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maladaptive---daydreamer · 4 years

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Black ribbon and silver bows

The fifth of may meant that there were exactly 2 months until Draco turned 17. Draco had gone above and beyond for your birthday, spoiling you with 17 individually wrapped gifts that he sent you on a wild goose chase around the school to find. You wanted to make him equally as special as he made you feel, but what did you get the boy who could get anything he wanted?

You thought about getting him a pet, but you didn’t think his mother would appreciate a cat roaming around the halls of the Malfoy Manor. Then you thought about getting him a broom, but as usual, Draco already had the best of the best. Your mind turned to clothes, but the man only wore black shirts with tailor-made trousers.

“Still thinking about what to get Draco?” Blaise’s voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ugh yes, anything I think of, he already has”

“You’re fault for choosing rich, should have dated a Weasley, they’d be over the moon with an unworn robe”

You smacked Blaise’s arm “Don’t be so rude, Blaise. Just because you don’t like them doesn't mean you can be a prick”

“Why don’t you make him something? I’m sure the elves would let you sneak into the kitchen to cook, you could draw something, write him a poem”

If you were a cat, your ears would have pricked at hearing the word ‘draw’, Draco was never a fan of the decorations in his room, maybe you could paint him a painting that he could hang up on his wall.

“You might have just saved Draco’s birthday”

The increase of chatter across the library hinted that your free period was over and it was now time for lunch. You and Blaise collected your things and returned the books to the returns trolley before making your way to the great hall. You bumped into Draco, Pansy and Daphne on your way there. The five of you made your way to the Slytherin table to see Crabbe and Goyle already tucking in.

“Why am I not surprised that you two gluttons are the first on the table?” Blaise asked, throwing his school bag down and taking a seat.

The rest of your group sat down as well, the elves had made different variations of chicken wraps for lunch today. You picked up a grilled chicken wrap and began eating it, famished after your hour of revision during your free period. You had just finished the first one when Draco said your name.

“You’ve got sauce on your mouth, darling”

You stuck your tongue out trying to lick it off but you kept missing.

“Hold still a sec” Draco instructed. He used his thumb to wipe the spot of sauce from your mouth, licking it off his thumb once he was done.

“Ah my saviour!” you fake swooned.

He laughed and continued to eat his lunch. You wolfed another half of a wrap before feeling full.

“Are we still revising for charms after dinner?” Daphne asked, looking up from her homework.

“I’m on it, but the boys have quidditch practise until 7, so they’ll have to join in later” You replied, snapping the lid of your lip balm back on

“Actually, practice is cancelled, so Blaise and I’ll be there” Draco added, downing the rest of his pumpkin juice.

“Y/N, you alright?”

Your head whipped around to see Neville Longbottom standing behind you.

“Are you lo-” Draco began to sneer

You pinched the outside of his thigh making him grit his teeth instead of finishing his sentence. “Neville, hi”

“I just wanted to return your charms notes, they were dead useful, thanks,” He said with a light blush, holding your pile of notes out.

“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad you found them helpful” You took the notes from him with a smile.

“Have a nice rest of the afternoon,”

“You too Neville,”

He returned to his friends and your friends turned onto you.

“Why are you so nice to him?” Blaise demanded.

“Oh merlin, when are you guys going to get over this rivalry, he needed help, so I helped him.”

“He’s also Longbottom”

You rolled your eyes. “Anyways, does anyone want to let me copy the last two questions for the dada homework?”

Daphne slid her roll of parchment over to you and you quickly scribbled the answers. Just as you had screwed on the cap for your ink lid, the bell for your next lesson rang. Nowadays your lessons were less structured, it was two months before exam season which meant the teachers pushed to revise topics rather than introducing new ones. Some teachers preferred to let you get on in groups doing your own thing, others had a strict revision lesson planned. But one thing was for certain exams had definitely taken over your life.

After your charms revision session with your friends, you and Draco found yourselves walking up to the astronomy tower. The sun was beginning to set as you nestled yourself into his lap.

“Don’t you think it’s mad that in a couple of years we won’t be able to do this anymore?” You asked, tightening his arms around you.

“We can watch the sunset from anywhere love”

“Ha ha you know what I mean idiot”

“I’m ready to leave this place”

“Sorry Mr ‘I should have been in Durmstrang’”

“I should have, my father agreed more with their curriculum”

“Maybe cause his old death eater buddy was running it”

“He’s your father's old death eater buddy too”

“My father never thought about sending me to Durmstrang”

“That’s because it’s a boys-only school, love”

“I don’t like you”

“That’s because you love me,”

“Speaking of love, do you remember the first moment you realised you loved me?”

He paused “As a matter of fact I do”

“Do tell, Mr Malfoy”

“We were at that party at the Parkinson’s in our 3rd year. You had a silver dress on. Your mum forced you into these heels and you hated them. You wobbled over to me and clung to my arm the whole night. But as soon as we were shooed away from the adults, you took them off and practically shoved them into my hands and started walking around barefoot. Pansy’s grandmother came out of the parlour and saw you without your shoes on and went berserk, she called you a disgrace, all our mothers came out to see what was going on and I’m pretty sure your mum looked like she was going to kill you”

“I remember that! Then I transfigured her ostrich feather boa into a snake around her neck!”

“She nearly pissed her pants” He laughed, causing you to smile.

“So is that your favourite memory of us?”

“No, my favourite memory takes place in our 4th year at the Yule ball. I didn’t want to dance in front of all those idiots but you pulled me up there anyway. But as soon as you held my hand it was like they all disappeared and it was just me and you. I spun you out and when you spun back into my arms, I dipped you and you looked so beautiful. But that is fighting for the top spot from the time you sucked me off in the restricted section, and the time you floo’ed into my room last summer at 2 am and I absolutely ruined you”

“Okay okay I get the picture your favourite memories are when we have sex”

“Not all of them, just some, what’s yours?”

“5th year, Christmas break, your parents’ Christmas party, you hid my promise ring inside my dessert” you held your hand up letting your ring sparkle in the candlelight, it was simple, a small princess cut emerald on a gold band, but it was oh so precious “You kept staring at me and I was so confused, I wasn’t even looking at what I was eating until you jerked my hand back and told me to look in the spoon and there it was. You cleaned it off and slid it on my finger right in front of everyone. Or maybe it was the time you made me sit on your face when we snuck into a room at the leaky cauldron”

Draco laughed and lifted your hand up and played with the ring. “After we finish Hogwarts, I’m gonna replace this ring with a diamond one”

“You are?”

“Why do you sound so surprised, I told you already I was going to change your last name to mine, even your parents know”

“I know but I didn’t know you wanted to do this so early"

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

“You are so whipped”

Draco shoved you off him playfully.

“But it’s okay because I’m equally as whipped” you replied sitting back in his lap.

“You’d better be, otherwise I’d-”

“You’d what? Tell your father?”

“Right, that’s it” His fingers found your sides as he began tickling you. By the time he felt as though he tortured you enough, you were both breathless.

“I love you," He said, smoothing your shirt down.

“I love you more”

“Who’s up here?” Filch’s voice grumbled.

You and Draco grinned at each other as you quickly threw your robes on and lifted the hoods, running straight past Filch and into the Slytherin common room.

You had now learnt what Draco’s favourite memory of you was. All that was left was actually getting around to paint it. If you weren’t in a lesson, you were revising, usually most of the time with Draco. Even on weekends, you found yourself in in the library completing practise exam papers and testing yourself on flashcards. And any time you weren’t working, you and Draco used as an opportunity to spend time with one another without being bogged down with work. You’d already decided that the room of requirement would be the perfect place to start painting, but the issue was figuring out how you’d be able to sneak there and back without arousing suspicion.

After much deliberation, you decided that your best option for sneaking out was on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Every Tuesday after dinner, Draco and Blaise would go out to the quidditch pitch to blow off some steam, by the time he had finished and showered, you were almost always already in bed. On Wednesday, you decided you’d tell Draco a little white lie and say that Flitwick had asked you to tutor a struggling 5th year in Charms, it would give you a few hours to yourself to get ahead with painting.

The upcoming Tuesday your plan was in action, you made Daphne swear she wouldn’t tell Draco where you were and you made your way to the room of requirement. It was honestly a Godsend. You stepped into a room full of different sized canvasses, there were tubes of oil paint and palettes of watercolours and squeezy bottles of acrylic. A table was full of paintbrushes of different sizes and shapes and there were an easel and chair right in the middle of the room.

You picked out a large rectangular canvas and placed it landscape on the easel and got to sketching the outline of your painting. If all went to plan, it would be a loop of Draco’s favourite memory of the two of you at the ball, if it didn’t well, then it would be a still image and if everything went south, you’d have to somehow find a way to get some lingerie to distract him from your lack of presents.

Painting the canvas was going to be the hard part, sketching the outline, however, was proving to be a huge nightmare already, you had drawn and redrawn Draco’s face about a hundred times, not being able to get it exactly right. You were about to kick a hole in your canvas when a small a5 picture caught your eye, stuck under the foot of the easel. You picked it up to see a photograph of the exact moment you were trying to recreate. This was why you loved this room, taking a deep breath, you redrew Draco’s face finally getting it as you liked it. By the time you had finished the full outline, it was almost two am, you knew you were going to struggle to wake up in the morning, but that was something for future you to deal with, present you had to find a way to sneak out of the room and back to your dormitory without detection.

In order to make as little noise as possible, you took your shoes off and ran across the castle in just your socks, you were only a few steps away from the entrance to the common room before Mrs Norris came around the corner. She meowed loudly as you whisper-shouted the password, the corridor revealing itself. You ran down it and straight up the stairs into your dormitory. You tried to get into bed as quietly as possible before falling asleep.

In hindsight, staying up sketching until 2 am was a horrible idea. It was only 1 in the afternoon and you were struggling to stay awake.

“I don’t get why you don’t just pay someone to paint it for you,” Daphne asked, scrunching a piece of paper into a ball and throwing it in the bin beside you.

“Because then there's no sentimental value behind it” You replied, massaging your temples.

“What time did you fall asleep anyway?”

“By the time I drowned out Pansy’s snoring it was 3, I was just lucky I had a free period first so I ended up getting an hours extra sleep”

“Merlin, remind me to never fall in love”

You laughed before rubbing your eyes and returning to your work.

It took you four weeks of staying up till 2 am to finish Draco’s painting. You had spent hours mixing the right shades of paint, at one point you ended up getting rid of the paint on the whole canvas and starting again but exactly three weeks before Draco’s birthday, you had mastered the spell to make your painted figures move and your masterpiece was complete. Your only worry was that Narcissa Malfoy would hate it and would stop her son from hanging it in his bedroom.

In order to get the huge canvas from the room of requirement back to your dormitory, you had to ask Neville to ask Harry if you could borrow his invisibility cloak. If Draco had found out that you got Harry’s help you were 90% sure he’d be the one kicking a hole in your canvas. For now, the canvas was safely tucked under your bed.

The next morning, you stuffed Harry’s cloak in your bag and made your way down to meet him. You had agreed the previous evening that you’d meet outside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom before breakfast to make the exchange. As planned, he was stood with Neville right outside the entrance to the toilet. You pulled the cloak out and handed it back to Harry.

“Thank you, I know you and Draco don’t like each other, but it means a lot that you'd go out on a limb to help me.”

“While I question your choice in men, Y/L/N, you’ve helped Neville out on more than one occasion and any friend of Neville’s is a friend of mine.”

You smiled at Harry, “I’m gonna head to breakfast before Draco gets suspicious, see you boys, later”

They waved goodbye as you made your way back to breakfast, stopping in the normal girl's toilet to sort your shirt out which you found you were wearing inside out. Your group of friends were already sat down eating, all but Draco.

“Where is he?” You asked.

“Couple third years said they had to tell him something in private, oh wait, speak of the devil”

You turned and he did not look happy. His jaw was clenched and he was walking oddly fast, he came to you and gripped you firmly by the arm. “Can I speak to you, outside, Y/N”

You looked at him confused but followed him out. As soon as you were out of earshot from the hall he turned around to face you, he looked pissed, he kept walking forward until you were pinned between him and the wall.

“You want to tell me why some friends in 3rd year saw you giving Potter his invisibility cloak back?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, darling, we both know you’re not. ‘it looked like she was holding something but there wasn't anything in her hand’. Why did you have his cloak”

“I was planning on recreating that memory of yours in the restricted section for your birthday, I asked Neville if I could borrow Harry’s cloak to get us there and back but then I remembered you wouldn’t have come if we were using his cloak so I gave it back” You lied smoothly

He swallowed and nodded, not moving back. You pushed him off and scoffed.

“Is this what you’re doing now? Sending third years to follow me?”

“You of all people should know I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Those eyes and ears shouldn't be snooping on your girlfriend”

“They wouldn’t have to if you weren’t lying to me about where you were for the past month.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Helping a 5th year with Charms as per the request of Flitwick? Well not according to the professor himself”

“Dra-”

He laughed, “Can’t even cover up your lies properly. Why don't I give you a few hours to come up with a cover story, I can’t bear the sight of you right now” Draco turned and walked away, ignoring you as you called out for him.

He acted as though you didn’t exist for all of your lessons, he didn't sit next to you, he didn't speak to you, he barely looked at you. You chose to have dinner alone in your room that night. It had occurred to you during your second period that Draco thought you were cheating on him with Harry. It made sense, you were sneaking around and you were seen giving Harry’s cloak back as if to say that you two had been meeting up in secret under it. But it also made absolutely no sense either, you and Draco had been together since the beginning of your 3rd year. Your father was a death eater for Pete’s sake, it didn’t take a genius to realise you’d be disowned if you brought home Harry fucking Potter.

You were partway through your transfiguration homework when Daphne came bounding up into the dormitory.

“Right, what is going on with you and Draco?” She asked, throwing her bag on the floor and collapsing on her bed.

“Nothing,” You lied.

“See that is absolute bullshit because he has been a moody prick all day and you skipped dinner, so come out with it, spill”

You sighed and explained everything.

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth then?”

“Because if I do, it’ll ruin the surprise”

“And if you don’t it’ll end your relationship, my mother is over the moon at the fact that I’ll be a bridesmaid at a Malfoy wedding, you don’t want to crush her dreams do you?”

“You’re right, do you know where he is?”

“He went straight into his dormitory”

You nodded and made your way there. He was joined by his friends.

“Rest of you out, thanks,” You said, walking in and standing in the middle of the room.

Blaise looked at Draco and he nodded, prompting him, Theodore and Goyle to leave. He refused to look at you. You took a seat at the end of his bed and began to explain.

“I’m well aware you think I’m cheating on you with Potter, but that’s really the complete opposite of what’s happening. The truth is, for the past few weeks, I’ve been arranging your birthday present. I finished it last night and I asked for Harry’s cloak so I could bring it back to my dormitory without revealing the surprise. That’s where I’ve been sneaking off to. Not to go snog Potter under his invisibility cloak”

“Oh”

“Bet you feel really fucking stupid now don’t you,” You scoffed

“I’m sorry, darling,”

“Do you not think? Could you imagine my parents’ reaction if I brought home Potter? They’d disown me faster than you came the first time we-”

He grabbed you into a hug before you could finish your sentence.

“I am truly sorry, princess, for jumping to conclusions and for ruining my surprise.”

“Well, you haven’t totally ruined it, you don’t know what it is yet.”

“Can we come back in yet, I need to get out of this fucking uniform” Theodore shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Draco shouted back a yeah and his friends returned.

“See you two’ve kissed and made up, about time too, Draco’s a right git when he's moody”

Draco threw a pair of balled-up socks at Blaise’s head before you got up off the bed.

“I’ll meet you in the common room once I’ve finished my homework,” You told him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He mumbled an okay before kissing you once more and you were on your way.

The next morning, at breakfast, you noticed your father’s owl descend onto the table in front of you. You took the letter expecting him to fly off and return home but he waited expectantly, clearly, he was told to wait until you replied. He hopped up onto your arms as you took him to the owlery to recuperate while you read your letter and replied.

Y/N,

You’re hopefully aware that it is Draco’s birthday in a few weeks, I hope that you have got him an adequate gift. You know how important your 17th birthday is and as I remember, Draco spoilt you with 17 gifts. Since you are a young lady, you're not expected to gift him anything as lavish as some of the presents he gave you, but tradition dictates that you should get him something worthy of a pureblood wizard, in particular jewels. Please reply as soon as possible, only so I know that you won’t embarrass your father and I (and in the case you do, I can send you an alternative). Your brothers and your father send their regards. We miss you.

Mother

You rolled your eyes at her need for keeping up appearances and quickly scribbled her back a reply. You wished you were at home to see her reaction to you gifting him a painting you painted yourself. Once your father’s owl had filled himself up with water and owl feed, you attached the letter to him and sent him on his way.

Later in the evening, your mother’s owl pecked at you through the library window. You went out into the corridor and took a letter and a box off of her. Once you had freed her of her cargo, she hooted and flew off. You opened the second letter and read.

Sweetheart, I know that you are an accomplished young artist, but a painting will simply not do, especially for his 17th birthday. However, since I am your mother and I know you best, I had a feeling I would need to help you in this department. I took the liberty of going into Bourgin and Burke’s on the weekend and purchased a rare black diamond ring for Draco on your behalf. I think he will like it and I think you will too. I hope you are studying well for your exams,

Mother

You tried to rip open the wrapping on the box but it wouldn't move. The fold at the bottom lifted itself up a bit and ran across your finger, giving you a papercut. A thin line of blood collected on its edge and the wrapping dissolved leaving you with a red ring box, she was always partial to a bit of blood magic. You lifted the lid to see a thick silver band, it looked like it was either white gold or platinum, your mother thought sterling silver was too cheap, the oval cut diamond set atop a larger oval of platinum. It wasn't too plain but it also wasn’t overly gaudy, just as Draco liked it. You returned to the library with your second gift, making a note to hide it under your bed with your painting.

The next few weeks went past in a blur of mock exams and constant revision. Your first exam wasn’t until the 10th of June, giving you plenty of time to celebrate Draco’s birthday properly. The night before his birthday, half of Slytherin house was gathered in the common room waiting for it to hit midnight. You asked the elves to bake a cake for him and smuggled it with some snacks to have a small party with your friends.

At 11.59 you pulled a tie out from behind you and held it up.

“Gonna let me tie you up huh?” Draco asked with a smirk.

“Nice try, Malfoy, but this is for you” You replied getting up and tying it around his eyes.

“What are you doing, Y/L/N?”

You pointed your wand at the wall causing birthday banners and streamers to hang. Blaise brought the cake in from the 1st year dormitory. The large grandfather clock donged deeply as it hit midnight, you pulled his blindfold down as the whole common room burst into a rendition of happy birthday. He laughed and put his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. Nott finished the song on a horrible high note as Draco blew his candles out.

“Make a wish, Draco” Pansy shouted.

“I don’t need to, I've got everything I could wish for right next to me.”

You smiled up at him and gave him a kiss before addressing the crowd. “Eat my friends,” You felt like Dumbledore as plates of food dotted themselves around the common room. The attention moved from Draco to the food as everyone got up and attacked.

“Happy birthday, my love,” You said wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you, princess, I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Only the best for my boyfriend”

You spent the next few hours playing truth or dare with your housemates, it was cut short when Snape barged into the common room, the decorations were ripped off the wall and the music from the radio stopped.

“I am going to give you until the count of 10 to return to your dormitory, anyone I still see standing here will be spending every weekend for the rest of the year cleaning with filch”

He began to count down from 10 as everyone scrambled to run into their dorms and get into bed.

You were so excited to surprise Draco with his presents that you skipped breakfast, instructing Daphne to tell him to meet you in the astronomy tower. You decided you were going to decorate your spot a little bit, you set up a soft blanket and some cupcakes and hung up the leftover banners and streamers from your midnight party in the common room. You had his gifts wrapped up with ribbon and some bows just to be extra, they sat in the centre of your blanket, the canvas taking up a large chunk of it. You had realised Draco would probably struggle to take the canvas back home, but that would be a problem he would have to deal with later.

“Y/N?” His voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Up here, love” You replied, your head popping up over the bannister.

He broke into a smile when he saw you and rushed up the stairs taking them two at a time. You sat on the edge of the blanket and waited for him.

“Happy 17th birthday, Draco” You exclaimed as he reached the top.

His smile got even wider as he pulled you up and into a tight hug.

“I am so in love with you, do you know that?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I hope you feel the same after you see your presents,”

“Darling, you know you didn’t have to get me anything, you’re the best gift I could have ever received”

“I didn’t have to but I wanted to, here look”

His eyes fell onto the two wrapped gifts, he sat himself down and opened the top present.

“How did you get your hands on this?” he pulled the ring out and examined it closely.

“RIght so backstory to this, my mum didn’t believe that my original present was traditional enough to be a ‘wizard’s 17th birthday present’ so she went out to Bourgin and Burke and got this, but I wouldn’t have given it to you had I thought you wouldn't like it, so think of this as a gift from your in-laws.”

“My father’ll be jealous, he's been wanting a black diamond in his collection for ages now” He put the ring back in the box and was about to shut it.

“Wait, let me put it on. you put my ring on, so I’ll put yours on, practise for the big day”

He smiled at you as you sat down next to him and pulled the ring back out of the box. He held his left hand out for you and you slid the ring onto his ring finger.

“You know after this, they tend to kiss” He grinned.

“Oh yes, of course, if we’re going to practise we should be thorough” You pulled his head down and his lips met yours for a passionate kiss.

He pulled back after a few moments with a grin.

“We should keep practising, just to be on the safe side”

“Enough flirting, Malfoy you have another gift to open”

He turned and picked up the canvas in his hands.

“Is this the one you were sneaking away for?”

You nodded and he began to tear off the wrapping. He got up and placed it against the wall and stood there looking at it, silently. He was silent for a while as he watched the loop of Draco spinning you out and then dipping you on your return with a kiss. Although he hadn't said anything, you got the feeling that he didn't particularly like this gift. He was probably thinking of a way to let you down easily.

“Do you not like it?” You asked quietly.

“What? No!” he turned around with a genuine smile. “I love it, darling, it's perfect. Honestly, it's beautiful.”

You physically relaxed and went to stand next to him. “You said you didn’t like the painting in your room above the fire so I thought I’d give you something to change it with, I’m just not sure if your mother would like it, since its not one of those classical masterpieces.”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks, as soon as I get home, I’m hanging this right up on my wall. I just never knew you could paint like this”

“My mum made me start painting when I was three, I stopped lessons as soon as I started Hogwarts but I kept it up on the side as a hobby and, well, I thought I’d immortalise your favourite memory of us.”

“You never cease to amaze me” He turned and pulled you into him “Thank you,”

“Don’t be silly it’s your birthday, stupid”

“Not just for this, for everything. For putting up with everything, the jealousy, the anger, the-”

“Hey, I’m not putting up with anything, I love you, Draco, all of you”

“Merlin, I can’t wait to marry you” His lips crashed into yours for a frenzied kiss, overwhelmed with emotion. “This is by far the best birthday I’ve ever had, nothing will be able to top this”

And he wasn’t lying. Whenever he was asked, by his kids, his grandkids even his great-grandkids, what his favourite birthday celebration was, his response was always the same, his 17th birthday.

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagines #hogwarts imagines #hp #hp imagines #draco lucius malfoy #slytherin

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where-orthodoxy-is-found · 3 years

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Daredevils of Sassoun, David of Sassoun - Friendship, Curiosity & Linguistics

I considered @militant-holy-knight to be a true friend of mine. We exchanged lengthy messages about culture, history, religion, and language. I also acted as his Armenian translator. He never made my job easy. He did not send me short blurbs, signs, phrases; rather, he sent me 20+ minute long sketchy recordings of ancient folk songs of complex nature and challenging linguistic background. I enjoyed this very much.

My friend was full of curiosity. It may have been one of his best qualities, perhaps second only to his unyielding kindness. He was also full of righteous fury for the Armenian people, who he viewed as brothers and sisters in Christ. I appreciated this very much.

I cannot find the original video he linked to me as it was posted by an Armenian nationalist group, and taken down. Unfortunately, the song linked was unspecified, and would have been one of so many to be inspired by the Armenian Epic Poem Daredevils of Sassoun.

Or, knowing my lovely friend, perhaps it was one of the several hours long oral renditions of the entire four-part Epic...that would be quite like him.

It pains my heart very much to be unable to complete this final translation for my friend.

Instead I would like to share a bit about one of the most important pieces of Armenian folklore. It is one of the most studied and least well preserved. Its current date is set around the 8th century but some have argued it dates further back than that. It may potentially pre-date written Armenian altogether, but it is at least 1250 years old.

It is hard to say as it was not written down until the 1870s by Bishop Karekin Srvandztiants, who sought out someone who knew the entire orally preserved Epic and eventually found that from a peasant named Karapet in a village, Arnist, near Muş.

Bishop Srvandztiants published it the following year and his introduction, translated into English (not by me) is as follows:

“The life of David and his exploits belong in the Middle Ages... The entire story is a record of courage, of domestic virtue, of piety, and of simple, open-hearted relations with his beloved woman as well as with his enemies. Despite its irregularities and anachronisms it has some fine stylistic qualities and narrative devices in it... The publication of this tale would be of interest to the understanding reader, but I suppose there will also be those who will express their contempt for it and abuse both the story and my own person. These readers will not understand it. But it does not matter. I shall consider myself encouraged if I find twenty sympathetic readers.”

Instead of a niche curiosity of Armenian history to be tucked away into a library shelf, found only by curious students like myself, Daredevils of Sassoun exploded in popularity and is a beloved and well known literary classic known not only to Armenia but much of the former USSR. It also grows in popularity when Armenia is threatened, which is to say often. It also begs noting that the region where the Epic takes place was one of immeasurable bloodshed during the Armenian Genocide, and currently sits in Turkey.

Many translations and inspired works have been written, most quite poorly and by an atheist state who sought to remove the religious context that surrounds every element of the story. Why waste good culture on religion, the most important and central aspect of Armenian identity, when you could use it as a tool for national pride and military support?

The first Russian translation is pretty good. An English translation of one part written by a genocide survivor, Leon Surmelian, also exists and sought to restore the religious elements to the story. Another by Mischa Kudian is thought to be pretty good. I have never personally read that one so I can’t give much of an opinion.

Translating an Epic is no easy task. One camp says you must capture “the essence” of the Epic, rather than get lost in completing direct translations, especially given what a challenging language Armenia is to translate. However, the essence of the story can be subjective, and a subject of great disagreement. Another camp says purity is the most important, and if it cannot properly be translated then it should perhaps not be translated at all. Footnotes can be used to describe the word to the best of one’s ability. Even that provides room for difference though.

No matter your stance though, the Epic has grown far beyond its original borders. Many works of art, music, paintings, literary works, have sprung from it and it has become a symbol of triumph, strength, identity and faith to the Armenian people.

This is not the song my friend linked, and it is not really about the Epic at all, but the mythos that now surrounds this region in Armenian culture, but it’s short, clear and I enjoy it - and it is already translated :)

youtube

If you made it this far, and I doubt anyone will, but if you did then I encourage you always to be learning, and be curious, and pray for the soul of @militant-holy-knight. I will miss you very much my friend.

#militant-holy-knight #armenia #catholic #orthodox #armenian apostolic church #Armenian Language #armenian diaspora

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leggomylino · 4 years

Text

Pushing Up Daisies | Seo Changbin

Genre: fluff, crack, comedy, college au, secret admirer/stalker au

Pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: Masterlist(s) linked down below and in bio!!! | Requested by @hanniiesuckle17 <3

— ✔✘✔✘ —

Darkness fell like a cloud over the room, a hazy mist where Changbin found the most comfort. It was a place where he felt calm, collected, cool, and accepted.

It was also the place he resided to watch Y/n L/n. The cute new transfer student from out of town.

Now, he didn’t think what he was doing was creepy. Or weird. Or immature. Not by any means; he was simply keeping an eye on her to make sure she was safe; the library could be a dangerous place, and there were all sorts of sick and twisted weirdos running around at this late hour of six p.m. that purposely targeted nice foreign girls like Y/n. He’d seen it happen all the time. It was more common than he’d like to admit. Which is why it was up to him to keep an eye out for her, since Chan was working late (again) at the studio and the mighty Lord knew Han Jisung wasn’t gonna do jack squat, especially not after Hyunjin had to go mentioning the grand opening of some new restaurant called...Factory Cheesecake? Cake Factory? Something like that.

That only left himself to rely upon. The only one truly trustworthy and qualified to keep Y/n safe. Even if it meant having to—

“Changbin!”

Clank. “OW!”

Rubbing his now slightly swollen forehead, he turned around the cramped space to peer over his shoulder. “What is it? What are you doing up here?”

Felix bowed his head, an apology hanging in the air. “Sorry. Seungmin sent me to get you. He said he’s clocking out in five minutes and he doesn’t want to get in trouble for your…“deed.”” He blinked. “He used other words I’d rather not repeat, though.”

Changbin scratched his chin. Ah, yes. The perks of having a roommate that worked part-time at the campus library: free access anywhere, so long as they’re on duty. And you don’t get caught. Like that one time he and Han scoured the back storage room for vaults holding the answer key to Mr. Kim’s final, and...well, that wasn’t important now. “Tell him I’ll be down in ten. I think she’s almost done.”

Felix glanced through the slits of the metal air duct, then back at his buddy. “...Are you sure you’ve really thought this through all the way?” His face scrunched up in an awkwardly distasteful matter, and he looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to commit such a crime. Like what he was doing was even criminal. “Why don’t you just talk to her? Instead of...y’know…” He blinked, gesturing to the cramped space around them. “Hiding in the air duct? It’s kinda creepy, is what I’m saying. And unethical...actually, very creepy and very unethi—“

“Okay! I got it already!” Changbin waved his hands. He didn’t need to hear this from someone he cared about. “Shoo, shoo! Go have dinner with Hyunjin and the bottomless cake pit.”

“You mean Han?”

“Duh.”

...Sighing, Felix left without another word.

Finally—

“...I really think you should just talk to her!” His voice echoed. Changbin sighed.

...Okay, a few words. “Go!!!”

His harsh command bounced around the narrow chamber, spiraling down out of the air duct. Gasp. He covered his mouth, praying to heaven no one heard him; peering down, the study corner Y/n was in— if not the library itself— was nearly vacant, with only one other student reading at a far table and a few stragglers making their final choices.

It would appear his voice had gone unnoticed. Phew.

Y/n was still standing at the same shelf. She’d been standing there for over twenty minutes, occasionally pacing back and forth a few steps, side-to-side, trying to make up her mind. Most guys hated that, but Changbin couldn’t help but find it cute and endearing; like a lost little star trying to find her way home, calculating the best route, hesitant, waiting to shine. Most guys took it as a lacking sign to confidence, but to Changbin, it just showed that she was smart. She didn’t want to barrel straight ahead; she gathered data, took notes, and made the best option that would satisfy both her needs and her interests. And to Changbin, there was nothing hotter than that...

Suddenly, her hand moved. The one with the leather watch she wore, rumored to be a gift from her father. It was worn and frayed, the inseam splitting at the ends. Brown; tan. A simple clock face encased in basic sterling silver. She wore it everyday, but it’d been a while since he’d seen the pleated pink skirt that swayed above her ankles, or the matching floral-printed scarf—

Her hand brushed against the spine of a worn old poetry catalogue. Oh no. This is it. She’s really going for it. His letter…

She was so close to finding it. Twice a week, Changbin would rush down seven flights of stairs and across five blocks of campus property to make it to the library an hour before Y/n was set to arrive, as she always visited the library after English 1302 on Mondays and Wednesdays. Something about departing from that class must have left her longing for more, he figured; she was a writing major, after all. He didn’t do well under too much pressure, so after panicking about what he was going to say this time, he’d steal borrow some of Seungmin’s fancy calligraphy paper in order to write her a poem, something soft and...what was that word he’d looked up last week...lilting, which he was pretty sure meant the same thing as uplifting and...happy. Then he’d have Seungmin (one time Han; big mistake) hack into her leasing record in order to find out which books she was currently into, or which ones she had on hold. He’d carefully and strategically place the handwritten poem inside the book’s first few pages.

The book was in her hands now. She’d chosen his book! Again! She was examining the cover...flipping it over…...now, she was…?

...She put it back.

Again. He lowered his head with a sigh. Game over. You lost again. He gripped his hands into fists; when? When would he learn? When would it be his turn to win?! …!

Oh? What was this…?

A figure turned the left corner too fast, crashing into Y/n. She stumbled to the right, dropping said book as well as her belongings and sending them somersaulting to the pale blue carpet.

The letter he’d tucked between pages four and five spiraled out a foot away. Unopened, still sealed securely in a crisp white envelope with a Molang sticker. He’d heard she liked him.

Some Shady Guy was now talking to Y/n. “I’m so sorry! Let me help you— I’ll get—”

Y/n picked the book off the ground, dusting and checking it for damages like her first priority. She was so selfless, caring more for a damaged old tomb rather than her shiny new laptop and fancy water bottle. “Oh, no, that’s okay, don’t worry about it…”

Her eyes fell upon the letter. Changbin held his breath. Oh no. Not now. Not with some punk watching! The moment would be totally ruined!!!

Shady Guy beat her to it, his undeserving fingers tainting Changbin’s craft. “Here. Is this yours?” He examined it. Smirked. Disgusting. “Cute. Aren’t you a little old for cartoons, though?”

Who here gave you permission to judge her?! ...Wait.

Y/n took the letter, frowning. “I don’t think so...Molang is for girls and boys of all ages. He’s cute. But, this isn’t mine…someone must have left it as a bookmark.” Her eyes swept the room. “I’ll go return it to the front desk.”

The… The front…

His face hardened. What?! No!!! That’s your letter! URGH!!! Were girls always this frustrating?! ...And why is this guy still standing so close?! … …

It couldn’t be helped; with defeat, he watched the two of them walk away.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The next day at lunch, Minho squinted at him in anger.

“I can’t believe you skipped out on dinner with us again to go stalk the new girl.”

Beside him, Hyunjin huffed his agreement over a juice box that was meant for a five year old. Changbin groaned. “It’s not stalking. You make it sound like I’m a pervert or something...I’m not, I’m just…”

...His voice trailed off into a long, steady exhale. Beside him, Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Next time, at least quit using the air vent. I’m tired of growing a collection of ulcers in my gut because I’m afraid you’re going to make one wrong move and come crashing down through the ceiling like doom over Narnia, and then we’re both going to get in trouble for it.” He practically slammed down his bowl of soba. “I need this job, Bin.”

Across the outdoor picnic table, Minho froze halfway through unwrapping his sandwich, Hyunjin nearly choking on his orange juice. The former of the two cast a chilling glare while Hyunjin fought through a coughing fit. “You…”

Crap. And just when he’d thought Seungmin would be the least likely to open his big mouth. Changbin pressed his lips into a hard line before speaking. “...It’s not what you think—”

“Isn’t it, though?!” Hyunjin blurted. His juice box went flying into the nearest trash can as he pointed drastically in the direction of the library a few blocks down. Dance majors. “You’re telling me you’ve been bailing on dinner with us at the best new restaurant in town to go crawl through the dusty library airways and spy on a girl who doesn’t even know you?!”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you!” Changbin hissed. “And hey,” he added, leaning over his ramen. “We’ve talked before. We’re in the same writing class.”

“Over a project!” The Dance major roared. “That hardly counts!”

He and Changbin both fell back into their seats with a thud, exhausted with each other. Minho sighed. “Well,” he mumbled, “I guess we’re just going to have to show him.”

At this, everyone gave Seoul University’s one and only Bundle Boy a quizzical look. “What do you mean?” Seungmin asked.

Bundle Boy smiled, already stacking his leftovers. “Come on. Finish eating already and we’ll show you.”

Hyunjin blinked, gesturing back and forth between the two of them. “We…?”

Smack. “Just do it already. Let’s go. Quickly.”

Stunned, he had no choice but to inhale his soup on the way over.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The library was ironically closed for renovations that day; something about a generous donation from some well-to-do politician wanting his name engraved along the school walls. Whatever.

After bribing Seungmin into using his key, in the very same room where Y/n had been pondering her next private adventure surfing amongst old worn pages, Minho placed his hands on his hips, taking the roll of stage director. “Okay, now.” He pointed left. “Hyunjin, you go backstage. Pick a book off the shelf and get yourself ready. You two,” he piped, startling the remaining cast members, “will sit over there. Watch how it’s done.”

“......” Side-eyeing the other, Changbin and Seungmin took their seats at a nearby study table. The former could tell the latter was regretting his decision to let them in already.

Minho smiled. “Great,” he said, taking what was supposed to be Center Stage. “Now—”

Seungmin raised his hand. The director sighed.

“Yes?”

Seungmin lowered his hand with a soft plop. “Do I really have to be here for this? Don’t we all have better things to be doing right now?”

...It was a fair question. But Minho didn’t really seem to care much for fairness. “Yes, this is a team effort. I’m telling Chan you said that at our next rehearsal.”

The boy groaned.

“Now,” Director Bundle began. “Watch and learn how the pros do this. I’ll be Changbin, and Hyunjin is Y/n.” He turned his head to the side. “Cue!!!”

The lights suddenly dimmed, shocking the audience as they looked around curiously. “I could have sworn no one was on staff today,” Minnie mumbled.

Then the lights rose again, slowly in escalation, as a far-too-tall and far-too-muscular Y/n entered Stage Right. His eyes blinked wildly from atop the horizon of an encyclopedia about frogs. “Look,” he cooed, voice far too high and squeaky. Changbin and Seungmin both cringed. “I’m Y/n! I love books and boys and all the many girlish wonders that girls like me enjoy! Teehee!”

...Dear Lord, strike him now. Changbin rose from his seat. “Stop!!!”

His cry fell on deaf ears as the show went on, Minho turning and giving his best, dreamiest, disgustingly playboy-ish smile. “You’re Y/n?”

Hyunjin giggled (to which Changbin felt sick), the book never leaving the lower half of his face. “That’s me!”

“Changbin” (Minho) cocked his head aside, shifting his bangs to the right. Seungmin gagged. “That’s a cute name. A cute name for an even cuter gi—”

Fzzt! ...The power went out.

From the far corner, the real Changbin glared a storm across the room, holding the power extension cord too tightly. “That’s enough,” he grumbled, tossing the extension aside. “I didn’t come here for you to mock me. Or her. I’m not sure what I’m more angry about: the fact that you dare mock an innocent girl, someone I care about, to my face...or the fact that the two of you are supposed to be my friends.”

Hyunjin tossed his book on the table, doing his best sassy Dance major pose: a hand on his hip, knee slightly bent, head tilted to the side. Dance majors. “You can’t say you care about her, Changbin. You hardly know her.”

“I told you we’ve spoken on more than one occasion!”

“Over a project! That doesn’t count!”

“You said it hardly counts before!!”

“Yeah?! Well now I’m changing my answer!!!”

“Okay, okay…” Seungmin rose from his seat, wading between the two. “That’s enough. Fighting never solves anything.” He peered over his shoulder, focusing his gaze between the shelves. “Also, you need to keep your voices down— I’m not losing my job over something this dumb.”

“......” With a grunt, Changbin marched his way toward the exit; Screw these guys, whatever. He didn’t need their help and never asked for it anyway. He was doing just fine in his relationship with Y/n that...didn’t quite exist…

He’d almost made it to the door until Hyunjin stopped him. The should-have-been Drama major’s long fingers curved harshly over Changbin’s bulky shoulder.

“...Just face it, Bin,” he whispered. “Y/n...she’s one of those girls. A bookworm. She’s out there. Way out there.” He sighed. The whole room seemed to. “Girls like her live on another planet. You’ll be pushing up daisies before she agrees to go on a date with you.”

“......”

Changbin scoffed, carrying his storm out of the room.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

At 2:46 a.m that night (morning?), Changbin lied awake in his dorm room, pondering many things. Too many things that shouldn’t have had any connection whatsoever, yet did all the same. Because life was messy, and love was fornot.

What is it with girls? He thought. I’ve never put so much thought into one before. They were just...there, and then Y/n showed up, and suddenly it’s like I forgot how to read. I saw her smiling, looking all pretty by the lecture hall window...I know I’ve written a song about her before.

Shift. The gray wall facing him gave no comfort.

...And what about them? Hyunjin, Minho, Seungmin...criticizing and judging me like that… Hyunjin… He had no right to say that to me. “You’ll be pushing up daisies before she agrees to go on a date with you!1!1!” ...Pfft. Please. What does he know?! Who does he think he is giving me advice? About Y/n?? After his horrible misrepresentation of her?!? ...Man, I miss Jeongin. I wonder when he’ll be back from his field trip...

Toss. The ceiling was no help either.

Then again… Is it really that strange? I was just keeping an eye on her. She should be grateful, right? Who doesn’t like having protection throughout the day? … …

Sigh. ...Maybe… Maybe it is kinda weird what I’ve been doing...how I’ve been acting...my behavior… … …

Turn. The ticking of the far clock mocked him. All his lost hours of sleep...tormented by his own thoughts...

… … …

“...Hnnn!”

Shift. Toss. Sigh. Turn. Watching the seconds pass him by Changbin rolled about in agony, puzzled and tried over the last few weeks. Perhaps, as Hyunjin had said, even before his most recent insult, Changbin’s behavior as of late really had been “ugh.” …

A pillow fell over his face. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Maybe, as ridiculous as it all was, Minho and Hyunjin had been onto something; maybe all he needed to do was introduce himself. Start fresh, simple, anew. Maybe, this whole time, all he needed was to treat Y/n like a person he was interested in, rather than a science experiment he had to guard from afar. Maybe, just maybe, all he needed to do was say “hello”...

Unfortunately for him, “hello” was currently the word he was most afraid of.

“Changbin…”

He rolled over, peering down at the lower bunk; what could he say, except, Music and Photography majors didn’t make that much? At least not as undergrads. “Hm?”

Seungmin squinted up at him with sleepy eyes. “Turn off the light. I have two exams tomorrow…”

Shoot. Changbin grimaced, reaching for the switch. “...Sorry.”

Chink. Lights out.

“...Changbin?”

Chink. Lights on. “Yes?”

“......” Seungmin sat up, trailing his drowsy behind to the guest couch on the other side of the 12 x 10 room, the one Chan or Han sometimes crashed on during late nights producing or editing soundtracks. He pulled a blanket over his head, curling up beneath it like a puppy. “...Do you wanna talk about yesterday?”

Changbin scoffed, shifting his gaze to glare anywhere else. “...Like I’d wanna spend my precious time talking about those two.”

“So it is bothering you.”

Changbin fell silent.

“...The fact that you’re awake right now tells me that you’re letting them get to you. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m not! I never said they were bothering me!”

“It’s what you didn’t say that tells me otherwise.”

Changbin huffed. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

“I have two, actually,” the boy answered. “One at eight and one at nine.”

“Then go to bed. Quit worrying about me and mind your own business. Class starts in a few hours.”

Chink. Lights out.

...But though he rolled over, pulling the sheets above his head and facing the gray wall, the annoying brat missing from the lower bunk didn’t move. In fact, Changbin could feel his eyes burning a rash on his skin, spelling out the words, you’re lying; accept your feelings. Talk to me.

Chink! He swung back up into a sitting position.

“Okay, fine! Sheesh…” he groaned. Below, Seungmin almost bounced in delight, were he not engaged in a battle of fending off certain unconsciousness.

“Great...tell me what’s troubling you.”

“...That’s…”

Good grief. That was far easier said than done. He’d become so defensive, the automatic response to escape Changbin’s lips were always, “That’s none of your business,” “It’s none of your concern,” “Quit asking me about it.”

Now, here he was, at confession hours. He adjusted himself, the words swirling in his gut; hissing at the proposal of facing sunlight, wishing to remain buried. “...I just…” He began picking at the fabric around his legs. “...I don’t feel like myself lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired… Everything was fine until Y/n came here. Now…” He breathed. “...It’s like I can’t do anything properly anymore, and I’m not myself at all. I lost myself the moment I walked into class, and she was standing there, smiling under the sunshine and fluorescent lighting. ...Argh, listen to me! I never said crap like this before she came! It sounds so stupid!”

Seungmin continued to listen, patiently, as Changbin spilled his thoughts. Every waking thought he’d had since a few Monday’s ago. He nodded his head...starting to sway…

“...And it’s like, I’m saying all these words I’ve never even heard of before, y’know? You’ve noticed it too, right? Like my vocabulary is proliferating. It’s a nightmare! But...what really scares me is…”

He paused. On the couch, Seungmin fell over, beginning to snore softly.

“...I don’t like the person that I’ve become. I heard it said before that when you fall in love, or some garbage like that, you’re supposed to...become a better person? That learning from that person is supposed to help you mature? … All I’ve learned to do is become...some creepy stalker. I never saw myself becoming like this, not for a minute, but with her it’s like...I totally…”

“...Zzzk!” Seungmin sat up. “...Hm? What? ...Oh, uh…” He rubbed his eyes. “I heard you, I swear I did. Hang on…” He yawned, squinting upward. “...You’re not learning from her.”

Changbin turned toward the couch. “What?”

Seungmin adjusted himself, working at removing a year’s worth of sleep in his eyes. “You haven’t been following her example. You’ve been letting your unchecked emotions run all over you. It’s an act of immaturity and being insecure. Also, what you said before is only true if you and the other person are both mature, and share an intimate relationship. You don’t. And you’re not mature.”

To this, Changbin opened his mouth to give back some witty reply he’d stored in his new-found vocabulary somewhere, but of course, the boy dozed off, getting away with the last word like he usually did.

Pssh. Even his internal clock is in sync with his antics. Spoiled brat. That sure was a lot of words for three a.m...

… … …

He let those words reside with him. “You haven’t been following her example. You’ve been letting your unchecked emotions run all over you. It’s an act of immaturity and being insecure.”

… … …

“Also, what you said before is only true if you and the other person are both mature, and share an intimate relationship. You don’t. And you’re not mature.”

… … …

...Bah! He hated it. Hated hearing it, the way it sounded out loud, directed at him.

But perhaps it was a bitter truth he had to overcome.

“Tomorrow, you can always start anew.” ...That was a lyric from one of his favorite songs, from a rapper he admired all too well. Perhaps...maybe…

Tomorrow, I too, can start anew. … …

...Reaching over, he turned out the light.

— ✔✘✔✘ —

The next day was Wednesday. The climax of every week. Shouts of “hUMP DAYYYY!!!” could be heard echoing around campus corridors, with students and faculty scurrying this way and that, some walking with direction and purpose, a few jogging, and others moving to a slow, leisurely pace, just getting out of class or having nowhere in particular to be.

For Changbin, it was a day of change. When the sun rose, after ignoring it for a few extra hours in defiance toward the clock that mocked him, he got dressed, ate a waffle, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair with his fingers as he hustled out the door.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him outside the door. “Ready for—”

“Busy,” he called over his shoulder.

English 1302 wasn’t until 3 p.m., but seeing as it was currently noon and he only had three hours to set himself straight, well...setting yourself straight was a daunting task. He’d need all the time he could get. Ignoring the fact that Chan and Han followed him out of the dorms and down two blocks while muttering precariously puzzling things, he set his focus solely on his current destination.

“I’m here,” he announced, slamming his bag on the front desk. Behind the library counter, Seungmin sighed, tilting his head back.

“I’m not letting you into the air vents anymore. I told you, I’m done.” He glanced at the clock behind him. “Aren’t you a little early? Your class hasn’t even started yet. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

“Can’t. No time.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his English textbook, the one with a soda stain he’d have to pay for later thanks to Yours Truly (Han Jisung). Seungmin observed it curiously.

“What’s this?”

“My textbook.”

“...We don’t have stain remover. Try the laundry room.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, biting his lip. Don’t let pride get to you right now. “...I uh…” He cleared his throat. “...It’s not that. I want you to help me study. I’d like to have something to fall back on, when talking to Y/n. In case things fall flat.”

When he looked up, the expression on Seungmin’s face was that of a thousand suns. Like the skies had cleared, and the war was over. It looked like something Shakespeare or Dr. Seuss would write about. “At last,” he said, “the drought has ended. Seeds have sprouted. There really is a brain in there.”

Changbin swatted at him. “Just shut up and tell me when your next break is.”

— ✔✘✔✘ —

“Y/n?”

Her name came rolling out of Changbin’s mouth like a stone. It started light, yet gained velocity and fell into the pool of sweat at his feet with a heavy thud.

The moment she turned around, sitting up a little straighter, a little taller, looking him right in the eyes, his mind went blank. “Yeah! What’s up?”

… … …

He had no idea what was up. What was up? What was down? Which way was it to the nearest train station so he could use the last of his tuition money to board a train and haul it all the way to the highest bridge so he could— …

Cool, Changbin. Play it cool. The sun has risen, so you’re Mature Bin now. “Uhh…”

“......” She listed her head. “Yeah?”

“......”

“...Cake!” he blurted.

She blinked, shifting herself back while the surrounding pews started. “I’m sorry?”

“Ahh…!” Changbin adjusted himself. Took a deep breath.

Still cool. Roll with it.

“......” He smiled. “...Cake, uh...there’s a new cake shop that opened downtown.” He pointed...somewhere towards the door. “I was wondering if...maybe you’d...like some?”

The kindness that radiated off her features made his heart soar. “Are you asking me to come with you?”

“......” He nodded, looking away. But from the corner of his eye, he could still see her smile.

“Okay! I’d love to. Say, after class?”

He nodded again, more fervently. “...But aren’t you going to the library after this?”

Her gaze turned a bit sour and peculiar. “You...know about that? You must have seen me before.”

Having walked in right on cue at 2:59, Hyunjin made an irate sound that wasn’t unusual of a sassy Dance major such as himself. Dance majors. “Oh, he’s seen you, alright. He—”

The nearest pencil went flying towards his head, marking his pretty boy face.

“Ahh! Seriously?!” He rummaged through his bag. “I have practice after this!”

Having turned away before, Y/n examined both men curiously before clearing her desk space for class. “Well, it can’t be helped. I do spend a lot of time there, so you were bound to pick up on it subconsciously, I’m sure.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.”

He and Hyunjin shared a glare.

She giggled, shaking her head. “Alright then! How about this: we’ll stop by the library, and then we can go to the cake shop from there. Sound good?”

He grinned from ear to ear; blissfully, simply, politely. But most importantly: in control. “Yeah, sounds good. Oh, and Y/n?”

The clock struck three, the professor walking in right on cue. As his voice took hold of the classroom atmosphere, the two lowered their heads, voices tumbling into whispers. “Yeah?” she asked. “What is it?”

Mature Bin held fast to his smile. “Hello.”

— ✔✘✔✘ —

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samaelserpentine · 3 years

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An Odyssey Through Music, Muses, Madness and Magic

(Buckle up Tumblr, this is a long poem) 1. The isle guardians of vinyl Unwittingly nervous to the necromancy I have planned An inner storm so terrible But I was Struck by his Occult missive So laden down was I By all the lyrics, the words With characters told through dark supergods As Aleister Crowley is to Led Zeppelin is to David Bowie And now me Lost among them Buried within them The pages of ancient texts And the liner notes of the albums Held far too close to the heart Though I tried, perhaps I merely formed mystery at my own doom The records of the sorcerers Performing an infernal scratching on my psyche Breaking down what was there and carving out what could be But whether it should be Is still uncertain to me. 2. I found the darkness in riffs The wall of sound I was into Inhabited by self-admitted aliens Aleister’s hellfire brought to light My heavy work held up The symbolizing of some god Archaic and forgotten Through a ring Art cracks All the people that stare loveless Into your eyes But I would be different I would be realized Something broken Mended Yet still wrong But I would Make myself into something else With your words The fascination told fables A way out, a way through I would find my way to you Through the cracks. 3. Once artwork I became their voice Lurking in the shadows of time On the periphery Of reason Madness could be a thrilling companion And with the records transcendent And the races lost The shout rang out Are You Experienced? I am and am not Like an abysmal and sunken ship Lost in the depths of the ocean Alone and devoid of meaning Abandoned everything to Grooves, characters, truths And once there inhabiting these my psyche Broke open spilling out visions, words Like arcane knowledge Dancing carelessly over the line Between the sacred and profane Whispering it’s so nice to see you here again And my mind became a bookshelf filled with ancient wisdom A record player Playing albums that told lies like they were the truth I uncovered the Necronomicon Had lives in Atlantis Sat with the sound and vision Of a populated landscape Woven through history Like a single thread Linking everything I became a fixture Fantastic Within the hidden music of a paperback I would not be forgotten there. 4. Of those who sought And those who chose A wriggle of religious fanaticism in claim And its origins an apparent expression of salvation I say You are nothing and have nothing for me With your hierarchy and worry over the threat Of music and sexuality And your constant waging of war against me When mine and yours is a history of burning I have nothing to give you You’ve already taken too much from me I want what was mine back With your wicked face as old as These chords I worship And your evil work to further ministers As meaningful to me as a rotten turnip Yet of my conjuring powers You disbelieve When honey, you should fear me And not the other way around I hope that when you are most afraid You say my name. 5. Mobs make parents worried They claim the rock audience chaos Is just hormonal fury A response to what is true Inside of both me and you There is more than this A kind of magic If you look for it Religious In the way we turn musicians Into gods and goddesses Idol worship But is that all it is? In the truest sense An ancient rite Long buried and forgotten Rising up inside us all Those who dare to dance And by prohibiting and demonizing The ones who shake their fists Lose their sense Always the sound of agitation But I saw these pagan spirits first Before I heard your protesting words Theirs speak louder to me Than your hatred ever could. 6. To the electric teenager Finding your way Rebellion is autonomy It is tradition To push boundaries Yet each new generation of adults Somehow forgets these Eternal truths It's not your fault They're afraid of your youth Don't listen Hold on Your fire will make the world a better place For you. 7. Could this ancient thread Of reality and magic infused with dangerous potential Normally inhabited by far greater Magicians than I could ever be Break me? I am traversing this rough terrain Of shared perception With aliens These common visions a violence What could I even be? Nothing more than a mystery To those around me Lost in this metaverse I have accessed Through song, collage, words Chaotic, such occult meanings They and often I End in something Beyond reason Scratching out messages of methods The angels referenced spoken vast by terrifying qualities These opposing sorcerers Like a guitar screeching endless feedback Which demons? Sex? Drugs? Words? Palpable as suggesting a penultimate hidden secret Impenetrable beyond nothingness and Nonetheless I must find it Even if I have to destroy myself trying Nothing is more important Than this truth. 8. Years go by and I come about left handed Shaped by a tarot card about the arts and earlier The room Space Death I know spirituality I see it in my brother’s eyes Only the inner outer world collides But of the Beatles or beetles They didn’t understand How To make the world bend at your command Of this phenomenon devotees are Reckless Breathtaking in their beauty And chaos It takes a certain kind of madness Or perhaps maybe genius To choose this path To withstand the pressure Of reality kneeling At your feet Bending to your will I will break it before it breaks me Oh brother, don’t you worry I always find my way out of the darkness And besides, hell has never bothered me I am the master of my own design The maker of my own making Nothing else can touch me. 9. Imagination turns listeners into participants Gives power to the powerless Those converted shaped by few ideas Dreams Had rock’s Hare Krishna LSD Asking questions Whose inner world could I be? And as it moves, a cultural generation Becomes magical More magical than entire rock bands Than holy men and women Fashioned by the young The carbon copy progressives Lying like Houses Already vast Led by the words of the Bhagavad Gita You should have listened to me When I had the cards already free I tried to warn you what was coming But no one ever hears me Invisible as I am Until so repulsive, so strange You can’t look away from me You really should have listened You can't say I didn't try to warn you. 10. This is bigger than I am Stretched too thin like skin Over bone was and into The board, into the planchette Could enchantment make me forget? The board is vibrating Shaking like hands The grazing of sleeves Culture, vinyl Seemed out from under our covers Like what was hidden There, even tucked away those records Though of nothing gatefold came No reason to be afraid Other than the fingers that have become potent The light that has now dimmed And what could I have been To all who pulled that woven magic Out of my childhood? Could it be the way was manifest Curled up snugly against your breast? As warm candlelight over the Ouija Plastic memories came From which I had imagined the feelings like air between Bewitched but hovered from Somewhere above our heads I wished that I was dead Or that something would end. 11. Experiences divorced from reality Covers rock personas Cut out images appear worse But Dionysus would love this His child Who has people staged Like personal shamanic relics Thinking writing something mystical That I would seek this That I sought this Is surely a form of madness But all the logical illogical reasoning shows A kind of rare dedication to the cause These rites are magical Why speak of demons And why speak of devils? I have conjured and created Something new out of the ancient Like nails Scratching deep grooves into a record album I have altered something Broken it As their gods create chaos simulating insanity As if they even have to in me I am the false image of a human performed By a front magician Playing at being god In these moments of desperation Carrying the weight of lives As though my power were absolute My belief almost religious Fanatical My concerns become concerts When I am on my own Wondering why happiness has abandoned me And where all the merrymakers have gone Why I am more Anubis than Pan Why myth seems written in lyrics As musicians play me like a fiddle Play me for a fool I am possessed Into thinking I am appearing as many legends Something older than time itself A life bringer A life destroyer With the power to stop or start it all I needed to believe I had the power To save all of you To destroy all of you To protect myself If I needed to And I don’t know if I can save myself From the things I want to do As the darkness envelops me And my mind becomes unglued So go ahead and do what you always do And blame it on the music When we all know the truth It’s always been you. 12. Rumination is realization I wandered alone Within the elements and to God Unintelligible Words became strange as Rogue faeries genuine Approach looking wing Impenetrable as I have become What I’d produced went away from me Flew out of my control Reborn in catastrophe When where into situations I went From film to film I sense in time a song Things start about a room and again Became revolt But maybe that’s just what happens when you’re Involving the occult Bring out the old rock n roll safeguard Make it out of symbols and sigils A complete thought catalogue so arcane It would leave you spellbound for days My mind prison And that in myself some Christ was born A thought so seductive to be sure I would take control of these pursuits But unlike you Hatred would never do I would never fight against passion Your fear I came to hear Against spaceships, rituals, the mystical, Sex, magic Your terror So absolutely Psychological I felt protection close at hand And I was real myself, as I really am In and out of my depth Battling against you and your demands I came out cleaner Stronger And what became of you? Shhh, no telling I won’t spoil the ending No good to warn the enemy Of what is coming But You really should have been listening You should have been watching What was happening. 13. He said, you should have started with Kether Been sure of the path you were following After all Magic, like blood, stains But these moments were wonders They could drive out the fear of fortune, destiny Hanging over my head I was taking control Creating my own instead As thin as the thread that links us all Tenuous, fragile Like a mind on the verge of breaking Under the weight of a cruel reality The walls would speak to me Whispering When will you come to me From here or there And find me in a room High above the clouds Where we could build our love? It’s not enough It’s a drug And I need it As lovers we were And I, such as the mountains Looming, shy Unable to look you in the eye But here is the stuff of legend Sound soars like a movement Lost to the ages I never thought myself better than this moment Lost as I once was Now flashing light and colour Connected to everything Raising you like the devils they spoke of Dancing my way to Malkuth A fearless necromancer Disregarding all the rules. 14. I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams Where men circle around you Desperate to keep you You land like sand flowing through my hand I did not try to hold onto you So you let me keep the thread Through this glass I was searching Broken as the cracks But now I am returning Now I am mending And once you were evasive Elusive Like a high I was chasing Or the first drink, the tenth, or the last But now I find you woven into everything Believing we were thrown together like darts Bending like space and time I was searching for this Searching for you In desolate stations We would be protected Dredging the world to a ditch Just to find you Just to become more than this You are a wonder Among wondrous things And I am bird Who has found his wings Overlooking humanity From up on high I have found me in you This time And of all the things they can take from me That will never be one of them For I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams But above all else What is more I have found peace Dancing in the flames of this madness They tried to call a disease I am me I am me I am me.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #my poem #dadaism #beat poetry #writers on tumblr #writersociety #poetry is magic #my writing #long poetry

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cubeishorse · 5 years

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The Perfect Gift

It’s time for the holiday gift exchange and Martin pulled Jon’s name from the box. He has to find the perfect gift.

Contains: General jon/martin fluff, holiday party, just fluff and fun for the holidays

1,716 words

“Oh no.” Martin sat at his desk, still looking at the piece of paper he had pulled out of the box. It had been over twenty minutes since they pulled names for the holiday gift exchange, and the name hadn’t changed.

“Are you ever going to stop moaning over it?” Tim glanced over from his computer. “I’m not that hard to shop for. You’ll be fine.”

“Very funny.” Martin said, shaking his head and putting the paper in his pocket. “I got Jon.”

Tim stared at him. “And that’s… a bad thing? I figured you’d jump at the chance to give him something.”

“It’s not that it’s… what do I get him? It has to be perfect.” Martin buried his face in his hands. “Help me, Tim. Aren’t you good at this sort of thing?”

“Not really, but I got off easy this time.”

“Sasha?”

“Elias. A tie. Perfect.” Tim spun a little in his chair. “Can’t help you out with boss man, though. You’re going to have to talk to him, mate.”

“Mhm…” Martin looked back at the door to Jon’s office, which was, as always, closed. Jon complained that they chatted too much, and it distracted him from his research.

“Maybe ask him if he wants to have lunch together?” Tim turned back to his computer, deciding it was time to pretend to work again. He didn’t have an active case to research. “We used to all go out before he became the boss, and you had just as much of a crush then. Can’t be that hard.”

“Mhm.” Martin sighed, turning back to his own work. “Maybe. Do you think he’d say yes?”

“Never know until you ask.” Tim was already checking out of the conversation, searching online for what looked like very garish ties.

It still took almost an hour for Martin to convince himself to ask, and almost a minute of standing in front of Jon’s door to knock, but he was greeted almost instantly with, “Come in.”

Jon had a few small piles of paper spread across the desk in front of him, and he was focused on his laptop. A recorder sat on one edge, silent. Jon looked up. “Martin? Did you need something?”

“Oh. Hello, Jon. I…” Martin swore he could feel Tim watching him, could practically see the smile on his coworker’s face. “Lunch. Do you want to get lunch?”

“Lunch?” He sat up a bit more, looking at his desk. “I… don’t have food…”

“… why not?”

Jon stared at his desk for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose I forgot. But we could go to the café? I recall it having good options.”

“Where we all used to go? I haven’t been there in ages. I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.” Jon said, clearly not even realizing his words. Martin felt a blush. “Give me twenty minutes to get this all put away? I’ll come and get you when I’m ready.”

“Alright. Can’t wait.” Martin was smiling wide as he pulled Jon’s door shut behind him. Tim was indeed watching him.

“Good work, Romeo.”

“Shut up.” Martin buried his face in his hands, still blushing. “Just shut up.”

The walk to the café was relatively quiet. Jon had never been the best at small talk, and Martin was too nervous to bring anything up. Thankfully, it was a short trip, so they did their best to enjoy the silence as they went. They got a nice seat by the window, and because of the strange time, they had almost the whole café to themselves, which was fine by them both.

“Thank you for the invitation, Martin. I feel like you’re all so afraid of me now that I’m head archivist.” Jon was fiddling with the menu a bit.

“Oh yeah. No problem.” Martin watched Jon for a moment. “I think everyone is intimidated now? You know, since you’re our boss and all.”

“I’m not Elias.” He replied, disdain in his voice. “We can still chat. Hang out.”

“Hang out?”

Jon stared at him. “Yes.”

Martin couldn’t help but laugh. Jon using any sort of slang seemed out of place. “Any holiday plans?”

“No, nothing really. I never do a lot for the holidays, aside from attending the institute party.”

“That’s… that’s so sad! Nothing? No big dinner or gift giving?”

He shrugged a little, glancing out the window. “I don’t have family living anymore, and I have grown distant from friends. Are you surprised that I’m not the most popular?”

“I…” Martin paused, thinking over his words. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Jon waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ve grown quite used to it. I’ll probably watch old Christmas movies, make myself something nicer for dinner. It might be lonely, but it is doing what I enjoy. How about yourself?”

“The research team is having a party that I’ll probably go to for a bit. My mum doesn’t like when I stay out too late – I have to take care of her, you know – so after the party, I’ll put together some sort of dinner for the two of us. Probably watch something cheesy after she’s gone to bed.” The waiter interrupted them, taking down their orders. Martin noted that Jon only ordered a cup of soup, and tried to decide if he looked any thinner.

“How have you all been doing with the change? I miss our chats.” Jon seemed genuinely interested in an answer.

Martin filled him in on their lives since Jon’s promotion. He told Jon about the fish incident in the break room, about how Robin in HR wouldn’t talk to Jen in Research for a week because of it. Jon seemed shocked that Sasha and Tim were dating. Jon couldn’t remember who Alex in Accounting was, but the story of him quitting and telling Elias off was still pretty funny.

As their lunch wound down, Martin was pleased to see that Jon had eaten his soup, along with half of Martin’s fries. What had started off as nerve wracking for Martin had turned into a fun conversation, something akin of the olden days.

“Do you still write poetry?” Jon asked, apropos of nothing. It took Martin completely by surprise.

“Oh. Uh. Yes? Not as much anymore, but I still try to. It helps me unwind.” Martin looked down at his mostly empty plate.

“Maybe someday you will let me read some.” Jon was leaning back, seeming to the world to be completely comfortable. “I will say, I have never found a poet I cared much for. If you wanted to, I would like your help with that. Finding a poet to enjoy, that is.”

And just like that, Martin had an idea. “Absolutely.”

Jon fidgeted in his holiday sweater. Four shops, and he hadn’t been able to find one that wasn’t at least a little itchy. He had a cup of cheap prosecco in one hand, mostly forgotten. It seemed like everyone else was having a great time, chatting and laughing, but Jon just felt out of place. The holiday party was always a bit of an awkward time for him.

“Jon?” Martin piped up from behind him. “You having fun?”

“Hm? Oh. Of course. Just feeling a bit out of place, I suppose. How does Elias even look like he’s enjoying himself?” Jon gestured over to where Elias was laughing with some of the other researchers, his new tie loosely tied around his neck. It was bright green with bright red and white candy canes adorning it.

“Um.” Martin gestured to a small gift bag in his hand. “I know it’s supposed to be… well. Secret. But I wanted to give you your gift?”

“You got me?” Jon let his gaze drift to the bag, curious. He set the prosecco down behind him, a bit thankful to not have to pretend to enjoy it anymore.

“Yes.” Martin kind of held it up. “I hope… I hope you like it.”

Jon took it, a faint smile on his lips. “I got Tim.”

The bluntness of the statement made Martin laugh. “It’s a secret, Jon!”

“I know, but…”

He drifted off as Tim yelled out, “Who in the hell got me coal?”

“I thought you might want to be in on that.” Jon said, laughing. Martin stared at Tim.

“You got him coal?” He couldn’t help but grin, giving away to laughter a second later.

“There’s a gift card to the coffee shop in there as well. But I did have to tease him somehow.” Jon gently took the bag away from Martin, his fingers lingering on Martin’s hand just a moment longer. “Do you want me to open this now?”

The blush that crept across Martin’s face was instantaneous. “Oh. Uh. You… you don’t have to… if you want to. You can wait. I… it’s…”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Sure? Yes. Sure.” Martin’s hand was still up in the air a little, empty.

Jon tucked the bit of tissue paper to one side to reveal a journal, with what looked and felt like actual leather. He tilted his head to one side, trying to make sense of it. Setting the bag on the drinks table, he unwound the strap that held the notebook shut, flipping through the pages. A careful cursive covered the majority of them.

“Martin.”

“You said you… you said you wanted to read some poetry. I found some of my… well, some of my favorite poems from my favorite writers, and I copied them down. It isn’t the best – my cursive has always been a bit rubbish – but I thought the nice book might help it look a little fancier and… um. At the end of the book are some of mine. I wrote who wrote what poems, and the titles. In case you wanted to find more.”

It was the front of the book that caught Jon’s eye, and he knew Martin was blushing even brighter.

Happy Holidays, Jon.

I hope you enjoy these.

Love, Martin

Love. Jon smirked.

“It’s beautiful, Martin. Thank you.” He leaned forward, having to tilt his head up just slightly to reach, and pecked a gentle kiss just to the side of Martin’s lips. “I do hope we can have lunch together again. I’d love it.”

#i am tired and haven't edited this much so be gentle with me?#jonmartin #just a fluff fic #jonathan archivist #martin blackwood #the magnus archives #tma fic

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bel0vedmendes · 5 years

Text

An Angel Among the Angels : Part 7

THIS IS IT! FINAL PART! :)

Shawn x Reader

Word count: 1,800

Warnings: language

Series Discription: Y/N is working behind the scenes at the VS Fashion Show, and Shawn has his sights set on her. She can’t believe he would even look her way, considering they’re literally surrounded by Angels.

*not my gif* Also, obviously this gif is from Hot Ones but I imagine this is what he would look like if he was so happy that he started to cry. ya know? k.

Seeing Shawn perform is something that will never get old to me. The pure joy that radiates from him is indescribable. I watched him as he played for 50,000 people at a festival in Paris. I sang along from side stage, giggling as he pushes his hair back for the millionth time. I made a mental note to remind him to get a haircut soon, even though I really loved how his curls hung in front of his face.

The show eventually came to an end and the next performer started to set the stage for their performance. Shawn runs off the stage, basically tackling me in the process. His arms tight around my waist both of us in a fit of giggles as he picks me up off the ground. His lips crashing into mine hard, smiling into our kiss. He was always so high on adrenaline when he finished a show like this. It was intoxicating and contagious, everyone around felt it. It was one of the many reasons I loved him.

He sets me down taking my face in his hands kissing my temple delicately.

“Okay, baby. Andrew is gonna take you back to the hotel to get ready. Then I’m gonna come get you after my interviews. Date night in Paris!” He said as he was being ushered away from me, still holding my hand until he couldn’t anymore.

I just shook my head, and smiled at him.

“See you soon!” I said waving to bye to him.

“I love you!” He screams to me, and mimics being dragged away against his own will. Andrew and I both laughing at his hysterics.

Andrew finally gets us into a van to head to the hotel. It was quiet for a while, and I couldn’t figure out why. Normally Andrew was super talkative and carefree but right now it seemed like there was a lot on his mind.

“You okay?” I ask turning towards him.

“You know, I was just thinking. I remember when he came to visit you here two years ago, and I thought you were just a phase for him.” He says quietly.

I take a deep breath remembering it as well. Specifically, remembering reading the text that Andrew sent him. The text that almost ended things before they begun.

“I remember that too.” I say raising my eyebrows.

“God he was just so persistent about you. Every meeting we had before that, all he could do was talk about you. I even told him he shouldn’t come see you in Paris. Can you imagine what would have happened if he had listened?” He asks me rhetorically.

I bite my lip shaking my head, because it wasn’t something I liked to think about. Shawn was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

“You are everything that he’s ever needed, y/n. You know that right? You make him whole.”

My heart instantly got a little heavier. I knew that Shawn confided in Andrew and his team a lot, and just the thought of him saying these things to them made my heart so full.

“He’s everything to me, too.” I smile softly at him.

We finally pull up to the hotel, Andrew gushing a little longer. He was quite emotional tonight and I loved seeing this side of him. He hugs me and opens the door for me to get out in front of the hotel and walks me inside. I finally get to my room to find a beautiful red dress, new stilettos, jewelry, and a note.

My Angel,

You’re all that I need in this world to get through.

When I think home, I think of you.

I love you so much, It’s sometimes hard to express.

But, I can’t wait to see how you look in this dress.

See you at 7. xx

Love,

Shawn

I set the note down, grinning from ear to ear. He wrote me a fucking poem. I held the dress up to my body, more excited than I had been in a long time. We had been together for over 2 years now, and we really didn’t go on dates like this. He was always romantic but when it came down to it, we were always more into staying home and just enjoying each other’s presence.

I did my makeup a bit more than usual, curled my hair, then put on the outfit Shawn had picked out for me. I stood in front of the mirror a few times, checking myself from all angles. I was so excited to see how he was going to respond to me in this dress. Within a few minutes, there was a knock at my hotel room door.

I open the door, surprised to see Marco standing on the other side. The man who helped Shawn and I in Paris two years ago. I greet him with a hug, still slightly confused.

“Ma’am Shawn is waiting for you downstairs!” He says holding his arm out for me. We walk downstairs, and out of the hotel through a side entrance. As we exited the building I saw a limo sitting on the street and as I got closer Shawn got out of the Limo, walking up to me. The suit on his body fitting him so perfectly. Navy blue with a white button up underneath, perfect for his skin tone. His hair bouncing back and forth on his head as he walked, maybe I wouldn’t remind him to cut his hair. Fuck he looked so good. His grin from ear to ear, and the blush on his cheeks so contagious I felt my own cheeks start to heat up.

“Babyyyyy.” He says in a raspy tone as I walk towards him, he holds his hand out to me. I get close enough to take it, he instantly pulls me into him. Kissing me hard, his hands finding my waist. He suddenly takes my hand stepping away from me and turning me in a circle as he does.

“Damn baby, you look stunning.” He says quietly, somehow still capable of giving me butterflies.

“Me? Look at you! I say squeezing his bicep that was tight in his suit jacket. We both head for the limo, both laughing at how obsessed with each other we are. We cuddle up in the backseat, making out like a couple of teenager under the bleachers. It felt so good though, everything always felt good when I was with him. Finally we pull away from each other and he smiles down at me clearing his throat.

“So, Marco is going to take us somewhere special.” He tells me as his thumb cleans up my lipstick that’s smudged from our make out session. Then he slowly tucks a stray hair behind my ear. I hum in response, not really caring where we go, as long as I was with him.

The limo starts to drive over cobblestone and I look out the window and I notice were nearing the Eiffel Tower. I start to smile up at Shawn. Once we arrive, Shawn takes my hand helping me out of the car. Marco soon finding us and taking us to the same exact entrance as a few years ago. He unlocks the gate and I stay silent not asking any questions, but I know he has something planned. He brings me to the bench where we sat last time in front of the Eiffel Tower, this time food and flowers displayed in front of the bench on a large blanket.

“I thought a picnic at the Eiffel Tower might be nice.” He says shyly. I shake my head at him, kissing him instantly. He over did himself.

We sit down on the blanket and start to eat some of the food, and drink the wine. Taking in the beautiful scenery. Memories of our last experience in this exact spot dancing in the back of my brain.

“You did so good tonight at your show.” I tell him as I take a sip from my wine glass.

“It was so much fun, I feel really good today.” He says smiling at me.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Everything. My job is amazing. My fans are incredible. But mostly, you. You make everything so easy.” His tone gets a little more serious. He talks like this all the time to me but something felt different, serious, this time. He slowly starts to stand up, hold his hand out to help me on my feet as well.

“Lets dance, its kind of a tradition now.” He laughs as he starts to play Cant Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The song he sang to me the last time we were hear. My heart pounds just thinking about it. We sway to the song as he hums softly. His hand gently on my waist, I rest my head softly on his chest. His heart was beating so hard, I could feel it against my cheek. I look up at him and scrunch my eyebrows together, wondering why he’s so nervous right now. All of a sudden he gets down on one knee in front of me. I can’t breathe and I feel like I might faint. He takes my hands in his, looking up at me with the softest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Y/N, two years ago we danced in this exact spot. That was the exact moment I knew I wanted to love you forever. I also almost lost you shortly after that, which made me really understand what you meant to me. Two years later, and nothing has changed. You mean everything to me. The fact that I get to call you mine makes me feel like the luckiest man in the entire world. I want to spend my whole life making memories with you. Y/N, will you marry me?” he proposes, opening a grey box to show me the huge diamond ring inside.”

“Yes, oh my god Shawn. Yes!” I squeal with tears streaming down my face as he slides the ring on the my finger. I hold my hand out obsessed with the ring already. He stands taking my face in his hands and kissing me hard. Our tears mixing together as we celebrate getting engaged. He pulls away, both of us breathing heavily.

“I cant wait to spend forever with you.” He says quietly.

“I love you so much, Shawn.”

“I love you too, my Angel.”

He rest his forehead on mine as we stand there for a moment enjoying the thoughts of where we had been and what’s to come. Radiating happiness knowing that we had found true love in each other.

a/n: I love writing this series! I'm already writing another Shawn X Reader series, but I want to take request for awhile before I start posting a new series! So send any ideas my way! Thanks guys!

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic

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goonlalagoon · 5 years

Text

Close the door (but don’t forget) || Wayward Children/Narnia

I read Seanan McGuire’s Every Heart a Doorway this morning and immediately had a deep need for Narnia cross-over fic, and figured I’d try writing something of my own before going in search of it!

(Read on Ao3)

When Susan Pevensie was in her teens (for the second time), her parents took her with them on a trip to America.

Her older brother was spending the break with the kindly old professor they had met and befriended as evacuees, where he was being coached through his revision and spending long evenings trading stories of the fantastical worlds they had travelled to as children. Her younger siblings had been condemned to a holiday with their prim and proper aunt and uncle, their horror of a cousin, where they were bored out of their minds until they were swept up in an adventure that took them back home, for a while at least.

Susan went to America, where she could be a polite society lady, because she was pretty and polite and already so grown up for her age, because she wasn't bright enough to merit the time of a professor to help her with her studies.

Once, Susan had been a queen - she had been the diplomat to her brother's general, the High King and High Queen of Narnia reading the same documents and navigating the same political minefields. She had been smart enough, there, but then she'd had tutors who didn't care that she was a girl, who taught her things she wanted to know not things she didn't care about, who taught her things that were about the mantle of responsibility settled over her shoulders.

She did well enough at school, back in England, but she was no academic and she found it hard to care about most of it. Her parents weren't too worried, because she had impeccable manners and the lightest touch with social engagements, a knack for soothing ruffled feathers, a way of speaking and smiling as though every person in the room was the single most important there. She had been taught that all, once upon a time, and she seethed when the boys at her brothers' school muttered about shallow girls. She hadn't seethed when Peter said something similar in one of their frequent arguments, just looked at him long and cold before asking mildly if he had a spare horse for her to ride, if he could take her to an archery range on a whim, or if he had managed to turn the Christmas row brewing at the table awry so that their mother didn't burst into tears over some hateful comment while she hid in the kitchen so as not to make a scene.

It was a while away yet, but her parents weren’t too worried about her future. They planned for her to find a nice husband with a stable income, but Susan wasn't sure she would be able to stand to be a wife not a consort, after a now lost adulthood spent weighing the needs of her country alongside her own.

She stepped out at the informal get togethers and scheduled parties with a perfect smile, nibbled daintily at the buffets and sat so that her skirts didn't wrinkle. She made friendly conversation and tried to ignore the bit of her mind that was noting it all down in Narnian shorthand, ready to pass to her spymaster younger brother to follow up on. She pretended, firmly, that she was just memorising things to write to her siblings about, to giggle over with them when she got home.

They stayed for a while with a friend of her father's, from the war, and she was halfway through another polite, meaningless enquiry when the girl before her in the horrifically clashing skirt and blouse cheerfully interrupted her to demand to know where she’d gone, what her real home was like.

Susan was deciphering this odd statement when their host sighed, and hissed an admonishment.

"Eleanor!" Looking horribly embarrassed, the woman turned to the bemused Pevensies. "I'm sorry, my daughter has a somewhat...overactive imagination. She's asking about your favourite game of pretend."

Susan was already watching, with a touch of disbelief, for the hidden flinch so caught the secretive smile, and felt her heart quicken. Her parents were already laughing, and talking about the games she and her siblings were forever playing after the war. Her pulse was a roaring in her ears, because she knew the look in Eleanor West's eyes as well as the other girl could see into hers, because her own well meaning mother was saying "...some fantastical thing with talking animals and unicorns, where was it set darling?"

"Narnia," she murmured, voice perfectly light, inconsequential, "we called it Narnia." Her parents nodded, unconcerned, and they were all chuckling over the vivid imaginations of children and her pulse was screaming in her ears, and then the girl before her was looping and arm through hers and tugging her towards the door, asking permission to be excused so she could show Susan the grounds for a bit and leave the adults to it.

By unspoken agreement, as soon as they were safely out of sight they ran, feet pounding the grass and breath heaving. Susan was wearing a pretty dress, but like all her clothes it was cut to allow free movement, her shoes pretty and polished but flat and buckled, practical.

(Many people had or would call Susan practical over her lifetime, and they were right - practicality was what she had had, a child stranded in a war, three siblings and a kingdom to protect, fur coats taken from a wardrobe that opened into a frozen world)

They ducked into a shadowed copse of trees, and Susan wasn't surprised to find a well worn patchwork picnic blanket tucked into a hollow. Eleanor unfolded it with a flourish and flopped down.

"Sorry," she said brightly, "but it looked like that was hurting you so I thought we should leave." Susan lowered herself to the blanket as well, trying to find her equilibrium again.

"Where - " her voice was a dry rasp, and she swallowed down the rest of the question, but the other girl beamed.

"Oh, there's a door to a nonsense land in the grounds. I'd take you through but - I don't think you could." Susan closed her eyes, hope she hadn't meant to let herself feel dying before it had really begun. Of course she couldn't slip through a door again - she'd been told that the way home was closed to her, she knew, so why should any others be open? A hand found hers, squeezing gently.

"Hey," said Ely, "hey, no, I don't mean - the doors only let certain people through, when it's the right way for them. To go to mine you have to, you have to be full of nonsense too, and I don't think that it's the same for yours? I don’t think that’s you, unless you’re really good at hiding it. But...I could show you my paintings, if you like?"

Susan took a shaky breath. She knew the fragility of that kind of memory, what it took to offer it up in good faith. She smiled.

"I'd like that. I'm no good with a pencil or brush, but I remember a few Narnian poems and stories."

(Most days, she told herself she didn't - that these snippets were from half-forgotten old books, ones she'd found in the library at school or in the house they'd been sent to in the evacuation, but the look in Ely's eyes was like that in her reflection, in her siblings’ gazes, and that made it okay to offer up the memories in all their soap bubble fragility)

They became friends, to their parents’ collective slight confusion and genuine delight. Susan would write to Ely every other month for the rest of her life, a clockwork correspondence that didn't falter even as Susan started trying to forget. Ely was getting older, was learning that every time she slipped back through her portal it would be harder, clinging to the memories every time all the same.

She wrote Susan the day she returned to her parents house for the last time, tears staining the page and the whole envelope stuffed with remembered paintings and sketches. Susan had stopped writing about Narnia, about adventures and other worlds, months before, but she wrote back with calm assurances and warm, heartfelt sympathy, and nothing about stories and whimsy and how bright Ely's imagination was.

This was what Susan's siblings didn't have the time to learn to understand; forgetting Narnia wasn't the passage of time, some intrinsic drift from the surety they had once shared. It was a choice. It was a decision. It was a banished girl saying: fine, this is the world in which I must stay, so it is where I will live. Peter could still believe he would make it back, Edmund could cling to the promise of one day, they both could live with that hope and not suffocate under it because they were allowed to be leaders and soldiers or scholars or athletes, could shout and expect to be heard here. Lucy could do it because Lucy burned with it, because she walked in whimsy and made it an armour, a challenge, and Susan didn't know how to that for herself.

Susan had a desk job and a knack for writing personalised thank you notes. She had the memory of bowstrings and strands of a lion's mane tangled in her fingers, and she buried it away because she couldn't live on dreams. She had been told to walk away. She had been told that she wasn’t going to be allowed the choice of whether or not to stay.

The last time she spoke to her sister, one evening over the phone, Lucy mentioned something to do with Narnia. She asked if Su had felt the call, the need, the danger to their home - and Susan would never be quite sure if she had lied when she said no. She had felt the call ever since Caspian blew her horn to call them back, because it had never gone away. It had settled in her bones and marrow, a desperate scream for a place she could never reach. She had laughed about the games they had played and recited a bit of remembered poetry, about the sunlight on the waves at Cair Paravell, that had been one of Lucy's favourites.

She would recite it at the funeral, not long after. She would write them all out, every recollected scrap, and sent them to Ely for safekeeping, because she couldn't stand to remember but she couldn't stand to let it all go either.

She moved to America not long after, because England without her siblings felt hollow, and because Ely's parents had passed away too and there was comfort in sympathetic company. Ely had plans for her house and grounds, and Susan helped - well. Ely had dreams, more like, and Susan pinned them down into plans, paperwork, into a framework that could actually work. She taught reading and comprehension, officially, and unofficially mentored on manners and the art of being a hostess. One of their earliest wayward children had fingers that itched for a remembered bowstring, and when Susan picked up a bow for the first time since she'd stepped through a doorway back to a train platform she felt something in her heart break and settle.

They helped lost children, but Susan was watching more for the ones who were looking for a way to re-mould themselves and Ely was looking for the ones with hope, the ones who would die rather than forget. There were frequent conflicts, until Susan marched into their shared office one day after breaking up a particularly vicious fight to lay out a new plan.

They had savings, and more to the point Ely had inherited a second house, far enough away not to overlap but close enough. Susan would move there, and take the ones who needed to forget, to move on, or at least learn to pretend they had. Ely would keep the ones who needed to remember, even if they also had to learn to pretend they hadn't.

(Regularly, Susan would get students who demanded to know how exactly she thought she could help them when she was stuck running a school for the wayward. Sometimes she went cold and regal, othertimes she went soft with smiles, depending what they needed from her. She always told them the truth; because she knew what it was to want to forget but be unable to, and now that she could no longer stand to forget she could at least help others move on)

They wrote each other every other month, like clockwork. They couldn't meet often, with children in their care, but whenever they did they compared the signs of age. Ely was ageing slowly. Susan aged at a normal pace, but elegantly, soft graduations. She was thinking about possible replacements before Ely had even thought about acquiring spectacles.

When Susan eventually passed away, Ely would read Narnian poetry at her funeral, would tell a congregation who had for the most part never known them stories about the other Pevensie children, because this had been what scared Susan most - not that she would forget Narnia, but that she would forget her siblings, that she would remember only the parts of themselves they showed the rest of the world and not the parts that had mattered most.

Some time later, her own nephew would disappear and return in the space of a thunderclap, unchanged except for the ways he knew himself better, now, and would be sent to her by horrified parents with whom Ely would have many long, frustrating rows. Kade was still settling into his skin, stinging and smarting from being thrown out of Prism, from being sent away by his parents who couldn't see him as clearly as a goblin had as it died at the other end of his sword.

He was burying himself in books and stories, the records she’d made of all the world’s she’d heard of, so she gathered up a sheaf of papers covered in an elegant hand, stories of a world through the back of a wardrobe and songs to which Ely didn't know the tune. She knocked on his door and set her offering down next to him, safely away from the steaming cocoa by his other elbow, a fragile gift from one hand to another.

Years later, he would tell her that the Lord of the Dead said that even those who never found a door home found their way once they were nothing but spirit. He didn’t need to ask why her paintings that evening were of golden lions and sunlight on waves at the foot of a castle neither of them had ever seen.

#Wayward Children #Narnia #Narnia/Wayward children crossover #Every heart a doorway #my writing #Susan Pevensie #Ely West #tw for mentions of transphobia in last couple of paragraphs #(vague)#tw for loss & grief #It's Susan Pevensie centric #I'm not sure really where this one ended up?#I was sort of planning for it to focus much more on the whole running the wayward school part of things #but it ended up mostly being Susan #I'm okay with that #Uhhhh minor spoilers for Every Heart a Doorway and Beneath the Sugar Sky?

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thepinkcar · 6 years

Note

Wedding imagine

Sorry it took so long! The past month has been crazy and I really wanted this to be good. Here you are:

Minnesota

pairing: reader x timothée chalamet

words: 967

A winter wedding had been what your mother had always wanted. She found something charming about the way Minnesota snow looked in deep December. You’d come to crave it too—the twinkling Christmas lights peeking through snow-covered roofs and snow piling between the deep slopes of a menorah.

Now you sat in your dressing room watching guests walk into the large tent while snowy mountains sat in the background. You’re heart fluttered with glee.

“Y/N you’re glowing!” Tatiana squealed, taking a makeup brush and making random strokes across your cheeks.

“I just feel so happy,” you sighed. “I’m finally going to marry him. The apple of my eye…”

“The Northern Light of your Svalbard,” your other friend Cleo swooned, landing in a chair next you. You and Tatiana gave her a side eye and she shrugged. “Norway? You know, the auroras borealis? They happen, like, once a year?”

You both continued to stare at Cleo and she sighed, slumping into her seat. “Nevermind. You should feel excited though. Timothée’s quite the catch.”

“And he’s mega hot,” Tatiana added, picking up a tube of liquid lipstick. “Like, it’s unreal.”

“And he has a huge heart!”

“And probably a huge—“

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting away Tatiana’s prodding fingers. She scoffed, trying to hide a smirk.

“I was gonna say a huge, um… Cleo what else is huge?”

Cleo tapped a finger against her lips in deep thought, hanging upside down from her seat. “I’d say smile.”

“Exactly.”

“Well it doesn’t matter what you were going to say. Nothing could make me stop feeling this happy,” you replied, twisting the engagement ring on your finger.

“What if he died before you got to walk down the aisle,” Cleo suggested listlessly. You and Tatiana gasped.

“Cleo!”

“What? It’s a reasonable question. Tim’s probably got some sort of bounty on his head. Don’t most famous people get assassinated?”

“No, that’s presidents,” Tatiana protested waving a mascara tube wildly.

“Who cares? That’s not going to happen. Besides we’re near cliffs and mountains and forest. Not even the paps couldn’t find us if they wanted to,” you said calmly, a sly grin creeping its way onto your lips. “They’d freeze to death before they could.”

There was a systematic knock on the door before it opened to reveal your father dressed in his best suit. “Y/N they’re ready.”

You rise slowly, your lace dress falling elegantly at your hips and draping to the floor as you slowly took a step towards the door. Tatiana bit her lip and glanced a white flower arrangement in the corner.

“Y/N wait!”

She hurriedly snatched a flower and tucked it gingerly into your hair before stepping back with a smile. “Beautiful. How could you not be happy when you look this beautiful?” You felt the corner of your eyes sting and you pulled her into a tight hug. Cleo walked over and joined you and after a minute you all let go, eyes moist but make up in tact. Cleo handed you a bouquet of blue and white flowers.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Cleo whispered giving a small encouraging fist pump. You snicker and follow your dad out of the dressing room and into the tent.

When you saw Timothée at the end of the aisle you could barely find your breath. When the first note of music played you began to wonder if you’d ever find it again. Timothée smiled knowingly as the beginning of Can’t Help Falling in Love played while you walked with your dad down the aisle.

His nose and cheeks were tinged rose by the time you met him at the end of the aisle. You didn’t take your eyes off of him for the rest of the ceremony and he had no intention of doing so either. You both finally pulled away from each other’s gaze at the mention of your vows.

You watched in amusement as Timothée anxiously rummaged in his tux pocket for his paper, his dark curls falling into his face.

“Timmy, breathe,” you whispered, biting back the urge to smooth his hair back. “It’s just little ol’ me.” Timothée took a deep breath and carefully revealed a tightly folded slip of paper. He quickly opened it and sighed before looking up.

“I considered for a while when we decided we were writing our vows to just come up and ad lib. Thankfully some good friends of mine reminded me why I shouldn’t,” he said with a chuckle, nervously running a hand through his hair.

“Damn straight!” The audience laughed when Timothée finger-gunned the culprit. He chuckled nervously again, his anxious eyes looking back at the paper.

“Uh, Y/N. The day I first met you shouldn’t have happened at all. I was visiting an old friend of mine who had returned to their home town in Minnesota in a quarter life calling to “find themselves.” Like any good friend I went to check on them to see how they were doing in the midst of their life crisis.

“I meant to visit for a couple of days and before I knew it I was there for two weeks exploring this small town in Minnesota. Everyday I’d visit an old cider shop that was only open during the fall and sit there for hours in my thoughts watching people go by.

“Then one day Y/N came in a harried frenzy, hair disheveled and carrying three different bags filled with god knows what. In her effort to accomplish this balancing act, she dropped one of them, leaving a sea of books to spill across the floor.

“I rushed over at the opportunity to talk to her and helped to pick them up. That’s when I saw her art journal flipped open, page after page filled with the most beautiful drawings I had ever been given the pleasure to witness.

“But there was one drawing that caught my eye in particular before I returned the journal. It was a young man sitting alone at a table, staring somewhere to the left with a small cup of cider in his hand.” The guests hummed in excitement and Timothée grinned, closing his paper slightly.

“It was me. I didn’t think anyone that passed through the shop had bothered to acknowledge me, and it was really touching that someone did. Especially since that someone was you.” You blushed, your cheeks beginning to ache from how hard you had been smiling.

“I like thinking about that day because it brought me to you. I shouldn’t have been in Minnesota, but now I can’t imagine having never met you. Y/N I love you and I think you’re it for me. I’m not a fate guy by any means, but I know that if fate did truly exist you would be me soulmate and it would be an honor to marry you.”

You didn’t realize that you’d started to cry until you felt a tear hit the back of your hand. Timothée’s eyes were beginning to water the longer he watched you, and you were tempted to skip your vows if it meant you were allowed to touch him sooner.

You went on to say your vows, telling your side of the same story, ending it with “There’s a poem I’ve always loved that I think says exactly how I feel—

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

Tim, I hope you’ll let me be your air, and that you’ll be willing to become mine. I can’t imagine life without you.” By the end of it, Timothée had started crying as much as you were.

The two of you couldn’t say ‘I do’ fast enough when Timothée finally pulled you in for the kiss, dipping you back dramatically. You snickered at the gesture but pulled him in tighter, feeling him lift you off your feet and carry back down the aisle.

#I hope it was worth the wait #wedding au #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet #request #submit #call me by your name #beautiful boy

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not-close-to-straight · 6 years

Text

Letters to Bucky (Final)

MASTERLIST HERE

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

To Master Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes

--Welcome home Bucky Baby.

--This is your side of the bed. Stay off my side. It's mine and I don't like people touching my things. (On a related note, the next time Hammer tries to touch you I'm probably going to break his hand. Goes right along with the whole--I don't like people touching my things.)

--However, I will always sleep on your side, because I like to be close to my things, and you'll have to deal with the cuddles that come with that.

--Feel free to use as many pillows as you want, I won't need any, now that you're home.

--It's a tough life, having to share a bed, but I'm happy to work through these hard times with you

--Tony

--PS hard times are gonna start as soon as I get back so get naked soldier. Hard Times are just code for sex.

--PPS. I love you, Bucky. You can say it as much as you want now. Please say it as much as you want. I love you. Love you love you love you

Bucky set the letter back down on the nightstand in Tony's room, laughing because every one of those ridiculous pillows were piled on “his” side of the bed. Tony's was empty, except for the Bucky Bear that sat against the headboard.

He reached into his pack and pulled out his Tony bear that had finally arrived with the rest of his boxes from Afghanistan, and tucked it right next to the other, their paws touching, and set the bottle of Gun Oil lube between them.

The he stripped out of his clothes, took a long absolutely thorough shower, and stretched out on the bed to wait for Tony to get back to the penthouse.

Right after landing in New York almost three weeks ago, he and Steve had been taken in for questioning regarding his captivity, Steve's rescue, and how they were both coping after being juiced with the serum.

Most of the questions were for Bucky, especially when it came to his new arm, and he had impatiently repeated his story to anyone who wanted to hear it.

He was anxious to get home and see his family, who had just barely been told he’d been found alive. Anxious to get some real food, since he wasn't a fan of what they had served in Germany. And more than anything else he was anxious to see Tony.

When they had had to go their separate ways, take separate flights in Germany, Tony had pulled him aside for a private moment before boarding.

Pressing a long kiss against Bucky’s lips, Tony had said quietly, “I expect you home soon. And I mean home with me. Penthouse. A bed with thousands of pillows. A view of the city. Our bears kissing on the dresser. I expect you to come home. Soon .”

“Call me home, Tony.” Bucky had whispered, quoting the poem he had written Tony over a year ago and wrapping both arms around him, “Call me home and don't doubt for a second that I won't come running.”

And almost three weeks after they had last seen each other, after Bucky had got to spend close to two weeks at his parents home, a sleek black car had pulled up in front of the old house.

A friendly man had stepped out, introduced himself as ‘Happy, Mr. Stark’s personal driver’ and told Bucky that Mr Stark had insisted it was time for the soldier to come home.

Bucky had kissed his family goodbye, tossed his bag in the back of the expensive vehicle and climbed in.

And here he was.

Bucky pulled the sheet up over his hips and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence, enjoying the soft scent of Tony that permeated the bed.

And before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

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

“I want you.” Tony said softly, gently running his fingers down the cold metal on Bucky's left side. “Is that alright?”

Bucky blinked the sleep from his eyes, focusing quickly on a very naked Tony sitting cross legged on the side of the bed.

“Why wouldn't it be alright, honey?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep. “You gave me fair warning in your letter. Hard times start when you get home?”

Tony smirked a little. “Yeah, fair warning is right. But I want you. Want to have you. Want to--”

“Yes.” Bucky nodded his head. “Always yes.”

“I'm glad you’re home.” Tony said, pulling the sheet down and watching in fascination as Bucky’s heavy cock started plumping up under his gaze. “I missed you.”

“I'm glad I'm home too.” Bucky shifted against the mattress as he grew harder, watching Tony lick his lips, watching those dark eyes glaze over with want.

“Did you want to shower? Do you need anything?” Tony was asking mostly to be polite, as he was already coaxing Bucky onto his stomach, onto all fours.

“No, baby, I’m ready for you.” Bucky pushed back against Tony's searching fingers, dropping his head and moaning loudly at the welcome pressure against his entrance.

Tony poured lube all over his hand, all over the cleft between Bucky’s cheeks, and moved further inside, pressing soft kisses all over Bucky’s back and shoulders as he went, taking his time to stretch him.

“You don't have to work so hard.” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips back. “Want to feel every bit of you. Come on, Tony. Let me feel you.”

“God dammit, Bucky.” Tony pulled his fingers free, reaching for a condom, but Bucky shook his head. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as anything, sweetheart.” was the answer, and Tony tossed the condom across the room, stroking a hand roughly, lining himself up.

Bucky was so hot inside, and it was all Tony could do to not slam all the way in, all he could do not to push too hard too soon. He tried, he tried to go slow, but Bucky never stopped moaning, never stopped panting, never stopped pushing back against every thrust, every roll of Tony's hips.

“You’re so good like this.” Tony whispered, and the shiver that went through Bucky’s body made him tighten clear through where to Tony was so deep inside him.

“So good.” Bucky repeated, and urged Tony faster, for more. “I can take it baby, want to take it. Want all of you.”

So Tony gave in, holding onto Bucky’s hips and pounding into him, scratching nails down his back and shifting in short little thrusts until he found a spot that had Bucky nearly sobbing, clawing at the bed sheets, fucking forward into his own fist.

They rocked together, cries and groans filling the bedroom, hips slapping together, breath growing ragged until Tony couldn't wait any longer, and buried himself as far as he could, as deep into all that sweet heat as he could be, shouting Bucky’s name as he spent himself inside his soldier.

Bucky followed shortly after, collapsing onto the bed, making a mess of the blankets and sheets, and entirely unable to care as his pulse skyrocketed, and his vision went black with pure pleasure.

Tony lay over him, kissing every inch of skin he could reach, until Bucky was shivering from the over sensitivity. Then Tony lifted himself free, slipping away just long enough to get a couple towels to clean up with, fitting himself back between Becky's legs once he had rolled over and they were face to face.

Bucky tucked Tony's head against his chest, running his hands down his back in possessive circles, waiting for their breathing to slow down, for their heart rates to return to normal.

“You didn't say it.” Tony said over a shudder as Bucky's hands got close to his ass.. “I said it and you didn't.”

“You wrote it.” Bucky countered, kneading over the soft curve with his right hand, holding Tony's hip with his left. “But you’re right, I didn't. I wanted to be looking into your eyes the first time.”

He tugged at Tony until he sat up, then brushed strong fingers over his cheekbones and jaw. “I love you, Tony. I have for so long now. I'm glad the timing is finally right, glad we can finally say it.”

“I love you too.” Tony wiped away a tear from Bucky's face, and Bucky did the same to him, catching the drop as it fell. “I have for...for so long. Seems like forever.” He scooted up until their lips met, and kissed Bucky until the soldier was gasping for breath, shifting his hips as his arousal spiked again.

“Tony.” Bucky groaned, and Tony moved even further up, spreading his legs to straddle him.

“Show me soldier.” He gripped the metal arm hard, and Bucky's eyes widened. “Show me that you love me.”

“Show you right now? Again?”

“Show me always.” Tony corrected, and couldn't hide his smile when Bucky flipped him over onto his back, sliding up his body until their foreheads touched.

“I'll show you forever.” he promised. “Say yes, Tony.”

“Yes. Always yes.”

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

Epilogue

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

“So have you given any thought to when you want to start training again?” Steve was sipping a cup of coffee, sitting comfortably in the kitchen of the penthouse. “You feeling better after being home, or what?”

Bucky and Tony exchanged a look and Tony frowned.“Training for what? What are you talking about? Bucky received a Purple Heart and an honorable discharge from the military. What training?”

“Well, the super soldier program has been sort of disbanded.” Steve explained. “I think what happened with Bucky really freaked everyone out. But there are already six of us, so there is talk of forming a separate unit with just the program participants. Won't really operate under military jurisdiction since other than me, no one else is active duty, so we will kind of be our own thing.”

“Sorry, six of you?” Tony interrupted. “Did you say six?”

“Uh yeah. There is Bucky and I, of course.” Steve counted off of his fingers. “A kid from the Air Force named Sam Wilson. An expert marksman, code name Hawkeye. Apparently he grew up in the circus, it's pretty crazy. A ballerina from Russia, who also happens to be trained as a super spy. She volunteered for the program, then defected this way. Sounds incredibly lethal. They call her Black Widow.”

“Yikes.” Bucky commented and Tony nodded, eyes wide.

“Seriously. And the sixth?”

“Well apparently they are still working on tracking him down, but he is a scientist who has this crazy mutation and roids out into a giant green monster.”

“You’re lying. A giant green monster?” Bucky accused. “I don't believe that.”

Steve shrugged. “I'm really not. If you had read the briefings instead of...doing that---” he waved towards Tony. “You would be up to speed on it all.”

Bucky grinned, patting at Tony's ass teasingly. “Not sorry.”

“Yeah I know.” Steve raised his eyebrows, but his smile was gentle. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“I don't love this idea.” Tony said quietly, and Bucky reached for him, pulling him down into his lap and wrapping his left arm around him securely.

“Honey, I'm a soldier, I will always be a soldier. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you’re my soldier.” Tony argued. “I want you safe. Home.”

“And I'm always going to be YOUR soldier.” Bucky assured him. “But I can't turn down this chance, baby. We could really change the world, a team of super soldiers like this.”

“And you know, Tony.” Steve added. “I know you don't love war or anything like that, but there is always room for an inventor on the team. You could design our weapons and our armor, and we could have a compound built that you can have free run over. It could be really good.”

Tony took a long drink of his coffee, his dark eyes sparking with interest. “Can I have my own theme song? Because I already have one in mind. Black Sabbath wrote some really good music.” he hummed a few bars. “I want theme music.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the table. “If we were doing theme music-- and I can assure you, I'm not signing off on that--I think Bucky would be better suited to have ‘Iron Man’ as a theme, don't you think?”

“You can have it, sweet thing.” Bucky conceded, rubbing their noses together. “And don't listen to Steve. He's a stick in the mud but he's a good guy. You can have all the theme music you want.”

“Even the Iron Man song?”

“Even the Iron Man song.”

#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #the avengers #kind of

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atamascolily · 6 years

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A Natural History of Tatooine, part 25/?

In which Jedi Talent Night is full of surprises, Mara all but screams "Notice me, sempai" and Luke completely misses the point yet again.

(Previous installments)

True to Corran's predictions, everyone except Mara was excited when Luke announced the next day that Talent Night was a go. The weeks leading up to the performance were noteworthy for the furtive whispers and glances as the students planned their acts in secret, and faint strains of music could be heard coming from their quarters at odd hours.

The students' distraction--not to mention some of the teachers--was evident in their lessons. Luke was sure this was one reason why Mara detested Talent Night so much. Still, he found himself looking forward to it as the appointed day drew closer.

"Are you going to perform?" Callista asked him one evening as they readied for bed.

"Me? No." Luke shook his head. "I'm not against it, but I don't feel like I have any particular talents."

"I strongly disagree with that," Callista said, making a seductive gesture with her fingers.

"I mean, sharing on stage," he corrected, though he couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm thinking about it..." she said. "'Got to show those young whippersnapers who's boss, after all,'" she said, adopting the whiny growl of a popular Tondorian comic artist from the Clone War era whose holos they had been watching together.

He laughed. "Well, I'm sure you'll give them all a run for their money."

But she refused to share any details, insisting that it would ruin the surprise.

So it was with no small amount of curiosity that he arrived at the meditation hall on the appointed evening to discover the cushions lining the walls had been re-arranged in loose semi-circles to create a kind of stage at the center of the room. Three folding screens had been set on either side of the room to create a makeshift backstage. Dorsk 81, who had improbably volunteered to be MC, was fiddling with a set of voice amplification devices from a stool tucked away to one side of the stage.

Kirana Ti hit the han as if it were time for meditation as the community filed in and took their seats, laughing and joking amongst each other as they settled down. Luke couldn't help but smile at their easy camaraderie, and glanced pointedly at Mara when she took her place on his left side. She ignored him, blank on the surface and tightly wound underneath, any other emotions obscured by that massive wall she'd constructed in her mind. She was the only one besides Luke wearing formal robes, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was making a statement.

Instead, he turned to Callista, sitting on his other side. She wore a light blue dress and leggings worthy of any lounge singer on this side of the mid-Rim. "Don't you have to get ready?"

"I'm performing towards the end," she said. "Tionne wanted to be last."

Mara pursed her lips at this exchange, but said nothing.

On stage, Dorsk 81 cleared his throat, which vibrated through the room with the amplification. "All right, gentlebeings," he said in his calm, accented Basic. "It's Talent Night, and you all know what that means - a chance for everyone to show off all the skills we've acquired that have nothing to do with lifting rocks or staring at walls for hours on end."

There was a ripple of affectionate laughter from the audience at this.

"Be kind, cheer on your fellow students and teachers, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show." He paused and added, as if an afterthought. "And nobody set anything on fire this time, okay? Once was enough. That said, there are fire extinguishers at the ready backstage and please make sure you know where all the exits are, keeping in mind that the best one is usually behind you."

More laughter from the crowd.

"Good. May the Force be with us all. All right, opening up the evening is our very own favorite ex-hermit and prospector, Streen!"

Streen had befriended a number of pikka birds, whom he had trained to do simple tricks with a combination of his Force talents and very generous bribes of fruit and nutmeats. He beamed at the applause at the end of his routine, and his birds swooped away out of the meditation hall at his whistle, earning him one last round of cheers before he departed the stage.

Up next was Cilghal, who recited an excerpt from the Mon Calamari epic poem, The Myriad Wonders of the Great Mother Ocean. Cilghal was an excellent orator, but Luke the journey of the Small One as she made her way to consult the Oracle of the Hidden Reef less than engaging, and his attention wandered during the lengthy Catalogue of Fishes.

It probably made more sense in the original language, he decided.

Kirana Ti and Traitakh's offering was not so sedate. The two accomplished warriors presented a paired skills demo with live weapons that had everyone spellbound. Even though it had clearly been choreographed to show off their best moves--Luke was certain Traitakh would never indulge in a spinning kick in a serious fight--it was impressive. He made a mental note to ask Traitakh about it next time he was in the dojo.

After that, Kam, Aerial and Wedan presented a series of abstract shadow puppetry, while G'ata the Bith tootled away on a kloo horn. Luke wasn't sure how this combination had come together, but he was pleased to see Kam working so well with the newer students. He sent a pointed glance at Mara, as if to say, See what good things can come from Talent Night?, which of course she ignored.

Dorsk 81 had prepared a comedy routine, although Luke suspected a sense of humor did not come naturally to him. Coming from an orderly, predictable world where asexual cloning was the normal mode of reproduction and individuality was not encouraged, Dorsk 81's comic timing was skewed differently from the galactic standards. Judging from the sheer number of Corellian jokes--most of which Luke had heard from Han back in the old days--he suspected Corran had been heavily involved in preparing his apprentice for the stage.

"That's my cue," Callista said, as Dorsk 81 finished his routine to polite, but not enthusiastic applause. She got to her feet and threaded her way through the audience as Kyp Durron sauntered onto the stage. He was dressed entirely in black, sporting a ridiculous top hat and velvet-lined cape that Lando had no doubt encouraged him to purchase during his recuperation on Coruscant after the Exar Kun debacle.

This year, Kyp had prepared another magic act, but he'd toned down his performance considerably after last year's unanticipated pyrotechnics, offering card tricks and sleight-of-hand that he'd picked up from Lando. After showing there was nothing up his sleeve, he pulled a ysalamir out of his hat, to the delight of his fellow students.

"Amateur!" Mara coughed under her breath, unimpressed. "If you watch his hands instead of his big mouth, you can see him palm that damn lizard right at the beginning. If he's going to spend all his time practicing, he ought to get it right--"

Kyp's fascination with prestidigitation had started while under house arrest on Coruscant for several weeks with a ysalamiri nutrient frame tied to his back to keep him from using his considerable Force powers to cause trouble. After endless rounds of sabacc with Han and Lando had grown stale, the two ex-smugglers had started teaching him simple tricks, and he'd been fascinated by sleight of hand ever since. By the time Mara had arrived to take over his training, she'd found him contrite, repetant, and prone to pulling flowers out behind her ears at the slightest opportunity. She harassed him endlessly for it--but more for his poor form than out of distate for the medium, Luke noted.

Happily, Kyp had calmed down considerably under her caustic tutelage, and had stayed firmly on the straight and narrow path after his near-disastrous brush with the Dark Side and the wild rampage that had nearly taken out the uneti trees. If a fascination with card tricks would keep him from flirting with the Dark Side again, Luke was all for it.

Then it was Callista's turn. She sauntered on stage, a vocal amplifier in hand, and as the music kicked up, Luke couldn't help but break into a grin. Her performance--a rendition of Peckie Blue and the Starboys' greatest hit, "Cosmic Lover" that was one of their mutuals favorites--soon had everyone rocking and swaying in their seats except for Mara, who sat rigidly upright.

"Oooooo," Callista crooned on the chorus.

"And nobody loves you Like I love you, Cosmic lover, We belong together Ain't no distance too vast to hide me When you look at me like you want me Cosmic lover I'll love you forever now that you are mine..."

Luke didn't need to turn his head to feel Mara stiffen beside him as if she'd been hit in the face, though nothing in her posture changed. He sneaked a glance in her direction, but her expression was still neutral--but the intensity in her mental projections had thickened and strengthened to absorb the brunt of her reaction. It was as if the song had some special meaning for her that he didn't understand--

And then Mara's tension vanished. Luke blinked and realized the song was over. With applause and whistles and cheers, Callista bowed, and made her way offstage.

"Thanks, Callista for that great performance!" Dorsk 81 said, as he strolled back onto stage. "And up next--last but certainly not least--we have our very own instructor Tionne Solustar--"

"No," Mara interjected, her voice carrying through the hall without the need for amplification as she rose to her feet. "I am next."

Dorsk 81 was so surprised he put up no resistance--not that anyone could resist Mara when she was glaring at them. "Uh--whatever you say," he said, edged back offstage.

Furtive whispers ran through the audience as Mara stalked to the stage. No one had any idea what was about to happen.

What was she doing? Luke wondered. She clearly had planned this well in advance, and yet--and yet--

Onstage, Mara turned and faced the audience. She gestured to something Luke couldn't see offstage, and recorded music began to play -- a long, slow, sultry Aviden tango.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Mara pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing that she'd braided her red-gold hair off her neck in a series of interwoven loops that rivaled an Alderaani wedding crown for sheer complexity. Then as the music built, her robes slipped to the ground, and Luke inhaled sharply along with the rest of the audience at what was revealed underneath.

Mara wore a red shimmersilk strapless gown that perfectly matched the color of her hair, one that left most of her back exposed. Gold flickered through the dress as she moved, as did the circlet of pearls and gold around her neck and and the emerald bracelets that ran up her otherwise bare arms to the elbows.

Slowly, langourously, in time to the music, she extended her arm to one side, curved it, and leaned into the position, holding herself perfectly still, her expression still resolutely neutral.

And then the music picked up, and she burst into action.

Luke had forgotten that Mara's cover at the Imperial court had been as a dancer, that she'd even gone to Jabba's palace and danced for the crime lord while she plotted to kill Luke when he came to rescue Han. She rarely talked about that part of her life. He'd certainly never seen her dance before.

He discovered he'd been missing out.

The music swayed, and she rocked along with it, leaping and gliding to the right and the left, backwards and forwards with the rocking beat. He didn't know much about Aviden culture, didn't know what the song was supposed to represent, but in Mara's hands, it became a weaving of life and death and the interplay between them, as she rose like a mythical phoenix from the sky into the depths and back again.

He forgot who he was, so absorbed in the melding of music and Mara as she wove a story with her motions that there was no room for any other thoughts. Her timing was as precise and complex as in a battle, but there were no weapons, no violence, no blood, and no death. The Force was with her, and she gave herself up to it utterly.

And then, as quickly as it had began, the music slowed. Slowly, langourously, she slid into one last pose, held it as the music built to a climax - and then, silence.

Only when Mara had broken the position and made one deep bow was the spell was broken by applause and Luke was released from his trance.

"Well," Callista said in his ear. Had she been beside him the whole time? He'd been so engrossed he hadn't noticed her arrival. "Well, that was something."

Luke closed his mouth, managed to come to his senses long enough to mumble something vaguely coherent. She gave him an odd look, but let it pass, settling back down beside him on her cushion as Mara stepped behind the screens and vanished.

Dorsk 81 got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Uh, wow, that was amazing!" he said awkwardly, adjusting his bow tie as he fumbled to regain his poise. "Give it up again for Jedi Instructor Jade again!"

More whistles and cheers from the audience. Everyone, like Luke, was impressed, even if they weren't quite sure whether or not it was appropriate to show it.

Now that he was back on firmer ground, Dorsk 81's confidence returned. "And now, last but certainly not least, our very own Tionne Solustar with the latest addition to her real-time historical song cycle, 'The Ballad of Cray and Nichos'!"

Kam emerged from behind the screen with a carved wooden chair, which he placed in the center of the stage, before exiting back the way he had come. Tionne came out a few moments later, her ballichord slung over her shoulder. She settled in the chair, plucked a few strings on her ballichord to ensure it was in tune, and glanced up at the audience when she was ready.

Callista squeezed his hand. "Here we go," she said quietly. "Ready to be a hero?"

"Ready or not, here we come," he said, and then Tionne began.

Tionne was as good a songwriter as she was a musician. She stuck mostly to the facts, though privately Luke was grateful she had steered away from Cray's intense disappointment in her droid-lover's inability to help her escape from her prison aboard the Eye of Palpatine.

In the ballad, Luke and Callista and Mara were supporting characters; the real stars were Cray and Nichos. Tionne sang of the tragedy of their love, of Nichos's illness, their decision to go out together in a blaze of glory to destroy the Eye of Palpatine and save the galaxy, even as Cray gave up her body to host the benevolent Jedi spirit trapped in the computer core.

Despite his best efforts, Luke found himself tearing up. Callista, who had lived through it all, wept openly. So were most of the students. They, too, were a part of the history; they, too, would have songs written of their deeds if they were worthy and heart-felt. We will become legends to inspire those who come after us, he thought, and hopefully learn from our mistakes. What better legacy for Cray and Nichos could we have offered them?

The ballad ended with Mara rescuing Luke and a resurrected Callista, even as they mourned Cray and Nichos's sacrifice, and swore to keep their memory alive in the New Jedi Order. As Tionne strummed the finale chords, the students roared, and treated the beaming Tionne to a standing ovation. Admist the whistles and cheers, Kam returned to the stage, this time bearing a bouquet of ivory paradise-lilies, and gave his wife a passionate kiss--which made the students cheer even harder.

It was only after the tumult of applause and congratulations slowed and the audience began to disperse, that Luke realized Mara had never come back to the hall after her performance.

Then Callista said, "Luke? Are you all right?" and took his hand, and that particular thought slipped away and did not return.

#star wars #my fanfiction #fanfic excerpt #a natural history of tatooine #jedi academy shenanigans

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abraidoffrostandfelt · 6 years

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Happy 144th birthday, Harry Houdini!!!

***This is my annual little birthday tribute to HH….and since words are what i have to give these are a few Houdini themed poems i enjoyed writing during this past year…title links lead to audio, if you would prefer listen to them rather than read***

(poems are mine and read by me––and the pictures of Harry are details of images from the truly awesome Taschen Magic book, and the ones with me are from a few key HH related experiences from this past year)

a slightly unreliable narrator, writing love letters to Houdini

the story goes that there were many letters of love left in his possession and i do not know if they were answered, with words or with actions if they were left as ink and whispers, echoing unresponsive though they were kept, saved and stashed, these secrets wrapped in envelopes didn’t Harry once escape from an envelope? he probably did, though he thought these in safe security a legacy, a written competition left and lost and found by his wife when he died sweet paper, sweet envy the typeset ink and handwriting left hanging, left to anger, left to Bess and the story says she took them, freed them from Harry’s holdings, handed them back from her small hands into those of their writers’, still folded feisty and fierce, she leaves them forgotten and finds herself still well versed in the code of secrets kept and quiet, she continues, purses her lips and perseveres though i wish she had left them to history, left them sealed up, tied up, boxed up so they could surface up the headlines reading “historical emotions escape… into a new book” such a clever compiling so many Houdini letters survived and i need to read between the lines, between the magic half could be his storied notes to Bess, short and saved with their syrupy taste the other half, the secret rest, the bits bitter with forgottenness now brought back little treasures, these little fantasies of fan letters, or more flurries of what someone once felt needed to be said and he saved away, to read again another day if only he had scrapbooked them labeled and left “the many escapes of Houdini’s heart” admirers out of audiences, out of crowds looking up gasps in dark velvet seated theatres, the grasp of a seance hand, seeking something softer than truth …oh, Harry, you were, you are–uncontained… …always i will say ‘my magic man’ and mean you… …only you see through me, your sharp eyes upon me, and now before only you i am silent and shy… …i am aflutter over our kiss under the cameras you know where to find me if you want acting practice… …this is my magic and you cannot have it, though i will show you a little, some soulful sharing time to time… …fuck off, Harry, i damn well know you’re married and i can get out, and for that matter off without your help, still sometimes lend a hand… …my dearest Harry, if you should find yourself missing any keys, i found a few around the shop, have secreted them away upon my person so next time you need a trick you can play at finding them, we miss you at Martinkas… …dear Mr. Houdini, i tried to hold my breath along with you and got dizzy, then i thought you had drowned, and breathed too fast and when i passed out i dreamed of you and you were lovely both ways… oh Harry, dear Harry, please Harry, answer Harry, listen Harry, then a long pause all silence, all secrets these things never written, never read, never spoken not quite these remember what i told you back when i was truth telling some things were, though they were all disappeared

by, earthboundpixie

a collection of tiny lies

“A magic performance consists of a collection of tiny lies, in words and deeds, that are stacked and arranged ingeniously…” -Jim Steinmeyer (designer of magical illusions)

*you will have to guess the card that was in my hand–the clue is it all happened fast, so answer speak quickly

*our senses say that magic breaks the rules, and that is wrong–magic is made by knowing all the rules, by knowing them so well you can move between them

*i never have a good enough explanation for the keys–he thought they were Houdini’s, when they are no more than my own–though i would give them to Houdini, if he asked me–i wonder if anyone ever denied him keys

*yes, i so want to meet you–yes, we can both be in the cemetery–find me out of the blue, under the blue of my sun-umbrella, call me the dead magician’s wife and somehow i am in your arms–a bit like a fairy tale, i might have imagined it all–sometimes real life is that way, is strange, is simple, is somewhere between not and just what you expected

*magicians and historians talking, these people in the know, who know all the other people in the know–who i find myself here with, as just me, not in anything, writing away wistful poetry about Houdini

*aren’t female escape artists just called spiritualists? i am too dizzy from old pictures to think about this–so many spirits made manifest, called into existence through escapes–great lengths of ropes, the locks faked–and who did leave the ruler after all? They are all dead and silent, and in life magicians don’t talk outside the trade–Margery was too good to stay at center stage, might have been her, might have been Harry, though Collins would never say

*secrets are strong in magic making–it is about careful sharing and control and an audience’s willingness not to know–an agreement, a collusion, a choice to watch, to be tricked into experiencing the illusion–and out of context it is a lovely glass bowl, clear down to the spells it held, still holds–i look from the picture of Bess holding it performing, to it sitting on the table near me all casual–an artifact, not meant to be seen so close–and i will not tell anyone what is visible, and it will hold its spark still

*the gate should have been closed, should have been locked, and was not–we should have been alone–this feels like sacred sightseeing, even though we are not–stark sun, no trees, no tricks, lots of scattered stones and playing cards, previously rain soaked–the magician just below, we stay close, share wonders

*and i wonder, am i obsessed with magic? are you obsessed with magic? was Houdini? he likely was–historical accounts suggest he thought of little else–i’ve read it from more than one source, sounding believable–he needed to keep them guessing, maintain the tension, keep them saying wow

*wow–this key was in his mouth, soldered special, and every person i tell laughs liking to think that i must have licked it–though i didn’t–I simply held its weight, its artistry, its place in certain escapes all for a moment close to me, in my hand, then replaced

*a history book worth of handcuffs and keys, all tucked away into drawers so neatly, and no one is wearing them, and everyone is talking about them–and the room spins, so they ask if i would like to see more pictures of Harry–and i sit on a couch next to his last finished book, inscribed in his hand, once held in his hands–and all of our hands here turning through pages–letters and programs and tickets, oh my

*and no one was performing, though i could have gone on listening as if it were a show–i am drunk on stories, not the beer, i only had one beer and it was light, nothing like the champagne Bess would have had–how did we get here? paths crossing at the magician, a gateway book taken off the shelf in childhood, my sacrilegious stealing of a picture from a page in a library–never before, never since, amicably confessed–and i have that scrap still, Harry in chains and lifesavers, wrists held just like this, so very serious–i liked him in the circles, i liked that he got out of them

*and i have to get out of there, life outside the fairy tale remembers me–and even surrounded in new stories of favorite history, after hours, i am sleepy–and here Metamorphosis means turning into another person, and i am not a magician so maybe i will become a pumpkin, and no one there wants that–so they must leave all this and bring me home, before anything gets later, draws nearer, becomes other–no pumpkins or shattering shoes

*though the world is wrapped up in rules, and there are no keys, no lock picks, no slip wrist tricks, only chances and choices, that sometimes appear and disappear, and change, the truth rearranged into a collection of memories

by, earthboundpixie

shouting from rooftops that i wore Houdini’s handcuffs, though quietly, in handwriting, in imagination or just the events of April 6th

that time your handcuffs were an invitation that i got to escape from and they fit easy and right and there was so much in my mind imagining myself back into otherness –other year, other self, other words that i don’t have a place to say, that i don’t have an occasion to say, that i would not say, most likely, maybe hold me, Harry, just like this, unapologetic like i hold you in words though metal is noisier, is heavier, and there is weakness in the workings because there is a hinge hidden, hiding and i know it, the trick, the flip into freely un-metaled wrists, no key necessary though i still want as many as i can find and i know that you do too collecting keys that will never be used and the quick count- one, two, a clap to replace the three the speedy change, that releases me from the stage and gives you back to the light, pitch practice perfect you turn to show the switched selves, sealed and set inside and no matter how many times you open the box there is no surprise exactly as you like it, exactly as rehearsed i know all your words, as well as i know my own as well as i create a confluence between these leaps that are not quite mine to take and yet there is an ease, an easiness that exists a bit like a tricked release, wrists free before anyone thinks to see the mechanics, the makings, the way the metal melted the impossible in your hands, your arms held heavily and then empty of all intricacy it is that sudden contrast, that leaves you looking lovely and unadorned the silver falling off you, white washed shirtsleeves the gleam of success, you wear that part so well so much that the posters can make you forget those years spent fighting for this, hungry for this those days of being king of cards and cuffs in voice alone, not yet in print unspeakable for you always were, and are, and go on to be you who are in the box and out, always out with water, with sweat, the cards falling like water between your hands, the metal between my hands the connection between worlds just using other words that in this distance are safe, click, fall and escape

by, earthboundpixie

#my poetry #happy birthday Houdini

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nothingbythebook · 4 years

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First, an apology for the title slug. I know you’re all sick and tired of plays on A Love in the Time of Cholera. Still. There’s a reason we’re doing it.

Second… but really first:

i. A catalogue

I recently moved, and as part of the uprooting, I culled my physical books to the essentials. (Ok, I moved like 500 metres away, but hey, packing and thus purging was definitely involved.) Stress on the physical: thank gods for my e-readers, a library of thousands always in my pocket.

Still. I was pretty ruthless. Totally ruthless, actually. Goodbye, university textbooks. Goodbye, books from the “I was a teenage Wiccan” phase. Goodbye, big thick books that look good on my shelf and make me feel smart because I own them—but let’s be honest, I’m never going to read Infinite Jest. I tried. It’s unreadable. I read Gravity’s Rainbow—goodbye—and, frankly, wish I hadn’t, don’t remember what it’s about, and I’ll never get that time back.

Goodbye, all of Jeanette Winterson’s not Sexing the Cherry books. Goodbye, gifted books that missed the mark—goodbye, self-bought books that I read, don’t remember, will never read again. Goodbye, books I once loved but don’t anymore—that cull was the hardest.

What’s left was still heavy to move and comprises about ten shelf equivalents. But each of these books is loved. Important.

Like The Letters of Sylvia Plath and this little known book of the poet’s drawings:

I don’t actually own Plath’s The Bell Jar or Ariel. How is this possible? Note to self: must buy. Response to self: this is how it beings, hoarding, pack-ratting expansion. Don’t do it. Response to response to self: Shut up. I want my Sylvia.

All of my Polish books:

Some of these have travelled the world with my parents and me for almost forty years. The Polish translation of A.S. Lindgren’s Children from Bullerbyn (which used to belong to my dad’s sister, actually—she got it and read it the year I was born) and of Winnie The Pooh—the first “chapter” books I ever read. And, of course, Sienkiewicz, Mickiewicz, Orzeszkowa, Rodziewiczówna. Kapuścinski. The more modern poets: Zagajewski, Anna Świrszczyńska and Wisława Szymborska, not in translation.

This cultural heritage of mine, I have a very… fraught, complex relationship with. So much beauty, so much passion, so much suffering—so much stupidity, so much pain.

Governments do not define a national, a culture, or a people, I suppose. But in a democracy, they reflect the will and the hearts of the majority of the people, and, if the current government of Poland reflects the majority of the will and the hearts of the (voting) Polish people, they are repugnant to me and I want nothing to do with them. I am ashamed of them, of where I come from.

But I do come of them, from there, do I not?

Still. I keep the books. Including the one celebrating our first modern proto-fascist, Józef Piłsudski. History is complicated; ancestry not chosen.

Next, a shelf of all of my favourites.

All of Jane Austen, of course. Most of Nabokov. Virginia Woolf, because, well, it’s complicated. Susan Sontag’s On The Suffering of Others, and E.M. Forester’s Maurice—I gave up Room With a View and the others. J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, not so much because I’ll ever read it again but because it was so important back then. Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, because nothing like it has been written before or since. Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—I mean. I had to keep it, hero of my misspent university youth. I put him right next to Charles Bukowski’s Women, which isn’t great, but which… well. It taught me a lot about writing. Then, Jorge Luis Borges’ The Book of Imaginary Beings, which always makes me cry because a) it exists and b) I will never write that well.

Edward Said’s Orientalism, the only book to survive my “why the fuck did I keep all of these outdated anthropology and sociology and history textbooks for 25 years” purge. Margaret Mead’s New Lives for Old, which wasn’t one of them, but a later acquisition, kept in honour of the woman who dared live her life, do her thing. She wasn’t the smartest, the brightest, the most original—but fuck, she dared. Fraser’s The Golden Bough and Lilian Faderman’s Chloe Plus Olivia, both acquired in my teens—the first gave me religion for a while, while I freed myself of the Polish Catholicism in which I grew up (“freed” is an aspirational word; I suspect the religions we are indoctrinated into in childhood stay in our bones forever—the best that we can do is be aware when that early programming tries to sabotage our critical thinking and emotional well-being), and the second showed me I wasn’t a freak, an aberration, alone.

Next, The First Ms. Reader and the Sisterhood is Powerful anthology—original 1970s paperbacks bought in a used bookstore in the 1990s when I was discovering feminism. Monica Sjöö and Barbara Mor’s The Great Cosmic Mother—I suppose another Wicca-feminism vestige. I will never read it again, but way back when, that book changed my life, so. Here it is, with me, still.

And now, back to fiction: The Doorbell Rang, my only Rex Stout hardcover, although without the dust jacket, and a hardcover, old, maybe even worth something, with protected dust jacket intact, of P.G. Wodehouse’s Psmith, Journalist. Next to them, The Adventures of Romney Pringle and The Further Adventures by Romney Pringle, the single collaboration between R. Austin Freeman and John J. Pitcairn under the pseudonym of Clifford Ashdown. Written in 1902 or so, both volumes are the first American edition. In mint condition. Like the P.G. Wodehouse—and The Letters of Sylvia Plath, and the unique, autographed, bound in leather made from the butts of sacrificed small children or something, Orson Scott Card Maps in the Mirror short story collection, which is next-but-one to them on the bookshelf—they were a gift from Sean.

A lot of the books on my shelves, here with me now, are a gift from Sean.

Between them, a hard cover Georges Simeon found at a garage sale, and then G.K. Chesterton—Lepanto, the poem about the 1571 naval battle between Ottoman forces and the Holy (that’s what they called themselves) League of Catholic Europe, which I will never read again, but which is associated with a specific time and event in my personal history, so I keep it. Next to it, The Collected Stories of Father Brown, in battered hardcover, which I re-read intermittently, and which are—well. Perfect, really. Then, all of Dashiell Hammett in one volume. Then, almost all the best Agatha Christie’s in four “five complete novels” hardcover collections, topped with two multi-author murder mystery medleys from the 1950s.

Looking at this shelf makes me very, very happy.

Next, the one fully preserved collection. Before the move, these books lived on a bookshelf perched on top of my desk. Now, they are here, their “natural” order slightly altered because of the uneven height of this case’ shelves. The top shelf is, I suppose, mostly reference and writing books:

The Paris Review Interviews, Anne Lammott’s Bird by Bird, Neil Gaiman’s Make Good Art, Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, and their ilk. At the end, a couple of publications in which I have a byline.

The next shelf, the smallest on the case, is a bit of a smorgasboard, but is very precious to me:

Do you see Frida and my Tarot cards? Also an Ariana Reines book that I really should give back to its owner…

Next, my perhaps most precious books.

Philip Larkin’s Letters to Monica and Nabokov’s Letters to Vera. Anne Carson’s If Not Winter: Fragments of Sappho. Four Letter Word, a collection of “original love letters” (short stories, they mean, pretentious fucks) from an assortment of mega-stars, including Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Neil Gaiman, Ursula K. LeGuin… a strange assortment, really. But some lovely pieces in there. Some lame ones too—and I like that too. Even superstars misfire, every one in a while.

Then, Leonard Cohen, Pablo Neruda, Walt Whitman, Jack Gilbert, Vera Pavlova. Finally, Anaïs Nin’s Delta of Venus and Little Birds, and a bunch of battered Colettes. Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer right next to Colette, of course. Then, my Frida books.

The next shelf is full of aspirational delusions.

Farsi textbooks next to Hafez, Rumi and Forough Farrokzad translations. I will never be able to read Hafez in the original Persian. But maybe? Life is long. Maybe, one day, I will have time. Then, Jung’s Red Book, Parker J. Palmer’s A Hidden Wholeness, Rod Stryker’s The Four Desires, Stephen Cope’s The Great Work of Your Life, Thich Nhat Hahn’s The Art of Communicating (I failed), The Bhagavad Gita (still trying).

As I said, the shelf of delusions.

The bottom shelf is aspirational/inspirational, and also, very tall.

And so, that’s why my Georgia O’Keefe books are there, as well as The Purple Book, and Obrist’s do it manifesto. Perhaps there is room there for my leather-bound Master’s thesis, currently tucked away in the closet, right there, next to a course binder from SAIT? Then, all of my Spanish books, including Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s El Amor en los Tiempos del Cólera… which, also, one day, I will read in Spanish and actually understand. Life is long, right?

Next, not really a book shelf as such, but the top shelf of my secretary desk, where the reference and project books of the moment live.

The Canadian Press Stylebook has a permanent home here, of course. And I’ve got two copies of Canadian Copyright: A Citizen’s Guide there, one for me (unread, but I’ll get to it, I promise myself, again), one for a colleague. Both snagged from a Little Free Library, by the way.

Almost done.

In the bedroom, the books of vice.

A shelf of battered Ngaio March paperbacks, tucked beside them some meditation and Kundalini yoga books that I’m not using right now, but, maybe, one day, I am not ready to give up on this part of myself yet. Below, a shelf of even more battered Rex Stout paperbacks.

I read and re-read these books—as did their original owners—until they fall to pieces. They are my crack, my vice—also, my methadone, my soother.

Below them, space for library books, mine and Ender’s:

I am finding Anna Mehler Paperny’s Hello I want to Die Please Fix Me unreadable, by the way. I pick it up, put it away. Repeat.

Will likely return it to the library unread.

Currently not on display: books by friends. Some here with me, some on the shelves in the Co-op house. There are a lot of those. Can one be ruthless… with friends?

ii. A reflection

Books, for readers and writers, are the artifacts that define us. When I enter a reader’s home, I immediately gravitate to their bookshelves. What’s on them?

What’s not on them?

What I’ve chosen to let go of, to not bring with me here tells me… a lot.

What am I going to do with this information?

xoxo

“Jane”

Books in the Time of Corona: what’s on my shelves and what’s not, and the story it tells First, an apology for the title slug. I know you're all sick and tired of plays on…

#artifacts #books #collections

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ohwhatamessiam · 7 years

Text

Give -Part 5

Summary: Bucky and (Y/N) had an amazing yet brief relationship in Bucharest before all hell broke loose. Two years later they reconnect in a bar in Brooklyn, but things have changed and neither are the same as they were before. Will their relationship survive or is a break up inevitable?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 4.8k (I’m so sorry, I only meant for it to be 2k but sometimes I can’t stop myself.)

Warnings: Language, still in flashback-landia with lots of fluff and quite a bit of angst. A small physical altercation, followed by sexy and cuddly time. This chapter is NSFW, although it does not actually feature sex. Please be mature (and 18+) if you’re going to read this. I don’t want to get in trouble y’all.

Author’s Note: Hey again guys! This is part 5 of my submission to @bladebarnes‘s #bladehits2kchallenge inspired by the song Give by You Me At Six. First person reader insert as usual, I’m so so sorry for making some of you guys wait for this one but work and family stuff got in the way. I also didn’t have a beta for this, so I’m sorry if it sucks. Here’s my Spotify playlist to listen to while reading the entire fic. Hopefully this turned out okay, and as always let me know if you enjoy it or want to be tagged in the next couple parts.

If you haven’t yet, check out Part 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Three days later, Bucky spent another evening with me, but he came over much later and we were on very different terms than we’d been when he’d last entered my apartment. After a brief flirtation in his doorway the day before, he agreed to help me finish the cheesecake and wine. Unsurprisingly, he showed up with a fresh bouquet of flowers and I almost hit him with them. It was an amazingly sweet gesture, but it wasn’t necessary after the heated moment we shared in my hallway.

We both dressed much more casually than we had on our last date, and I opened the door to find him in a grey henley, black undershirt, blue jeans, and his hair tied into a low bun. He wore only one glove on his left hand, and the second I closed my door he was pulling it off. I’d opted for a pair of grey jeans with busted knees and a black v-neck. I popped the bottle of wine, pouring it into the pair of cheap wine glasses I’d found, and set out the plate of leftover cheesecake with two forks. After dumping the rest of the plum and berry topping onto the dessert, we both dug in, eating directly from the same plate. The sound of forks scraping against ceramic and clinking against each other filled the air with our laughter and relaxed conversation.

Unlike our previous date, this one was spent discussing the present and the future. We’d dwelled enough on our pasts, and I didn’t want to bring up anything that would change this easy-going, confident, and happy Bucky into anything else. He revealed that he wanted to move back to the US one day, but considering he was a wanted fugitive for his involvement in the fall of SHIELD, that was probably going to have to wait.

When I asked him about marriage and a family he shrugged, his pleasant mood waning slightly, “I wanted those things when I was young, before all this.” Lifting his left hand, he stared at it, calculating how it would appear to a family, to children. “But I haven’t thought about those things in a long time, and I don’t even know if I’m still capable of that.”

Attempting to lighten the mood, I yanked his metal hand out of the air and warmed it in mine, “Babe, I know you’re technically like 100 years old, but physically you’re barely pushing 30 so you’re definitely still capable of that.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to understand what I’d meant, and as he did his mouth opened, letting out a small “ohhh” and a chuckle. “That wasn’t what I was saying, but you’re probably right.” I swallowed my last bite of cheesecake, giving his metal fingers one more squeeze and then pushed the plate his way to finish. Looking up from under his lashes, he gave me a small smirk, “I kinda like when you call me babe.”

“You do, huh?” I asked as I emptied the last of the wine into both of our glasses.

“I really do doll,” a blush was creeping across his cheeks, and I couldn’t help but bite my lip at how good he looked sitting across from me. I wanted his hands on me, wanted his body pressed against mine but he remained on the other side of my table, glancing up from his fork every few seconds to see how I’d reacted to his words.

Sitting back in my chair and crossing my legs, I cocked my head to the side and smiled, “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

After he finished the cheesecake and we both emptied our wine glasses I placed the dishes in the sink and turned to find him standing over my coffee table, flipping through the couple books sitting there. “Do you read anything?” I asked, resting my elbows against the counter as I watched him.

“Yeah, a little.” He picked up the largest book I had with me, Paradise Lost, and sat down on my couch with it. “I finished 1984 a few months ago, but it hit a little too close to home with how my memories of everything I did and was done to me like to slip in and out. I started The Count of Monte Cristo last month and I’m trying to get through it.”

I sighed, still leaning on the counter, “That’s a long ass book, but it’s definitely better for your mental health.” After skimming a few more pages, he patted the cushion next to him, motioning for me to sit. I moved reluctantly, wishing I could keep my distance and just watch him flip through a book as he chewed on his lip.

Sinking down on the spot furthest from him, I tucked my legs under me and sat facing him. He closed the paperback in his left hand, his right snaking out to my ankle and gently rubbing up my calf until he reached my knee. I tried not to react too obviously but his hand on me, even through the layer of my jeans, made my insides warm and fluttery. “Read to me?” he asked, his fingers hooked under my knee as he carefully pulled me across the couch and my legs over his lap.

“You want me to read an epic poem to you?” I asked incredulously. I wanted to separate our limbs to give me more space to think and control my urges.

“Well, obviously not the whole thing,” he shrugged as he dropped the book into my lap. “But whatever part you want to. I’ve never read it and this way I’ll be able to just listen and enjoy it.”

His metal hand hovered loosely over my calf as his flesh hand slid slightly over my knee and up my thigh, before inching back down to my joint. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my breath in my lungs, trying not to gasp or react to his hands on me. “I don’t know if I can do Milton justice.”

“I don’t believe that,” he shook his head, causing a piece of hair to loosen near his face. “I like your voice, it’s calming to me and I could use more of that in my life.”

I let out a sigh and opened my eyes, “Okay.” Before laying back against the couch I reached out for his cheek, softly brushing my fingers against his scruff and tucking the piece of hair behind his ear, “But only for you.” He smirked victoriously at me as I tried not to melt inside.

Several pages into my favorite passage in book 5, where Satan watches Adam and Eve in Eden, I got uncomfortable laying back to read to him and sat up. His right hand left my legs to wrap around my back and pull me into him. I lost my place in the poem and stared up at him, catching the way he was watching me. The softness of his eyes, the scent of his aftershave, the warmth radiating through his clothes, all pulled me closer to his mouth.

I moved quickly, pushing the book off the couch and grabbing his jaw between my hands. Tilting his mouth toward mine, I closed the space between our lips, needing to taste him, to feel more of him. He jerked under me in shock as my lips crushed his. As his surprise wore off, his flesh hand slipped into my hair while his metal one gripped my thigh. He kissed me back, pushing my lips apart hungrily for only a second before his fingers met the back of my neck. Pulling away from my lips, he pressed his forehead against mine.

His grip on my thigh loosened, and I felt the coolness of his hand leave my leg but I still tingled where the metal had been. The problem with forcing me away from his mouth was that I could still see his pink lips as he caught his breath. My hands stayed on his face, shifting it upward the slightest bit, allowing access to his jaw and neck. Kissing softly against his cheek first, I felt his smile against my skin, and as I trailed my lips down to his jaw he tilted his head back even more, encouraging me to continue. My lips scratched against his scruff as I kissed under his jaw, and hearing the arm of my loveseat squeak under his metal grip only encouraged me to keep going.

Knotting my hands into his hair as I reached his neck, I opened my mouth and nipped at his skin before smoothing over the bite with a gentle kiss and a flick of my tongue. His groan felt like it erupted from his entire body, and it tickled my lips as I freed a hand to tug at his shirt collar. Moving closer to his collarbone, I nipped at him harder, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. As I pressed my lips against his shoulder his fingers tightened around my neck. Translating the reaction as positive, I moved my legs so that I could slip down his body easier and continued to pull at his shirt so my lips could reach his chest.

His metal hand grabbed my legs, forcing them back into their original position and his flesh hand firmly pulled my mouth from his skin. I pouted as he pressed his forehead against mine and gave me a quick peck. “Doll, I think we should get back to reading,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against my lips.

Straightening against him, I pulled my hands and face from his, and sat back, “Sorry, I-, I got caught up in the moment.”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut in, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Your lips, your mouth, that felt amazing but I think it’s best I take things, uh, slower.” Nodding into his hand, I planted a small kiss on his palm, causing him to grin. The crinkles around his eyes made my heart race and my stomach do somersaults.

Planting one more tender kiss on his lips, I swung my legs away from his and tucked them underneath me before I picked up the book. As I paged back through to find where I’d left off, Bucky pulled me into his side, wrapping his arm around my waist. I rested my head on his shoulder as I read the rest of the passage, and we stayed cuddled on the couch until he decided to leave. His goodbye was nowhere near as passionate as our brief hallway make out, but it was emotional and warm, and his way of letting me know how much he cared about me.

Someone was screaming.

I bolted up from my bed, breath coming quick from being startled. A thud came from the floor above me, and then another loud shout. It sounded scared but angry, and as more thuds came from Bucky’s apartment I figured out who was screaming. In a wave of panic I hopped out of bed, searching for a pair of shorts and shoes to slide on. I grabbed my keys and a kitchen knife before I rushed up the stairs.

Pounding on his door with an open palm, I slipped the handle of the knife behind my back in the waistband of my shorts. When no one answered I hit the door even harder, needing any kind of answer. Did Hydra find him and take him? Was he fighting a group of their agents now? Was Bucky already dead?

Just as my hand came down on the wood again the door whipped open. Bucky’s eyes, gray and haunted, met mine before checking the hallway behind me. As he shifted his focus back to me, I heard what sounded like a metal clashing against the ground and his flesh arm signaled for me to come inside. The second his defensive posture wavered, I threw myself at him. Hands gripping his face, I inspected every inch of his flesh I could see in the tiny amount of light that leaked through his windows.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, feeling his warm fingers rest against my shoulder. He nodded, only half of his face visible from the light. “Did someone find you?”

The graveness of his features shifted to surprise as he answered, “No.” Letting out a deep breath, I took a step back, letting relief flood my limbs. “What would you do if I had been found?”

I could have laughed at that question. Obviously I wasn’t a weapons trained super soldier, but I’d taken enough self-defense classes to help a little. Pulling the knife from my shorts, I waved it in the light for him to see it glint before I dropped it on the floor behind me, “I would have fought for you.”

A small yet proud smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he refused to enjoy my confession. “I’m fine, it was just a bad dream. You can go back to your apartment.”

“A dream had you screaming like that?” I moved to him, resting my hands on his shoulders. “That must have been a different kind of nightmare.”

“It was.” He took another step away from me, trying to keep distance between us. As he stepped through another crack of light I caught that he was only wearing a white t-shirt and boxers. I’d never seen his metal arm higher than just above his wrist, but it shined in the light and I reached for it. “Don’t,” he warned, pulling away from me.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” I asked, keeping my distance as a chill crept down my spine. I crossed my arms, trying to hold onto a shred of warmth.

“Nothing, I just think you should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you just woke up screaming.” I stared him down, needing him to react, to just say something. “And I’m not moving until you tell me why you’re acting like this.”

He shifted in the light, his clenched jaw and metal arm becoming visible. “Don’t make me move you,” he warned, his voice was nearly a growl.

“I’d like to see you try, babe,” I snapped back, his metal hand tightened into a fist at the pet name. I stood still, watching as his feet spread apart, his body preparing for an attack, except I wasn’t going to make the first move and we both knew that.

He moved quickly and light on his feet, but I anticipated his actions. His right hand reached out for my shoulder and I swatted it away while extending my other hand out to keep him back. With an open palm, I pressed against his chest gently and watched as his face changed for only a second, shifting to a pained expression at my touch. His metal arm stayed down, fist clenched, and we both knew he wouldn’t raise it to me. The hand I’d swatted away pushed against my elbow before it pressed against my back, pulling me to him. I placed both my hands against him, attempting to create distance between us. Being this close wouldn’t allow me to think clearly. His arm tightened, as if he was going to lift me off the ground, but I dug my heel into his foot, throwing off his balance. Pushing against him hard, I forced him to tumble to the ground. He grunted as he fell, but his grip never loosened around me and I yelped out “shit” as I crashed with him.

He scrambled to pin me but he still refused to use his metal arm, so I took my advantage and used my legs to pin him. My feet hooked around his knees, my hips holding down his torso, and yanking at his flesh hand quickly, I moved it above his head. He tried to shift under me but I continued to force all my weight against his lower half, fully aware that the majority of his strength was kept in his upper body. Yet he couldn’t flip me over if he couldn’t move his hips.

But I also knew that even his wiggling to get out from under me was half-assed. If he’d intended to do damage he would have flipped me over his head using both arms or incapacitated me with a metal hand wrapped around my throat. “Bucky, tell me what’s wrong,” I begged, hovering close to his face.

He screwed his eyes shut, refusing to let me see him break. “(Y/N),” he sighed shakily.

“Bucky please,” I gave up pinning him and instead moved my hands to his face.

“It’s me,” he whispered as his breath hit my face, hot and uneven. He opened his eyes as his jaw set in a hardline. “I’m what’s wrong.” His hand gripped my hip, pushing me off of him, before he stood up swiftly and turned his back to me.

I staggered to my feet, trying to understand what he meant. He rested his hands against the counter, his shoulders hunching. “They, they put all this shit in my head. They made me a tool, a killing machine and it’s still in me.” He turned to face me, a hand knotted in his hair. “It’s all still here, and I can’t get rid of it. It doesn’t matter that I know who I am again, the asset is still me.”

“I don’t care about that,” I spoke as I moved towards him, taking his face in my hands, shifting his head so that he would look at me. “That’s not who you are now, that’s what you were forced to be then.”

“I killed you,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I was screaming, I killed you in my dream. And if somehow I lose control, if I become that thing again, I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

I stood on my toes and gripped his chin so he’d look at me as I spoke. “You won’t hurt me because that’s not you anymore. What you were doesn’t matter to me, only who you are now. That’s the person I love.”

The words slipped out before I could fully comprehend what I was saying, but once they hung in the air between us, I knew I meant every word. His eyes went wide and lips fell open, causing nerves to rise from my gut. I pulled my hands from him, “I’m sorry, that was too soon. I-, I shouldn’t have said that-.”

This time he cut me off, his flesh hand grabbing my elbow and pulling me back to him. My eyes met his and for the first time that night, the Bucky who’d cuddled with me three nights ago came through. “I-, I think I love you too.” His hand cradled my cheek, and as I smiled at him he pulled me closer.

He kissed me softly and slowly, as though he was trying to savor the moment. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. He took his mouth from mine too quickly, “This doesn’t change the fact that I’m still a partially brainwashed assassin.”

“No it doesn’t, but you’re not going to hurt me, babe.” Nudging his nose with my own, I kept my hands together behind his head, keeping him close to me.

“But I could kill you if something happened,” his voice grew louder, his fear continuing to claw at him.

“I’d be more than willing to go that way,” I joked, trailing my lips against his jaw softly, trying to soothe him. Instead it only made him more worried.

“Don’t say that.”

“Bucky,” I whispered, taking one of my hands from his neck to hold his face to mine. “You can worry all you want, but I’m not going to.” He opened his mouth, about to complain again but I didn’t let him get a word in. “Please just shut up and kiss me.”

He hesitated for only second before he kissed me again. Unlike his earlier efforts to be tender and move slowly, his mouth worked hungrily against mine. Tracing the edge of my bottom lip with his tongue, I moaned into his. His hand slid to my hip, grasping me against him. I knotted a hand into his loose hair, tugging on it carefully as I pushed my own tongue past his lips. His response was to dig his fingers into my flesh, inadvertently pushing the hem of my shirt up and sending tingles throughout my entire body.

Slowly maneuvering me so that we were closer to his bed, I felt his metal shoulder shift under my elbow, and his cold hand ghosted over my lower back. He wouldn’t touch me with it, but I was well past fearing any part of him. I ran my fingers down his spine before grasping his metal wrist in my hand. He pulled away from my mouth and before he could object I reassured him, “I’m not afraid of this. You’re in control now.” I pressed his hand against my skin. “You can touch me, use this to your advantage,” I whispered near his ear. I tugged on his earlobe with my teeth before kissing the skin directly below it. I shifted, speaking against the side of his mouth, “You’re not gonna break me.”

His lips met mine clumsily, kissing only my top lip before moving to my bottom one. His scruff scratched my skin as his lips pressed against my cheek and then my jaw. The metal arm wrapped around my body, moving lower with every brush of his lips down my neck. His arm settled just below my ass, fingers gripping my thigh. Lips and beard ghosted my collarbone and I let out a breathy whimper as his teeth sunk into my skin.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed, his arm lifting me off the ground. His flesh hand held my chest against him, and I widened my hips, allowing his torso to push between my legs. As I clenched my legs around him, hooking my ankles together to keep myself in place, his metal hand left my body. He took a few steps, moving us closer to his bed, and bracing myself on his shoulders I hoisted myself higher against him. His flesh fingers slipped under the back of my shirt as his metal arm stretched out past my body. Our mouths reconnected as our bodies began to tilt, and I gasped as I realized we were falling. Not a second later we stopped moving, a metallic thud sounding next to my head.

Lowering us against his mattress, I grinned up at him, turning my head to see he’d used his arm to catch our weight. “See, that was good.” He returned my smile, holding my face with his warm fingers, while his cool ones flattened against my thigh.

Pressing his hips against mine I pulled his mouth down, taking his sharp gasp from my lips as I dug my nails into his back. My fingers slipped down his shirt and I bunched up the material, needing less clothing between us. He separated our mouths to help me yank his shirt over his head, and as he threw it to the floor, I outlined the planes of his chest with my fingers. He always felt so firm and warm under his clothes, but without his usual layers, his skin burned against mine setting the sparks already running through my body on fire.

Metal fingertips massaged my hip as his flesh hand inched beneath my shirt, skimming my side and brushing against my bralette. His tongue pushed past my lips and I tightened my legs around him. Smiling against his lips, I rolled him onto his back. I tugged my tank top over my head and tossed it to the side before I traced the outline of his abs with my nails. Accidentally tickling him forced a giggle from his lips, bouncing me slightly as his stomach moved.

The way the light illuminated his grin set a bittersweet pang off in my heart, reminding me this was my last week in Bucharest. He was so beautiful, so sweet and gentle, so lonely and cautious. He’d been a prisoner for more of his life than not. Beaten, experimented on, and forced to commit murder against his will, yet he was still kind hearted. I cupped his cheek in my hand, thumb brushing his lips as he stared up at me with adoration. The moment felt perfect, and I knew this was the Bucky I’d always keep with me.

His metal hand rubbed against my thigh as his flesh hand ran over my side. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, giving me a gentle squeeze with his hands. If we hadn’t discussed it, I was sure he would have taken his hands off me in fear.

“And you’re not,” I answered as I sunk my fingers into his bicep and his pecs. “I think that’s a good thing.”

Leaning up to my mouth to kiss me, he agreed, “It’s a great thing.” And as his lips pulled me down to him, his hands moved my hips against his, creating friction between our already heated limbs. He groaned into my mouth, sending a chill of excitement up my spine. As much as I loved sweet and careful Bucky, I was more than ready to meet aroused and needy Bucky. After grinding a figure eight against his already hard bulge, I trailed my lips to his scruff, his neck, and finally his chest. I nipped at his skin as I ran a knuckle under the waistband of his boxers. An excited gasp left his lips, only encouraging me to move further south. As I kissed and licked his stomach, I started tugging his underwear down.

His flesh hand knotted in my hair as his metal one grasped at my hand. He guided my face back up to his and my hand away from his cock. My brows furrowed as he kissed me softly. “Do you want to do this, babe?” I asked as I kept my face close to his. Nodding against my cheek, his beard scratching at my skin, felt like an answer to me but he kept me away from his lower body.

“Yes, badly,” he breathed, nudging my nose with his own. “But I think the part of me who needs you right now is the James from before the war and the impulses of the asset. And they’re not in charge anymore, I am.” He spoke against my cheek, “My body desperately wants this, but my heart’s telling me to wait. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Okay,” I nodded, moving both my hands to his chest. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”

His hand reached for mine, holding it to his mouth as he kissed my palm, “Thank you.” I inched my body away from his and then swung my leg away from him, allowing me to lay at his side. He kissed me gently again, as if I’d shatter any second and he’d wake up from a dream. I kissed him back, slowly and softly, hoping he could feel how happy I was to just be with him. His fingers found my hips and he rolled me onto my side so my back was against his chest and he could hold me. I helped him close the distance, but felt his hard on press against my ass.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you out here?” I rested my hand on his hip, giving it a squeeze so he’d understand what I meant.

He chuckled into my shoulder, “Doll, you don’t need to worry about it. This is not the first awkward erection I’ve had, and it’ll go away.” I nodded, feeling his forehead rest against neck as his right arm hooked around my waist. Yet, the more I tried to relax, the less I was able to ignore it.

“Roll over,” I instructed, letting a deep sigh out.

“What?”

“Just roll over.” After a moment of hesitation, he did as I asked. I slipped an arm under his pillow and another around his torso. I pressed a kiss on his neck, and then his shoulder where his scar tissue remained from his accident and his prosthetic. “See, this works.”

His metal hand rested over my hand on his waist, “Yeah, it does.”

As his body relaxed into mine and his breathing evened out, I knew he felt safe. And I felt more at home than I’d felt in months.

It was all because of him.

Tags: @irishdancr24 @suz-123 @fangirlisms-22 @lostboyinneverland

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #seb stan #sebastian stan #bladehits2kchallenge #bladebarnes #marvel #marvel fanfic #also i'm so sorry it's been like a week since and update and this was meant to be 2k words and turned into an almost 5k chapter

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mrsamazingdreamer · 7 years

Text

Anything For You

Hello there.

A/N- CEO!Jungkook, CEO!Reader

Warning- Jk and reader are married. (Has like disappointing marriage content, but i’ll improve over time hehe.) and the reader is lowkey horny.

Please enjoy.

His presence is just enough to make me turn myself down.

Another person, similar feeling, same name.

He’s a shadow to begin with. He’s so hot. I mean, my one night stand thoughts are on point. I feel like, I want to feel him around me. I wanna pleasure him in filthy ways and make him limp under my touch. I wanna fuck him. I want him to fuck me. From top, from back, sideways, in every way possible.

His eyes are so fucking beautiful. I wanna look at him while he fucks me from the front and when I get on top of him. I wanna stare into his galaxy like eyes when I am sucking on his cock and when he is choking me with his pride. I wanna scratch his back and leave a trail of hickeys all the way down to his V line.

I just want to fuck him. I have high temptation and lust for him. This is such a fucked up desire of mine from the moment I saw him.

I want to love him.

All I am afraid of remembering the one who broke my heart into saw dust.

The same name.

Why? I am just so alone and desperate, anything that departs from my mind, fucks me up. I don’t like this feeling of desire and the need, the fucking need to feel him inside of me.

Fuck me up, my darling, I am all yours.

I wanna talk to him. I wanna be his friend. I wanna call him up at 3 am and share a conspiracy theory.

But, I don’t wanna fall in love. I want to rise in love.

I wanna text him memes and write poems in his thoughts. I just wanna look at him do things like walk or yawn or write a little note.

Maybe because I love him.

Why? Maybe I am just too alone. -

On a typical Saturday evening I found myself curled up on my sofa listening to the sound of the thunder storm and whining rain and my dear hedgehog yawning in my lap. A hot cup of coffee and some light music was everything I needed to make myself relaxed from the activities I had been through the week. The interviews, the photo shoots, the graphic analysis, papers to sign, business trips and what not. The chaos of running an entire leading fashion magazine company was really a task to bind. I was tucked in an oversize sweater and going comfortably through the dull late afternoon. The huge glass windows were now tinted with raindrops constantly racing about.

//buzz//

3:40pm

Hey

How was your week?

🐼

I smiled at the text.

3:41pm

Meh. It was the same.

Running and screaming and signing.

3:43pm

Ow too bad.

But same. Lol.

Soooo

I clutched my heart before trying not to smile

3:44pm

So…

Lol

What

3:45pm

Wanna grab some food? 😗

With me 😗😗😗

Huuh huh 😗

I bit my lip at his cute self and smiled. Oh boy, how do I ever resist him. I thought.

3:46pm

Its raining here. 💁

3:46pm

😦 ehhhhhhhh

😥why

3:47pm

I am the one who is making it rain so that you can come over and stay here with me 🙈

I smirked at my smug reply.

3:48pm

Oh well well well

🙈🙈🙈

I’M ON MY WAY 👨

3:49pm

Omg you’re coming back?

Fuuuuck! I thought you’re joking

I’m waiting 😁

It had been almost 4 years, since I’d been interacting with this son of a hot fucking pie. This man was my everything to begin with and everything to end with.

He was a CEO of a really massive banking company. Both of us being working business individuals had a hard time interacting as often. He and I both text each other when we could and meet… In 6 months or so.

//ring ring//

I kept my hedgehog in his cage quickly and rushed to the door. My heart was beating so fast for the first time in forever. Meeting him today was certainly a stranger feeling than usual. I opened the door and was greeted with the most beautiful man fathomable to exist behind the hundreds of crimson red roses he had held in his hands.

“Mrs. Jeon… Your favorite flowers sent by your favorite person to his favorite person, delivered by your favorite person, obviously.” He tilted his head to look at me from behind those flowers as he smiled at me with his bunny teeth.

Cocky. I couldn’t help but blush deep red and look at him with a shy smile, accepting the flowers.

“Come on in, its your house.” I said scanning his figure adorned with an armani suit, stunning dark hair and his handsome self.

“Like what you see?” He teased.

“Oh shut up.” I tell him ignoring the fact that I was checking him out in his face.

“Come on y/n… You’re allowed, you know.” He smacked my ass as he walks past me toward his room to certainly change and wash up. I kept the flowers on the glass table by the door and bit my lip, feeling the area when he had smacked me on as I drowned myself into my own thoughts.

Jeon Jungkook, 25 years old, intelligent, handsome, rich, successful, eye candy and my husband of 2 years now whom I’ve met only 12 times including the one on our wedding/contracts-beneficial-for-both-our-brands.

Mentally, he’s alluring. Physically he is appealing. In reality, he was busy. But so was I.

There were a lot of hardships we have been through in these 4 years. From meeting him to getting married out of family pressure and purly business interest. Somewhere between these 4 years, I’ve learnt enough to be committed, impressed and… Live in love.

Our marriage, in context of physicals, consists of one mandatory wedding kiss, roughly 8 hand shakes, 5 hand kisses, 2 playful spanks, one goodbye hug and accidental touches.

Yes, my husband and I have certainly not been in love. But over time, I fell for him. So hard. I just came to realize it a few weeks early. I wasn’t sure, if he was too feeling the same, but I didn’t want to complain.

He is mine to call. I carry his last name. And the media knows it all. Whenever he meets me, he makes sure to take me out for a date to display a healthy relationship, perhaps also maintain it. I was happy. Despite him being so busy, he tries to keep up with our so called marriage.

I resumed my position on the couch with my pet.

“Y/N, hi.” He whispers, sitting besides me on the couch.

“Hey.” I smile back at him.

“So, how are you doing?” He drops his most frequent question.

“You see me here, I’m alive.” I mocked in my lazy tone. He suppresses his giggle at my sarcastic ass.

“Well, I’m glad. How is our little son?” He reaches to lightly pat on the hedgehog. He brought him for me for our first anniversary knowing how much I adored them and leaving a sign of himself when he’s not there. I would be lying if I couldn’t stop smiling when he said “our son”.

“He’s doing great.” I mumble.

“Y/N.” he whispers and softly hum in response.

“This is weird… What we have.” He said looking into my eyes.

I dropped my heart when he says it. The legit thought was that he was about to say something that will break my heart, but he just completely changes it.

“Its been 2 year since we got married. And we’ve never ever, spent time together, you know, like how usually couples do.” He continues as I nod.

“I get it that its just more of a superficial thing to say, but you know, I just feel like, I want to live now and you know, I want to live with you because you’re the only one whom I call mine publicly. I want to know you, y/n. Not as a CEO but as a person.” He tells making my breathing faster. My heart was pounding ever so strongly at his kind and comforting words.

“Jungkook…” Before I could finish, he puts a finger on my lips and continues,

“I’ve decided to go on a break. From my job which is probably my only life. I don’t know Y/N. I am tired. I want to live with you as my wife and not just as a business partner and I want to see things differently. Will you help me?” He was a very confident man, but listening him break down like this was such an intense thing. Jeon Jungkook, was vulnerable and tried and I was there to witness. The tycoon was coming clean to me. I wanted to hug him and this time I didn’t want to regret the opportunity.

I removed his finger from my lips and went up closer to him and said, “Jungkook, I have seen you through growing into what you are today, and I’m glad you decided to share it with me… I want to help you, and I will. You’re my husband, I’ve vowed to do so. I’m always there for you.” I leaned into him and hugged him with all I had restrained in me. Feeling his warm body made me shudder in response. It was so comfortable to have him wrapped around me. This was the most intimate I’ve gotten with him and in that moment.

It took every fiber of my body to stop myself from kissing his soft petal like lips.

I almost jump as I feel him hugging me back and burring his face into the crook of my neck, it felt as he he had brushed his lips in the nape. But I didn’t want to complain, I just wanted to make him feel wanted.

“Y/N, I’m taking year off from my business trips. I want to be home with you. I want to cook for you and buy gifts like normal people And take you for ice cream when you crave it at 3 am. I don’t wanna text you anymore good-mornings or nights, but say that to you, face to face.” He whispers so lightly making me flip my stomach upside down. It felt almost as if he’s trying to confess something he has been holding back, all this time.

“Oh, Jungkook. I’m glad you feel that way. I’ll be more than happy to have you around you know.” I reply sniffing my tears up.

“And, don’t worry, I still will sign papers, but from home. And I want you to do the same now.” He says pouting. I pull away immediately and frown at him.

“What? Are you serious? If you don’t know, I’m the CEO of-” he presses his lips against mine. He took me by surprise and I was so shocked with my eyes wide open. I notice, his eyes are so peacefully closed and his lips were actually on mine. Instead of resisting, I started melting under his touch on my arms. I felt my eyes getting heavy and my hands running to pull him close to me. I felt his lips moving against mine and I subconscious repeated the movement. His lips softly pulling mine away which indeed was the sexiest thing in that frame. His chest was so close to me I could almost feel his heartbeat rising and falling.

This was something I dreamt about and it was happening right in front of me. Everything felt surreal, from the texture of his lips to his sweet taste to his his cologne washing me over. I was ready to accept anything from that moment on because the love of my life was touching me in the most romantic way. My amazingly sexy husband was finally kissing me. I was the luckiest woman alive in the universe. And nothing made me happier than having him around me, being happy. I reluctantly pull away and tried to steady my breath. He was still clutching onto me and looking into my eyes. I felt embarrassed on how much crimson I’ve parted on my cheeks. I licked my lips and looked at him.

“That was… That was nice.” I whispered making him smile ear to ear.

“So, you’re with me?” He asks putting his forehead against mine.

“Anything for you, Mr. Jeon.” I breathed out a chuckle.

“You better pack up soon, Mrs. Jeon, we’re going for our honeymoon.” He winked at me, flushing me even more.

thanks for reading. :*

I’ll continue this for sure.

#jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 7 years

Text

Post-it Poems

@pickingoutchinapatterns

So I fully intend to do one story that includes all of these words but I thought of this idea and couldn’t resist. Enjoy this beautiful sappyness. (edited by @alittlemissfit of course)

As Scully packed up the apartment that she’d barely made herself at home in, she found herself distracted by things she’d either hidden away when she moved in or that she’d gotten from her mother’s house.

She would find keepsakes from when she was a kid or old pictures of her siblings. She would find old case files that she’d chosen to keep for one reason or another. But she hadn’t taken a pause in her work until finding a simple wooden box. One that held quite a few memories.

Running her hand over the lid she wondered if she wanted to open it. The small cedar box held old notes from Mulder. Poems that he’d given to her over the years, written out in his messy scrawl on post it notes. The tradition started when she was dying of cancer and continued for most of their life together.

Scully rifled around through the post-its and found the first one he'd given her. It wasn’t dated or signed but she knew it was the first from the moment she saw it. She’d found it sticking to her nightstand one day after a nap.

The note read:

Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. - Matthew Arnold

At the time it made her cry, hold tight to her pillow to soak up her tears. When Mulder came back later that night she kissed him, was grateful she still had the strength to hold him. She’d run her hands under his shirt, down to the sizable bulge in his pants. He’d taken her hands and held them between them before she asked him to make love to her, convinced it would be their last chance. Every day she’d felt weaker and weaker and when he looked into her eyes he’d been unable to pull away. They moved slowly together on the hospital bed in the dark room and she'd tried to hold on to every moment. Wanting to remember each detail during the pain to come. When she recovered they didn’t discuss it. He would occasionally kiss her on the cheek or forehead, say something that made her smile or melt, but they steered clear of heavy discussions, talking about things like love.

Searching for the next note Scully found it sticking to the bottom of the box. After Emily had died she closed herself off, from Mulder, from her mother, from everything. And he let her, until one day a few weeks later she found a post-it on the window of her car after work. The sad words read:

Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it. - Oscar Wilde I’m here when you’re ready- M

She cried after reading it, cried like she wanted to at the funeral. Before she knew what she was doing her car was in front of Mulder’s building. She didn’t have a plan but walked up to his apartment and when he opened the door she flung herself into his arms. He held her until she fell asleep, and in the morning she left before he woke. Again, they didn’t discuss it.

Remembering all the words unsaid, she came upon another note in the box. This one she’d found in her briefcase after she’d rescued him from the Bermuda Triangle. When he was lying in the hospital he’d told her he loved her. She had tried to take it with a grain of salt but at night she’d find the words echoing in her mind, seeping into her dreams. After he was released from the hospital she found the note. It had read:

S, I meant what I said- I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,— How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more? - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

That time there was no rushing over to see him. She had worked up the nerve to bring it up one day until she saw him standing close to Agent Fowley in the hallway, having a hushed conversation. She'd tucked the note away and felt like a damn fool for a long time after.

She didn't open up to Mulder again until after his brain surgery, and shortly after received another tender note. It had been inside a file folder holding their latest X-file, one that had come across her small desk. The poem was scrawled on the front and back of the post-it note.

To Scully- There is a lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleas'd my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die.

Her free behaviour, winning looks, Will make a lawyer burn his books; I touch'd her not, alas! not I, And yet I love her till I die.

Had I her fast betwixt mine arms, Judge you that think such sports were harms, Were't any harm? no, no, fie, fie, For I will love her till I die.

Should I remain confined there So long as Phœbus in his sphere, I to request, she to deny, Yet would I love her till I die.

Cupid is winged and doth range, Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet will I love her till I die. - Thomas Ford

The words filled her but she didn’t go to him. Instead Mulder came to her. As she sat on her couch reading the note for the fifth time, he knocked on her door.

She opened the door and they simply looked at each other for a moment before she moved forward. Taking his face in her hands she kissed him, practically devoured him. They wound up stumbling into her apartment and into her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind.

That night he spoke poetry aloud to her, and the next morning she pulled open the top drawer of her nightstand, showed him each of the notes he’d given her before handing him a pen and a stack of post it's.

She asked him to write the one he’d just recited while pillowed on his chest, cuddled close to him and reveling in the afterglow.

Pulling that note out from the box she smiled, recalled the husky tone his voice took on as he spoke the words, kissed and nipped at her breasts.

Have you beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. - Ovid

At the time she’d laughed in delight at the mischievous look in his eyes. He rolled her nipples between his fingers while reciting it by memory and she praised him for efficient multitasking.

Reaching for the next poem, she was overcome with the sadness she’d felt back when she first read it. Mulder had left it for her the morning he left, three days after William was born. It was stuck on the top of the pile of post-its that still sat in her drawer, but it had taken her a week to find it. When she had she'd held it tight to her chest and cried. The tear stained paper read:

I’m sorry that I have to leave. I love you. -M How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Scully felt the tears gathering in her eyes but blinked them back. Kept sifting through the other notes in the box: From time to time she’d find them in her office at the hospital or hidden in her suitcases when they were on the run. She kept the box all these years and she'd kept them all.

Not hearing the door open she was startled when Mulder’s arms wrapped around her, circled her waist.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, laying a kiss on the top of her head.

“Your post-it poems,” she answered, leaning back into his chest as he looked at her in surprise.

“You kept all of those?”

Putting the box down she turned in his arms. Laying her hands flat on his chest she smiled, looked up into his eyes.

“Of course I did. Every single one.”

His eyes watering Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead. Pulled away after a beat just enough to speak.

“Now that I have your face by heart, I look Less at its features than its darkening frame Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame, Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook. Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease The lead and marble figures watch the show Of yet another summer loath to go Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.

Now that I have your face by heart, I look.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read In the black chords upon a dulling page Music that is not meant for music's cage, Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed. The staves are shuttled over with a stark Unprinted silence. In a double dream I must spell out the storm, the running stream. The beat's too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.”

At some point as he spoke Scully curled her head into his neck, listened to the rumble of his voice. Reaching her hand up she stroked his cheek that was covered with a day’s worth of stubble. They stood in silence for a few minutes until Mulder pulled her back from him, looked into her eyes.

“Let’s go home Scully.” She nodded, holding the box into one hand and held his with the other.

They had movers coming to get the few boxes that remained of the half-life she’d lived in the bare apartment. But she knew that she would have left all of the rest behind to be with him.

(-final poem written by Louise Bogan)

#txf fanfic #x files fanfic #i wrote this #msr #OTP

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