loved creating this world and giving Bucky his happily ever after. 

Steve and Bucky were it for each other, until life happened. Now, nearly 20 years later, they meet again. Bucky's boyfriend is an abusive jagweed, however, so Steve has some work to do.

Love, however, might be complicated, but it always wins.

_____

4. A Teddy Bear That Smells Like Family

My version of a EG fix-it, that brings our folks to the afterlife and heals a lot of old wounds. I loved, loved, loooooooved writing this and think it’s probably some of the best prose I crafted the entire year. 

Nat & Tony meet at a bus stop in the afterlife and take a ride through heaven and hell.

Eventually, everyone else does too.

____

5. Sobriety Chips and Salsa

The most emotional hurt/comfort I could bring myself to write for the POTS server event. I’m pretty fucking proud of this one, folks. 

Sure, they all knew Tony was an alcoholic, but he had it basically under control, right?

Right?

Or, the story where he absolutely didn't, but eventually does, and both he and Steve remember the meaning of their vows.

____

Now, I basically tag everyone because I love these posts and want to know what you’re proud of, but off the top of my head, the folks that haven’t been are @hogwartstoalexandria @iam93percentstardust @dresupi @sablier-bloque @em-dibujsb @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @stargirl222 @avengersnewb

If you are seeing this and you haven’t been tagged - I TAG YOU! 

[underthemoon-and-stars]

Art Brought Us Together- Preserum Steve X Reader

This is a lil present for Steve’s Birthday so!!! Happy Birthday you cutie!!! -Selenophile

He was an artist.

was

Now he’s fights in Germany, dancing along to death’s ballet with unskilled HYDRA soldiers. He’s become the American Dream for so many back on the home front. He’s the star-spangled man with a plan, advertising war bonds - a term he probably never understood, since after all he dropped out of high school - to inspire nationalism among the population.

Steven Grant Rogers was the one, the only, Captain America.

At one point, though, he was an ordinary everyday artist. Attending painting class every Monday. Sketch every Tuesday. Perspective on Wednesday, etc etc. Missing his train by 5 minutes due to his disorganization. Always having at least 1 or 2 blotches of crimson decorating his skin or white collared shirt.

At one point, though, he was an ordinary everyday artist. Attending painting class every Monday. Sketch every Tuesday. Perspective on Wednesday, etc etc. Missing his train by 5 minutes due to his disorganization. Always having at least 1 or 2 blotches of crimson decorating his skin or white collared shirt.

Sickeningly skinny. Asthma ridden windpipe. Blistered knuckles. Beautiful baby blue eyes that told a million stories his mouth couldn’t.

That was the Steven Grant Rogers you knew. That’s the Steve you fell in love with.

Both of you met in an advance art class in the center of Brooklyn. You were drawing out the basic shapes of the fruit bowl when he stumbled into his chair. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart over to the young man. You heard his heavy-as-a-ton gasps of air, you watched the gross salty beads of sweat drip down his brow. What caused the struggle? He was 15 minutes late to the first class. Missed his train by 3 minutes ( which later wouldn’t surprise you as much ). His small hands swiveled down into his bag and-

Nothing was in there.

You had to help him out at this point.

“Here” You spoke up softly, sliding a piece of sketch paper his way. “just take some of my paper”

His head gently turned towards you, the redness of his cheeks resembling a perfect cherry tomato. Not only was he embarrassed he left all his stuff at home, you were just simply gorgeous. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty voice.

Overwhelmed, he took the paper rather slowly. His thank you came rather slow too. With a nod of your head, he turned away and started to work.

You didn’t think much of him after that. The skinny little boy who sat next to you in art and occasionally needed paper was just that. Of course, you thought he was adorable, but just not your type. The disorganized life he lead just wasn’t for you.

That thought all changed though.

It was late at night, at least two months into the corse when your changed your mind on the boy.

You braved the streets of Brooklyn, hoping for a smooth night. You didn’t not receive that. Cat-Calling lead to name calling which lead to you being followed. You had so many fears in your mind. Were you going to be attacked? Robbed? Worsening thoughts came to your mind as you found yourself running away from two big men behind you. Alleyway was a dead end. You mumbled your last goodbyes, blew a kiss up to your parents, and prayed you’ve been good enough for the afterlife.

Until you heard him

“Leave her alone!! She’s done nothing to deserve whatever you plan on doing to her!”

It was the kid who sat next to you in art. Small, skinny and ready to fight.

The two men laughed real hard.

“And what are you going to do about it?” One of them bruted.

Blinking was such a bad thing to do. One minute the men where approaching the little man, the next both of them were holding their jaws and you were being ran out of the alley.

The boy’s asthma catched up with him though, and they were blocks away from your apartment. Luckily, you were close to his. That’s were you hid for the night.

He placed you down on an old ottoman, fetching you a glass of somewhat cool water.

The first thing he asked you was: “are you hurt?”

You shook your head no in response. Weakly taking sips of your drink, you saw his sigh of relief.

“Thank god your-“

You can’t help but interrupt him “No no, thank you. Without you I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. I don’t ever wanna find out what would happen to me.”

Heat returned to his cheeks, just like they did on the first day you two met.

“Ah shucks, it was my pleasure”

The room went silent before you finally learned your hero’s name.

“Oh, I’m Steven Grant Rogers. Steve is just fine though. And You are?”

“Y/N”

“It’s a pleasure to finally know you Y/N”

From there on out, it was smooth sailing between you two.

He wouldn’t let you walk home alone anymore. Some nights it was you and him, sometimes his friend Bucky tagged along. Either way, you two wouldn’t shut up about art and books and yourselves until you arrived home safely.

One night, while the sun hung real low in the sky and the moon was waiting for its chance to shoot into the atsmosphere, he asked you a question.

“Can I take you out somewhere, someday pretty girl?”

Your smile widen. “You may Steve”.

That first date became the best date of your life. He set up a nice picnic in the park. You two laid on the comforting green grass for hours. You just enjoyed being with him, and he was enfatuated with the ideas of seeing and being with you.

That night you slipped you fingers together. It was a perfect puzzle. Interlocking them wasn’t painful, nor uncomfortable. Your hands just fit so well together.

It was destiny.

You two continued going on dates after that. Movie dates, Dinner dates, Park dates, Art Dates. One day he took you into New York City just so you could say you’ve been. After each date you became more intimate with him.

On the first date you held hands, the second date you held each other in a big hug. The third date you spooned his cute little body snug into your chest. Forth included waist holding, Fifth included arm clinging. It wasn’t till the ninth date when he kissed your cheek, prompting you on the tenth to kiss his plush, pink lips for the first time.

It was magic the way you two kissed. You felt your stomach flip, he boticed fireworks exploding in his heart. His hands made their way to their rightful places on your cheeks. Gentle thumbs rubbed the soft skin you beheld. Now, your hands met his hips, where rubbing the bone made him giggle and blush more. Both lips danced together in a rhythmic motion. It reminded you of your hands: perfectly interlocked.

He moved into your place a month later. You cuddled every single night, anyways switching positions time to time. Little did you know he was moving back out a month later.

“War...stevie, your joking....”

“I need to play my part, Y/N. People need my help...”

“You act as if your the only man out of that battlefield...”

Tears spill out of your eyes. His little arms wrapped around you. Steve was such a sweetheart and you were about to loose him to war. You wish you could stop him, but you knew that was impossible. That big heart of his didn’t stop him back in the day, it won’t stop him now.

“Fine...but I want you to give me the best night of my life before you go, do you understand me?”

“Always”

And so, that night finally came around. Bucky left a long time ago. He had no choice as he was drafted. But Steve. Steve was to leave for a Jersey training camp at 6 am. He could stay. They could kick him out for all his physical ailments. They wouldn’t though. He’s already gotten this far on lies.

He sits next to you on the bed. Your body immediately collapses into his

“Don’t leave stevie...I need you here with me”

“Y/N, you know I’ll return to you”

“And if you don’t?”

Steve laughed a bit before he said “then you can fetch me out of my grave and kill me again for hurting such a beautiful girl like you, my wife”

You pause, allowing your head to tilt off to the side. “Wife?”

Steve slides a golden band on your finger. “Wife. I’m going to marry you after the war, if you allow me to that is”

You sit up, raindrops falling from your cloudly eyes. You never nodded so hard in your life.

He keeps his promise too. He gives you the best night of your life. You honestly couldn’t believe he had such talent in him.

“Congratulations Stevie, you have taken away my virginity” you say between your pants.

“Mine as well, Y/N”

You wake up to an empty bed. Well, not completely empty. There’s a note that reads “I love you more then I ever loved anyone else. I’ll see you before you know it”

Before you know it was 80 years later. At 97 years old, your son, Steve, places you in an elderly home. He visits you at least once a week. This day, though, it wasn’t your son Steve visiting you. It was a past husband of yours.

“Y/N....my name is St-“

“What took you so long? I was starting to think I had to beat your ass in heaven. “

He laughed weakly, your hands interlocking perfectly. Just like they did back then.

“I love you Y/N....my wife”

“And I love you Steve....my husband”

Send all suggestions to the inbox! 💌

[min-sugakookies]

I have been tagged (long ago) to do multiple tags by @casuallysassypirate so I'm going to do the bias selfie tag (as seen above, sorry for the blanket and messy bed head) 15 questions and URL song tag.

Thanks for tagging me, luve!!

Here we go!!!

Are you named after someone: Nope.

When was the last time you cried: Yesterday lol. I didn't feel good, and when I'm frustrated or pissed off I cry... I cry very easily, even when I laugh hard.

Do you have kids: *laughs hysterically at this absurd question as I walk away*

Do you use sarcasm a lot: I do, but I know I'm not good at it...

What’s the first thing you notice about someone: Personality and smile.

Eye colour: Hazel.

Scary movie or happy ending: Happy wonderful ending.

Any special talents: I mean, I think I can sing okay... Does that count.

Where were you born: *starts singing the Star Spangled Banner* 🇺🇸

Hobbies: Listening to music, watching YouTube, coloring, scrolling through Tumblr, reading, writing, shopping when I can.

Pets: 2 miniature poodles.

What sports do you play/have you played: Bold of you to assume I've ever participated in the act of exerting energy.

Favorite subject: (to talk about) BTS lol.

URL SONG TAG:

M- Ma City by BTS

I- Into the Nothing by Breaking Benjamin

N- Not Today by BTS

S- Sarcasm by Get Scared

U- Undo it by Carrie Underwood

G- Give it to me by Agust D

A- Afterlife by Avenged Sevenfold

K- Kick Me by Sleeping with Sirens

O- Out Loud by Gabbie Hanna

O- Open your Eyes by Disturbed

K- KILLING ME by Ikon

I- It's Definitely You by Jin and V

E- Embarrassed by BTS

S- Siren by Sunmi.

I'm tagging anyobe who wants to do this!!!

[anonthenullifier]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Warning: mention of and implication of character death. Based on the trailers for Infinity War. 

All of my other speculative Infinity War fics have been wrong, so if I write this, it means it will be wrong, right? Please?

AO3 Link

The jungle is alive with susurrations, leaves conversing in the breeze, a chatter of birds, a small tributary babbles less than a quarter mile away, all things that, in any other circumstance would be labeled peaceful, but that peace is eradicated by the distant cacophony of war. Vision lays his head back, ignoring the irritating placement of a stub from a broken branch that is stabbing his neck, and momentarily closes his eyes. Which is a mistake, the instant he removes all other visual stimuli he is overpowered by the nigh constant pulsing of the patched together wound in his side and the terrified, frenetic beat of the Mindstone as its brethren call out for it. His eyes snap open and air rushes soundlessly from his mouth as he attempts to steady his mind and push the pain away. “Vizh?”

Wanda is staring at him , the cut she sustained in Edinburgh bunching together as she allows concern to overtake her face. “I,” there are three potential answers here (at the very least) the socially polite reassurance of I am fine, the truth, and then redirection, “believe I may be able to keep moving in a few more minutes.” His words drag her mouth down, but Wanda is not the one to deny his suggestion.

“We can defend ourselves here, no need to keep looking.” The new shields became part of Steve’s overall persona far faster than anyone thought possible, so much so Vision is having difficulty remembering Captain Rogers and his star-spangled disc, the image replaced by the present intensity of the now bearded man. “Wanda,” her eyes only now leave Vision, reluctantly sliding to their leader’s face, and whatever it is they discuss, Vision’s attention is already gone, the pain escalating with each agonizing yell from the distant battlefield and each flare of prismatic power that bursts from the gauntlet on Thanos’ hand.

It is only now, in the tense quiet, in the waiting for fate that he finds himself finally accepting what is happening. He is afraid. Not merely the flimsy skittishness of unease he has experienced previously in battle (mainly when Wanda is injured or stumbles), but a deep, suffocating fear that wraps its long fingers around his chest and squeezes until there is no air left for him to gulp. The thing, Vision discovers only now, with fear is that it is insidious and persistent, an invasive species that forces him to relinquish the usually tight control he has over his thoughts. Now is not the time to meander through the lucid and daunting complexities of life, he should be focused on battle, on what he can do, and yet he cannot seem to quell the raging storm in his mind.

No one is willing to verbalize it, but the truth is plastered on everyone’s face and it is loud and resonant in his own mind: Vision is likely going to die.  It is a fact that had not seemed feasible even a week before when his fingers ran idly through Wanda’s dyed hair, the rain pattering against the hotel window, in fact, he had always taken comfort in the knowledge of the opposite. Of all his teammates, he was the least likely to perish, his very cells sewn with vibranium, the synthetic nature of his organs resistant to aging and disease, never once had he been harmed physically. Until he met the tip of a glaive. Now every reassurance, every surety of his life is tumbling from his grasp. Wanda’s eyes have taken on a sheen of defiance, refusing to accept losing one more person, and that itself terrifies him more. He adores…no, loves her resilience and strength, finds himself equally aggravated and intrigued by her ability to negate logic and stand steadfast based solely on an intuitive and emotionally charged belief that she will persevere. Yet this trait also carries with it a self-sacrificial quality, and if anyone dies today, he needs it to be him, not her.

Which only carries with it a larger, more philosophical quandary he had never found it necessary to consider. What, precisely, happens when you die? He has seen the effects of death on his teammates – has held Wanda in the middle of the night when the hole left by Pietro widens into unbearable pain. He has seen the anger and irrationality in Stark’s behavior and thoughts at the knowledge and continual rumination of what befell his parents. He has seen the hollowness in the eyes of his teammates when they share war stories, jocular tones of their late comrades’ deeds barely hiding the sorrow of speaking in remembrance instead of with that person at their side. But these are the ripples of death, the impact it leaves on others. What he finds himself honing in on is what would happen to him? The process of death is well documented, the slowing of the organs, the changing in coloration of skin (which he believes may not apply to his synthetic dermis), the rigidity of the muscles before they loosen, and then the decay. This, however, is not comforting to know, because now that he’s lived amongst people, cultivated a life of his own,he cannot imagine simply losing it, never knowing what wondrous feats Wanda completes, how she recovers, moves on, lives a long and fulfilling life.  And it hurts, more than the wound in his side and the raging headache from the Mindstone, to accept he will never know this, never see her again. Perhaps this is why humans rely so much on religion, cling to the notion of an afterlife teeming with the souls of their loved ones, because in this moment that is the only thing that instills in him an odd, illogical hope.

A high-pitched noise fills the sky above them, their eyes lifting to watch the streaks of slate smoke billowing out from another boulder-sized asteroid bearing down into the middle of the battlefield. Suddenly his thoughts flee, heart racing at the click and swish of Steve’s shields activating as his eyes narrow with the resolute nod of his head. “Be ready.”

The finality of the words finally puncture the bulbous pillows collecting in Wanda’s eyes, her features cracking as the tears trickle down, head shaking in time with the quiver of her bottom lip as her eyes find Vision’s. “Vision.”

Emotions were once so foreign to him, he felt them but was incapable of identifying and defining them. Sadness, until he knew what it was, was simply a weight that hung at the bottom of his lungs, one that caused his body to respond slower, mind tied up in distortional thinking. It was only upon knowing the term, linking the two together, that he could define and parse out each separate affective state. His name, when she says it, always carries emotion but never the same one: sometimes it is happy, exhausted, excited, amused, annoyed, awe-stricken, or filled with love (his favorite). Yet right now he can, from two syllables, gather her fear and her anger, her anxiety and anguish, doubtfulness and resolution. “Wanda.” He chokes in the middle of her name, realizing only now how despair can influence his physiological functioning, fattening his tongue and closing his throat. But she rushes to him, drops down onto a knee and brings her palm to his face.

“Vision, we’ll be fine.”

It is a blatant lie, one she does not believe and neither does he, but he accepts it, wraps his right hand around her wrist and brings his left to cover her gloved knuckles. They’ve been running for so long now, clandestine meetings across the world, long nights where the only thing that mattered was the words they whispered and the feel of their bodies and minds synchronizing and embracing, that it is tempting to keep going. Another crash and there is a flicker from behind Wanda, the damaged shield faltering and then falling from around the battlefield. “It is too late.”

“No.”

The crunch of a twig echoes around them as Steve crouches into a stance they’ve practiced hundreds of time in training, voice uncomfortably calm while he narrates what is happening, “Thanos is coming.”

Vision refuses to disengage from Wanda’s gaze, can feel the unfounded notion forming in his mind that if he doesn’t see Thanos then it means he is not there. But that is farcical and unhelpful. The truth is that time is no longer on their side and there is only one thing left for them, one last, final strategy that could save everyone - but him. “We are out of time.” Wanda denies it with a barely discernible shake of her head, and now his tears join her own, fingers tightening around her wrist. “We are out of time, Wanda.” The repetition hurts, the acceptance of their worst fears kickstarting his sympathetic system which screams at him to fight or at least try to fly away with Wanda in his arms, run just a bit longer, yet he has to stop that feeling, his body far too injured to carry on. “I love you.”

A shuddering breath makes her, “I love you,” difficult to decipher, but the desperate press of her lips emphasizes the muffled words, fills him with one last glorious rush of the possibilities of life, of being human. Wanda closes her eyes, sucks in the humid air, and then moves her hand to his forehead, scarlet swirling in his peripheral vision. Shuri confirmed the necessity of the stone for the continued functioning of his nervous system, but in doing so also discovered a way to amplify its power if removed. The prognosis for him was unclear, if not erring on the side of poor, but they left some hope of his return, which Wanda has clung to, and continues to do so as her powers begin to pry the stone from this head. Before she removes it, she kisses him again, leaving him with one last promise, “I’m going to get you back, okay?”

Vision can feel his body grow heavy, thoughts slowing and heart coming to a rest. As his eyelids slip down he can see Wanda stand, Mindstone glowing with a renewed fury in her hand and he can’t help but smile at the beauty of the image. Life did not quite go as planned, but for what it was worth, it has been a privilege to have lived it surrounded by his teammates, his family.

[lordgoopy]

oc: maria rivera

tagged by: @star-spangled-bastard

tagging in: @beeperinobeep @beheeyem

WEALTH  — $  financial:  //  wealthy  /  moderate  /  poor  /  in poverty ✚  medical:  // fit  /  moderate  /  sickly  /  disadvantaged  /  disabled  /  not applicable ✪  class:  //  upper / middle-working /  poor  / slave  /  unsure ✔  education:  //  qualified  /  unqualified  /  studying  / other ✖  criminal record:  //  yes, for major crimes  / yes, for minor crimes  /  no  /  has committed crimes, but has not been caught yet FAMILY  — ◒  children: //  has one or more children  /  has no children  /  wants children  /  verse dependent  /  doesn’t want to have children  /  can’t have children ◑  relationship with family: //  close with sibling(s)  /  not close with sibling(s)  /  has no sibling(s)  /  siblings are deceased ◔  affiliation: //  orphaned  /  adopted  /  disowned  / raised by birth parent(s)  /  not applicable / kidnapped TRAITS  + TENDENCIES  — ♦  extrovert // introvert // in between ♦  disorganized // organized // in between ♦  close-minded // open-minded // in between/contextual ♦  calm // anxious // in between ♦  disagreeable // agreeable // in between/contextual ♦  cautious  // reckless // in between/contextual ♦  patient // impatient // in between ♦  outspoken // reserved // in between ♦  leader // follower // in between ♦ empathetic //  indifferent  // in between ♦ optimistic // pessimistic // in between // realistic ♦  traditional // modern // in between ♦  hardworking // lazy // in between ♦  cultured // uncultured // in between ♦  loyal // disloyal // in between ♦ faithful // unfaithful // in between BELIEFS  — ★  faith:  // monotheist  / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / it’s complicated ☆  belief in ghosts or spirits: // yes / no / don’t know /  don’t care ✮  belief in an afterlife: // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯  belief in reincarnation: // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃  belief in aliens. // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / doesn’t apply ❀  philosophical. // yes / no / sometimes SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION  — > sexuality: / heterosexual / homosexual /bisexual / asexual / pansexual / demisexual / questioning ❥  sex: // sex repulsed  / sex neutral / sex favorable ♥  romance: // romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable ❣  sexually: // adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / inhibited ⚧  potential sexual partners: // male / female / other / none / all ⚧  potential romantic partners: // male / female / other / none / all ABILITIES  — ☠  combat skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ≡  literacy skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍  artistic skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂  technical skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none HABITS  — > drinking alcohol: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess > smoking: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess / won’t say no if offered ✿  other narcotics: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess / tried some > medicinal drugs: // never / sometimes /frequently / to excess / should take some ☻ indulgent in food:  // never / sometimes/ frequently / to excess $  splurge spending: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ♣  gambling: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

[xyzzymancy]

OC STATS: Charlie Raine Dempsey (AKA “Chives”)

tagged by: @star-spangled-bastard​

I tag anyone who wants to do this!!

$  financial:  // wealthy / moderate  /  poor  /  in poverty ✪  class:  //   upper / middle-working / poor  / slave  /  unsure ✚  medical:  // fit / moderate  /  sickly  /  disadvantaged  / disabled / not applicable ✔  education:  // qualified /  unqualified / studying  /  other ✖  criminal record:  //  yes, for major crimes  / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but has not been caught yet

FAMILY  —

◒  children: // has one or more children / has no children / wants children / verse dependent / doesn’t want to have children / can’t have children ◑  relationship with family: // close with sibling(s) /  not close with sibling(s) / has no sibling(s) / siblings are deceased ◔  affiliation: // orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable / kidnapped

TRAITS  + TENDENCIES  —

♦  extrovert // introvert // in between ♦  disorganized // organized // in between ♦  close-minded // open-minded // in between ♦  calm // anxious // in between ♦  disagreeable // agreeable // in between ♦  cautious  // reckless // in between ♦  patient // impatient // in between ♦  outspoken // reserved  // in between ♦ leader // follower // in between ♦  empathetic //  indifferent  // in between ♦  optimistic // pessimistic // in between // realistic ♦  traditional // modern // in between ♦  hardworking // lazy // in between ♦  cultured // uncultured // in between ♦ loyal // disloyal // in between ♦  faithful // unfaithful // in between

BELIEFS  —

★  faith:  // monotheist  / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / it’s complicated ☆  belief in ghosts or spirits: // yes / no / don’t know /  don’t care ✮  belief in an afterlife: // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯  belief in reincarnation: // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃  belief in aliens: // yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❀  philosophical. // yes / no / sometimes

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION  —

> sexuality: / heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / demisexual / questioning ❥  sex: // sex repulsed  / sex neutral / sex favorable ♥  romance: // romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable ❣  sexually: // adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / inhibited ⚧  potential sexual partners: // male / female / other / none / all ⚧  potential romantic partners: // male / female / other / none / all

ABILITIES  —

☠  combat skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ≡  literacy skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍  artistic skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂  technical skills: // excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

HABITS  —

> drinking alcohol: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess > smoking: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess / ✿  other narcotics: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess / tried some > medicinal drugs: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess / when needed ☻ indulgent in food:  // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess $  splurge spending: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ♣  gambling: // never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

[literary-structures]

They separated and he caught a glimpse of her pale, dark-eyed, not very pretty face with its glistening lips as she slipped under his door-holding arm and after one backward glance from the first landing ran upstairs trailing her wrap with all its constellation – Cepheus and Cassiopeia in their eternal bliss, and the dazzling tear of Capella, and Polaris the snowflake on the grizzly fur of the Cub, and the swooning galaxies – those mirrors of infinite space qui m’effrayent, Blaise, as they did you, and where Olga is not, but where mythology stretches strong circus nets, lest thought, in its ill-fitting tights, should break its old neck instead of rebouncing with a hep and a hop – hopping down again into this urine-soaked dust to take that short run with the half pirouette in the middle and display the extreme simplicity of heaven in the acrobat’s amphiphorical gesture, the candidly open hands that start a brief shower of applause while he walks backwards and then, reverting to virile manners, catches the little blue handkerchief, which his muscular flying mate, after her own exertions, takes from her heaving hot bosom – heaving more than her smile suggests – and tosses to him, so that he may wipe the palms of his aching weakening hands.

Vladimir Nabokov, Bend Sinister (p. 44-5)

At first glance, this passage is difficult to follow with numerous obscure allusions to mythology and death. However, this is the kind of passage Nabokov would want his readers to explore and to solve. Even that Nabokovian neologism, “amphiphorical”, has a twofold function of (1) having readers find out what the word means and, according to Susan Sweeney’s definition, (2) realising the word self-referentially points to itself in the way the passage’s myth-oriented metaphors are loosely allegorical – they point to something else beyond the primary images.

For Susan Sweeney, “amphiphorical” means a metaphor that is “characterised by extended analogies, baroque, seemingly uncontrolled imagery of rhetoric, and, most importantly, fundamental ambiguity”. Below, Sweeney deconstructs and explores the numerous and connected allusions that this passage gestures to, revealing its poetic significance is just as important, if not embellished, by finding out how Nabokov is manipulating and controlling the allusions – so clever and brilliant.

In order to appreciate the complexities and unexpected correspondences of this amphiphor [a metaphor that is characterized by extended analogies, baroque, seemingly uncontrolled imagery and rhetoric, and, most importantly, fundamental ambiguity], we need to know more about its context. Adam Krug, the hero, is a recent widower whose endorsement as a celebrated intellectual is sought to legitimize the farcical, Kafkaesque dictatorship spreading malignantly through his country. Although Krug cares more about the death of his wife, Olga, than anything else—indeed, he views the surrounding political turmoil as a nuisance and a distraction—up until this point he has not allowed himself to think about her.

When Krug interrupts a young couple’s good-night kiss, the elusiveness of the girl (later identified as Mariette), whose face he barely glimpses and who runs up the stairs beyond him with only one backwards glance, evokes two figures from folklore and classical mythology. Like Cinderella, Mariette flees at midnight, leaving only a single clue to her identity—the spangled evening wrap, which in Krug’s reverie gradually becomes the lady acrobat’s blue handkerchief. (Subsequently there develops in Bend Sinister an obvious, almost parodic network of images specifically linking Mariette with Cinderella.) But Mariette also suggests Eurydice, who, after being painfully won back from the dead by her lover Orpheus, returned to Hades when he glimpsed her face. These underlying themes, as well as the erotic farewell kiss Krug has just interrupted (a farewell denied him and Olga), and the girl’s sudden, upward, starry flight, all combine to release from Krug’s tortured mind the memory of his wife’s recent death. What is the true identity of that fleeing female figure? At the literal level, of course, she is Mariette; but in Krug’s philosophical meditation-cum-fantasy, she is metamorphosed into Olga herself, “his muscular flying mate.”

The initial description of Mariette’s spangled wrap provides the first and loftiest representation of death in the passage. Krug naturally identifies its pattern of stars with the night sky, and particularly with two related constellations, Cepheus and Cassiopeia, which immortalize the King and Queen of Ethiopia in the same shared “eternal bliss” Krug imagines for himself and Olga. In this romanticized view of death, even grief is beautiful—here, stylized as “the dazzling tear of Capella.” The constellations are northern ones; Polaris, of course, is the north star which sailors steer by, just as Krug tries to guide himself by his memories of Olga.

Even as Krug enumerates the constellations, however, he remembers that they are infinite, dizzying, and repetitive. The “mirrors of infinite space” frighten him as they frightened Pascal (Krug is a philosopher by vocation), and he contradicts his earlier transcendent imagery with meditations on the apparent disorder of the universe. The most important thing about these mirrors, however, is that Olga is not there, although her presence had been implied by the earlier Cassiopeia imagery. That brief little phrase, “and where Olga is not,” is the only direct mention of her name in the passage, and its connection with the preceding statement seems slight; yet her death and the infinite mirrors are two aspects of the same phenomenon, both frightening in their ambiguity and apparent meaninglessness. Because it is stated only in the negative, the reference to Olga—in direct contrast to stellar immortality, or traditional Judaeo-Christian notions of the afterlife—emphasizes that death is nothingness.

Krug continues his philosophical meditation by implicitly acknowledging death’s ambiguity, and the universe’s apparent meaninglessness, while at the same time recognizing that mythology is necessary for human sanity. The adjective “swooning,” which connotes vertigo, suddenly develops into a galactic trapeze act, “where mythology stretches strong circus nets, lest thought, in its ill-fitting tights, should break its old neck instead of rebouncing with a hep and a hop”. The metaphor is both a vivid illustration of Krug’s statement (we are told elsewhere in the novel that his philosophical treatises are laced with metaphors), and a poignant image of the human condition.

— Susan Elizabeth Sweeney, Nabokov’s Amphiphorical Gestures (1987)

Even after re-reading the passage a couple of times and making up my mind about Sweeney’s analysis, I felt myself coming into a new state of knowledge about what the passage is communicating, and how Olga’s death is so wonderfully joined with this passing moment Krug is witnessing. This passage (along with so many more that follow in this book and after) really reminds me of what Nabokov said in Strong Opinions about the notion of “reality”:

Reality is a very subjective affair. I can only define it as a kind of gradual accumulation of information; and as specialization. If we take a lily, for instance, or any other kind of natural object, a lily is more real to a naturalist than it is to an ordinary person. But it is still more real to a botanist. And yet another stage of reality is reached with that botanist who is a specialist in lilies. You can get nearer and nearer, so to speak, to reality; but you never get near enough because reality is an infinite succession of steps, levels of perception, false bottoms, and hence unquenchable, unattainable. You can know more and more about one thing but you can never know everything about one thing: it’s hopeless. So that we live surrounded by more or less ghostly objects – that machine, there, for instance. It’s a complete ghost to me – I don’t understand a thing about it and, well, it’s a mystery to me, as much of a mystery as it would be to Lord Byron.

[beggingforyoutowreckmyplans]

Best bits of ‘The best Taylor Swift album is ___’ series by Billboard

Why Taylor Swift's Self-Titled Debut Is Her Best Album: Critic's Take

In wielding authorship, Swift claims the power to grasp the excesses of feeling and emotion surging through day-to-day life and settle them within the coherent space of her own thoughts, so as to be re-examined and reinterpreted at quieter, contemplative remove. 

That union of studied craft and pop megalomania is what continues to define her, and it is a duality rooted deep within her debut album. Taylor Swift is Taylor Swift in miniature, already formed: an essential and paradigmatic manifestation of the singer. Everything that she would ever become existed here already.

Why Taylor Swift's 'Fearless' Is Her Best Album: Critic's Take

On Fearless, she’s still believable as a vulnerable everygirl, swinging between unrealistic romanticism and the dramatics of young love’s failings. Similarly, she balances her pop appeal and country roots. All of this came together in a perfect storm for young women of 2008, who found in Swift an authentic peer voice in a sea of Disney-driven pop stars

  Her burns would of course grow hotter and pithier with time. But that’s part of Fearless’s charm in the Swift oeuvre: Here, she was wise, but still innocent, hopeful but not gullible, skillful but not too slick. She was just a girl with a guitar, stories to tell and only a handful of tabloid headlines to deal with.

Why Taylor Swift's 'Speak Now' Is Her Best Album: Critic's Take

Try finding a better pop lyric than, "You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter." It may well be popular music's answer to Hemingway's "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." 

While Swift came out swinging on her self-titled debut album and entered the history books with Fearless, Speak Now was and remains her most complete artistic statement, and also the clearest portrait of who Swift is and what she cares about. 

Why Taylor Swift's 'Red' Is Her Best Album

Say what you will about Swift but she's never half-assed expressing her feelings, or feeling them. That's why she's my favorite pop star: Nobody feels things more fiercely. 

No, the beating heart of Red are the songs Top 40 never touched. "All Too Well," the album's best offering and her finest work as a songwriter, is a portrait of lazy autumn afternoons in bucolic upstate towns; it starts as a love song, spangled with heart-scratching details, and then you sit back and watch as it curdles in her mind's eye. Plaid shirt days and nights spent dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light turn to scorched-earth agony. Swift was always popular music's most gifted memoirist but here she breaks the fourth wall; it's a song about memory, but more than that, it's a song that interrogates the ritual of remembering. 

Why Taylor Swift's '1989' Is Her Best Album: Critic's Take

With 1989, Taylor Swift moved beyond love songs. The album spoke to a generation of millennials living through uncertain times, looking for stability as young adults. Taylor’s songs offer no easy answers, but endless emotional generosity. 

1989’s had an unusually long cultural afterlife. It grew so big it broke her previous ritual: a new album in October/November every two years. She was just 24 when 1989came out -- now she’s 27, and Reputation comes out this Friday. Like Michael Jackson following Thriller with Bad, the stakes seem impossibly high. But regardless of how Reputation’s received, we're still talking about its predecessor, living through its songs. Empty hype and marketing are soon forgotten. You can’t manufacture the kind of attention Taylor Swift commands -- you can only earn it. 

AND NOW REP WILL HAVE ITS DAY TOO! CAN’T WAIT.