#auden's fall :)
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balkanparamo · 1 year ago
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Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (detail) by Bruegel
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hiraeth-e-saudade · 5 months ago
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tenderlystupendoussoul · 2 years ago
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"Landscape with the Fall of Icarus", Pieter Bruegel the Elder (c. 1560);
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"Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" (poem), William Carlos Williams (1960);
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"Musée des Beaux Arts" (poem), W. H. Auden (1938);
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“ICARUS”, STARSET;
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“Icarus”, Bastille;
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“Fun”, Coldplay;
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“Sunlight”, Hozier;
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“I, Carrion (Icarian)”, Hozier;
Icarus's passing is seen by Bruegel, Williams, and Auden as a minor incident in the grand scheme of existence. Williams' "quite unnoticed" serves as a reminder/memento mori of our own mortality. Dying is not such a remarkable occurrence, life moves on without us when we pass away. And sometimes all that can be heard at the end of a life is a just a brief splash sound.
"Icarus" by STARSET is about a self-destructive character. They interpret the story of Icarus as an allegory for being too self-absorbed at the expense of others. The lines "you'll never be good enough" and "you always fly right up until it burns" as well as "you'll never go through them" all allude to a tendency to constantly pursue the same route over and over no matter what.
Bastille's "Icarus" retells Icarus's story alongside a modern tragedy. The opening scene of "Icarus" shows a person preparing to "dig their own grave" and "drink themselves to death." The song continues by drawing a comparison between death and Icarus, who is "flying too close to the sun/ And Icarus's life, it has only just begun". With these lines, Bastille adapt the Icarus myth to a more contemporary setting, creating associations with tragedy and the carelessness of wasted youth.
In the song "Fun" by Coldplay, the singer likens himself to Icarus and confesses, "I know it's over before she says/ Now someone else has taken your place/ I know it's over, Icarus says to the sun". The Icarus myth is reframed by Coldplay as a tragic love story between a young person and the sun.
Hozier's song "Sunlight" describes how he is ready to die (metaphorically) in order to be with the person he views as his sunlight. While Hozier's main concern in "I, Carrion" is his lover's support, even in the face of death. The narrator's deep yearning for their lover's companionship leads them to embrace death willingly. Just as Icarus dismissed Daedalus' warning about flying too high, Hozier shows a similar disregard, blinded by love, prioritizing his over to the point of placing them over his own life.
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alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry · 10 months ago
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Musée des Beaux Arts by WH Auden
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flowerofthewave · 1 year ago
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We met Auden's sister yesterday (after she hadn't seen her for 8 years) and boy she changed!!! Very fun session though and a very sweet reunion so here are some then and now comparisons
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oflights · 1 year ago
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The Fall of Rome
(for Cyril Connolly)
The piers are pummelled by the waves; In a lonely field the rain Lashes an abandoned train; Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
Fantastic grow the evening gowns; Agents of the Fisc pursue Absconding tax-defaulters through The sewers of provincial towns.
Private rites of magic send The temple prostitutes to sleep; All the literati keep An imaginary friend.
Cerebrotonic Cato may Extol the Ancient Disciplines, But the muscle-bound Marines Mutiny for food and pay.
Caesar's double-bed is warm As an unimportant clerk Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK On a pink official form.
Unendowed with wealth or pity, Little birds with scarlet legs, Sitting on their speckled eggs, Eye each flu-infected city.
Altogether elsewhere, vast Herds of reindeer move across Miles and miles of golden moss, Silently and very fast.
W.H. Auden
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glowcowboy · 2 years ago
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small joys saturday! i'm able to wear an cardigan out & about this morning and yesterday morning! it'll be too warm again in an few days but for now.. merriment in mine heart ^.^
YAYYYYY!!! i felt the same way, it was cool enough this morning for me to wear my favorite big hoodie to the library :D
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euelios · 1 year ago
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i’ll be honest after this term the idea of going straight into grad school isn’t looking great
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writinginnorthnorfolk · 3 months ago
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Nocturne in Grey and Gold: Chelsea Snow
Artists capture fleeting moments,but their impressions might remain for ever. Thus we feel the chill of snow and night air.We’re drawn from here to there,towards warm light. The shadowy figure crossing the bridgeappears to stumbleor slip on the icy pavement,drunk perhaps.We cannot see his face,but he seems determined,late for an assignation, angry, seekingcompany, or is he fleeing?Is he an…
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misseyres · 2 years ago
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was leaving a vm for my bf and I caught myself almost saying the l-word....girlies....is it happening....
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cryogeniccrush · 5 days ago
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“Soft on You” (bucky barnes x f!reader) 18+
Part Five — Late, and Losing
Summary: Bucky’s big meeting goes off without a hitch—except you’re not there. Bucky shuts down, you melt down, and everyone spirals. Charlie chews Bucky out. Sam drops corruption drama. Fried chicken becomes therapy. The next morning brings regret, denial, and a very suspicious overheard phone call that might just blow the Rowe case wide open…
Word count: 7.2k
Warnings: angst, miscommunication, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, office drama, petty jealousy, Auden existing, tension you can cut with a knife
part four • masterlist • next part
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Today was important.
You had set three reminders. Laid out your outfit the night before. Triple-checked the documents. And yet somehow—You’re late.
Not “oops, five minutes” late. Late late.
Because Auden had conveniently not sent you the location for Bucky’s big meeting. You spent the entire night cleaning up what you were pretty sure were his mistakes—missing files, double-booked calls, chaotic email threads—and passed out sometime around 3 a.m.
Now you’re speed-walking down cracked sidewalks in heels you regret ever purchasing, hair sticking to your forehead, lungs burning.
“This is fine,” you lie to yourself. “I’ll make it. He won’t even notice.”
You don’t even bother with the subway—hail a taxi, toss the last of your cash at the driver, and practically fall out of the cab in front of the sleek government building.
You stumble through the revolving doors like a hurricane.
“Hi—hi! I'm here for Mr. Barnes,” you gasp, slapping your ID against the front desk like a hostage negotiator. “Congressman Bucky Barnes. Please.”
The woman behind the counter raises an eyebrow. “The meeting just ended.”
Your breath hitches.
“…What?”
“About five minutes ago.”
You feel your heart lurch violently in your chest, like it’s trying to backpedal time itself.
And then—like some cruel twist of fate—you hear his voice.
Bucky rounds the corner, flanked by two sharply dressed men in suits and smiles. He’s laughing. Auden is there too, hands neatly folded, clipboard in place, standing a little too close to Bucky like he’s auditioning for his own damn biopic.
You freeze.
He shakes hands with the suits. They thank him. Say something about following up next week.
Then he turns.
And sees you.
Time stops.
His jaw sets. The warmth in his face vanishes, replaced with something cool. Distant.
Your voice barely works. “I—I’m so sorry.”
You take a hesitant step forward. Your hands are still clutching the file folder you didn’t get to hand out.
Bucky doesn’t say anything. Just turns and walks toward the exit.
You follow. “Mr. Barnes, please—”
“Save it,” he says.
The tone of his voice slices through you like ice water. He doesn’t look at you—just keeps walking, long strides out the doors, into the parking lot. You hurry to keep up, shoes clicking desperately behind him.
“Bucky, I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t want to talk right now, Lila.”
That makes you stop in your tracks.
Because he’s never used that voice with you before. It’s clipped. Detached. Like he’s putting space between you—fast.
“I couldn’t find the building. I didn’t have the address—”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, like your words are just noise.
“I said I don’t want to talk.”
You blink fast. Swallow the lump forming in your throat. You’re a second away from tears, and that makes it worse.
You nod slowly. Your voice is smaller than you want it to be when you whisper, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bucky.”
He doesn’t answer.
You turn away, heart heavy in your chest.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Auden leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed, smugness practically dripping off him. His expression says everything:
He won this round.
Your fists tighten. Your throat burns.
You walk to the trash bin by the door, open your folder, and drop the perfectly printed, color-coded, annotated documents into it without ceremony.
They land with a hollow thud.
Just like your heart.
And then you leave.
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Bucky’s jaw clenched as he stared into the garbage can.
Your papers were still there—perfectly assembled, slightly crinkled from impact.
He didn’t think. Just reached in, grabbed the whole thing, and brushed a speck of lint off the cover.
Auden appeared at his side, casual as ever, already reaching for the backseat of the car.
“I’ll ride with you,” he said, too smooth.
“No.”
Auden blinked. “Sir?”
“I want to be alone.” Bucky’s voice was cold steel. “Get a taxi. Send the bill if you want.”
Auden’s jaw twitched. He said nothing, just stepped back with a polite nod that couldn’t hide the fire behind his eyes.
The driver closed the door, and Bucky leaned back in the leather seat, folder on his lap.
He opened it slowly.
It was all there. Everything you were supposed to give him. Everything he needed.
His throat tightened.
You’d highlighted his key talking points. Added little notes in the margins:
“Explain this simply—audience is mostly first-time voters.”
“You got passionate about this on Tuesday—use that.”
He huffed a breath through his nose.
Auden’s version had been efficient. Technically correct. Like reading a Wikipedia page out loud. Yours, though… yours felt like him. Like you crawled inside his mind and pulled the words out of his chest before he even said them.
He didn’t just want you there today—he needed you. Not just for the notes. Not for the structure.
For the quiet assurance your presence always gave him. For the way you smiled when he got it right. For the look on your face when he didn’t.
He hadn’t been mad at you. Not really. He’d been mad at how much it mattered. How much it hurt to see you late and panicked, eyes shimmering with guilt while he stood there like a damn statue.
And that thing you said—“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bucky.”
That. That shattered something in his chest.
He’d wanted to grab your hand and whisper, “You never do.”
But instead, he walked away like a coward.
When he got back to the office, something felt off.
Muted chatter. Stolen glances.
The air was too still.
He was halfway to his door when Charlie stepped into his path.
Arms crossed.
Eyebrow cocked.
Scary.
“Mr. Barnes,” Charlie said, voice clipped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Bucky stopped. “Excuse me?”
“I’m the team manager. My job is to look after my people.” His tone turned sharper. “And I do not take kindly to one of them arriving here with tear-stained cheeks and panic in their eyes.”
Bucky opened his mouth, but Charlie cut him off with a raise of his hand.
“She was late because your little intern prodigy. Forgot to send her the address. Funny coincidence, huh?”
Bucky exhaled through his nose. Guilt climbing like ivy through his ribs.
Charlie stepped closer.
“I care about my team, Barnes. And if someone hurts them—whether it’s intentional or not—I’ll say it plain: I’m not gonna let it slide.” His eyes narrowed. “Got it?”
“…Yeah,” Bucky said, voice low. “Got it.”
“Good.” Charlie stepped back, posture relaxing only slightly. “Sam Wilson’s waiting in your office.”
Then he turned and walked off without another word.
Bucky didn’t move for a second.
Then he opened the door, stepping into the one place that had never felt colder.
“You haven’t called,” Sam said, lounging on his office couch with a protein bar in hand. “I figured you were either dead or in love.”
Bucky scowled, shutting the door behind him.
“I’m not—”
“Don’t say it.” Sam raised a hand. “You’re definitely in something.”
Bucky slumped into his chair. Rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Sam eyed him. “Also, why do you look like a kicked puppy?”
Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared blankly at the folder on his desk.
Sam took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
“Anyway. While you’re busy catching feelings, figured I’d drop something on your desk. Name’s Rowe. Congressman. Greasy handshake. Smiles too wide. Sound familiar?”
“Met him once at a fundraiser,” Bucky muttered.
Sam smirked. “Hope you washed your hand after.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Got a tip he’s involved in something shady. Money trails aren’t adding up. Campaign funding from a few groups I’ve been watching for a while. Quiet. You know the type.”
Bucky nodded. Mind half-split between corruption and your teary eyes.
“I’m following the trail,” Sam continued. “Looping you in. Keep your eyes open.”
He leaned forward, brow furrowed.
“And maybe tell your girl to stop crying over your dumb ass. She deserves better than whatever this energy is.”
Bucky looked away.
Sam stood up, clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and left without another word.
The room went quiet again.
And Bucky, alone with his thoughts, finally whispered:
“…Yeah. She does.”
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Charlie had what he called “a brilliant morale-building plan.”
Which really just meant: fried chicken, beer, and pretending none of you were emotionally repressed.
You didn’t know how he did it, but ten minutes later, your whole floor had been corralled into a big-ass table at Big Ray’s Fried & Greasy.
You weren’t sure if this was for team bonding or emotional sabotage.
You were sitting in the middle of it all. On your right: Bucky. On your left: Jackson.
Across the table: Katt, Mai, and the rest of your coworkers passing buckets of chicken like they were holy relics.
Auden, of course, had slithered into the seat beside Bucky like the leech he was.
The tension? Palpable.
You’d been ignoring Bucky like your life depended on it. After showing up to the office earlier with mascara smudged halfway down your cheeks and a hollow ache in your chest, Charlie had taken one look at you and said, “You’re done for the day. Go home. Cry. Come back prettier.”
You cried. You showered. You cried again. You ate a whole pint of ice cream and yelled at your ceiling.
And now here you were, drinking cheap beer and pretending like Bucky Barnes didn’t exist, even though he was sitting so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him.
He kept glancing at you like he wanted to say something. Like he was trying to send messages telepathically.
You refused to meet his eyes.
“How’s the chicken, Mr. Barnes?” Auden asked with the fakest grin known to mankind.
Bucky’s frown deepened. “It’s good.”
You bit your lip to keep from smiling. He was so not in the mood.
You reached for your beer, struggling with the cap.
Bucky leaned in. His voice soft. “Want me to help?”
You were tipsy, and that made you bold.
“No, thanks,” you said, sweet but distant.
Jackson snatched the bottle from you, popped it open effortlessly, and handed it back with a wink.
You pouted and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, my hero.”
Bucky’s jaw twitched. His metal hand curled into a tight fist under the table.
If he could shoot lasers from his eyes, Jackson would be ashes.
“Can we talk?” he asked you, voice low, almost hopeful.
You took a sip of your beer. “Oh, you want to talk now?” You mimicked his tone from the other day with a sarcastic twist.
He flinched like you’d slapped him. His eyes fell to his lap.
You didn’t say anything else. Just turned to Jackson and asked him something about the chicken seasoning, like your soul wasn’t cracking in half.
Later, Charlie stood up with a beer in hand and gave a tipsy speech.
“To Barnes, and the best team this side of the Capitol. You’re all weirdos and I love you.”
Everyone cheered, even Bucky—though his eyes didn’t leave you.
One by one, people started heading out. It was getting late.
You stood up, a little wobbly. “I should go. The room’s starting to feel like a tilt-a-whirl.”
“I’ll take you,” Jackson offered.
You nodded, patting his chest. “A gentleman!”
But before Jackson could even grab his coat, Bucky stood up fast—almost knocking over his chair.
“I’ll take her.”
Everyone froze.
Katt’s eyes bugged out. Charlie looked like he was about to burst into laughter.
Auden practically hissed. “We can share a taxi, Mr. Barnes. I don’t mind—”
“No,” Bucky said firmly. “I’ll take her.”
His eyes were on you. Just you.
You didn’t know what to do. Your brain was buzzing. Your heart was doing gymnastics.
You stepped outside before the drama could escalate. The cool air slapped your cheeks, grounding you.
Behind you: footsteps.
“Oh, Jackson,” you said, turning. “You ready?”
“I’ll take you,” Bucky repeated, stepping closer.
You blinked. “I don’t want to.”
That stopped him. But only for a second.
He came closer. “Why not?”
You frowned. “Because I don’t want to?"
He didn’t say anything. Just reached for your arm, gently, and tugged you toward his bike.
You let him.
“What is it with you spies and motorcycles?” you muttered.
He placed the helmet on your head. You climbed on the bike without touching his waist. He noticed.
You wanted him to notice.
When you got to your building, you expected him to say goodbye and leave.
Instead, he climbed off first, unclipped the helmet, and gently took it off you.
You were already staring at him.
He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.
The world shrank to just that touch.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Your heart twisted. You didn’t know what exactly he meant. The missed call? The (not) meeting? Making you cry? But you said nothing.
He leaned closer. One hand on each side of you, resting on the bike seat.
“It wasn’t my intention to make you cry,” he murmured.
Your chest squeezed.
Your throat ached.
“I’m used to it,” you whispered.
His eyes snapped up. Wrecked.
That expression broke you.
“Anyway, I’m too drunk for this” you mumbled.
And you kissed his cheek.
Soft. Gentle. Brief.
It felt like forever.
His hand found the small of your back. He held on to your jacket like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
You climbed off the bike before he could say anything else.
And without looking back, you disappeared through the front door of your building.
He stood there for a long time after.
Eyes closed.
Still feeling the ghost of your kiss.
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You sit up in bed like you've just been struck by lightning.
Your hand flies to your face. “Oh my god,” you whisper.
You kissed Bucky Barnes.
On. The. Cheek.
Your feet barely touch the ground as you dart to the bathroom. The second the light flickers on, you're splashing cold water onto your face like it’ll somehow erase everything that happened.
"Jesus Christ," you mutter, gripping the sink.
You stare at your dripping reflection in the mirror.
“Are you—are you insane?” you yell at yourself. “What were you thinking?!” You start pacing.
“Who does that? Who kisses their boss? ON THE CHEEK?” You groan and cover your face with your hands.
“He probably hates me now. He’s probably going to call HR. He’s probably already drafted the termination email—subject line: Get Out Freak.”
You stop, inhale like you’re about to face a jury, and try to think logically.
“You. Are. A professional.”
You say it with your whole chest like it’ll wipe out what happened. Like Bucky didn’t literally stand there like a carved Greek statue while you kissed him on the cheek, whispered something sad and drunk, then vanished into the building like a fever dream.
You point at yourself in the mirror. “We’re going with it didn’t happen. Yes. Clean slate. You were drunk. You forgot. Easy.”
You nod like a lunatic. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”
You hop into the shower, blast it cold for ten seconds, regret everything, blast it hot, then pull together the outfit of someone who definitely didn’t kiss her boss. Oversized scarf? Check. Sunglasses so big you could hide from Interpol? Check.
You march out like you’re on a mission. And that mission is denial.
At the coffee shop, the girl at the counter squints when she sees you.
"Hi! You're back!" she says cheerfully. Then she blinks. “Rough night?”
You slam your palm on the counter.
"Rough life," you mutter.
She snorts. “Say no more. You want your usual?”
"No. I want the strongest coffee you’ve got in the biggest cup you legally can give me. And three more to-go.”
She whistles but gets to work.
You pick up the tray when it's ready, drop a generous tip in the jar like a thank-you-for-not-judging bribe, and head out into the morning sunlight.
At the office, you wave to Mark at the front desk. He eyes your scarf suspiciously.
“Cute scarf,” he says.
“Thanks. I’m in mourning.”
He doesn’t ask.
You press the elevator button and—pause. The doors slide open and you immediately peek inside, body half-bent like a paranoid pigeon.
Clear. You exhale like you just survived a minefield.
When you reach your floor, it’s still early. You head straight to your desk, drop off your things, and distribute the sacred elixirs.
One cup on Katt’s desk. One for Mai. One for Jackson.
You place yours like it’s a shrine offering and sit back, sipping like it’s the only thing keeping you from combusting.
Okay. Crisis managed.
No one knows.
Bucky probably forgot. You’ll act normal.
Professional. Detached.
You definitely won’t think about his hand on your back or the way he looked at you when you said “I’m used to it.”
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Bucky sat on the edge of his kitchen island, bare feet on the cold tile, a cup of black coffee resting in his vibranium hand.
His flesh hand was pressed lightly to his cheek.
The same spot your lips had touched.
He hadn’t shaved it. Not that morning. Not yet. Something about it felt too… intimate to erase.
He was smiling. God, he was smiling like a fool.
The kind of smile that crept in when he wasn’t paying attention. The kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth and made him feel twenty years younger.
He could still feel the warmth of you—your lips on his cheek, your finger brushing something from his face, your voice a sleepy whisper.
But then, like a bucket of cold water, the smile disappeared.
“What the hell are you doing,” he muttered.
He scoffed and stood up. “What are you, a highschool boy?”
The words came out sharper than he intended, but the feeling was accurate. Ridiculous. He was the goddamn Winter Soldier—and he was spiraling over a kiss on the cheek from his assistant.
He got dressed in record time.
By the time he stepped outside, a taxi was already waiting. Of course, Auden was in the backseat, looking at his phone with all the grace of someone who thought the world owed him compliments.
Bucky climbed in without a word.
Didn’t look at him. Didn’t say hi. Just pulled out his phone and checked it.
No messages from you.
No emails.
Nothing.
His chest tightened.
“So…” Auden’s voice cut through the silence like a butter knife. “Rough night, Mr. Barnes? Got a little drunk? Made it home safe?”
He wasn’t asking to be polite.
He was fishing.
“I don’t get drunk,” Bucky said flatly.
Auden hummed. “Moody morning, huh?”
Silence.
“Want me to clear your schedule?” Auden offered, all too casually. “Me and your other assistant can handle things. No need for you to be stressed.”
That hit a nerve.
Your other assistant.
That’s what he dared to call you.
Bucky turned his head slowly.
The very same “assistant” who had forgotten to send you the meeting address. The same smug bastard sitting beside him now, pretending this wasn’t a game of sabotage.
He didn’t answer.
Not yet.
He just let the silence stretch—and stew.
When they reached the building, Bucky stepped out without waiting for Auden. He nodded at Clara and Mark on the way in—just enough to be polite.
Auden exchanged… looks with them.
Inside the elevator, Bucky checked his reflection in the mirrored wall. Fixed his collar. Smoothed the line of his jacket.
Just in case.
He blinked at himself.
“Get it together,” he whispered under his breath.
“You look amazing as always, Mr. Barnes,” Auden piped in beside him.
Bucky didn’t respond.
His brain was busy replaying your sleepy smile. Your lips. The heartbreak in your voice the day before. The way you’d kissed his cheek like it meant something—and bolted like it didn’t.
The elevator climbed.
Auden kept talking—something about budget reports or rescheduling a lunch—but Bucky wasn’t listening.
The elevator dinged.
Bucky didn’t move.
Instead, he turned abruptly, stepping in close. Not quite threatening, but close enough for Auden to stiffen.
“Hey,” Bucky said, voice low. “Did you send her the address yesterday?”
Auden blinked. “I—what?”
“You didn’t, did you?” Bucky’s eyes locked on him.
A beat passed.
Then Bucky’s vibranium hand slid from holding the door. The metal fingers unclenched from the edge of the elevator like a quiet verdict.
Auden was still inside when the doors began to slide shut.
He didn’t say a word.
Bucky just let the silence answer for him.
And as the elevator descended—alone now, face pale—Auden realized something far worse than being caught:
He was losing.
Badly.
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You’re halfway down the corridor when you see Auden, standing near the emergency stairwell, phone pressed to his ear.
You freeze.
He’s talking low, fast. Almost too fast.
“No—no, I told you, he’s getting suspicious. I’m working on it. Just let me get through next week. Once the Rowe proposal is on his desk, it’s over.”
You blink. Rowe? Like… Congressman Rowe?
Your heart jumps into your throat.
You backtrack fast, heels clicking, and duck into a copy room just as Auden turns his head. You hold your breath, practically folded behind the paper shelf, and wait until his footsteps vanish down the hallway.
You don’t walk. You sprint.
You run through the office like your shoes are on fire.
"Has anyone seen Bucky? I mean Mr. Barnes? Please, it’s important!" you ask, breathless, almost skidding into Katt and Mai.
Katt blinks. “Uh—he went to the bathroom like two minutes ago?”
“Perfect. Love that. Amazing.” You’re already turning, speed-walking like your life depends on it.
You reach the hallway outside the bathroom and pace. You wait one beat. Two. Then a man walks out—a very startled stranger in a suit.
You flinch. “OH—sorry, sorry! I wasn’t—I'm not—I'm not following you, promise.”
The man stares. “Are you a creep?”
“No! I’m not”
“…Right.”
He walks away faster.
Then—finally—Bucky steps out of the bathroom, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. He pauses when he sees you.
Your eyes go wide. “I heard him—I mean I didn’t see him but I did, but not like see-see but like hear and he was talking on the phone and said your name and Rowe’s name and—”
“Hey—hey, sweetheart,” he cuts in gently, placing both hands on your shoulders. “Breathe, okay? In. Out. You’re safe.”
Your lungs obey him like he has superpowers.
“Good. Now go again. Slower.”
You nod, lips trembling slightly. “I saw Auden. Just now. He was near the stairwell, talking on the phone. I heard him say ‘Bucky’s getting suspicious’ and ‘once the Rowe proposal’s on his desk it’s over.’”
Bucky’s expression ices over.
You keep going. “I think he’s working with someone. I don’t know. But it sounded sketchy. I didn’t know what to do so I ran here—like, literally sprinted, I might have scared a guy, he thinks I’m unwell now.”
You stop for a breath.
Bucky doesn’t speak for a second. He’s staring at you like you’re a puzzle piece that just snapped into place.
“I believe you,” he says, voice low and sure.
Your throat tightens. “You do?”
He nods, jaw tense now, eyes blazing with focus. “Yeah.”
You blink at him.
He slides one hand down your arm. “You did good coming to me.”
You nod slowly. “You’re not mad I—uh—waited outside the men’s room like a psycho?”
He smirks. “Honestly? It’s kind of flattering.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart’s racing again—and not from fear this time.
“Now go back to your desk,” he says softly. “I’ll handle Auden.”
You take a step back, hesitating. “You’re sure?”
He nods again. “Trust me. You just gave me everything I needed.”
And for the first time in hours, maybe even days—you do.
You trust him.
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Bucky is officially entering his emotionally conflicted era. The tension is rising—personally, professionally, and maybe romantically—and we’re finally starting to peel back layers on the subplot.
Also… yes, the cheek kiss happened. No, neither of them are coping well.
Would love to hear your thoughts:
Do we collectively hate Auden?
Do we collectively love Charlie?
Taglist: @jenniferpendragon @iyskgd @amarveloustime222 @httpkoylinnn @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @parkerslivia @ifilwtmfc @winters1917 @melsunshine 💕
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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months ago
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An “extremely rare" sight from NASA, and a reminder of why it’s called the Emerald Isle:
Moist ocean air also contributes to abundant rainfall. Ireland receives between 29 and 78 inches of rain per year, with more rain falling in the west and in the mountains. Most of the rain falls in light showers. This moist climate means plenty of clouds and fog. According to the Irish Meteorological Service, the sky is entirely cloudy more than 50 percent of the time. There are more clouds during the day than at night, and fog is common.
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“The Celt, and his cromlechs, and his pillar-stones, these will not change much – indeed, it is doubtful if anybody at all changes at any time. In spite of hosts of deniers, and asserters, and wise-men, and professors, the majority still are adverse to sitting down to dine thirteen at a table, or being helped to salt, or walking under a ladder, of seeing a single magpie flirting his chequered tale. There are, of course, children of light who have set their faces against all this, although even a newspaperman, if you entice him into a cemetery at midnight, will believe in phantoms, for everyone is a visionary, if you scratch him deep enough. But the Celt, unlike any other, is a visionary without scratching.” ― William Butler Yeats
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“Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.” ― W.H. Auden
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celluloidrainbow · 5 days ago
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CHRISTOPHER AND HIS KIND (2011) dir. Geoffrey Sax In 1931, budding author Christopher Isherwood goes to Berlin at the invitation of his friend W. H. Auden for the gay sex that abounds in the city. He work as an English teacher and his housemates include bewigged old queen Gerald Hamilton and would-be actress Jean Ross, who sings tunelessly in a seedy cabaret club. They and others he meets get put into his stories. After a fling with sexy rent boy Caspar, he falls for street sweeper Heinz and pays his sickly mother's medical bills--to the disapproval of her other son, Nazi Gerhardt. (link in title)
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apoemaday · 1 year ago
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Musée des Beaux Arts
by W. H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong, The old Masters: how well they understood Its human position: how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
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spirk-fic-recs · 3 months ago
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Hi! I've been trying to find a fic that I read a while ago and I wonder if you might recognize it. Kirk starts out the five year mission but keeps butting heads with Spock, so he instead starts up a correspondence with Spock Prime in which they become quite close. In the letters, they quote W.H. Auden's "The More Loving One" and a line from the Aeneid in which Aeneas is searching the streets, calling out for his wife Creüsa in grief. Eventually, Spock Prime convinces Kirk to give a relationship with young Spock another go.
Does this sound familiar at all? I'd love to read it again. Thanks!
Hey @vullcant! Sorry for the late response-- end of term reqs are ASS. Anyways, I apologize but I'm not familiar with this work, nor was I able to locate it while scrolling through ao3. To anyone who is familiar with this story, don't hesitate to reply to this post, so that we may be able to locate it:D I was able to find fics with similar concepts though, and I'll link them down here if you're interested:
My Devotion (AOS, 98448 words) by IvanW
After Jim is released from the hospital after being revived from death, he is befriended by Spock Prime, who is the only one he knows who has had a similar experience. He is having trouble dealing with coming back from the dead. Along the way, Jim and those around him discover someone is out to get him. In fact, possibly more than one group is out to get him. Spock’s relationship with Uhura is falling apart even as he grows closer to Jim, during Jim’s convalesce and later threats of danger. As their enemies close in, Spock, Spock Prime, and Bones form a group to protect Jim from outside threats.
Going Boldly (AOS, 114901 words) by IvanW
The adventures and developing relationship of Kirk and Spock one year into their five year mission and beyond
Redshift (AOS, 38679 words) by museaway
Dual tragedies bring the Enterprise's command team closer together, but the gap between them grows when Spock discovers something in Jim's mind.
Evolution (AOS, 149293 words) by Rhaegal
In his first year in command of the USS Enterprise James T. Kirk must gel his new team together, adapt to his abrupt change in status over his friends, and deal with falling for his first officer. And, of course, there's always someone out to threaten the galaxy.
an exercise in command team building (AOS, 38366 words) by onlyafterhours
Pretty sure this one isn't in the handbook on how to improve your working relationship with your first officer that hates you. Not that Jim's ever really used the handbook.
Sorry I wasn't able to find it, and I really hope you are able to find it soon-- it sounds like a great story, and I would love to read it myself:D
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flowerofthewave · 2 years ago
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Had a very well adjusted sharing the bed moment in our Spire game. These are two people who have their shit together. Take my word for it
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