amonrawya

[amonrawya]

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

#don't think I need to add much more really #seeing this behaviour is truly disturbing

[amonrawya]

Tolkien is having his first ever egg. It’s. Not going well.

#never in my life #have I been so confused #I stared at this for FIVE MINUTES trying to understand #was it an in-joke I missed? #a reference I didn't understand? #but no OP just has a snake lmfao

[amonrawya]

I'm torn between a desperate want for the Pevensies to have lived out their lives in Narnia air fad, and the absolute beauty people come up with when writing about their return to earth. This is brilliant. Everything I love!

thoughts on the Pevensies returning home

Peter Pevensie was a strange boy. His mind is too old for his body, too quick, too sharp for a boy. He walks with a presence expected of a king or a royal, with blue eyes that darken like storms. He holds anger and a distance seen in veterans, his hand moving to his hip for a scabbard that isn't there - knuckles white. He moves like a warless soldier, an unexplained limp throwing his balance. He writes in an intricate scrawl unseen before the war, his letters curving in a foreign way untaught in his education. Peter returned a stranger from the war, silent, removed, an island onto himself with a burden too heavy for a child to bear.

Only in the aftermath of a fight do his eyes shine; nose burst, blood dripping, smudged across his cheek, knuckles bruised, and hands shaking; he's alive. He rises from the floor, knighted, his eyes searching for his sisters in the crowd. His brother doesn't leave his side. They move as one, the Pevensies, in a way their peers can't comprehend as they watch all four fall naturally in line.

But Peter is quiet, studious, and knowledgeable, seen only by his teachers as they read pages and pages of analytical political study and wonderful fictional tales. "The Pevensie boy will go far," they say, not knowing he already has.

His mother doesn't recognize him after the war. She watches distrustfully from a corner. She sobs at night, listening to her son's screams, knowing nothing she can do will ease their pain. Helen ran on the first night, throwing Peter's door open to find her children by his bedside - her eldest thrashing uncontrollably off the mattress with a sheen of sweat across his skin. Susan sings a mellow tune in a language Helen doesn't know, a hymn, that brings Peter back to them. He looks to Edmund for something and finds comfort in his eyes, a shared knowing. Her sons, who couldn't agree on the simplest of discussions, fall in line. But Peter sleeps with a knife under his cushion. She found out the hard way, reaching for him during one of his nightmares only to find herself pinned against the wall - a wild look in Peter's eye before he staggered back and dropped the knife.

Edmund throws himself into books, taking Lucy with him. They sit for hours in the library in harmony, not saying a word. His balance is thrown too, his mind searching for a limp that he doesn't have, missing the weight of his scabbard at his side. He joins the fencing club and takes Peter with him. They fence like no one else; without a worthy adversary, the boys take to each other with a wildness in their grins and a skillset unforeseen in beginner fencers. Their rapiers are an exertion of their bodies, as natural as shaking hands, and for the briefest time, they seem at peace. He shrinks away from the snow when it comes, thrust into the darkest places of his mind, unwilling to leave the house. He sits by the chessboard for hours, enveloped in his studies until stirred.

Susan turns silent, her mind somewhere far as she holds her book. Her hands twitch too, a wince when the door slams, her hand flying to her back where her quiver isn't. She hums a sad melody that no one can place, mourning something no one can find. She takes up archery again when she can bear a bow in her hands without crying, her callous-less palms unfamiliar to her, her mind trapped behind the wall of adolescence. She loses her friends to girlishness and youth, unable to go back to what she was. Eventually, she loses Narnia too. It's easier, she tells herself, to grow up and move on and return to what is. But her mourning doesn't leave her; she just forgets.

Lucy remains bright, carrying a happier song than her sister. She dances endlessly, her bare feet in the grass, and sings the most beautiful songs that make the flowers grow and the sun glisten. Though she has grown too, shed her childhood with the end of the war. She stands around the table with her sister, watching, brow furrowed as her brothers play chess. She comments and predicts, and makes suggestions that they take. She reads, curled into Edmund's side as his high voice lulls her to sleep with tales of Arthurian legends. She swims, her form wild and graceful as she vanishes into the water. They can't figure out how she does it - a girl so small holding her breath for so long. She cries into her sister, weeping at the loss of her friends, her too-small hands too clumsy for her will.

"I don't know our children anymore," Helen writes to her husband, overcome by grief as she realizes her children haven't grown up but away into a place she cannot follow.

#Peter is a boy-king #but his emotions are like a boy's #he knows his behaviour is immature #unfit for a king #but he feels this loss this anger and it's burning him up #how difficult that must be for the others to see #knowing how long ago he outgrew that #feels #I love them all but I have specific brainrot about Peter idk why #Chronicles of Narnia #Pevensies #Mrs. P #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie

[amonrawya]

That’s one of the headcanons I have as well!!!!

I think he didn’t want that recording of him singing to ever be played — and if the song was changed then the hologram made no sense to be shown ever again. Too many memories in the original anthem.

I'm glad to see I'm not the only one! That's a really good point, too. I hadn't thought about the hologram. That makes it even more likely, in my mind, that he changed it for a purpose!

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #snow #horn of plenty #the hunger games

[amonrawya]

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

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #headcanon #snow #panem #horn of plenty

[amonrawya]

To help spread the blessing

I cast spell of all writers will make amazing progress next year *throws glitter on you*

#I wish all writers a very merry “I hope you get on with that project you desperately want to finish/get on with but can't quite get there”

[amonrawya]

You can have a livestream or you can have a deadpool - my Dad 2022

#shitpost #my dad is the best

[amonrawya]

Reunion

(I’m not 100% sure what the etiquette is for formatting, so my apologies if this looks awful.)

Warnings: Angst? Yeah, angst. The usual Order 66 feels. Rex being soft.

This is a character I came up with during the Bad Batch weeks, and I might be posting little ficlets about Miah and her clones, because her heart is full. Enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________

Miah’s reunion with Captain Rex came mere weeks after Order 66, a time fraught with peril for any who held ties to the Jedi, let alone a Jedi themself. She didn’t know what planet she landed on, only that it had enough people for her to hide amongst. The terror and uncertainty caused by the Great Purge fractured the remaining Jedi, so Miah travelled alone, unsure whether there were other survivors out there, somewhere in the Galaxy. Even the fate of her Master, Obi-Wan, was a mystery to her.

Walking the busy streets in the evening, Miah reflected on what led her there, as she often did; what else existed for her to dwell on, except the past? The present seemed so dark, so bleak and shattered - so far from what it was supposed to look like. 

Underneath the folds of her cloak, Miah’s hand found the amulet Echo gave to her; she screwed her eyes shut, coming to a stand-still in the rain as another wave of grief and pain threatened to topple the young Jedi. These feelings, powerful, and dangerous, acted as constant companions that swarmed to fill the void left in the Force where her friends should be. They made her feel less alone.

She slowly opened her eyes again, tearing them away from the star-dotted sky above, her mind desperately wondering where did we go wrong? 

The wind blew through the street at a howling pace, many bypassers losing their hoods. Miah’s stayed up, and she hoped it wasn’t too conspicuous. Across from her, a man hurriedly tried to cover his head again, but not quickly enough; she watched him turn, saw the flash of blond hair and all-too-familiar features, immediately recognising the man she’d been honoured to call Vod. 

Elation caught her tongue, swelling inside her chest until it was bursting. Finally, Miah thought with a smile, a friend who isn’t dead.

Then, as Rex’s gaze locked with hers, a light sparking in them, Miah’s memory caught up with her emotions. Cold fear dropped into her stomach like a ten-tonne weight, and the smile vanished in an instant. Before she could think about his expression, the way Rex had acted, the clearly out-of-place circumstances they’d reunited under, she turned and fled into the marketplace. 

Concentrating in order to avoid panicking, Miah cursed when she heard his heavy-booted steps falling close behind. Years spent together on battlefields meant he knew her every trick, could predict her every move. The icy hand of dread once more clutched at her heart, but Miah refused it; she would not be responsible for the death of another Clone. Especially not him. 

“Miah! Wait!”

She ducked under a passing merchant cart, continuing to run without any real idea as to where she was going. But this proved to be a fatal mistake when the alley became a dead-end, and Miah stood at the wrong side.

Hands shaking under her cloak, fingers grazing the cool metal of her lightsaber, she turned around - hoping beyond hope she somehow lost him in the crowd. But, no; at the other end of the alley stood Captain Rex, someone Miah used to gravitate toward, now she shrunk away from him.

“Please,” she whispered, holding her hands out as they quivered, silently asking Rex to stop, “don’t...I can’t...not again. Please. Don’t make me do this.”

If Miah had been able to look at the former trooper, she might have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way his steps faltered as Rex saw her fear, and his devastation at seeing his friend so distraught by his presence. But her eyes refused to settle on him, to see the face of a million men, the faces of the Clones she struck down on Coruscant. Her friends.

“Miah,” he said softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She made a sound that could have been a sob, but it got stifled and bitten down. “Don’t try and trick me, Rex. I don’t want this. Leave me alone, please, brother.”

In the darkened alley, rain fell heavily on them both: the Jedi who fought for so long, she no longer had the energy to raise her lightsaber in defence of her own life; and the Captain who had been turned into an enemy by circumstances beyond his control. Neither moved, and neither was willing to harm the other. But the tension, the shared knowledge of recent occurrences between the former comrades kept them on edge, reluctant to act in case something went wrong.

Finally, Rex slowly raised his hands in the air, his brow furrowed and a deep frown on his face as he took a cautious step forward. “Vod’ika, I swear to you, I’m not a threat. My Inhibitor chip was removed by Ahsoka.”

Miah blinked, almost looking at him. “...Ahsoka?”

A tiny flicker of hope appeared in her voice when she nearly let herself believe it, nearly allowing herself to believe there was one other Jedi alive, because even now, after everything, Miah struggled to think of Rex as anything but trustworthy and loyal. Which he was, but how did she know his chip wasn’t active?

“Yes,” he said, seeing an opportunity to calm her, “Ahsoka survived. I helped her get away. The chips caused it all, the Clones, we didn’t mean to do it, Fives-”

“I know,” she said, “I remember. A purpose bigger than any of us could comprehend.”

Rex nodded, hesitant and unsure of his next move. “I don’t know how to make you believe me.”

Miah finally looked him in the eye, resisting the stinging in her own. “Neither do I.”

Stuck on the path back to each other, they continued to stand in the rain, away from the bustling city crowds and the heaving market. They seemed to exist on the very edges of the throbbing veins of society, which stung when memories of when they were front and centre, back to back, in the very midst of it all crept into their thoughts. A curious thing, how two people so intimately tied to actions determining the fate of the Galaxy could pass unnoticed, two lonesome figures in the evening downpour, nameless faces to be forgotten. 

And yet, to them, forgetting the other’s face was an inconceivable thought; how could they, when the clearest years of their life were spent building an iron trust, a bond forged in battle? Rex had been one of the men to give Miah her name, a gift she never took for-granted, not for a second; and so, placing her faith into that bond, she reached out into the Force, the first time since the shock of Order 66 caused Miah to cut herself off from it, searching for the truth.

“Rex...you’re not lying to me, are you? I really don’t want to hurt you, I can’t…”

The former Captain shook his head, a soft, reassuring smile making its home on his lips. A familiarity surrounded the expression, helping to convince her. “I swear, on the memory of Fives, my inhibitor chip is gone, and I am not going to try to kill you.”

Miah hesitated only a moment, the solemn vow carrying enough weight to lower her defensive stance. She stepped forward, holding out her arm for him to grasp. “I’m sorry, Rex. I know Clones whose chip have been activated don’t speak like this, I just had to be sure…”

He clasped her forearm tightly, reaching over with his free hand to grasp her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologise for, Miah’ika, I understand.” Tears gathered in his eyes, and Rex bowed their foreheads together. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you again.”

Miah laughed softly, cradling the back of his head. “I think I might have an idea, Vod.”

#star wars #order 66 #captain rex #oc #short ficlet #jedi padawan #hiding #grief #Angst with a happy ending #tears #clones #lovethemclones

[amonrawya]

Aliit

Somewhere along the way, the Bad Batch picked up not only Omega, but another young girl too, though older than the female clone. She reached just below Hunter’s shoulder, and wore a drastically severe, short haircut, that not long ago included a braid.

A former Jedi Padawan, survivor of Order 66, cast into the Galaxy with no protection, and her previous allies, her friends, sent out to hunt the girl down. By some miracle, she managed to avoid them long enough for Clone Force 99 to stumble across her, and none of them had the heart to abandon the rather reckless, passionate little Jedi. So, she became one of their own; an elder sibling to Omega, and a second adopted child to the group.

But the girl, whose name was Mai Kryze, (she claimed the name had no connection to the former Duchess Satine, but Echo thought she looked eerily similar to Obi-Wan-Kenobi,) did not have Omega’s innocent disposition. Mai had seen the war, watched her people slaughtered, and been on the recieving end of the clones’ persecution.

One night, aboard the ship, the crew rested after a particularly arduous mission. Most of them by now were asleep, apart from two: Mai, and Hunter; however, he was only awake because the quiet sniffling from the cockpit refused to be ignored. He tossed and turned for ages, feeling guilty for leaving the girl alone, but unsure of how to help. She gave him a run for his money when it came to keeping emotions close to her chest; though he supposed it was the Jedi way.

Eventually, once the sniffling turned to sob, Hunter left his bunk and carefully worked his way through the ship, not wanting to disturb the others. Especially not Omega. When he reached the cockpit, he saw Mai’s hunched form in one of the seats, curled into a ball as her shoulders shook.

“I know you’re there,” she mumbled, head buried between her kness.

Hunter sat down next to her, awkwardly leaning on his thighs. He knew how to comfort Omega, now he had practise, but Mai never seemed to need any reassurance or comfort. Though he knew it had been an act, sometimes they all forgot, despite being a Jedi, Mai was only sixteen.

She wiped her face, head angled away from him as she tried to control her breathing. “M’sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather know something was up than sleep while you cried. Wanna talk about it?” Hunter asked, remembering a piece of advice Cut gave.

For a moment, Mai held his eye, uncertainty crossing her own. Then she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring out into space. “During the mission, I...I saw a wanted poster for the Jedi. Only two of the faces hadn’t been crossed out; Master Yoda, and my Master, Obi-Wan. The rest...so many. Even Master Windu.”

Hunter watched her expression contort, an array of emotions flashing across it in an instant. His eyes widened at this, as she never let anything truly register on her face, and now...

Blazing anger reared its head, and Mai clenched her jaw, her hands gesturing wildly. “They’ve destroyed my people, my culture, everything! They’ve taken everything from me, and they won’t stop. Not until every single person in the Galaxy hates the Jedi, until they tarnish our memory forever. I will never be safe, safe enough to practise my beliefs, to help and to be who I trained to be my whole life. I can’t do anything. For anyone.”

She took a breath, calming herself, using the techniques her Master taught her. Anger came rarely to Mai, but when it did, she needed to work hard in order to control it. Brushing hair from her face, she glanced at Hunter.

“I know the Jedi aren’t perfect, believe me, I know. But so many of us were just good people trying to do what was right, to save lives and...I don’t know, try and bring hope to the Galaxy. Everyone makes mistakes, even Jedi, so we didn’t always get it right. But we truly care for each person in the universe, would lay down our lives for them; and yet, this is how the Jedi fall? Betrayed by one of our own, and hunted down by our friends. Sometimes I wonder if the will of the Force isn’t just some joke made up to make us feel better when things fall apart.”

Hunter wished he could take this pain away from her. The way it tore across her face, dug into her heart...she felt differently to others, he knew that. Force users connected with the world in a strange way, more deeply, and when something hurt, that pain ripped them apart. “Kid, I...I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make this any better. I saw Order 66, what happened to our Jedi...we cannot imagine what it was like for you. I’m sorry, truly sorry. The only thing I have to offer is...us.”

Mai raised her eyes to him; they glistened with tears, but her confusion at his words momentarily halted their fall. “What do you mean?”

“You lost a family, your people,” Hunter said, grasping her shoulder gently, “and we can never replace them. But we can offer you a new home, a new family, one where you are still free to be a Jedi. None of us will ever think less of you, or try to change you. Us lot may be a bit odd, but we’ll do our best to look after you, Mai.”

In the dark cockpit, their faces only illuminated by the stars outside, Hunter felt a connection, something had reached out and touched him in the silence. It took seconds for him to realise it was Mai; he recognised the presence, and smiled. She returned it, albeit shyly, and fought back a yawn.

“Thank you, Hunter. I don’t think you know how much it means to me that you all care so much. And I’m sorry I don’t really show how I feel in return...it will take time for me to get used to you guys. You bear your emotions so freely...that was a downside to the Order. No matter how deeply I cared for the people around me, I could never say it.”

Hunter hesitated a moment, then carefully pulled Mai into his arms, cradling the youngster with as much care as he would give Omega. She tensed, and he wondered if he had gone too far, then her arms wound around his middle and she clutched onto him. The way Mai clung to him, Hunter realised she’d probably never been hugged in her life, which only made him hold tighter.

For her part, Mai couldn’t have been more thankful for them. With these men, her new family, she might get the chance to heal, to continue her training in peace, knowing she was protected and cared for, so that one day, she could save them, as they had saved her.

Holding onto Hunter as if he’d vanish if she let go, Mai smiled, recalling a word in Mando’a Cody once taught her. Aliit. She had one of her own, now.

#the bad batch #star wars #omega bad batch #hunter bad batch #fluff #comfort #jedi padawan #order 66 #sadnnes #short fiction #fanfic #obi-wan #jedi #possible series #idk if you like it #i'll do more #this character has #existed for a while #in my head #and i love the bb #so

[amonrawya]

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.

#marvel #writing #creative #youtube #movies #sacrifice #steve rogers #endgame #captain america: the first avenger #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky imagine #sam wilson #lovers #i love him #love story #time travel #angst with a happy ending #here you guys go #i hope this is okay!

[amonrawya]

Magic in her Blood: story concept

(This is an idea I played around with. I might make a small series out of it if some people are interested)

Please do not replicate my work anywhere without my permission :)

*

Smoke filled the streets of Small Heath, workmen feeding coal to metal beasts, breathing in the toxic air. The noise of their exploits echoed over the slated roofs, carrying for miles, and allowing for a cloaked figure to pass by silently.

Her eyes flashed with each burst of flame, catching the depth and piercing brightness of their blue. A pointed, angled hat cast shadow over her features, the glint of steel on the brim a warning to all those who are prey, and obscuring everything but the subtly smirking lips; painted blood red.

She passed through Small Heath with no opposition, no second glances, for all those who saw her, knew. This woman was one of them.

Granddaughter of a Romani king, princess of the Peaky Blinders, and all round predator. Sarah Shelby walked the streets of Birmingham like royalty, because that's exactly what she was.

The doors to the Garrison swung open, and heads came up, only to dip down again in respect. And fear. A few newcomers stared, until one of their friends shoved their heads to the table. 

She swept along the bar, plucking whiskey and a glass on her way. Her heels clicked off the wooden floor, a quiet power spilling out from the smooth, rolling silk that hugged her figure. Equally dark curls bounced upon her shoulders as she turned her head, one last look falling over the pub before she vanished into the private booth.

The Shelby boys all looked up, grins appearing on their faces and papers being set down. To those outside, nothing would have shocked them more than to know she returned the smiles.

"Good to see you again, boys," she said, sitting adjacent from the eldest sibling, Arthur.

"And you, sister," Thomas said, "we'd begun to think ourselves too common for your tastes."

"Oh, not at all," Sarah replied, matching the smirk he wore as she poured herself a drink, "I merely had some business of my own to attend," she said, and crossed her legs.

The air, filled with smoke from their cigarettes, tasted bitter on her tongue. Something hung there, unspoken, interrupted. It seeped into the old wood, spinning around the circular booth like a wailing spirit, begging for freedom.

Eyes narrowed, Sarah regarded her brothers with a tilted head. "What's happened?"

John chuckled, glancing over at Thomas and bouncing his leg. Little humour was to be found in his face, only a rather satisfied "I-told-you-so" gleam in his eye.

The two elders exchanged a brief look, and Arthur gestured towards her, raising another cigarette to his lips and leaving Thomas to answer the question.

"There is a copper from Belfast sticking his nose in our business," he explained, hands clasped on the table he leant on, "and he's causing problems."

"Now the barmaid makes sense," Sarah murmured, sipping her whiskey and gazing at it as the liquid swirled.

The brothers straightened in their seats. Thomas wet his lips. "What do you mean?"

She raised her eyes to them, one eyebrow arched. "A copper from Belfast comes along, poking his snout where it isn't wanted, and a beautiful Irish girl suddenly drops into Harry's lap; surely you don't think it's a coincidence?"

John and Arthur laughed, but quickly stopped, noticing the missing voice. Thomas stared at his sister, heart hammering in his chest, and fell back against the bench.

"Grace is not working for Inspector Campbell," he said, in a tone that seemed directed more at himself than anyone else.

Sarah drew her wand from its sheath at her side, rolling the cool instrument in her grasp. The familiar touch sent gentle sparks flying as she waved it through the air.

They each gulped, glancing at one another and backing up, further away from the weapon. But Thomas met her eyes, and smirked.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

#peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #harry potter #wizard #hogwarts #writing #creative #writers #john shelby #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #crossover #sister #magick

[amonrawya]

Mourning Bucky After His Death in 1945

(Inspired by^ this channel is wonderful, their ambiences always get my head in the right place for writing: beware, angst)

You got the news late, when the Commandos came back from the mission...and there was one missing. They didn't need to say a thing - the gap in their ranks, and the look on Steve's face, said it all.

Being a nurse, you couldn't stop to feel the pain or even really process it. But once the rush ended, and you stepped into the quiet street, everything fell on you at once. Tears poured, and your heart felt like it could burst. Bucky usually picked you up when your breaks came. His absence hit you like a truck.

Instead, you walked along the street in a thin army uniform and shivered all the way. A bitter wind blew through Brooklyn this time of year, but the cold you felt had little to do with the weather.

Somehow, your feet brought you to the old docks where Bucky worked through the summers. That was years ago, now, and seemed like a different life. You couldn't help but smile, recalling the laughter and choice language that used to fill the air.

Once, when you began to realise the full extent of your feelings, you came to the docks and watched him for the whole day. Instead of hiding away how you felt, you relished in it.

Sixteen was a hell of an age to fall in love, especially in the thirties. But reciprocated love...it blossomed and bloomed so beautifully. With Steve, your brother, you and Bucky built a life together.

It was always Steve who talked about their future...without him. The sickly boy never expected to live past thirty, and, despite how painful the idea was, neither did they.

Never in a million years did you imagine Bucky going first.

You couldn't hold it anymore. The sobs ripped out, and you sank to the ground by the water. One hand tightly clasped the other, a cold, glinting ring pressing into your skin. A promise, a commitment...now nothing but a memory. The life you talked about, planned so dreamily, even in the face of the war, gone. Destroyed in an instant.

Deep hatred and a desire for vengance reared its head in you. Bucky always said you and Steve were too alike. But the decision already cemented itself in your mind.

When Steve crashed the Valkyrie, no one was left behind. Two days before, you had vanished on a mission in Switzerland - presumed dead. He had nothing, not even Peggy, really, to keep him on Earth.

Little did he know, that the two sweethearts had been reunited. And Hydra would make good use of them both.

#Youtube #bucky barns x y/n #bucky angst #bucky barnes #wwii era #captain america: the first avenger #steve rogers #the howling commandos #bucky x you #sorrow #ouch my feelings #tell me why #not my best but i tried #inspiration #creative #writers #writing #movies #marvel

[amonrawya]

You Sacrifice Your Life for Your Family: Steve, Bucky, Peter.

(Inspired by^)

You stared at Thanos, shivering from the icy wind billowing around the mountain top. Blood dripped from your lip, and splattered over your side where your arm was tucked to give some semblance of support.

His eyes were like nothing you ever saw - soulless, determined, and utterly focused on this one goal. Another shiver ran through you. This time, it had nothing to do with the wind.

"You choose one to die," he said, speaking softly, "the others live."

Your eyes drifted over their faces. Steve, Bucky and Peter. The three most important people in your life; a brother, a partner, and an adopted son. Thanos chose well, you thought bitterly.

They were scattered in the snow, beaten and bloodied, held in place by the power of the stones. Their eyes searched for you, wide, panicked, fearful. You smiled, but it faded too quickly to be genuine.

"If..." you turned back to Thanos, determinedly avoiding the others, "what if I die? Do they all live?

Thanos cocked his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes. A chorus of protest rose immediately from her left, pleading and desperate struggling.

"Yes," Thanos said, and triumph burned in his voice; this was the outcome he wanted.

"Y/N, no!" Steve hissed, "don't you dare. I'll die, pick me!"

You finally faced them properly, smiling softly at your brother, answering him with a slight shake of the head. "No, Steve...this is how it has to be."

He opened his mouth to object again, but your arms wrapping around his torso cut him off. You almost laughed, still expecting to embrace a thinner frame, even after all this time. "Look after them, Stevie. Look after yourself."

His face was wet as you pulled away, but he forcefully nodded his head. You sighed, content in knowing he would honour that.

Bucky's whole body strained to free itself, fury slowly falling away to fear as he looked at you. "Doll, please...Y/N, don't leave us."

"Mo cridhe, this is the only way for you all to live," you said, stumbling forward to gently cup his face, "how can I choose between the three I love more than anything in this universe?"

He choked back a sob. "But, Y/N..."

You pressed a kiss to his lips, holding back tears of your own as thoughts and memories raced through your mind. Discreetly, you slipped your dogtags and the locket you kept with the precious pictures from the 30s, updated with a few from the present, into his pocket. You knew he would need them more than anyone.

Pulling back, you smiled. "What a life we've led, James, what a life..."

"Y/N...mum..." Peter whimpered, sniffing.

Quickly going to him, you enveloped him in a warm embrace. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, tearings flowing freely.

"My brave, brave boy. I'm so proud of you, Pete. So proud. You remember that, alright? I love you, I did this for all of you."

You kissed his forehead, accidentally smearing your blood over his cheek. He sobbed, head dropping.

"Be a good boy for Bucky, yeah? Listen to him and uncle Steve. Promise me?"

He nodded slowly, voice shaking. "I promise..."

"Good boy, you're a good kid," you said, pressing a hard, final goodbye kiss to his hair.

Drawing away from him took more energy than expected, and you staggered slightly, breathing heavily. You had stopped stemming the blood flow from your side, now the clock was reaching its end.

Thanos waited, patiently expectant, on the cliff edge. You huffed, rolling your shoulders, and walked steadily forward. But you paused, one last time, and looked back at your family.

"Remember how much I love you, all the good days we spent together, our glorious life..." you met Bucky's eyes, the man you called husband, and grinned the most radiantly he ever saw, "because it was glorious, wasn't it?"

You stepped off, and the clouds cradled you on your way to the end of your line. The smile you wore never wavered, neither did your resolve falter, thinking of golden days of youth and love, the laughter of the family you built ringing in your ears.

Their screams followed you all the way down, your name in their mouths the last thing you ever heard.

#marvel #steve rogers #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #peter parker #spiderman #husbandandwife #adopted son #big brother #writers #creative #writing #movies #thanos #sacrifice #peter parker angst #bucky angst #steve angst #suffering #why did i do this #Youtube

[amonrawya]

Steve's Young Daughter He Left Behind, is Scared by Sam and Bucky's Arguing

(Inspired by^)

Their arguing grew louder, more aggressive. Neither meant to escalate it, but Bucky was stressed and upset, and Sam was frustrated with it all. Their situation got increasingly more complicated the more time went on, and that showed no signs of stopping now Zemo was involved.

Sarah-Grace watched them with big eyes, huddled in a thick coat that had been draped over her by said Sokovian fugitive. The material kept her lovely and warm, almost to the point of lulling the girl to sleep. But she hated noise, especially shouting. Usually, her uncle Bucky spoke softly, avoiding making too much noise for her benefit. Same with Sam.

Hearing it now, Sarah curled into the warmth of the coat, trying to block it all out. She knew they didn't mean to scare her, but it was just too much.

Accidentially, she caught Zemo's eyes, then shyed away from them. He scared her a little, despite being nothing but kind to her so far.

"Guys!" He hissed, stepping towards them.

"What?!" Sam and Bucky snapped simultaneously, glaring daggers at him.

"You're scaring Sarah," Zemo said icily.

Their faces immediately softened, and they exchanged regretful glances. Bucky frowned, quickly moving over to kneel in front of her.

"We're sorry, Gracie," he said, voice returned to its soft hum, "I got too wound up. Are you okay?"

She raised her head, whimpering a little. Bucky's heart clenched, deadly afraid to see her scared of him. The idea had plagued him since the moment he realised what Steve did - once the anger dried up enough for other emotions to come through.

With her curly blonde hair and shining blue eyes, lightly flecked with green, she resembled Steve so much it sometimes hurt. Bucky believed she deserved better than him as a parent, but couldn't bring himself to give her up. If he was honest, this female reincarnation of his best friend gave Bucky the will to wake up every day.

She smiled meekly, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his metal hand. "It's okay. Promise you won't argue anymore?"

Sam nodded, crouching down beside them. "Promise. Sorry, sweetie."

She stood from the coat to hug them, her short arms only able to wrap around their necks. They leaned in to hold her, both making mental notes to keep their disagreements more civil from then on.

Over their shoulders, Sarah saw Zemo watching, and smiled at him. He returned it, misty eyed, still turning over the turkish delight in his hand.

#Youtube #writing #creative #writers #movies #young #steve rogers daughter #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #baron zemo #i love zemo #arguing #angst with a happy ending #adopted #abandoned #tfatws #inspired

[amonrawya]

Two Wizards; One Soul

Little bit of dark!Dumbledore, and mostly rosy wording. I wrote this while listening to a Grindellore playlist on youtube, where I also posted this story. (I don't have the link right now but I will add it later). Nothing inappropriate!

_________________________________

Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald are the most powerful couple to have lived; the entire Wizarding World lay sprawled at their feet long before any ministry had the chance to act against them. No power remained to oppose either wizard alone, certainly not both.

They revelled in each other, drunk on power and the burning love shared between the two. No one else existed in their world, except them. Magic burst from their fingertips at a whim, and with the Deathly Hallows on their side, nothing could part Gellert and Albus, not even death.

Instead of revealing the world of magic, they infiltrated ever muggle powerhouse on earth, whether it be government or economies - it all fell to their influence, and without realising it, the world of the muggles came under the rule of Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Many attempted to challenge them, rebellions that were crushed before the spark could become flame. But these new rulers were not cruel, only interested in peace and the end of fear. Any who disagreed possessed little power to do anything about it.

The two men, physically so different, bore twin souls, entwined by a searing, deadly love that overruled everything. Defied every possibility, spit in the face of doubt, and smothered the idea of the word impossible. Together, there was nothing Albus and Gellert could not achieve.

*

Dark eyes glittering, Dumbledore met the eyes of his lover. No. The eyes of his soulmate. What other word could describe them? From the moment they met, love blossomed with every word and stolen glance. He used to fear its burn, before he gave in and relished the power.

Grindelwald looked back at him, pale hair glinting in the moonlight. To anyone else, the apparent blankness of his face would put doubt in their mind; but Dumbledore, who knew him better than anyone, saw the bright fire flickering in his gaze. Those eyes, contrasting, clashing, but ultimately the same, spoke to Albus on a level nothing else could.

Magic crackled around them, the very air alive with their energy. Reflected in his soulmate's eyes, Albus saw themselves, and longed to stay there forever. The world could burn to ash, and he would not care, only if Gellert stayed too.

"My dear," came his voice, low, rough, laced with the chill of his homeland winds, yet still igniting fire in Albus' gut, "the day is fading."

Grappling for air to respond, Dumbledore unconciously stepped closer. "Time to go?"

Grindelwald's hand cupped his face, stroking over the trimmed beard for a moment. "Time to go."

With one last look at the smouldering ruins of MACUSA, they vanished, closer in embrace than any human could ever hope to be spiritually.

Their love, though hot and damaging to the touch, would change the world.

In fact, it already had.

#writing #creative #writers #inspiration #movies #gellert grindelwald #albus x gellert #albus dumbledore #short ficlet #wizard #lovers #fantastic beats the crimes of grindelwald #dark!fanfiction

[amonrawya]

The Dawn Kingdom Falls

She smiled at the sky, raindrops falling on her face through the dying rays of dusk. They rolled across her skin, soaking the tattered and bloodstained clothes she wore, hitting the dusty ground beneath her feet.

The cloven crown in her hands bled red, cracked and filthy. It's weight against her fingers was one of the few sensations she could feel, hours of furious battle having rendered them numb.

Her smile twisted, salty raindrops mixing with the others on her lashes. Everything around her was silent and unmoving, the sound of her breathing was like bells in her ears.

The sun shone brightly through the clouds pouring down on her, attempting to wash away the pain and sorrow drowning the young princess. Somehow, through it all, she could feel the warmth.

They'd said she would fail, that her kingdom was doomed to fall at his feet. She challenged them, made clear her intention to fight to the last. What is death, the princess told them, oh so passionately, compared to a life in chains?

Now, only she did not become acquainted with the welcoming hands of death. Around her, all the men and women who followed her so valiantly were lying, broken and slaughtered.

Through the dust she could see him, the one who brought everything down. His eyes glinted, the sword at his side gleaming silver. The line of red dripping from it's edge left a river in his wake.

The young warrior princess knew how this ended. It happened to her father, her mother, her brother, now her. It stung she could not have died alongside her soldiers, rather than left until last. Even in death, separated from her people.

She stared determinedly at the sky, watching the light fade. The darker it became, the harder the rain fell. Soon, she was drenched, still clutching her shattered crown.

"I suppose it's true, what they say," he said calmly, raising the point of his blade, "some legends, they turn to gold; others, they turn to dust. Can you guess which one you shall be, Princess?"

His words dug deep, but in the gathering darkness, on a battlefield of destruction and death, the laughter of a girl rang out loud and clear.

With eyes of sparking blue, she looked him in the face, grinning and unafraid. "You are a fool, if you believe you will be dressed in gold in the words of history."

"I am the conqueror, the dragonheart, I am unstoppable! Your kingdom has crumbled, like all the others," he snarled, his thin face flushing red beneath the black helmet, "they will remember me for centuries!"

The princess laughed again, standing up from her place on the ground. "They will. But that gold will tarnish, it will fade and be forgotten. The legacy you have made for yourself is bloody and savage; when they tell the story of today, we will be the victors."

Now, he laughed. The sound used to make her smile, like no one else could. The prince she had loved died long ago, and this shell would not ruin her memories of that boy.

"Your kingdom is mine, your people are dead, and you are going to die in the dirt," he shouted, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

She grit her teeth, letting the golden crown hit the ground. Dust rose from it, pooling around her ankles. "Like I said, death is kinder than a life in chains. You may have defeated my armies, but you never defeated our spirit. We have fallen with hearts full of love for this land, in defiance of all you stand for. One day, when our story is told, they will sing of our valour! They will know how we spat in your face! They will know how your downfall started at the doorstep of our kingdom."

The blade fell before she could blink, just as the last light of the sun sank below the horizon, and her land was plunged into darkness. But she died with a smile on her face, a smile for a secret only she knew.

The Prince of Night would fall, and the architect of his demise was hidden away, far over the mountains. Her hair, like raven's wings, and her eyes, like sapphires. She wore a crown of golden thorns, and someday her father would feel it's bite.

#writing #creative #writers #inspiration #fantasy #sacrifice