#yes i know the legend is a terrible colour

[bispectrecameron]

more dumb dnd maps

I found a great mapmaking software and omg

like this is the free version and its great, paid is only 25 a year as well, Inkarnate if anyones interested

[ziskeyt]

Check out this absolutely stellar art I commissioned of Ganon and Link from Reckon the Stars by @st-hedge! They've done such a marvellous job I am entirely in love. Look at it! Look at the beautiful details! The soft colours. Look at how cosy and soft they are. Ahhhhh!! Just going to casually use this for the fic cover from now on, lol. (Yes this is after the events of the fic.)

Also, new chapter is up! Sorry it's late. Stroke brain has been terrible recently and I fell behind my chapter buffer. Anyway! Chapter 6: A Truth or Two Reckon the Stars

The King of the Gerudo ideally leads his people to continued prosperity. To be remembered as a good king is nearly all that Ganondorf wants in this life, but he knows the legends of some of his predecessors who shared his name, and he cannot help fearing a curse will fall upon him. Especially when he starts to feel as though the desert itself is watching him. What he finds when he investigates what could be out there begins a journey that may just bring all those fears into reality, or it might prove them just as wrong as Ganon has hoped — only time will tell.

In this chapter: things are revealed! A number of them!

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Surprise for my beloved

Winston x girlfriend!reader

warning: fluff, kiss, no idea if army training is really like that, no use of Y/n

summary : Winston and his girlfriend are both in the military, and even though he was trained as a sniper because of his outstanding abilities, his girlfriend ended up in the regular units, where they were apparently treated even worse than the regular recruits. A day full of training, mud, bullet wounds and exhaustion lay ahead of her, but when she returns home, a surprise awaits her…

info: Oh yes Winston our favourite sniper, even if I don't feel the cover really, it is what it is. Have fun reading for the cute boy :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What had she thought of when she signed the document together with Winston, just a few months after they had finished school for good?

That's right, they hadn't thought about it, and the devil had it in for them because they somehow needed a job that would bring in some money and maybe let them travel around a bit.

Since they were both terrible at driving trucks and long-distance haulage was therefore out of the question and everything else was too boring for them, they went to the first army recruitment centre they came across and signed up.

They had considered this together over a beer and a horror film while the menu music from Mario was playing in the background.

,,Let's become soldiers," it simply blurted out of her as she looked at the DOOM packaging lying scattered on the floor and heard the muttering agreement of Winston, who was stuffing his face with crisps. Their shared naivety and sense of humour would become their profession, or at least the beginning of it, as they lived their lives as soldiers of America.

Even though this beginning was actually quite funny, they were aware that they were on the same training ground, and they both completed the basic training together.

They made friends, received punishments together, and ended up with painful muscle cramps, but they all found sneaking out and eating pizza together worthwhile.

The day came when they were all assigned to different units. ,,You know we're in this together," he assured her, leaning slightly towards her and briefly squeezing her hand before she felt a brief kiss on her cheek before the shouting of their superior continued to echo through the ranks.

Until, however, it came to nothing, as the two looked at each other in amazement and he was assigned to the snipers and she, with horror and annoyance, was given the ID of a normal soldier.

,,This can't be true," she said, keeping her voice down, she didn't want to make things worse and felt two arms wrap around her immediately and he pressed against him, ,,I'll try to fix it, sweetheart," he said, stroking her back, but they both knew that in the coming war situation, such transfers were hardly possible.

They would need her in the ground units and above all, Winston would be her shield in the air in secret, he would watch over her and help her to eliminate the opponents in such a way that it would be her and not otherwise.

And yet it seemed as if they would be separated from each other forever.

This had happened a few months ago, and while Winston had found favour in a unit of his own and was even paired with a legend, whom he always talked about enthusiastically, she found herself lying on the dirty floor more and more often, shocked and shot with hard rubber bullets, almost every day.

,,Do you know what I look like? Like a bouncy ball that you've thrown against a wall too often," she grumbled, and saw Winston suppress his laughter because his day looked completely different from hers.

His was much more relaxed, besides the usual close combat training, in the first instance he actually shot at targets from a distance all the time and was not thrown around.

,,But you're my pretty bouncy ball, whether you have colourful spots or not, I promise," he replied and got up from the bed to go over to her, where she was standing in her pyjamas and he stroked over the colourful injuries and left kisses on them.

Even though the gesture was cute, her body still ached and she had another day ahead of her before they all had a few days off for a couple of superior orders.

It was at least the hope that remained as she turned to Winston and ran her hand through his hair, soft and fluffy it had always been and even now he still had the same gentle look in his eyes.

Moving her hand from his hair to his cheek she saw his smirk, he smiled curtly before kissing her palm and pulling her close, ,,Tomorrow will be a better evening I promise sweetie" she heard him say as she was just glad that she had him, that he was supporting her and that at least now they were still together.

But the said it will be better tomorrow seemed to be something completely different as first she was the punching bag for new holds and punches and soon she was on the floor more than ten times.

Then through the muddy mess where she slipped and landed with her whole body in a puddle and as if all that wasn't enough extra leg supports because her team had lost in the simulation in case of emergency.

Groaning, grumbling and wiping away her frustration, she had left the other ebriets to go back to her room Tomorrow will be better yes of course what a joke she thought grumbling and took off her helmet which was still making her head ache as she turned into her floor.

Walking into her room looking up from her helmet she was slightly startled when she noticed not only a sweet smell, relaxing music playing in the background.

She saw a pyjama-clad Winston holding a plate of pancakes, popcorn, strawberries and syrup, ,,Welcome back my love I told you it would get better” he greeted her and put the plate down in front of her before pulling her into a hug.

Instead of smelling like dirt and sweat, the brown-haired man smelled sweet vanilla as if he had prepared a lot more, ,,That's so sweet of you, thank you,” she thanked him and pressed a kiss to his nose before she looked down at herself and sighed.

,,I'm going to eat the pancakes with you in ten minutes, can you wait that long?” she asked, knowing that if she sat on the bed with the dirt she could buy a new one.

But even now he seemed to have something prepared when he grinned and opened the door in the small bathroom to reveal a 'tub' made of a large metal tub filled with warm water and foam, she couldn't help but laugh and look at the further surprise, ,,It was actually meant to be a target for me when I was shooting and I got it that way.

Hop in and enjoy the massage to come,” he instructed, pointing to the bubbles when she didn't need to be told twice and got rid of her clothes before she climbed into the pleasantly warm water just moments later, which did wonders for her muscles alone and only got better when she felt his hands on her shoulders and he slowly massaged her.

,,Thank you,” she whispered, relaxing and grateful that maybe he had come to the snipers after all if it meant she would be greeted like this every night with a warm bath, a sweet pancake and a sweet boyfriend who was the best you could have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@angelsanarchy , @starry-eyed-wild-child , @cyb3rrdani

[thelediz]

Sonic Underground Episode 21: The Jewel of the Crown

I’m watching Sonic Underground in search of inspiration to finish a fic I’ve been writing forever. It’s a sad state of affairs. See the recap of the first three episodes here, if you're interested!

The plot (for want of a better word): Legend says the jewel from Aleena’s crown will glow brighter as it comes closer to her, and Robotnik thinks he’s found it! Can the Sonic Underground find the jewel—and their mother—before their enemies, or is there more to this jewel than meets the eye?

Aleena starts off this episode talking about resilience (though she calls it determination), which is nice. I think that might have been better with last episode, but egh.

Manic has made an electronic bug to spy on Robotnik. Can I just say this is very impressive given that while I didn’t mention it, it was only episode 13 where he said something about how he’d never thought of himself as a mechanic. You’re not supposed to notice this evolution – the series never draws attention to Manic’s technical skillset (because he’s a Tails clone) but if you are a problem like I am, it’s a nice little bit of Manic growing as a member of the Resistance.

So once again, we have Robotnik technically engaging in his city country kingdom’s economy, by having a pawn broker offer to sell Aleena’s jewel to him. Robotnik instead wants Sleet to steal it. As a dictator, or indeed as any legitimate head of state, he could just confiscate it, but he doesn’t. I am a problem, so I take this as more political manoeuvring to make sure the aristocrats remain happy with him.

He also offers Sleet half the money the pawn broker wanted, which builds on something @shinymisty-blog draws attention to in other posts: Sleet is still acting as a bounty hunter with Robotnik. Dingo is the only one being a proper indentured servant… except when he isn’t. Stop questioning the character motivations.

Meanwhile, the Sonic Underground debates how they can get the jewel before Robotnik. Sonia points out that they’re broke, and Manic suggests they ‘liberate it’.

I am entirely on Manic’s side this time, but hey. +1 to Manic’s Thievery is a Problem.

Sonic, on the other hand, suggests that Aleena wouldn’t have sold something that could lead her enemies directly to her because that would be incredibly dumb valuable, so clearly the pawn broker stole it first, which Manic jumps on by saying they’re just recovering the stolen goods. Sonia is immediately on board now because she wants to wear a pretty jewel. We sigh.

Emporium, the town of today’s episode, is another not!Constantinople city. Furthering the comparison is the fact it’s basically empty.

Meanwhile, we discover that Aleena is actually working with the pawn broker! Apparently she’s set a trap!

You know, I feel like these things would work better if she found a way to communicate with her children about her little plots.

Somehow, despite talking about how hard it will be, the triplets find the right pawn shop without any issue. But when it comes down to it, Sonic refuses to steal even for the right reasons. Are all the kids in the audience paying attention to this lovely Sonic Says moment? Yes? Yes? Everyone paying attention to the lesson?

Before it can come to a head, the rug they’re standing on turns out to be Dingo. I am actually going to give the siblings this one, for once, because I also didn’t twig to it. Although in hindsight I should have – we saw Sleet earlier, but no Dingo, and they did mention the rug was an offer from Robotnik, but I absolutely didn’t notice the colour. Maybe I’m tired.

Anyway. Both the siblings and the jewel are now in Sleet and Dingo’s hold!

Except they leave the siblings behind.

THEY LEAVE THE SIBLINGS BEHIND.

THESE. TERRIBLE. VILLAINS.

The pawnbroker stops Sonic from chasing Sleet and Dingo down immediately, but can’t stop him properly. So it feels a little pointless to have that moment, especially when Sonic does still stop their van from escaping.

Sonic’s plan to get the jewel back is almost as dumb and convoluted as… honestly, Sonic.

For some reason, he chooses to flood Sleet and Dingo’s transport with olive oil. You’re the fastest thing alive and you can take on half a battalion of SWATbots single-handedly. When Sleet opens the hatch to look around, squirrel past him, grab the jewel, get away. It is THAT SIMPLE.

Idiot boy.

But it gets the same result, and he very clearly hasn’t stolen it from anyone because Dingo just dropped it. Totally different to some moral guardian or another, I’m sure.

The song: The Cosmic Dance. I… yep, I’m tired, I can think of no comparisons. It’s actually pretty good though, I don’t hate it. It’s quite cute, like the sort of thing you sing to three year olds to encourage them to play Imagination… except it’s using some stereotypical imagery about yoga, hot coals, turbans… what culture do you think you’re referencing, song, because right now I’m just getting ‘vaguely foreign’.

It also references MC Hammer pants, which is very funny.

Okay, so everyone has the idiot ball today. The triplets are literally standing two metres back as Sleet loudly tells Dingo he’s put a tracking device on the van, and yet they happily jump in the van to run away from a bunch of snakes without removing said device. TRIPLETS.

So Aleena’s trap for the jewel has led the triplets (and therefore Sleet and Dingo) to a building that is actually a living plant. Dingo and Sleet are appropriately creeped out by this, and call Robotnik. For… some idiot monetary reason, Robotnik saying he’s going to come and catch Aleena himself bolsters Sleet’s confidence enough for him to be excited to go after Aleena again despite being creeped out.

Also, weird hoodoo magic, Aleena. Interesting. Sonic’s connection to Gaia says what

Sonia’s super strength +1

The tree goes after the triplets until Sonic cuts it off, but weirdly also doesn’t keep attacking Robotnik’s forces. What?

The episode ends with the triplets realising this was Aleena’s trap, and Aleena quietly standing on the sidelines as they leave, professing that someday they’ll be reunited.

Honestly, that ending feels VERY final. A bit of a downer ending, but there’s something bittersweet and hopeful that makes it feel like a proper ‘and the adventure continues’ that should have finished the series.

Basically I’m saying this should have been episode 40, but it wasn’t.

The counters:

Sonic implying less than 100% American heterosexuality: 5

Sonia in love with Bartleby: 4/37

Sonia in love with someone who is not Bartleby: 1/37

Sonia’s got super strength: 4

Manic’s thieving Is A Problem: 4

So come back tomorrow if you’re interested in the next 18 episodes that probably should have happened before this one!

[a-driftamongopenstars]

fragments; nimbus x guardian x oc ficlet

i desperately needed to write something for Nimbus, so I threw them at my existing couple :) the result is an overwhelming amount of fluff, and more to come. also on ao3

They had never left Neomuna before. From here it shined in a multitude of colourful specks, marred only by the Shadow Legion fleet. Still, Nimbus’ eyes roamed hungrily for that unique view through a window of a spacious Guardian’s ship, and they pointed out this ward and that even from above, knowing every inch of their home.

Their home was their duty. It was a choice made at their recreation, at the first augmentation. More than a vow, a fatal deadline. Only ten years to make the best of.

And still their enormous heart found a little bit of space to fit two creatures in from a world of legends. A Lightbearer and a mortal human, both starting to mean more than Nimbus counted on. 

They rested their arms behind their head, leaning against the bed frame. On one side, curled up and awake was Rev, his Awoken eyes glowing with cold silver in the night. On the other side, an almost fragile figure in comparison to Nimbus, was James, the Earth’s mechanic. 

The air still held warmth of the aftermath of their midnight tumble, as Rev put it. Tossed clothing across the cabin floor, tousled thoughts rattling in Nimbus' head. 

They never thought of getting involved with anyone, let alone with these people they met so very recently and whose existence was half a fairytale, half a spooky story to tell children by night. 

The Warlock and his companion propositioned first, and it was almost a no-brainer for Nimbus to say yes. Both attractive and pleasant enough, both sharing that special energy of joyous freedom and living in the moment, something that Nimbus could relate to easily. Just a one time thing, just to try and see what it was like.

But Nimbus had always been fast to dive into something new. Energy and danger were their fuel. 

Rev shifted against Nimbus' body, his hand following up the curve of the muscle. The Warlock was beautiful, somehow even more so by the dim night light. But his eyes were the biggest attraction, thoughtful, playful, expressive. When Nimbus learned that Rev used to offer adult entertainment for pay, it made a whole lot of sense. He was terribly good at reading people and even more so, knowing what they needed. 

So they couldn’t help but lean into that touch, a leap of faith.

"After what we just did, you are still able to think?" Rev asked, laughing. His hand rested against Nimbus' cheek now, and the Cloud Strider shifted their arms to wrap around both Rev and James. 

"It's a curse of mine. I start thinking with the worst timing. Also talking. Always talking." 

James huffed and moved closer against Nimbus. His arm slid around their torso easily, resting skin to skin. He was a curious one, with an air of someone constantly stumbling into the most surreal scenarios and making the most of it. Eyes full of awe and wonder, and touch full of affection.

“You and Rev both.”

As Rev rolled his eyes, Nimbus’ latticework vibrated with their laughter. They liked that feeling, their voice split into something else entirely that finally belonged to what they knew they were. Without hesitation, Rev planted a kiss against their neck, where cold alloy met warm skin.

All that Nimbus could do was let the Warlock read them like an open book, page after page, retold to James in motions, sounds and gentle touches.

They stayed like that awhile. Frozen in time, hung in space, only stars to witness them. The Warlock had fallen asleep, and just as swiftly his companion followed. Too tired out of making love, and never tired to love.

Nimbus smiled to themselves. They leaned to kiss James’ head, then Rev’s. Both men seemed so delicate now, despite them being quite strong for their kind. But Nimbus liked the feeling of them resting on either side, the warmth that they seemed to add to their body. A small fragment that was worth it all, a treasured possession, a feeling tucked in a corner of Nimbus’ heart that made life ever so interesting.

They would have to return to Neomuna soon. Back into the fray. But if they learned anything from Rohan, from their experience as a Cloud Strider, this little tumble could become something else precious to protect.

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. A detail I’ve always loved about x and y is that like... by the time of the game, there’s like No Proper Records Whatsoever of xerneas or yveltal. No-one in the present day even knew their names, going off of how excited Sycamore was to tell the player what they were called when he found out presumably from the Anistar City Npc™️ he tells you to talk to. And that one npc who knew anything about them????

“It happened about 800 years ago. The Pokémon known as Xerneas used it's shining horns to illuminate the lands of Kalos. At that very moment, people and Pokémon throughout the land felt great energy and vitality surge through their bodies. At the same time, a vast forest sprang up, with Xerneas at its center. Legend has it that, when it nears the end of its thousand-year lifespan, Xerneas releases its remaining energy, sharing it with all living things nearby. There's another story I know that talks about the appearance of just such a fortuitous Pokémon. / Yveltal spread it's ominous wings, engulfing the lands of Kalos in darkness. At the moment, people and Pokemon throughout the land began to fall one by one. Yveltal let out a piercing cry and took to the sky, vanishing to an unknown location. Stories say the when it nears the end of its thousand-year life span, Yveltal absorbs the life force of the living things around it in order to charge its own energy. Another tale talks of the appearance of just such a terrifying Pokemon.

Back 3,000 years ago, the Kalos region was engulfed in a terrible war. So the tale goes, a Pokémon came to the rescue of all the wounded Pokémon that had been caught up in the conflict. Some people expected the Pokémon that appeared was Xerneas, but there's no way to know. Maybe they just wished a Legendary Pokémon would come to brighten a tale of woe./ According to the stories, a Pokemon appeared and stole the life force of countless living beings. Some people suspect the Pokemon that appeared was Yveltal, but there's no way to know. Maybe they're just using a legendary Pokemon as a metaphor for war and pestilence.

Supposedly, after Xerneas released its remaining energy, it transformed into a dried-up tree. It remains in hiding deep within the forest/ In the tales, after Yveltal finished storing the energy it had absorbed, it transformed into a kind of cocoon, remaining in hiding deep in the mountains. According to old tales, I say. Stories and tales.”

They are Literally regarded as fairy tales. Thought to be fake stories people came up with because they desperately wanted some hope to hold onto or to use as a metaphor. The only npc who knows anything about them doesn’t even believe what he’s telling you. Or the other fragment Sycamore found that was relating to them is all like

“According to material that I’ve read, those who saw it were so overwhelmed its power, they were only able to say that this Pokemon resembled the letter X/Y.”

But god... I just love the implication that after freeing themselves from the weapon (which yes, they Were forced to power-- the AZ cutscene from 3000 years ago has the weapon change depending on the version to match the box legendary’s colour [cyan or red]), they fought against humanity, then avoided them for the next 3000 years

Especially when you dig deeper and realise that the pokemon village was likely the spot Xerneas took the injured pokemon to... which is a haven only for pokemon that very few, select humans are allowed to enter. And the Winding Woods, with all the Zoroark and paths that can lead you to back to where you started... was likely where Xerneas went to rest, and those weird properties of that specific forest is to prevent humans from exploring there and finding the village

Which only further fuels the idea that Xerneas and Yveltal are at the very least very untrusting of humanity thanks to AZ’s actions and actively avoid them🙃}

[agentnico]

Paint (2023) Review

I dressed up as Bob Ross at a party last year. All was well and dandy if it weren’t for another guest having shown up in exactly the same costume. I may have had the bigger fake wig, but he had the grander bushier real beard. It was truly a tragedy for the ages.

Plot: Carl Nargle, a local treasure with a soothing whisper of a voice, hosts his own painting show on Vermont public television. His art has attracted the attention of many women over the years, especially those who work at the station. However, when a new painter gets hired to revitalize the channel, Carl's own fears regarding his talents as an artist are brought to the forefront.

So unlike the poster and trailer may make one think, this is not actually a Bob Ross biopic. Yes, Owen Wilson has the signature afro perm and the soft melodic calming tone of voice, and he does indeed paint landscape paintings on a TV show, but this is not the 80′s art celebrity we know. Paint is a movie that asks what if Bob Ross weren’t a benevolent and kind hearted cultural force, but actually a womanizing and arrogant megalomaniacal prick? As such, to not tarnish the name of the original legend, the movie creates this fictional persona of Carl Nargle who shares the charming DNA to his real life counterpart, but in this case is a bit of an a-hole. So yes, this is a What If scenario, and an amusing one at that, especially with respect to the current MeToo movement, however the result doesn’t work for an entire feature length film. 

Paint is very much a Saturday Night Live sketch that has been stretched to its limits, and as soon as the novelty of a womanizing Bob Ross wares off within the first 10 minutes, the rest of the film suffers from an identity crisis, wondering what it wants to be and where it wants to go. I will say its evident that director Brit McAdams and his crew have really good intentions and try so hard to create a charming little indie movie, with the world they create reminiscent of the awkward weirdness of the likes of Twin Peaks, and the filming style inspired by the colour palettes of Wes Anderson, Richard Linklater and Woody Allen. Owen Wilson too is seriously committing to the bit, delivering the soft spoken performance of a rock-listening retro-van-driving hipster painter, and even though the character is very morally incorrect, it’s hard not to warm up to Owen Wilson. And that perm on his head is a thing of beauty! Rest of the ensemble is unfortunately stuck with very weak written unmemorable roles, with only Stephen Root managing to bring his usual signature weasel slimy antics as the head of the TV network. 

There are moments in Paint that are truly amusing, including a scene where Owen Wilson is attempting to steal newspapers from people’s front doors that has a negative article written about him whilst obeying by the highway code, or setting all his artwork on fire and then sitting in an armchair in the midst of it all smoking a pipe, or a fun little end joke about his connection to Banksy. Again, I don’t think the movie deserves the outright hate its been getting from critics online, as its by no means terrible, however for a movie about Owen Wilson playing a Bob Ross-type I feel this is a missed opportunity for what could have been a truly weird and unique comedy. Instead, it is just okay.

Overall score: 5/10

[sweetthingshavesharpteeth]

tagged by @anachronicity for the "9 people you'd like to get to know better" tag game - i've actually never done one of these before (at least on tumblr) but why not

✨

Last song: Chigaco by Sufjan Stevens, which reminds me incredibly strongly of The Polyphonic Spree

Favourite colour: i'm terrible with favourites - i have favourite shades of all the colours, but no one favourite colour. i like a deep, royal red, electric blue, forest green and many others

Last movie/TV show: oh, jeez, i don't really tv or film much - have i even seen anything (outside of youtube) since i re-watched lotr? does hbomberguy's plagiarism video count as a feature film documentary?

Sweet/spicy/savory: yes (once upon a time (not all that long ago) this would have been "sweet" without hesitation, but age has dulled my sweet tooth)

Relationship status: comfortably single (and suspicious that i'm aro-spec as well as ace-spec)

Last thing I searched: something to do with drivers because my work laptop is throwing hissy fits

Current obsession: DPxDC (danny phantom/DC comics crossovers) - i have never watch danny phantom, and my only real consumption of DC media is Wayne Family Adventures, but the interactions are so compelling and the whole area is ripe for everything from trauma exploration to mischievous gremlins causing chaos. while i was supposed to be sleeping last night i was typing out my second ever fanfic, on the gremlin end of the spectrum

Last book: legends and lattes

Looking forward to: going swimming with my niblings this weekend

Tagging: this would just be me tagging literally all my mutuals, most of whom barely use this site any more - feel free to consider yourself tagged if you wish, you know who you are

[artilaz]

Heyo, thanks @hotnerdywizard for the tag!

1. Are you named after anyone? For my deadname I don't think so. The name I picked for myself, though? Yes. I named myself after an OC of mine, who, in turn, was named after Tristan from the Arthurian legends.

2. When was the last time you cried? Yesterday. I cry quite a lot, but mostly it's just small outbursts of emotions, for example when I listen to a song that happens to hit me in a particular spot.

3. Do you have kids? No (but I would have Gale’s in a heartbeat 🙈) <- stealing that 😂

4. What sports do you play/have you played? I've never been that big into sports, at least not since my eyesight got terrible. Before that, I loved to go swimming. I also did karate for a while. Having quit that is one of my biggest regrets.

5. Do you use sarcasm? Sarcasm? Me? Never.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? Usually their hair. I love hair, and also I'm partially facially blind, and hair is probably the thing I can tell people apart by the best if I don't know them well.

7. What’s your eye colour? Grey.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Either, depending on my mood.

9. Any talents? I can draw pretty well, and I've got a talent for languages. I think I also have a nice singing voice, but since I never sing in front of other people, I can't prove that 😂

10. Where were you born? Germany, and I still live there.

11. What are your hobbies? Don't ask me that, thinking about it just makes me sad. I used to have hobbies, but now I have a job that kills almost my entire energy.

12. Do you have any pets? Unless the friendly spider in the corner of my room counts, no.

13. How tall are you? 1.65m / 5'5ish

14. Favourite subject in school? English and art I guess. I didn't enjoy school much past like 8th grade because people suck.

15. Dream job? Not sure what it's called in English. Translator says Architectural draftsman.

I don't think I'm gonna tag anyone in this one either because again I think everyone has probably already been tagged. If not though, and if you'd like to do this, consider yourself tagged by me!

[twink-between-worlds]

honey whiskey chapter 11

hey so, yeah, might not update in a while/very slowly bc Sprained Wrist tm

relationships; leg & truth, leg & four

ao3 link; x

Okay, there’s absolutely something wrong.

Legend didn’t take his wing binds off last night, and now something feels… Off. Mix that with the nightmare he had, and today is already terrible. That nightmare is…frequent, and it sometimes feels like a memory that Legend no longer has. There’s always a lot of fire, and a couple figures he can’t make out fully. There’s six, in total. Six figures and Legend doesn’t know—or remember—who they are. He’s tried to fit people he’s met into the empty, vague impressions of where the people in his nightmares stand, but nobody fits it. Not a single person fits, not even Fable. He hates it. Legend’s eyes trailed across the room, frowning when he saw the door was slightly ajar, and jumping when it slammed followed by a familiar little laugh. The laugh of something—someone the prince doesn’t fully understand. “Why are you here, Truth?” “Seems like his royal highness isn’t having a good night.”Truth hummed, materialising in front of the door, leaning on it. “Same thing as always, I assume.” “I repeat; why are you here, Truth?” “Can’t I visit my light counterpart just because I want to?” “It’s you.”Legend raised a brow, frowning. “Fair point.”He laughed, floating over to the young prince. Legend…doesn’t really know what Truth is. Actually, yes he does, he just has a hard time wrapping his head around it. Truth had said he was a shadow, and he physically can’t lie so Legend believed him. But…it’s still weird to think about. His shadow is sentient. “—ey? Hey!”Truth huffed, snapping Legend out of his thoughts. “Don’t you ignore me.” Legend rolled his eyes. “Can you pass me my leg? If we’re going to do this, I’d like to have some coffee in me.” As Truth turned to get the prosthetic, Legend’s eyes were glued to the other. More specifically—the other’s wings. Truth is a shadow, after all, and so he sports his own pair of wings. His are also multiple colours, much like Legends, and still developing too. The base of his wings are black, and the two existing colours are blue and what looks like orange. Legend can see some magenta peeking through, too. But the main difference is that Truth’s wings are big, beautiful, and healthy. His wings are much healthier than Legend’s own. “Here.”Truth passed the leg to his light counterpart, standing to the side as Legend attached it and got up. Legend quietly and carefully made his way to the kitchen, ignoring the confused look Truth shot him. “Why are you sneaking inside your own house?” “Because I don’t know if Four is awake,”He replied. “And if voi isn’t, I don’t want to wake void up.” “Four? That the creepy, little one?” “Yep.”Legend sighed, hopping up onto the kitchen counter to grab a mug as he boiled some water. “What’s that kid’s deal, anyways?” “Voi’s literally the same age as us.” “That little thing is 19?” “Mh, ‘parrently so.” “Never woulda guessed that.”Truth blinked, rolling his eyes in annoyance towards his own words. “Remind me why you can’t lie?” “Lied to the wrong person. Got cursed.” Legend paused, looked at Truth for a second, before placing the mug down and clapping sarcastically. “Well done, ya dumbfuck.” “Fuck off.” Legend grinned, making his coffee with a gentle hum. “Who’s your friend?” Both Legend and his shade jumped, looking around only to find Four, sitting on the kitchen table in the dark. “You’re…so fuckin weird, yanno that?”Legend let out a breath, huffing when Four let out a cackle. “Well aware, thanks. So, who’s your friend?” “The name’s Truth, ya creepy little fucker.” “Truth?” “Cause he can’t lie.”Legend shrugged. “He’s my shadow.” “Your shadow, huh? Interesting. Anyways! Why’re you up?” “Why are you up?” “If I sleep now I’ll have a nightmare about the time I tried to kill my partner.” “...oh—” “Now why are you up? Don’t change the subject again.” Legend glanced to where Truth had been standing, only to find that the bastard had disappeared into his shadow again. “Bitch,”He mumbled under his breath, glancing back at Four with a sigh. “I had a nightmare.” Four blinked, and hopped up onto the kitchen counter, looking at Legend. “What was it about?” “Four—” “Talking about it can help. You can trust me, I won’t tell a soul. Have I told anyone else about your other secrets?” “...no.”Legend sighed. “I don’t—really know what it’s about. There’s just a lot of fire and people I don’t recognise or remember…”Legend trailed off, thinking back on it. …Four fits the size of at least 4 of the figures—meaning it could be the colours, and Legend has a history of predicting events in dreams… “I think—something might happen to you…the four of you, I mean.” “Oh?”Four frowned, taking Legend’s hands into his own. “Like what?” “I…don’t know.”Legend mumbled quietly, and he doesn’t know why but he’s crying. “I dunno, Four.” “Hey hey—shh.”Four frowned, tugging Legend over into a hug. “It’s okay. Nothin’s gunna happen. Pinky promise?”Four mumbled, holding his pinky finger out, smiling faintly when Legend quietly hooked their pinky fingers together.

When Legend glanced up, he didn’t see his best friend there—he saw his uncle in Four’s icy blue eyes.

[shes-a-gryffindor]

Of Apples and Psychological Lapses

A @jilytoberfest submission. Prompt #12 - One overhearing something they're not supposed to.

That day, on an otherwise uneventful morning, it started with an apple, of all things.

James Potter sat straddling the bench at the Gryffindor table, poring over what Lily supposed was a textbook, elbow on a knee with an apple in his hand.

Only half listening to Mary’s recitation of the ingredients for the Draught of Living Death that they were supposed to be brewing later that day, she chanced upon another look at him…. the muscles in his jaw jumped as he bit into his apple, and as she watched him laugh at something she couldn’t hear, Lily found herself wondering whether he’d always had that dimple in his cheek… before she’d had the chance to mentally scold herself for her apparent loss of self-control, James caught her eye; grinning roguishly, he winked at her before taking another bite…

“You’re doing it again,” said Mary,

Lily’s neck snapped so quickly away from James she thought she might have whiplash, “doing what?”

“Making love eyes at Potter” she sniggered.

“Don’t be daft,” responded Lily dismissively, “I was not giving him love eyes” she added, silently cursing the blush now creeping up her neck, “…anyway, the ingredients…for today, you were reading them…” a lame attempt at a change in subject.

Mary smirked at her for a moment before returning to her textbook; relieved that she’d been let off the hook, Lily focused intently on Mary’s recitation, despite already knowing the ingredients from memory, she was determined not to look over again at the group of boys sitting only a few feet away from them.

Thinking they’d get a head start on the swarm of students that would soon be filing out of the hall, they packed their books and downed the last of their pumpkin juice. As she stood, Lily glanced quickly over at James again, he was in animated conversation with Sirius, the apple hanging loosely from his fingers at his side… and a ridiculous idea crossed her mind.

Deliberating over it in the seconds it took them to reach the spot where he was sitting, before she’d even really decided upon it, she’d snatched the apple out from his hand, twisting her head round to wink back at him, before taking a bite of what was now her apple.

“Shut up,” she smirked at Mary, who was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion; she felt his eyes burning into the back of her head during Transfiguration, then found herself loitering after class, trying to chance perhaps walking out at the same time as him… before realising she was behaving like an idiot and walking quickly out alone.

History of Magic was, in particular, a challenge. It was, as usual, rather impossible to focus on the monotony that was Professor Binns' lesson.

Serenely unaware that no one seemed the least bit interested in his thorough breakdown of wand legends through time, he droned on… “The Death Stick, The Wand of Destiny…” and by the time the lesson was over Lily and James had shared several silent exchanges across the classroom.

Potions that afternoon was perhaps, although short-lived, her only reprieve. Lily was quite comfortable in her element, happily brewing her Draught of Living Death. Having already reached the ideal halfway stage, she smiled contentedly down at the smooth, black currant-colored liquid in her cauldron.

Just as she was about to start chopping her roots, she caught James, brow furrowed, curiously observing her potion, before looking back at his own - which appeared to be eliciting a sort of blue-ish haze, not horrible but certainly not what it should have been doing by that point… better, if nothing else, than Peter’s… who was looking more distressed by the minute at the now foul smelling, brown concoction bubbling in his cauldron.

“Care to share your expertise, Evans?” Asked James, grinning over at her. With his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, his forearms were tense as he shifted his body weight onto them, leaning over the table toward her… and Lily thought quietly, that the dimple in his cheek was obviously not the only thing she’d failed to notice.

“Afraid not, Potter,” she responded, “see If I told you, I’d have to kill you… although, could be doing myself a favour there,” she added, smirking at him.

“Better not then, otherwise you might actually get some peace and quiet… can’t have that,” he said seriously.

“Merlin forbid,” she mumbled, in mock exasperation.

“Merlin forbid,” began Sirius, “all this terrible flirting makes me throw up in my cauldron.”

Mary and Peter burst into a fit of giggles, even Remus, it seemed, found it amusing, while James just grinned down at his cauldron.

“Your potion can’t get any worse than it already is Black… I say try it,” Lily mocked.

Sirius, however, had cast his attention elsewhere.

From the corner of the next table over, having apparently overheard the entire exchange, Severus was looking darkly over at them. His eyes flickered briefly between James and Lily before returning to his potion. She knew she’d been shamelessly flirting with him, for days, weeks really… what she hadn’t realised was how blatantly obvious it was becoming, to everyone even beyond their friends; blushing furiously and feeling rather sheepish, she scowled at Sirius, who was still grinning smugly over at Severus, before returning to her own potion.

As she made the last of her rounds that evening, her mind once again wandered to what was fast becoming something, or rather, someone, she thought about much too often. He’d looked a little too smug after catching her at dinner - watching, as a Hufflepuff in the year below them asked for his help with a Transfiguration essay that weekend… in addition to self-control, she was now apparently also losing her common sense… it was perfectly acceptable that he help another student with an essay, why should this bother her…? But honestly an essay over the weekend, she thought… ask the bloke out and be done with it, what a stupid excuse… Surely he knew the girl fancied him.

The sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of them, tucked away in a quiet corner of the library poring over an essay together, was extremely disconcerting, this sudden interest in who he was spending time with… He’d made his existence impossible to ignore for the better part of six years, perhaps now that he wasn’t asking her out at every turn her mind was playing that stupid game, the one where you only want something because it’s not as easy to get anymore, not because you genuinely want it… some psychological lapse in judgement… yes that must be it; so trying to force her thoughts back into some semblance of order, Lily resolved to get a grip.

She met Remus in the dungeons and together they checked the last of the corridors before heading back up to the common room, chatting about weekend plans, their upcoming exams and whether they had anything planned for the summer holidays before their seventh year.

Lily was careful to steer the conversation in another direction anytime it got a little too close to James, so she wasn’t exactly thrilled (maybe a little bit) when they stepped through the portrait hole to find James, Sirius and Peter sitting alone in the common room. With a warm smile, Remus bid her goodnight and went to join his friends in front of the fire.

“All right, Evans?” Asked James, grinning that lone-dimpled grin as she walked past.

Shooting him a quick tight lipped smile, she trudged up the staircase to her dormitory with an infuriatingly pink face; she had just reached the top of the staircase, however, when she heard Sirius snigger -

“Reckon she might actually prefer you to the giant squid now.”

Failing in her resolve to get a grip before she’d even begun, and apparently not above eavesdropping now either, Lily stopped and stood there at the top of the staircase, dead silent, craning her neck to listen to them.

“What?” Asked James, “What makes you say that?” In his voice, Lily heard a hint of what she thought sounded like hope.

“Are you daft? Or do you just want to hear it all back?”

“A bit of both I think,” chuckled Remus.

“Did you not see Snivelly’s face in potions? Even he can tell she fancies you mate,” said Sirius, dryly.

“Looked a bit put out, didn’t he?” Chuckled James.

“A bit? Looked like he didn’t know whether to cry or hex you,” chortled Peter, “d’you reckon him and Evans… you know-”

“What? Asked James, cutting him off, “went out?”

“Nah,” answered Sirius quickly, “who’d want to go out with that? Didn’t they know each other from before school, or something?”

“Yeah… they were friends,” said James, with finality in his voice.

“‘Till he showed his true colours,” scoffed Sirius, “…bit naive of her though, don’t you think? To think that he’d be anything but the slimy git he is.”

Lily had half a mind to go down and give Sirius a piece of her mind, until…

“Nah,” said James, “I reckon she knew who he was the whole time… she just chooses to see the good in everyone, y’know? Even a slimy git like Snivellus.” When no one said anything, he added, “Personally, I don’t think she should change that about herself.”

There was silence… and then someone made a dry-retching sound like they were throwing up, followed by scuffling and a series of thuds, “gerrof!” Came Sirius’s muffled voice, over Peter and Remus’s laughter.

Deciding she’d heard enough, Lily tiptoed quietly into her dorm; and as she pulled the scarlet hangings of her four-poster around her that night, she thought perhaps her interest in James Potter wasn’t a psychological lapse in judgment at all.

[lailoken]

‘Dark and Demon Dogs’

“Haunting the coastline from the Wash to the Deben and beyond, and inland along the Peddars Way into the Brecklands, on marshland roads and mudflats, through the Fens and into the Broads, pads the ancient terror known as Black Shuck. For many hundreds of years the legend of the ghostly black hound has been kept alive and is probably the best known of all East Anglian spectres, still appearing to people today. He is typically seen as a huge, great, black shaggy hound, with blazing red eyes and dragging rattling chains behind him, instilling terror into all he comes upon and considered a portent of impending death or doom by most. Although generally called Black Shuck, he is known by many other names too; the Galleytrot, Old Scarfe, Owd Rugman, Shug Monkey and the Hateful Thing being some, although some form of Shuck or Shuggy is most common. Nor is he always a large black hound, appearing as anything from the size of a Labrador (shrinking into a cat!), a white rabbit in Thetford, to a calf or a donkey and even a monkey on a few occasions. Sometimes he was invisible, only his fierce breath, padding feet, fearful howls or the clanking of his chains giving evidence of his presence. Sometimes he could be seen without his head, but always with his glowing eyes appearing in the middle of where his head should be. One tale from Garveston in Norfolk goes;

‘They du speak of a dog that walks regular. They call him Skeff and his eyes are as big as saucers and blaze wi' fire. He is fair as big as a small wee pony and his coat is all skeffy-like, shaggy coat across, like an old sheep. He has a lane, and a place out of which he come, and he vanish when be bev gone far enough.’

Another informant from the village of Clopton, Suffolk, reported, 'a thing with two saucer eyes', on the road to Woolpit. It would not move out of his way but grew larger and larger as it breathed: 'I shall want you within a week'. The man died the next day.

One Christmas day in the middle of the 19th. Century, Black Shuck pushed against a small, blind boy who was standing on Thetford Bridge with his older sister. The little boy plaintively asked his sister to send the big dog away, but his sister assured him that there was no dog anywhere near them. However, the terrified boy insisted that there was, and that it was trying to push him into the water to drown him. The sister then felt the poor boy being carried away from her; she realised then that what he could feel, and she could not see, must be the terrible Black Shuck that she had heard so much about. Just as her little brother was about to be pushed into the water, she dragged him back from the edge and, hand- in-hand, they rushed off back to their waiting parents at home.

Villagers in the Waveney Valley round about Geldeston call it the ‘Hateful Thing', or the 'Churchyard or Hell-beast'. One old village woman claimed that she saw it one night on the road between Gillingham and Geldeston. She tells the story in the following words;

'It was after I bad been promised to Josh that I saw the Hateful Thing. We met Mrs S. and she started to walk with us. I beard something like a dog running pit-pat-pit- pat-pit-pat. "I wonder what that dog wants", I said to Mrs S. I was walking between Josh and Mrs S. and I lay hold on Mrs S's. arm and she say "It's in front of us; look, there it be." Just in front was what looked like a big, black dog; but it wasn't a dog at all; it was the Hateful Thing and it betokened some great misfortune. It kept on until we came to the churchyard, when it went right through the wall and we saw it no more'.

In Norfolk, Neatishead Lane, near Barton Broad, is a favourite walk of Shuck, as is the cliff path from Beeston, near Sheringham to Overstrand. This recalls the old adjuration in the legend of St. Margaret;

‘Still be though still,

Poorest of all, stern one,

Nor shalt thou, Old Shuck,

Moot with me no more.

But fly, sorrowful thing,

Out of mine eyesight,

And dive thither where thou man

May damage no more.’

A more humorous tale involves the grounding of Noah's Ark on Mulbarton Common, south of Norwich. Scoffers had better not go to Mulbarton. When one village elder was heckled on the point, he replied with some heat;

‘Thass trew! Trew as I stand bere. Where else could it ba' grounded? Aren't this the highest bit o' ground for miles around? When Ole Nick see the Ark be got inter a poont (punt), an' curled his tail up under the thwart and come rowin' around jest as Noah had opened the winder to let the dove in. And Nick sings out: "Mornin' Cap'n Noah. Nice mornin'arter the rain". But ole Noah he sees Nick's tail a-curled up under the thwart an' be sings out: “I know you. You're Owd Shuck! You goo to Hell". And bangs the winder down'.

However, perhaps the most famous accounts of the legend are to be found in Holinshed's Chronicle', an ambitious history of England which was updated to include contemporary events, and a pamphlet entitled A Straunge and Terrible Wunder' written by the Rev. Abraham Fleming, Rector of St. Pancras Church. Both accounts were published in 1577, shortly after the events recorded therein. According to Holinshed's Chronicle;

‘On Sundaie the fourth of August (1577), belween the houres of none and ten of the clocke in the forenone whilest the minister was reading the second lesson in the Parish church of Bliborough (Blythburgh), a towne in Suffolke, a strange and terrible tempest of lightening and thunder strake through the wall of the same church into the ground almost a yard deepe, drave downe all the people on that side above twentie persons, then venting the wall up to the venstre, cleft the doore, and returning to the steeple, rent the timber, brake the chimes, and fled towards Bongie (Bungay), a towne six miles off. The people that were stricken downe were found groueling more than balfe an boure after.......". At Bungay the storm "wroong in sunder the wiers and wheels of the clocks, slue two men which sat in the belfrie, when the other were at the procession or suffrages and scorched an other which hardlie escaped.'

However, Fleming gives the account as starting in Bungay church and includes the infamous Black Shuck;

‘Sunday, being the fourth of this August, in ye yeer of our Lord 1577, to the amazing and singular astonishment of the present bebolders, and abhsent bearers, at a certain towne called Bungay, not past tenne miles distant from the citie of Norwiche, there fell from heaven an exceeding great and terrible tempest sodein and violent..... There were assembled at the same season, to hear divine service and common prayer, according to order, in the parish church (St. Mary's) of the said towne of Bungay, the people thereabouts inhabiting, who were witnesses of the straungeness, the rarenesse and sodenesse of the storm, consisting of rain violently falling, fearful flashes of lightning and terrible cracks of thunder, which came with such unwonted force and power, that to the perceiving of the people...the church did as it were quake and stagger, which struck into the hearts of those that were present, such a sore and sodain feare, that they were in a manner robbed of their right wits.

Immediately hereupon, there appeared in a most horrible similitude and likenesse to the congregation then and there present, a dog as they might discern it, of a black colour; at the sight whereof, together with the feareful flashes of fire which then were seene, moved such admiration in the minds of the assemblie that they thought doomes day was already come.

This black dog, or the divel in such a likenesse (God he knoweth al who worketh all), running all along down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling upon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe in one instant clene backward, in somuch that even at a moment where they kneeled, they strangely died.'

After reflecting somewhat on the wrath of God, he continues;

‘There was at ye same time another wonder wrought; for the same black dog, still continuing and remaining in one and the selfsame shape, passing by another man of the congregation in the church, gave bim such a gripe on the back, that therewith all he was presently withdrawen together and strunk up, as it were a piece of lither scorched in a hot fire; or as the mouth of a purse or bag, drawen together with a string. The man albeit he was in so straunge a taking, dyed not, but as it is thonght is yet alive; whiche thing is mervalous in the eyes of men, und offereth much matter of amasing the minde.

Meanwhile, the Clerk of the church, who had gone outside to clean the guttering, was thrown to the ground during a violent clap of thunder; and at the same time, the wires and wheels of the church clock were 'wrung in sunder and broken in pieces.' Inside the church, the Curate exhorted to prayer and 'comforted the people' until the frightening manifestation of the black hound had passed away, leaving behind it marks on the stones and church door 'which are marvellously renten and torne, ye marks as it were of his clawes or talans.'

According to Fleming, next, on the same morning, in the church of Blythburgh, about twelve miles from Bungay;

'the like thing entred, in the same shape and similitude, where, placing himself upon a maine balke or beum, whereon same ye Rood did stand, sodainly he gave a swinge downe throngh ye church, and there also, as before, slew two men and a lad & burned the hand of another person that was there amang the rest of the company, of whom divers wus blustled. This mischief thus wrought, he flew with wonderful force to no litule feare of the assembly, out of the church in a hideons and bellish likeness.'

The marks of his talons, burned into the inside of the north door of the church, can still be seen today.

Interestingly, archaeologists have recently discovered the skeleton of a massive dog that would have stood 7 feet tall on its hind legs, in the ruins of Leiston Abbey in Suffolk, close to both Bungay and Blythburgh. The remains of the massive dog, which is estimated to have weighed 200 pounds, were found just a few miles from the two churches where Black Shuck killed the worshippers. It appears to have been buried in a shallow grave at precisely the same time as Shuck is said to have been on the loose in this instance.

Coming forward in time, there is a legend of a black dog too, at Blickling Hall, Norfolk. In the 19th century, alterations on the Hall were being made by Lord and Lady Lothian, by the demolition of some partitions in order to form a dining-room;

‘I wish these young people would not pull down the partitions', said an old woman in the village to the local clergyman. Why so?' 'Oh, because of the dog. Don't you know that when A. was fishing in the lake, he caught an enormous fish and that, when it was landed, a great black dog came out of its mouth? They never could get rid of that dog, who kept going round and round in circles inside the house, till they sent for a wise man from London, who opposed the straight lines of the partitions to the lines of the circles and so quieted the dog. But if these young people pull down the partitions, they will let the dog loose again, and there's not a wise man in all London could lay that dog now'.’

This tale is interesting in that it links the occurrence or appearance of the hound with a practical knowledge of geomantic function and is the only tale told of its kind, as far as I am aware. It also links the Black Dog with the liminal area of the lake, which, as we have seen earlier in the chapter, is a gateway to the Other/Underworlds, guarded by supernatural beings; it is possible that the Black Dog may be another one of these guardian entities.

The common name for the black hound, Shuck, is generally considered to derive from the Old English scucca or sceocca, which means a devil/the Devil, a demon or a goblin (the 'sc' in OE being pronounced as 'sh'). There is also the likelihood that it comes from the East Anglian dialect word 'Shucky', meaning shaggy or hairy, a marked characteristic of most descriptions of the Hound. The first known use of the term comes from the Norfolk Chronicle or Gazette, in 1805, in an account by the Rev. E.S. Taylor of Martham as follows;

‘Shuck the Dog-fiend: This phantom I have heard many persons in East Norfolk, and even Cambridgeshire, describe as having seen as a black shaggy dog, with fiery eyes, and of immense size, and who visits churchyards at midnight.’

However, the term was obviously already in use beforehand, but for how long beforehand, no one knows. In regards to the appearance of the phantom in, at or near to churchyards and graveyards, there is another old tradition that is worth noting here. It was customry in years gone by, to bury a black dog in any new graveyard, before any other burials took place. The dog was intended to act as a guardian for the dead who were laid to rest there, and to protect the entrance to the Otherworld, ensuring that none came out – or went in – that were not supposed to. This practice goes back many millennia and is still rumoured to continue today in some areas; the dog is said to be buried in the North, or North-East of the graveyard, the traditional direction of the Dead and the Underworld.

Attempts to explain the origins and nature of the Black Hound have been many, some prosaic and some fantastical. He is said to be the memory of one of Odin's battle hounds, brought over by the Viking raiders in the 9th century. Whilst this may sound appealing, Odin did not have any war or battle hounds, but was accompanied by two wolves, a description never applied to Shuck. It is possible that he is the remains of a 'fetch beast', conjured by the Norse shamans to clear the pathways for their invasions, but there is no remaining evidence for this, however attractive; but the pathways theme is pertinent and I will come back to that in a moment. In the Anglo- Saxon classic, 'Beowulf', previously referred to in the case of Grendel's Dam and the Merewives, the monster Grendel himself is termed a 'scucca' and referred to as master of the fens and moors, some of the very places said to be haunted by Black Shuck in more modern times. He is also linked in popular imagination with the Devil and witchcraft, considered to be the Devil in animal form. Whilst there are recorded cases of the Devil appearing in dog or hound form in Suffolk, the descriptions of Shuck's appearances does not seem to fit any of these. He is often linked with Churches and graveyards, as we have seen, as well as crossroads, being described as coming from, passing over or into, or finishing his perambulations at one or the other; this also links in with the fact that the most recorded instances of sightings/encounters of the hound are on paths, roads, trackways, etc. as mentioned above.

It is these latter aspects of the Black Hound that I think give us the biggest clue to his nature and function; this is either as a guardian of the 'ghost roads' - the energetic and spectral pathways across the Land that guide the spirits of the dead on their way, or lead the spirits of living witches and magical practitioners to locations of power or gatherings of their kind or as a 'psychopomp', guiding the deceased on their last journeys to the Otherworld. It has often been remarked that Black Shuck is nearly always seen walking/padding along or beside a path or trackway and that his presence either heralds or initiates a death or near death experience (sometimes also averting disaster if it is not the person's time to die). It seems highly likely that this Hound is a product of the Living Landscape, given form and function, and imbued with the energy to guard/ guide those souls in need over the liminal point between life and death that we all must pass at some point. That he is given such a form by tradition and local culture only goes to show a living tradition stretching back hundreds, if not thousands, of years, as dogs and hounds have been seen as guardians of the gates of the Underworld for millennia, particularly and especially by the succeeding cultures that have inhabited East Anglia and the rest of these Isles. That he is feared, seen as a/the Devil, shunned and reviled, is only indicative of the lack of understanding of most people of the natural Laws and Ways of the Land and their separation from them.”

—

The Devil’s Plantation:

East Anglian Lore, Witchcraft & Folk-Magic

Chapter 2: ‘Mermaids, Giants and Spectral Hounds’

by Nigel G. Pearson

[goddamnalientourists]

Random bits of Lorien Legacies fandom history I remember:

- Everyone thinking Five was going to be a girl before The Fall of Five came out and people living their truth writing all those self inserts and oc girl fives who always ended up smooching Nine (who didn't love a good self insert?)

- all those anti Five memes after TFOF which were like "i am number four fans counting to ten 1 2 3 4 not you 6 7 8 9 10"

- that facebook game about mark james that may or may not have been a fever dream

- everyone calling setrakus ra mousetraps for some reason. I don't remember why.

- the fandom making Eight's sole character trait pizza because he referenced it one time. Also whitewashing him with Robert Sheehan edits.

- that time I was really into crack ships and someone took one look at a Nine/Marina fic I wrote bluescreened and did a whole essay on how ridiculous ships made them quit the fandom and everyone called them out on it

- Sam/Six ship being named Stormchaser

- When John/Six/Sam love triangle was going on and everyone went out of their way to hate on Sarah (and also that time everyone thought she was a traitor?? I forgot how that worked out my brain is telling me Setrakus shapeshifted into her but i haven't read it for ages so idk)

- the iconic fic I read once where the fic author didn't like Sarah so they included a scene where her head exploded and she was secretly a robot the whole time to get her out of the picture go bold or go home

- the time everyone started liking Sarah and making critiques of John's character and the series shitty writing #SarahHartDeservedBetter

- the time @officialpittacuslore rocked up, pointed at John and Nine and said "yes, I'll have some more of whatever those two have going on", dug a pit, labelled it 'Stohn' and everyone jumped in overnight (gay alien pit throwback uwu)

- astohnymous sending everyone in the fandom incorrect quotes on anon

- Six/Marina rising in popularity. Sirina supremacy. There is no heterosexual explanation for dreaming about seeing a girl on the beach that's soulmate energy right there.

- sandor/devektra/crayton/lexa fics and edits were a big thing for a while and devektra was always taylor swift

- the period before the revenge of seven was released where there was a countdown centred around celebration of fan content creation where everyone wrote fics and did art and edits for a certain theme!

- the time I got so annoyed by this random guy named Devdan just disappearing and never being mentioned again I made a whole detailed theory involving alternate timelines to make it so Devdan is Eight from a bad!future. I still think this is a cool theory and better than the actual explanation, bad and lazy writing.

- one time I ran a secret santa for the fandom and legend says I still haven't removed the page from my blog because I just forgot to for years. Literally. It's still on my blog. Wth?? Shameful 😔 my blog is terrible but what do you expect i dont get paid

- the shittacuslore and setracrapra RP blogs

- also I have a Malcolm roleplay sideblog I hardly ever used don't know if that counts as a significant moment of fandom history but I just find it funny how out of all characters I could have RPd I chose him. Could have picked a character with cool powers and telekinesis but I pointed at the local traumatised amnesia dad and was like "yes, I will be him", made 3 posts and never used it again.

- I've been an Adam stan since I first joined this fandom and the first thing I contributed to this fandom was a coloured pencil drawing of One wjth a surfboard, and it's been glorious watching Adam rise from 'character people are vaguely aware of but most haven't read the side-stories so they don't know about him to care enough' to 'fan favourite who deserves everything in the world and also look at him he's depressed and queer' (no I am not projecting ok maybe i am but can you blame me) anyway shoutout to Knave for all the Adam content over the years it feeds me

- The time people were coming up with shipnames for fun and I said Kevy for Kelly/Five and everyone rolled with it but it was actually a typo the whole time and doesn't even make sense when you look at it but it was too late to go back no i don't remember why we were discussing shipping kelly/five

- That solid week and a half everyone aggressively shipped Malcolm and Henri

- when legacies reborn came out and there was a resurgence of energy and theories around all the new characters

Anyway I joined the tumblr fandom ~2013 but I've been in this fandom since 2011, before The Rise of Nine was even released. Also what the actual bleeping heck it is 2021 and 2011 was TEN YEARS AGO?? A WHOLE DECADE????? Help

[baldramuste]

[fae] - a star point wand and pair of wearable "fairy" wings that Julia found amongst the other props

"Lord Sigurd.... sir? I'm ever so sorry, I'm sure you're very busy this evening," Julia scuffs her feet slightly on the ground and stares at the floor, as if it is suddenly very interesting. She's so nervous in front of him. Seliph, her mother and now even her father hold this man in such high regard. All she wants is to make a respectable first impression. "I hope you've been enjoying yourself! It's a little dizzying being carried away by such huge crowds."

With a soft, gentle giggle, Julia waves the wand in front of his face. A childlike act, to be fair. One that brings a flush of colour to her own visage.

"A cheerful charm, so you have the best time possible!" Hopefully that explanation is sufficient and inoffensive. Holy Knight Sigurd is the stuff of legends, she wishes not to bother him much longer but... She thinks mother would love a photo of them together. Selfishly, she'd really like one too - to get to know the man so many of her loved ones hold in such high regard. "Would it trouble you terribly if I asked for a photo together? I-- If you have other people or tasks to attend to do not let me keep you. I wish not to monopolise your precious time, my lord."

take a picture with sigurd!

"yes?" sigurd turns to greet what he thinks is just another noble with the way he's addressed, only to be surprised with the face of his… well, not his wife. his wife's daughter, julia he remembers being her name.

he blinks, going silent for a moment before laughing lightly in amusement. such a childish little gesture; the innocence of it all burrowing deep in his heart. he needed something like that, even though he still felt he did not deserve it.

his laughter dies down and he smiles down at her, as genuinely as is possible right now. "of course not, julia. i can always make time for you, you're deirdre's daughter after all. i bet she'd want a picture of us together anyways."

he has to kneel for them to both be in the shot all the way but he doesn't mind. he can only think of the joy that deirdre would feel seeing the two of them together in a picture like this.

[shaheenarnitipsyart]

The Guardians of the Mountains

This is the 18th time joining @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Thank you for the inspiring prompt! Hope you enjoy!

T/W: non

Word Count: 985

Nila(she/her): leader of caravan

Gagan (he/him): village elder

Roshan (he/him): ex-commander of the ancient kingdom

Arta: Roshan’s ally

Nila can still hear the echo of the howling storm. 

It was such a terrible night, she thought.

She appreciates that now she and her fellow merchants are in a haven. A humble, stone-walled house is shielding them from the merciless snowstorm. The fire is burning in the heart of the room, filling the space with warmth and drowsiness. Her body was as cold as ice and as stiff as a rock a few hours ago. But now, she can feel her body reviving slowly. 

Everyone else is sleeping soundly after the dangerous journey. Nila sighs in relief and leans towards the fire. Then her eyes meet the ones of village elder Gagan, who owns the house. He is sitting directly opposite her and looking at her with thoughtful eyes. The flare is reflected on his light green-ish eyes. 

What a strange colour...Those eyes look like raw gold. 

Robust, young caravaneer and wrinkled yet dignified village chieftain stare at each other for a while. Then Gagan finally opens his mouth.

'So, you saw the Guardians and followed their ways?'

She nods.

'Yes. I saw something like... a human and a massive, beautiful snow leopard. I thought I was hallucinating. It was the toughest journey I've ever had in my 20 years of travelling with a caravanserai, you see. Most of the other merchants are well-experienced, but they had never seen a snowstorm like that. That was insane!' 

Gagan sighs deeply. 

'We do have that kind of snowstorm once every 200 years. You were too unfortunate. But at the same time, you are quite fortunate, too, as you've met the Guardians.'

'The Guardians really exist... I thought it was just folklore. I mean, it's not like we disregard those stories. It may contain warnings and advice. But still.' 

Her voice is full of curiosity, and that puts a subtle smile on Gagan's otherwise stern face. 

'Seems like you don't know the story behind these Guardians. Shall I entertain you with an old tale, the master of the caravan? Unfortunately, we can't offer that much, but I can still share a story.' 

'Yes, dear grand chieftain. Please.' 

Nila enthusiastically replies, her dark eyes sparkle with excitement. 

So the story begins.

*******************************************************************************************Commander Roshan of the kingdom of Iksa - ex-commander, to be more precise, was stumbling on the rocky road leading to the next town beyond the mountain. He was on the run for a while after the final defeat of his army. They were all proud, loyal warriors. They would never expect that they would be assigned to a rearguard, only to be abandoned by the main body of the rest of the army. 

No, it was not the kingdom that failed them. It was me who failed them. 

He managed to retreat with the whole unit. His quick decision to withdraw saved the lives of many. Yet, some lives slipped away from his desperate hands. One of them was his archrival and best ally, Arta. 

Arta was from an infamous old clan known for knowledge of dangerous, ancient magic such as shapeshifting. Arta was sent to Roshan as a hostage at first. Yet, eventually, they formed a strong friendship. Thanks to Arta, Roshan managed to establish alliances with Arta's clan. Roshan had never seen Arta transformed into something else, so he deemed the clans' story of transformation as a rumour. It was often the case that a small clan like theirs had to protect themselves with a fortress of myths and terrifying legends from the predatory neighbours.

Roshan still remembered the last look of Arta vividly. Too vivid that haunted him. Arta's strange amethyst eyes were full of resignation and compassion as if they foresaw the suffering Roshan would bear. Some survivors returned to the kingdom, but Roshan could not endure the shame and guilt. He chose exile. 

Countless days had passed. Around Roshan were formidable rocky mountains and biting cold wind. The world was very still as if everything fell asleep under the thick snow. But he suddenly heard a noise - a groaning somewhere higher. 

What is that? It must be someone in need of help.

Roshan bit his lip and struggled to move forward. He could not feel his legs nor hands anymore as the coldness crept into his scraggy body. Finally, he reached the top and saw a huge, beautiful snow leopard lying on the snow-covered ground. The animal had injured their foreleg and looked hungry and exhausted. The snow leopard stiffened their body as Roshan came close, groaning at him. Roshan took his breath - they had eyes of amethyst. A fragile hope awoke in his heart, then sunk again.

It can't be. 

He shook his head and carefully approached the wounded animal. They tried to smash him with their paw, yet eventually gave up. Roshan put whatever herbs he had, hoping that they had healing effects on leopards, too. They looked painfully skinny and malnourished.

Maybe I can save you this time. I offer you my life, so live.

Roshan put all the food he had in front of the leopard. He felt the tearing breeze take him in a cold embrace. The snow, now falling heavily, slowly covered the wounded snow leopard, and the man no longer moved. 

*******************************************************************************************

The roaring storm has left them. Only the gentle snoring of traders fills the room. 

'And nobody ever saw them again? Was that snow leopard Arta...?'

Eyes wide open, Nila asks hastily. 

'We never know. I heard this story from my great-grandparents, who heard it from their great-grandparents.'

Gagan shook his head.

'But one thing is certain.'

He adds with a gentle smile. 

'We have witnessed a man and a giant snow leopard guiding lost travellers the right way in the snowy mountains surrounding here. We make offerings to them at the beginning of winter so that they know that they are cared for as much as they care for us.' 

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Epilogue

We’re Tied Together (Always and Forever)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader  Word count: 3750

Summary: In which you reach the end of the line. Is it though? The end?

Warnings: battle with Thanos no.2, blood and violence, character death, religious motives, mention of afterlife, language

A/N:  Do you ever look at your fic and are like… you know this was supposed to be a cheesy one-shot, right? Soulmate meet-cute one-shot to be precise. Well. That work out splendidly... Anyway, here – the epilogue! Enjoy! Oh, and prepare tissues :-*

Part 6

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Waking up in a comfy bed was surreal; mostly because you knew that after falling – or half-jumping – from a cliff, this wasn’t what was usually happening. You didn’t have much experience, but you still had some common sense left.

Right?

Why did nothing hurt?

“Hello, Little One,” a voice greeted you, startling you enough to roll over and fall from the bed – only to land back in the cushions, confusing the Hell out of you – or perhaps you should have thought Heaven.

Because this was positively Castiel‘s voice. Castiel as an angel. Angels, as far as you were concerned, belonged to Heaven.

Was it possible that… that- this was--?

“Yes, you’re in Heaven… again,” he hummed nonchalantly as if it was perfectly common to just die twice and he seated himself on the edge of your bed.

“I killed myself,” you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, instantly slapping your palm over your mouth. It sounded terrible, hearing yourself say it out loud, just throw it out in the open as if it was not a big deal.

Which in fact, it was. Since when suicidal people went to Heaven? You never had been good with the whole faith thing, but this sounded a bit sketchy.

“To save half of the Universe,” Castiel questioned, frowning. “Or would you say your soulmate belonged to hell after had once forced the plane down, expecting to die in exchange of saving millions?”

Silently admitting he had a point, you let the issue alone for the moment. Instead, you blinked, taking his appearance in. He was wearing his typical trench-coat, making him look like an accountant, dorky for a celestial being. He fitted in here though – bright room, white sheets, no windows…

“You’ll get a better room soon, less prison-like,” he explained as if he could hear your thoughts. Which he as well might, because he was an angel, you were in freaking Heaven, again, which what the Hell, if you had been before, how could you not remember that-- and everything was so confusing and… lonely. “But I thought you’d like to see your soulmate first.”

Your heart stopped. Later, you would question why did you still have a fucking heartbeat, or why did it feel like it, but did he just say-

“What the Hell is Steve doing here?!” you shrieked in horror and Castiel sighed, possibly at your swearing, but you didn’t give a fuck. What was Steve-

“He’s not here. But a battle with Thanos occurred and I thought you might like to see.”

You ran your hand down your face tiredly, relieved beyond words. Steve was alive, still on Earth – probably.

Christ. Castiel sure didn’t know how to talk to a girl who had a superhero for husband. Or he in fact did, since he was willing to show you.

It took one single snap of Castiel’s fingers and a scene of horror – fire, ash and blood – unfolded in front of you. There was nothing but smother from the debris where the compound had used to be, the Titan with an enormous space ship probably the one to blame.

And barely three defenders of Earth stood against him and his endless rows of army, thousands of monsters ready to take the half of population one by one, just waiting to be released from the ship.

Where were the others? And… Thanos! They killed him! What-

“How-“

“The Avengers gathered all the Stones. Hulk snapped this time, bringing everyone who had died in the original Snap back. Unfortunately, a spy infiltrated the team and led Thanos from the past to the present,” Castiel explained patiently, but you were anything but patient, suddenly angry as gnawing fear bit into your stomach.

“Then why are you here?! There’s… there’s Tony, Thor and Steve, three people—sorta people – facing a fucking ARMY FROM SPACE!” you yelled at the angel, a being powerful enough to drag your ass from Heaven – which you didn’t care for in the slightest.

How could he just... sit here with you?!

“We cannot interfere-“

“The fuck did you just say?!” you spitted out, rising to your feet. “Aren’t angels supposed to be guardians? You-“ you continued your verbal assault in attempt to get him moving, only to freeze when a blinding lightning hit Thor’s hammers (plural?!) and the infamous trio threw themselves into the battle.

You barely had few seconds to feast your eyes on Steve in one piece; he was glorious, standing straight with his chin up, jaw clenched in determination and all you could think of was how strong he was, carrying on with the mission.

You knew it wasn’t that he didn’t miss you, that he didn’t grieve you; he was simply the bravest person you had ever met, just like you had told him before--- ugh, before you had died.

If you only weren’t so terrified for him.

Where was everyone? If the Snap worked and people had been brought back, where was the whole bunch of warriors from Wakanda? The rest of the Avengers’ crew?

Breathless, your heart pounding in both your ribcage and temples, you watched as Thanos tossed the three figures around, almost as if he was playing with them despite their best efforts.

“Get up, Stevie. God, please, get up, get up, be okay,” you whispered urgently with your throat swollen at one particular blow that had your soulmate landing on his back and lying down with his breath knocked out of his chest, his eyes closed in what could only be agony.

With horror, you saw his body turn almost limp, your nails digging into your palms.

GET. UP. Don’t you dare to stay down and get yourself killed!

He clenched his jaw, glint of something that twisted your insides in genuine fear in his eyes. This wasn’t determination anymore. This was madness. He pushed himself on his feet and you couldn’t quite make yourself to feel relieved despite him fulfilling your earlier silent wish.

Determined Steve was a great Steve. Mad Steve? Mad Steve did crazy-ass decisions that could cost him his life. You had that in common.

Your jaw slowly went slack when your very husband grabbed Thor’s Mjölnir as if it was not a mythical weapon from the legends only Thor could lift and… banged up the Titan as if he had been fighting with it his whole life.

Incredulous chuckle escaped your lips when a flash of lightning connected with the hammer as Steve… charged it, only to aim its power at Thanos.

“I told him he could lift it,” you murmured despite yourself, letting yourself to feel a tinniest bit of hope and pride.

There was only three of them now, but surely the people who had been dusted were on their way. Steve, Thor and Tony just had to keep the Titan occupied-

Then the army stood, exiting the ship in a deadly march, no, in a deadly race and Steve got himself into trouble.

You grinded your teeth, unable to look away, but present enough to be pissed as Hell at Heaven and its angels and let them know.

“Do something! He’s gonna-“

A circle of amber-coloured sparkles appeared on Steve’s left and you could cry, recognizing Strange’s handiwork. The back-up was there. The army. The King of Wakanda with his badass sister. Sam. Bucky. Strange, Peter, the Maximoffs. Carol Danvers flying through the alien spaceship as if it was made of cotton candy. Even Natasha emerged from the debris with Clint and the others, causing you to breathe out in relief.

Now the true fight would start.

You weren’t calm by any means. But you were hopeful. Just glancing at the briefest encounter of Natasha with Sam was sweet enough to bring tears in your eyes.

“Kick their asses,” you whispered encouragingly, swallowing thickly and actually praying.

It was nearly impossible to follow the battle then; too many fronts, too many people, half-people and alien creatures. You saw the gauntlet they were trying to protect, you kept your eye on Steve, finding Thanos and his momentary enemies when you had the capacity to do so.

You honestly couldn’t tell how the fight was going, if it was in your favour or not, there was so much blood and smoke and noise… and then something caught your attention with painful clarity.

Several things happened at once; Carol, literally glued to Thanos, who had somehow got a hold of the gauntlet with all of the stones in it (oh God, oh my God, this couldn’t happen again-), was thrown away as if she was nothing but an annoying fly, Tony registered a part of his armour having been ripped away – his hand-piece – and found it with his gaze at Steve’s feet as Stephen Strange raised one shaky finger towards Tony, who suddenly had an expression of utter defeat on his face.

Your slow, terror-struck mind didn’t do the math when Steve jumped on Thanos’ arm, forcing his fingers away so he couldn’t snap his fingers. Something red and flashy glimmered in the mess of limbs, but you didn’t pay enough attention to make the connection. Peter, Spider-man, managed to web the gauntlet, helping out Steve and you almost breathed out the air suffocating your lungs.

Almost.

Because the next moment, Steve was tossed away like a rag-doll, much like Carol had been.

Like in a slow motion, the infamous effect in movies to add dramatics, you saw the Titan raise his hand with a smug smirk; and you noticed, unlike him, that his gauntlet was, in fact, empty of the Stones. But-

“I am… inevitable,” he exclaimed, a dull mechanic snap following his statement.

Nothing happened, except for the huge and ugly purple head whipping towards his useless weapon in confusion.

And that was when you saw it. The glow of the stones in a red piece of armour, Ironman’s armour, that was no longer worn by its owner.

All of the puzzle pieces fell into place, clicking with a painful clack.

Strange’s gesture. Tony’s expression. Crowley’s words of one future, matching the story of the contemporary Sorcerer Supreme. And the red flash when Steve had been fighting Thanos.

“No,” you whispered breathlessly, remembering with startling clarity what Steve had told you about Thanos – the Titan, stronger than all of the Avengers together – looked like after he finished his mission. He had nearly died.  

“NO!” you repeated with more force, horror filling your very being, dimming the world around you, a violent tremble attacking your body at the glint in Steve’s eye.

It was the one that had shaken you so much before. The mad spark.

Do whatever it takes, consequences be damned.

His raspy voice broke your heart in two, tearing your soul when you realized the implication of his words:

“No. You are only dust. And to dust you shall return.”

The snap of Steve’s metal-clad fingers echoed in the room and in your head, the sound seeping into your bones as you were blinded by the streak of colours, the white swallowing the whole world for long seconds.

You were sure that this was what actual death looked like. Nothing but emptiness.

You reflected several of your last words to Steve, wanting to rip your hair out. Why had you told him such nonsense? Why would you tell him that God had wanted it this way, that you had only played your part in His grand scheme?

You finally understood the words Sam had told you so many years ago, about similar people in a relationship being a disaster in making. Steve had embraced your belief in being only a tiny wheel in the God’s great plan.

That was the meaning of the words he said. A famous line from Bible, reflecting how much he believed in God’s work at the moment.  

You are only dust. And to dust you shall return.

In the critical seconds, Steve believed he had been chosen by God to be the tool delivering Thanos his defeat.

And to very likely to pay his life as a price.

Your eyes adjusted to the once again dark scene, where the hostile army started indeed turning back to dust. You desperately searched the only figure that mattered, finding him with his back resting against a random vertical flat surface, his chest barely rising.

The sight on half of his body severely burned, multiple spots on his skin blacking as it already died, had your eyes squeezed shut, your knees giving out as the sob shook your whole body.

The scene was burned into your brain, an image carved into your eyelids, sharp and precise as if you were still watching with your eyes wide open. You whimpered, shaking your head to chase it away. Vainly.  You didn’t remember looking into his eyes, yet you saw them hollow, blue and green always so brilliant misted. Dead.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you winced, releasing another whine, sobs braking through your palm that at some point covered your mouth – whether to be silent of not to throw up, you couldn’t tell. The hand gave you a gentle squeeze that did nothing to sooth your grief.

Oh God, oh you ignorant God, why are you such a DICK?!

“Why? Why did-- it have to--- be him?!” you choked out, avoiding the post-battle sight and instead shot Castiel a glare that could murder.

Your chest hurt. They just tore your heart away, easily as that, hollow gaping space in its place and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe and hear and see-

“I don’t know, Little One. It was as it was meant to be. You wouldn’t want to see him suffer through your loss again anyway, believe me.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” you spitted out, disgusted at such implication. As if this happened to make you feel better! You were suffering. Hurting. But most of all, you were so fucking angry. With God. With Castiel. With… with yourself. Maybe if you hadn’t told him— perhaps- oh God, oh Satan, let the pain go away… let him rest at least. “What happens to him now?”

“Watch, Little One. He’s not gone yet,” Castiel encouraged you kindly, but you couldn’t- couldn’t—what was happening? Was he trying to tell you that they might be able to save him?

The flare of hope ignited in your body died as fast as it caught fire; why would Castiel say that you wouldn’t want to Steve go through losing you again if there had been a chance to save Steve still?

Steve was about to die. If he wasn’t gone yet, then he must have been in so much pain that your own, this paralyzing feeling, must have been nothing in comparison.

Why were you forced to witness his last moments? What kind of a twisted Heaven was this?

“You fucking idiot,” Tony rushed to his friend’s side, pissed and resigned at the same time.

“We won,” Steve breathed out weakly, only one eye following the movements around him. You buried your nails in the flesh of your palm, choking on your own spit as the sob tried to fight its way out of your chest.

“Yeah, we did,” Bucky confirmed softly, kneeling to his brother; they were nothing less than that. Hesitant hand curled around Steve’s seemingly unharmed bicep and he made a lame attempt at moving his arm to return that gesture. Bucky clenched his jaw, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye. “Don’t call him an idiot, Stark. That’s my job.”

His voice broke at the end of the sentence and your heart shattered as you felt his pain as your own. You couldn’t see anymore. The image was so blurry, but now new fear controlled your body, the fact Castiel never answered you and that meant something horrible awaited Steve in death and this was in fact your last moments of seeing him and— God, oh God, who had ever dared to call you merciful?

“I’m talking to God,” Tony specified and you wordlessly thanked him. “Clearly, he’s a dick for making it this way.”

“Nah. ‘s smart. S-sam?” Steve choked out, voice barely audible and the therapist (with wings now, having returned to his previous job) was instantly by his side, his eyes glassy as well.

“Yeah, Cap?”

An attempt at shake of head was given, you assumed, but barely a motion was the result. “You Cap now. Will ya’?”

If you had any capacity for being astonished left, you would have been at the request. But you were far too gone, drowning in misery.

“…yeah. Of course. I will if that’s what you want.”

“ ’sanks.”

Thor’s enormous figure took a step closer, thunderous voice uncharacteristically quiet. “We’ll remember you, brother. Both of you.”

A faint smile appeared on Steve’s lips, only one corner capable of rising, and yet he closed both of his eyes for a long moment, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

That’s a lie, your mind whispered. Not just conscious. Struggling to stay alive. And losing!

Only one eye opening, Steve managed to cast a half-lidded glance in Bucky’s direction, flickering to Tony for a second.

His next word was crystal clear. “Home.”

Natasha sobbed into her palm, but her delicate fingers curled around Steve’s arm as well, right next to Bucky’s, giving her friend a tight-lipped pained smile.

“Yeah, Steve. It’s okay to go home. To her. Tell her we say hi, yeah?” she pleaded lowly, keeping her voice without a crack despite few tears escaping her eyes.

You stopped breathing altogether and prayed. God, please, let him find peace. With me. And if not with me, at least give him the peace he deserves, I beg you.

Clint fell to one knee, bowing his head.

At first, you didn’t realize it wasn’t just grief sucking the strength out of him. No. Bucky, Sam and Nat instantly followed, mirroring his position precisely.

They were paying their respect to a fallen comrade, you realized.

You couldn’t take it anymore as you noticed everyone else doing the same. Not when during the process Steve’s chest ceased its motions, the life leaving his body.

And your heart left with him, along with your sanity.

Nothing made sense anymore. You fucked up, God himself fucked up and Castiel, and angels and Universe and-- and it hurt. Steve had said that they had won, but you lost. You lost everything.

Your vision was clouded by both tears of sorrow and anger, your body numb from all the pain.

Castiel’s hand slid from your shoulder, finally, but instead, you were pulled into an embrace.

You wanted to push away and run and punch and curl up on the floor, but the arms around you held you too firmly, your head was buried in your captor’s chest. You wanted to fight it, refuse the lame attempt at comfort, and you breathed in furiously to brace yourself to free your body-- but the sudden familiarity, faint cologne and warmth, body large enough to engulf yours, lips in your hair…

“S-st-steve?” you choked out, disgusting gurgle sounding in your throat, but in that moment, you suddenly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The way you said his name was more a question, but you didn’t need an answer. You would recognize him anywhere.

You husband. Your soulmate. Your Steve.

The arms around you tightened, his embrace turning nearly crushing, his chest expanding with generous inhale as his face buried in your hair further. Your lips curled up in a tight smile and you let out a hysterical laugh, sorrow and joy, pain and relief.

“You’re here,” he mumbled to your scalp, hot tears following his words and you found yourself lifted from the floor, your body nearly merging with his and you could finally breathe again, your heart fluttering in your chest. One of his arms held you securely to his form while the other fisted in the mess of your hair. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here.”

“Then why did you do it?” you asked him, the anger seeping through despite the delight at the encounter you could have only prayed for. He was here. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”

“So am I at you,” he opposed, but the growling of his voice was too soft for you to believe him that his rage was larger than his relief.

And so you let go of your own anger too.

This was all beyond your control. Deep inside, you knew that. You had been just playing a part; neither of you had asked for that. You surely didn’t ask to be approached by Crowley and being given the mission, while there was little Steve could do differently when the weapon had been thrown to his feet; a literal throw of the gauntlet that was impossible to ignore.

There was a large scheme of the inevitable put in motion. Who were you to challenge fate?

No point at being mad at each other. Especially when graced with this opportunity to… whatever this was.

“Truce?” you quipped hesitantly and Steve chuckled, a watery sound that made your chest ache, yet filled it with warmth that could never be replicated. For this sensation, so unique, you needed your soulmate only.

And you had him. Forever, perhaps?

Steve withdrew a fraction, his hand caressing your damp cheek as his own glistened with salty drops, but the magnitude of his love, the amount of affection written all over his face, took your breath away, making you forget all about ugly crying.

One look into his twinkling eyes, full of devotion, and nothing else mattered.

“Yeah, doll. Truce. I love you.”

You didn’t get a chance to tell him the same, since he kissed your nose, your watery giggle having his lips spread in the boyish smile you adored.

“I love you too,” you whispered then, planting your own kiss on his lips, chaste and short.

He wouldn’t take it. His mouth locked with yours in a searing kiss instead, emotion pouring from each tiny motion of his lips against yours and you gave in, engaging in the dance of love, your fingers tangled in his locks.

Now this felt like Heaven.

“We’re okay. Everything is going to be okay,” he breathed into your mouth then, fresh tears spicing your kiss.

You didn’t care if you sounded like a child, you asked anyway. “Promise?”

Steve retreated as little as possible to be able to look into your eyes, his own still glassy, but serious and heavy with a vow.

“Promise.”

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S.R. masterlist

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Am I forgiven? Technically, this could be considered a sort of a happy ending, right? To a point, of course. I mean. Morgan still has her dad. No soulmate pairs were split… :)

Some awesome readers on AO3 suggested that the Winchesters then bullied Cas into bringing the lovebirds back to life, fixed them a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and granted them an actual happy ending. Well. If that makes you feel better, roll with that :-*

BTW, about the scene where they honour the fallen Cap: that scene (with Tony, obviously) WAS supposed to be in Endgame, how dare you, fix that at instant!

I love you if you read this till the end, till the last line. Thank you with my whole heart for your support 🤍

-.-.-

Also, while I love Steve to bits (in case you couldn’t tell) and I was happy for him because of the ending he got in Endgame, understanding the arc the writers made, the more and more I think about it, it was kinda out of character and… maybe I would have been more satisfied if heStevewas the one snapping and taking Tony’s fate. I mean… I would have cried my eyes out, sure, but… but.  Sorry for the ramble O:-)