Amonrawya - Amon Rawya

hey when you make posts, i just want you to know, thou/thee/thy/thine/ye are like he/you(object)/your/yours/you(subject) okay? "thou art wearing shoes," "i will wear shoes for thee," okay?

you say thine if the next word starts with a vowel and thy if the next word starts with a consonant and they both mean "your" so "thine own shoes," "thy shoes," okay?

and ye means you and refers to the subject of a sentence, "ye members of the brotherhood of shoes," okay? you need this information to create better knight yaoi. i'm personally more interested in nun yuri but we are a community

The Grimm writers were so real for making a wesen whose name directly translates to “bloodbath” and then giving us the softest cardigan wearing, cello playing, vegetarian clockmaker.

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

I cannot believe how stupid this is. What do they learn in school? And if you don't know things, why don't you shut the fuck up?

20-25 million people from nations all over the world died fighting against the Nazis. The US didnt even show up for years after it started. They sat and watched everyone else fight and die.

Rest of conversation -

REPORTER: So, just to clarify—your position is that France owes its entire existence to the United States?

LEAVITT: Absolutely. If it weren’t for the U.S., the French would be speaking German right now. That’s just a fact.

REPORTER: Interesting. Because if it weren’t for France, we wouldn’t even have the United States. Ever heard of the American Revolution? France bankrolled it. Sent troops. Fought Britain on multiple fronts. And, oh yeah—gave us the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of freedom. Do we only acknowledge history when it’s convenient?

LEAVITT: Well, the United States has been the beacon of global freedom—

REPORTER: Right, and who gave us the actual beacon? The French. And let’s not forget, France won World War I before the U.S. even entered it. So by your logic, does that mean Americans should be thanking the French for not speaking German in 1918?

LEAVITT: That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying—

REPORTER: Also, if we’re going down this road—how about the Louisiana Purchase? You know, that huge chunk of land that doubled the size of America? Bought it from the French. Are we sending them a thank-you note?

LEAVITT: Look, I think we’re getting off track here. The point is—

REPORTER: The point is, we didn’t just swoop in and save the day while France sat around waiting. Nations cooperate, trade, and yes, sometimes even rescue each other.

17. März 2025

to the clear northern skies (1/4)

I first saw this on Pinterest and it has devastated me ever since. Ogre you are not stupid! Ogre it's all about learning!

the need to talk about the characters vs the fear that all of my analysis is just empty prose and surface level understanding

High King Peter the Magnificent; War; Sword of Aslan; the Boy-King; the Once-And-Future-King

before, in the shadows of a life that has long ceased to be your own, war was suits and uniforms, severe men and overworked mothers. war was looming large, approaching fast. war was terror lurking in the skies, a constant fear of the open air. war was everywhere; your brother and sister forever slighted by all things turned into luxury inside your home. and sure, you only remember the before once it turns into the after, but war—no matter the where of it all, you remember war.

war: standing tall, standing straight, standing with the weight of worlds borne on youthful shoulders; war: a shadow, a streak of vivid red and vicious gold; war: a man-turned-boy-turned-man.

war: steady arms that cling with welcome desperation, a rallying cry that makes your heart burn bright; war: a stumbling boy bearing skies that turn red before they ever find their blue. war: familiar like no other, from cradle to your shaking adult hands.

before-turned-after, you hear your mother—unsweetened tea, old perfumes, and factory oils scrubbed out with rationed soap—whisper to her friends about war. you sit on wooden steps—not stone, never stone in the after—and dig your nails into your shins. war, forever burning bright, sits at your back with the skies and the sword's edge. you lean to feel the shift in his breath, to remember that with everything lost, war remains.

she let the war in, your mother says in words tinted with war-weak drink. she lets war sleep on the same floor as her children, she confesses, like a wolf amongst sheep. you dig your nails deeper. war, his forehead against your back, sighs.

you know war best, cradle to the here and now. he wipes your tears with too-soft hands until you miss the swords and bows like the air inside your lungs. he brushes your sister's hair, listens to your brother with intent. war holds it together in the cracked marble that you've all become. war, warm and familiar, holds on tight.

when you start to wear your mother's old dresses, outgrowing your own, when you start to paint your lips a new shade of red, war's reflection almost cracks the fragile glass of your composure. he watches, looming, bearing the crimson skies like a gift rather than the curse it grew to be. his eyes—blue still, too blue for england clouds and england air—carry even more, a looking glass for worlds long closed to you and him. the curve of his smile makes you ache for string and wood, makes your fingers crave the weight of pulling it all taut. his shoulders are broad, his hands calloused again.

over your shoulder, your mirror shows a sword stained beyond repair. you ache with the wish for the battlefield. you fear it as you always did, even when you called it home. war, a rag in hand and shoulders straight, hums in tune with the memory of arrows loosened from your gentle hands.

you leave before the blood can reach your polished shoes.

——susan pevensie learns of ares, of atlas, of war on a horse. she weeps for the brother she finds in them.

Happy Anniversary to...

The Last Ride of King Théoden

The Killing of the Lord of the Nazgûl, Witch-king of Angmar by Éowyn, Éomund's Daughter

The Courage of Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esquire of Rohan

The Wrath of King Éomer, Éomund's Son

And the Coming of King Ellessar unto the White City, and the Defeat of Sauron's Forces at the Fields of the Pelennor.

I know it's just Suzanne Collins revealing what she actually imagined the Anthem of Panem to be in BOSAS, but I am 100% embracing the idea that Coriolanus Snow had the anthem rewritten to Horn of Plenty after becoming president because he hated remembering his grandmother shriek the old lyrics every week

Midsomer Murders detective tv-show