#currently weeping at ur feet

[writingsbychlo]

17, 101 and 232 with stiles maybe??

“Look what you do to me.” + “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” + “It’s just a bikini.”

Stiles was confident in every aspect of his life, except when it came to girls. He had spent years fawning over Lydia, only to be shot down time and time again, and though his break up with Malia had been mutual, she had ended up with Scott. Dammit, Stiles was happy for them, but she moved on to someone super hot pretty quick, and he was no single for almost two years.

He didn’t love easy, he didn’t do simple crushes, Stiles was an all or nothing kind of guy, and right now his all was in yet another girl who he deemed to be way out of his league. A cheerleader for the college teams, a body that would make supermodels weep, and a personality that put saints to shame. A whole package, except, Stiles wasn’t really sure you knew who he was. 

Your friendships groups ran the same, you were in a lot of the same group chats, and attended a lot of the same events, and you would talk on a regular basis. He’d managed to pull himself together enough to be what he desperately hoped was flirting, but he really couldn't tell, because sometimes it seemed like you were flirting back and sometimes he just couldn't tell.

Stiles was busy scrolling through Instagram and trying not to click onto your page to stare longingly at the photos you had posted from your trip to the beach, his jaw dropping at some of your more recent ones. An all-black bikini with white polka dots, your hair wet and water running down you body from your shots in the sea.

Wet skin, tanned legs, sandy and messy and looking thoroughly fucked out, and he dropped a hand to his crotch without restraint. It felt dirty and wrong, to be getting off at the sight of you, but he couldn’t help it. Snatching his hand away from the front of his sweats alike it had burned him, he bit down on his lower lip to suppress his groan, and almost jumped when a new texts came through.

He felt his mouth go dry as your name came up, and he wasn’t aware you even had his number saved, not like he had since the day you’d given it to him and the rest of your friends over a year ago, and he’d been building up the courage to text you since. Clicking on the notification, his breath hitched at the message, and he stilled as he tried to work out how to respond.

[Y/N 😍] had fun at the beach w/ u the other day, u looked hot in when you went swimming.

He wasn’t exactly sure you even knew who he was, never mind that you had gone out of your way to text him, it didn’t feel real, but that was a flirty text and he wanted more than anything to indulge.

not nearly as hot as u did. just seen ur new pics, not sure I can handle them.

He added a few winks afterwards, and lifted his thumb up to his lips and nibbled on the nail, anxiety flooding his body, but then that little grey bubble popped up at the bottom of the screen, and he let out a breath of relief.

[Y/N 😍] really? it’s just a bikini.

He let out a ragged laugh at the thought, rolling his eyes as he tried to think up a response, but you were tying again already, and he rose his eyebrows as he waited to see what you had to say, the words flashing up on the screen winding him and leaving him panting for breath, cock twitching in his pants.

[Y/N 😍] I look better naked, anyway.

He couldn't stop himself, dipping his hand into his sweats, palming over his boxers and squeezing his cock through the material, his hips jerking up into his hands.

I bet you do, princess.

Only a second later, your response was coming through, a picture this time as you stood before your mirror in nothing but a pair of dark blue lace panties, one hand cupping your tits to hide them from his view, and he let out a broken sob at the sight. Dropping his phone for only a second, be shuffled his sweats and boxers down his legs, taking his cock in his hand and finally getting his hand on himself, before a wicked idea passed across his mind.

Snapping a picture as he pumped himself, he dropped it back to you, swallowing thickly and adding a caption a second later. 

look what you do to me.

It took you a second before you responded, and his head as spinning as he stared at the image you’d sent, his cock twitching in his hand as he squeezed himself roughly and began to drag himself closer and closer to the edge.

[Y/N 😍] fuck, Stiles. wish u were here right now.

So, you did know it was him that you’d texted, that you were currently getting off with, and the accompanying picture of your chest freed for him, a hand tastefully tucked under your panties low enough for him to know exactly where your fingers were was what left him in a sticky and panting mess of his own cum seconds later.

He didn’t care about the mess he’d made, or the cleanup he’d have later form the cum on his sheets, all he cared about was replying to you as fast as he possibly could.

I could be there in ten minutes.

He was already up and scrubbing his chest with tissues, pulling a shirt onto his head and looking for some shoes when his phone chimed with a response from you.

[Y/N 😍] better be quick, or I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.

He tugged sneakers onto his feet and grabbed his keys, smirking as he slammed his door shut on the bedroom and bedding to be dealt with later, typing with one hand as he moved.

not if I have any input.

[primordialpaper]

Gray and Wendy brotp

“Considering the amount of blood lost, Lockser’s fortunate Wendy got to her when she did. As it stands, though, I see no reason why she wouldn’t make a full recovery.”

“And Gray?”

“Hmph... He could do with a lecture on how foolish it is to ice over his wounds instead of receiving proper treatment, but he ought to be fine as well.”

Gray’s focus on Porlyusica and Evergreen’s whispered discussion didn’t hold much further past the words “full recovery”.

The nightmare world he’d been living in less than an hour ago, the crushing weight of his grief, dispelled by a girl who’s head barely reached his chest...

Gray doubted Wendy fully understood the gravity- the depth- of what she had done.

It was understandable, he supposed. She hadn’t been with them when the matter had first come to light, back on Galuna Island, and he’d never seen fit to bring it up with her once she’d joined. No sense filling her young head with tales of his losses. Not when she had enough of her own to deal with.

Still, the warm, living body lying beside him, light blue tresses fanned out delicately on the ground as Porlyusica tutted and hemmed over the state of their injuries was like a fantasy. She was still here. He’d thought that she had died, like Ur, offered up her blood like Ultear had her youth, for him. That he was alive only at the cost of yet another person’s sacrifice.

Wendy had spared him from that fate.

It occurred to him, as his consciousness faded, that while he hadn’t been once more saddled with a life-debt he could never pay back, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to thank her properly.

Gray leaned more than a bit against Juvia, watching as their errant Dragon Slayers embraced close friends and teammates, the sun shimmering off the crystalline orb that was Acnologia’s final resting place. When but an hour ago their world looked as if it was ending, it now seemed to release a breath of relief. They had won.

The collective mages’ ecstatic murmuring and cheers of victory were shattered by a cry of pain.

Gray’s head whipped around just in time to see a shock of deep blue hair flutter to the ground.

“Wendy!”

He was hardly the only person to cry out at the sight. The pink haired girl, Chelia, he recalled, dropped to her knees beside Wendy, big blue eyes wide with worry as she surveyed the blood soaked state of the bandages wrapped around her thigh. Gray had noticed the injury back when they’d first reclaimed the Port, but Wendy had paid it little mind, dutifully healing Erza while they all waited anxiously. It was with a sickening jolt that he realized, now hours later, that her upper thigh had been pierced clean through.

Forget fighting- She had walked on that leg?!

Dimly, he remembered her doing just that, while supporting Juvia no less. The pair of them drawing closer to him, smiling. It had been the last thing he saw before losing consciousness.

No words needed to be exchanged for him and Juvia to rush over together.

“-this close to the femoral artery, no wonder it’s hemorrhaging.” Chelia was muttering under her breath, small, pale hands pressing sodden bandages against the entry and exit wounds. There was hardly any white left to be seen on the wrappings.

“It’s ok- I’m... I’m ok,” inconceivably, Wendy was weakly muttering reassurances, even while she seemed unable to sit up from where she laid on the pavement. Stifling what might’ve been a whimper, Juvia shuffled forward on her knees, and carefully guided Wendy’s upper body to lay on her lap. She breathed whispers Gray couldn’t catch into the crown of her head, gently brushing errant strands of midnight blue off Wendy’s face.

“Can I- is there a way I can help?” Gray felt a prick of shame at relying on a 15 year old for guidance, but this girl was a healer, and he’d long ago learned their word was law when it came to treating injuries. Though, she wasn’t using any healing magic now... Had she exhausted herself in all the fighting?

Before this train of thought could go any further, Chelia’s eyes snapped up to him. He saw them flicker with recognition, and she asked briskly, “You have Ice Magic, right?”

He nodded mutely.

“Put your hands where mine are and apply pressure.” hesitating for only an instant, Gray cupped both sides of the wound just as Chelia slipped her hands free. The warm, tacky feeling of blood coated his palms, and Wendy’s leg jumped under his much larger hands, but he held fast.

“Blood vessels constrict under colder temperatures.” Chelia’s gaze bored into him. Gray was aware of the growing commotion around them as more people noticed the state Wendy was in, but he didn’t dare look away from the pair of cobalt eyes that demanded his attention. They were almost the same color as Wendy’s hair. “In order to stop the bleeding, you need to emit enough cold to slow the blood flow and encourage clotting, without lowering the temperature too much and causing tissue damage. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Gray was calling frost to his hands before the words even left his mouth. His own body barely felt the cold anymore, but he still remembered Ur’s dire warnings about what temperatures were dangerous for the average human, and how long one could withstand them before frostbite and necrosis set it. As long as things stayed above forty degrees, he could maintain this for close to an hour before it became hazardous for Wendy.

Wendy gave a hoarse noise of discomfort at the sudden cold, but she seemed to be fighting to stay conscious, eyelids fluttering as her head tilted to and fro. At this close proximity, Gray took note of another wound- a nasty gash- on her right side. It wasn’t bleeding terribly like the wound on her leg, but it looked particularly savage, like it’d been made by talons rather than a blade.

Just what had this war put Wendy through?

“Move! Get out of my way, you fools!”

Never before had Gray been so elated to hear the sharp, steely voice of Fairy Tail’s head Medical Advisor.

Like always, crowds hastened to disperse at Porlyusica’s command, and Gray soon found himself looking up at the gimlet-eyed medicine woman. With an efficiency that spoke of years of experience, Porlyusica knelt and began rummaging through the bag at her side. Without looking up, she gruffly intoned, “Fullbuster, keep that up. Lockser, prevent her from moving around too much. Blendy-” Gray thought he saw Chelia tense, like Porlyusica was about to say something dreadful. The crone herself actually paused, stilling for the briefest moment, before thrusting out a large roll of bandages to the pink-haired girl. “I’m occupied here, and with Wendy in this state, you’re the only other person with any idea how to treat the wounded. I need you to triage those gathered here, and guide whoever’s able in taking care of any injuries. I’ll address those you deem critical shortly. Got that?”

Chelia’s eyes glistened, and her gaze flickered to Wendy’s barely conscious face. Quick as a flash, she kissed her first two fingers, and then pressed them to the other girl’s cheek. Just as swiftly, she leapt to her feet, snatching the roll of bandages with a firm, “Yes, ma’am!” before bounding away to begin her task.

Porlyusica set to work just as quickly, packing some kind of salve onto a square of fabric, and instructing Gray to hold it against the exit wound while she prepared another pad for the entry wound, after which they would bind them in place. At one point, Wendy roused slightly, and she gazed blearily around. Her eyes fell on Porlyusica- specifically, her hair- and Gray’s heart clenched when they quickly filled with tears.

“Chelia... I’m sor-sorry... I’m so s-sorry...” Juvia attempted to shush her gently, but Wendy was inconsolable, weeping softly until exhaustion dragged her back under. When Porlyusica’s work was finally done, Gray retrieved his hands, before an instinct he couldn’t place urged him to fit one of Wendy’s small, limp hands in his own. His thumb traced comforting circles on the back of her hand as his gaze scanned the crowd of assembled mages, eventually falling on the small pink haired girl currently throwing caution to the wind and scolding Erza as she examined a wound on her shoulder.

While most everyone was alive and well- or at least on the way to well- and their enemies were bested, Gray got the distinct impression that their victory was not without sacrifice. It was simply a matter of what it was, and who had paid the price.

~~~~~~

Gray got his answer one week later, as he and Lyon shared a moment of respite from their work repairing the damage done to the Fairy Tail guildhall. The mages from Lamia Scale, Blue Pegasus, and Sabertooth had ruthlessly bowled over the Fairies’ protests, citing that the conflict with Alvarez had been a matter of countries rather than guilds, and took to clearing up Magnolia and the surrounding areas with zeal alongside their fellow Fioreans.

“Chelia can’t use magic anymore?” Gray had to make certain, on the off chance he’d heard Lyon wrong, even if he knew he likely hadn’t. His adoptive brother’s solemn head shake dashed those hopes quite efficiently.

“Ultear was very clear, from what I’ve heard. Unlocking her Third Origin permanently crippled the other two magic containers in her body. Biologically, it isn’t quite the same as if she was a non-mage, but there’s no known remedy for Origins that sustained such damage.” a shadow passed over Lyon’s face, and fist trembled faintly. “To think, the two youngest among us were fighting for their lives, for our lives, in the time it took us to blink.”

Gray ruminated on something he could say to that, with no success. Wendy and Chelia, for all their prodigious talent and combative skill, still evoked in their guildmates an innate urge to protect and shelter them. No matter how irrational it may be, it felt like a failure on their part when their younger companions were harmed. He remembered holding Wendy’s limp, listless body in the dungeons back in Edolas, feeling his stomach drop in that awful moment of panic when he failed to sense even an ounce of magic power within her, like she was... gone. Chelia wasn’t gone, but a piece of her...

“I’m honored to be her guildmate.”

Gray’s gaze snapped back to Lyon.

“It’s very likely that Chelia saved all of our lives, that day.” a fierce, blazing sort of pride overpowered any lingering guilt in his voice. “Against an enemy with such power over time, in the guise of a god, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. In her last act as a mage, Chelia achieved the greatest feat possible for a wielder of her magic; she struck down a god. We all lived to see tomorrow thanks to her devotion to protecting her comrades. To have someone capable of love like that, of strength like that, as a member of my guild... I’m grateful beyond words.”

Tactfully, Gray turned away in order to let Lyon compose himself, not at all because his own eyes grew misty.

Through the small crowd of mages shuffling about, he spotted Wendy, who was sitting beneath an awning alongside Gajeel. She had been expressly forbidden from taking part in any physical labor, owing to the state of her still-healing leg, much to her ire. It had taken almost two days worth of arguing before she was allowed to cast Enchantments on those working to help lighten the load. Natsu and Gajeel, for once, worked together seamlessly as they took it upon themselves to ensure she didn’t strain herself.

Currently, Gajeel seemed to be listening readily as she spoke quietly, his perpetually stern expression giving nothing away. Wendy’s face was obscured due to both the angle and her long, hanging hair, but Gray could see the tension in the way she wrung the fabric of her skirt.

“I don’t think Wendy sees it that way.”

Wendy’s harshest critic had always been herself. When they’d first met, during their duel for Nirvana against the Oracion Seis, her propensity for self-flagellation had been severe enough that she almost became a liability. While Gray liked to think that her time with Fairy Tail and their unconditional, constant support had softened the tone she took with herself, he knew how easy it was to lapse back into old habits.

Whatever else had transpired in the battle with Dimaria, Chelia’s sacrifice was bound to be weighing heavily on the young Enchantress.

“Chelia feels the same.” Lyon’s reverent tone became more somber. “Wendy won’t press the issue with her out of respect, but Chelia’s certain she blames herself for what happened.” faintly, Gray could feel the uncanny coldness- a trait he no doubt shared- when Lyon’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. The icy pressure was welcome; bracing and invigorating. “For Chelia’s sake, and my own- for Wendy’s- keep an eye on her. We’re both familiar with what regret and self-reproach can do to a person.”

Gray thought back to a warped moon, streaming out baleful indigo light... the gentle, heart wrenching strum of a harp... the slick dapple of blood on his brow...

It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, accepting Ur’s sacrifice as a gift born out of her love for him. No matter how unworthy he felt, how desperately he wished he could change what had happened, it would have been the height of disrespect to disregard his teacher’s final act. She wanted him to live, without his darkness- his hatred and despair- as weights upon his soul. He didn’t dare fail to abide by that request.

“I don’t want that for her.” Gray didn’t want that for anyone. But the idea of his young teammate- the endlessly kind, selfless, fiercely caring girl he’d come to know- quietly suffocating under that guilt and loathing... it was unthinkable. “I won’t let that happen.”

He might not be able to chase wounds and pain away with a touch like Wendy, but his hands had crafted works of ice unlike any Maker mage before.

He’d be damned if they couldn’t hold his friend together as she threatened to fall apart.

[jiminscaramel]

I have a really weird request! A kihyun fluff (+ smut if u want) With some sort of masquerade/ball theme? Like glamorous and ballroom-ish and elegant? Be creative with it though! I want you to have fun! Thank you!! (I love ur writing ;))

Hi anonie! I’ve set this in a modern day au rather than a medieval one so I hope that’s ok. I’m not 100% satisfied with the finished result but the idea has stricken me so I’d actually like to make this into a longer and more detailed oneshot (perhaps with some smut) or a two part series. Regardless, I hope you like!

[WARNINGS] fluff, a lil angst

You flutter on the edge of the ballroom, watching everyone else excited by the thrill of the unknown while you sulk over your half finished flute of champagne. You hated these mandatory social gatherings, hated your obligation to interact with everyone else even more and your expectancy to fulfil your duties as the heiress to the company seemed to loom even closer overhead.

But what you did enjoy was in fact the mystery. The lavish gowns and jewelled masks provided an air of mystique that no other charity dinner did and perhaps it’s why you’re a little more disappointed that your promised “date” hadn’t showed.

The description of his attire so far hasn’t matched anyone in the ballroom and your faith in his showing is slowly dissipating with every sip of your drink. You place it down on a passing tray and take another, choosing to nurse this one a little slower.

Your skirts start to itch and your corset starts to hug your ribs a little too closely, your face getting slick behind your ceramic mask. You stare down at your dress, admiring the way the emerald silk shimmers in the light of the chandeliers and the way the diamonds twinkle like the stars above.

Your ears perk up to a little shift in the noise level and you notice a slight commotion further away. You brush it off as the shenanigans of the drunken CEOs, always misjudging their alcohol intake, relying on liquid courage to get through the nights of meeting other executives.

The mini orchestra finishes one song, pausing to prepare for the next and it’s in this moment, this lull in time, he chooses to strike. Winding and weaving through the throng of sirs and dames, swiftly fabricating out of thin air, he sidles up beside you. You barely have time to notice before he plucks your glass out of your hand and discards it behind you, his hand slipping around your waist and waltzing you to the dance floor, your skirts fluttering behind in your wake.

Your eyebrows raise in shock behind the mask as you finally get a moment to asses him, gasping in disbelief when you realise it’s him. Your lips purse together, unimpressed at his tardy yet suave entrance. The orchestra begins the next song and you sway to the rhythm, gracefully gliding across the marble in his arms.

“Unimpressive. I’d rather you show up on time with much less of an entrance than two hours late.” You deadpan, your hand firmly gripping his gilded shoulder.

“A tough nut to crack. As expected by the heiress.” His lips curl into a smirk before shooting a not so furtive glance over his shoulder.

You notice the disturbance in the crowd again and observe one of the security personnel frantically searching the floor. You frown and decide to prove deeper into his late appearance.

“And why are you late?”

He’s too busy looking over his shoulder to hear so a quick, firm squeeze to his shoulder is enough to get his attention.

“Hm?”

“Why are you late? Just so I know what to tell my parents when I dismiss your interest in being my suitor.” Your eyes simmer behind your mask; first he’s late and now you can’t even hold his attention?

“I… I got lost,” he lies, bold-faced.

“Try again,” you quip back, not falling for the lame excuse.

He spins you around dramatically in time to the strings, guiding you further from the staircase and closer to the balcony doors. You dont see the security on the edge of the floor anymore and instead spot them winding discreetly through the crowd.

Coupled with his nervous glances and the strange behaviour of the guards, you easily put two and two together, surely getting four.

“They’re looking for you, aren’t they?” You sigh and lower your head in shame. This is the last time your parents set you up with a date.

“I lost my invitation,” he admits, though his eyes seem to twinkle mischievously behind the slits of his black and emerald mask.

“Maybe that was for the best. So far you’ve done an awful job in swooning me.” You reply drily, although there is a slight mistruth to it.

Off the bat he is unique, unlike anyone you’ve courted before and almost childlike in his behaviour. He’s lively and, although you don’t want to admit it, a little humorous. Perhaps he isn’t such a lost cause.

The music comes to an abrupt halt and the ballroom is filled with shouting as someone spots him. A string of profanities are yelled in his direction as security gain on him, though something tells you he won’t go down that easily.

Using the crowd’s confusion to his advantage and his proximity to an exit, he unceremoniously slips out the balcony doors, pulling you along behind him. You bunch up your skirts to avoid tripping on the hem, quickly descending the steps that lead into the garden.

You frown as he navigates his way expertly through the garden you’d grown up in, leading the way to your secret and most treasured spot.

The shouts and commotion of the ball slowly fade away behind you, losing the security in the cover of shrubs and trees and the blanket of the night.

You don’t trust anyone in your life, not even your parents; the nature of your future job and current title call for you to be alert at all times, trusting no other soul but your own, yet something tells you it’s ok to follow him. You trust him and yet have no idea why.

You silently crawl through the little opening in the shrubs and step into your familiar clearing sheltered by the weeping branches of the trees above. It’s almost cave-like, only made out of twigs and leaves. A little pond twinkles on the other side of the clearing, housing the koi fish you’d looked after since you were a child.

You both take a minute to catch your breaths, hunched over with your hands on your knees, chests heaving with the painful memory of running.

“How did you know about this place?” You demand, wanting answers.

“You still haven’t figured it out yet?” He gasps in between breaths, removing his jacket and placing it on the grass.  

“Figured what out? Who areyou?” Your heart starts to flutter as your childhood memories come flooding back, assaulting your nostalgia. There was only one other person you’d shared this space with, only you hadn’t seen nor heard from him for years.

It couldn’t be–

He reaches up and removes his mask, tossing it to the floor also. The thick brush overhead obscures any light the night has to offer and his cheeks are flushed red but it’s undoubtably him.

“Kihyun?” You whisper, afraid that if you speak his name aloud, the mirage will disappear.

He rolls his eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Your jaw clenches, eyebrows knit together and your heart starts racing again for another reason entirely. You hadn’t seen him in years and this is how he shows up? Late, wanted and under the guise of someone else?

You shove a hand into his chest, pushing him away. “I haven’t seen you in years,” you hiss. “You never wrote, called, texted. Nothing! You left and cut me off. I thought we were friends! You were my best friend.”

“I know,” he admits, his hands up in surrender. “It was out of my control. There was nothing I could do.”

“You could’ve looked for me. I looked for you. I searched everywhere and your name never came up once.”

“I changed my name.” But he offers no further explanation.

You tear up at the unexpected reunion, hurt beyond words yet happy beyond explanation. The last time you’d seen him had been in this very spot, eight years old. He hasn’t changed, aside from the obvious. His eyes still sparkle with no good, his cheeks still full and round like you remember. But the things you don’t remember are the things that have made him into the man he is before you; his defined nose, broad forehead and sharp jaw. His lithe frame and agile feet.

“I’m sorry,” and it’s genuine, his apology. It soothes the ache in your heart you’d been nursing all this time, calming your nerves. Though it doesn’t seem to quell your anger, as fresh and raw as the moment you’d realised he’d left and was never coming back.

He grasps your hand in his and pries your fist open, lifting it up to his face and presses a kiss to your palm. He places your open hand over his heart, his eyes prompting and questioning.

“You remember,” you whisper, memories of the time spent together flashing before your eyes; kissing each other’s palms in promise and holding them to your hearts. It was a silly, childish ritual, one that only served as a special sort of handshake. But this, this means so much more.

“I’ve never forgotten,” he hold out his free palm for you to do the same, but you intertwine your fingers through his instead, pulling him closer.

You lean up on your toes and press a sweet, gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Suggestive but chaste. “I just… fucking missed you.” You lean your head on his chest and hold him close, vowing to never let him go again.

“I missed you more.”

[babakziai]

I / omen What was going on in the New York American Black/red/green helmeted neon night? The elevator door was closing behind us, we were the ones Plunging floor after floor after floor after floor    To the abyss—but it was someone else’s face Staring from the screen out at us, someone else’s face Saying something flashing from the teleprompter: Though what the face said was meant to reassure, Down in the abyss the footage kept playing, All of it looping back like children chanting The answers to nonsensical riddles, taunting A classmate who doesn’t know the question: “Because it’s too far to walk” “Time to get a new fence” “A big red rock eater.” And as the images rewound And the face kept talking, the clear night sky Filled up with smoke and the smoke kept puring Itself out into the air like a voice saying something It can’t stop saying, some murky omen Like schoolkids asking: “Why do birds fly south?” “What time is it when an elephant sits on the fence?” “What’s big, red and eats rocks?”     2 / in front of st. vincent’s A woman hugging another woman Who was weeping blocked the sidewalk. Nobody moved for a moment. They were an island caught at the tide turning: Such misery in two human bodies. Then the wearing away of the crowd Moving flowed over them and they    Were pulled swiftly along down the sidewalk.     3 / joke Faces powdered with dust and ash, there they were In the fast food place, raucous and wild, splitting The seams of their work clothes, weary to hysteria As they hunched in their booth next to the buffet Under heat lamps reflecting incarnadine Off pastas and vegetable slag. Then the joke Ignited, they quivered on the launch pad, Laughter closed around them, they couldn’t Breathe, it was as if they were staring out From a space capsule porthole and were asking The void an imponderable riddle While orbiting so high up in space That the earth was less than the least hint Of light piercing the smoke-filled, cloudless night. (What was the joke about? Nobody knew.) And then they stopped laughing and stared into their plates, Ash smearing down their faces as they chewed.     4 / spell spoken by suppliant to helios for knowledge                          from the Greek Magical Papyri Under my tongue is the mud of the Nile, I wear the baboon hide of sacred Keph. Dressed in the god’s power, I am the god, I am Thouth, discoverer of healing drugs, Founder of letters. As god calls on god I summon you to come to me, you Under the earth; arouse yourself for me, Great daimon, you the subterranean, You of the primordial abyss. Unless you tell me what I want to know, What is in the minds of everyone, Egyptians, Greeks, Syrians, Ethiopians, of every race And people, unless I know what has been And what shall be, unless I know their skills And practices and works and lives and names Of them and their fathers and mothers And brothers and friends, even of those now dead, I will pour the blood of the black-faced jackal As an offering in a new-made jar and put it In the fire and burn beneath it what’s left Of the bones of all-praised Osiris, And I will shout in the port of Busiris The secrets of his mysteries, that his body, Drowned, remained in the river three days And three nights, that he, the praised one, Was carried by the river into the sea And surrounded by wave on wave on wave And by mist rising off water through the air. To keep your belly from being eaten by fish, To keep the fish from chewing your flesh with their mouths, To make the fish close their hungry jaws, to keep The fatherless child from being taken From his mother, to keep the pole of the sky From being brought down and the twin towering Mountains from toppling into one, to keep Anoixis From running amok and doing just what she wants, Not god or goddess will give oracles Until I know through and through Just what is in the minds of all human beings, Egyptians, Syrians, Greeks, Ethyopians, of every race And people, so that those who come to me. Their eyes and mine can meet in a level gaze, Neither one or the other higher or lower, And whether they speak or keep silent, I can tell them whatever has happened And is happening and is going to happen To them, and I can tell them their skills And their works and their names and those of their dead, And of every human being who comes to me I will read them as I read a sealed letter And tell them everything truthfully.     5 / from brooklyn bridge Sun shines on the third bridge tower: A garbage scow ploughs the water, Maternal hull pushing is all out beyond The city, pushing it all out so patiently— All you could hear out there this flawless afternoon Is the sound of sand pulverizing newsprint To tatters, paper-pulp ripping crosswise Or lengthwise, shearing off some photo Of maybe a head or maybe an arm. Ridiculous flimsy noble newspaper, Leaping in wind, fluttering, collapsing, Its columns sway and topple into babble: All you’d see if you were out there Is air vanishing into clearer air.     6 / from the plane Pressed against our seats, them released to air, From the little plane windows we peered four thousand feet Down to the ground desert-gray and still, Nothing seeming to be moving on that perfect afternoon, No reminder of why it was we were all looking, Remembering maybe the oh so flimsy Wooden sawhorse police barricades, as the woman In front of me twisted her head back to see It all again, but up there there was nothing to see, Only the reef water feel of transparency Deepening down to a depth where everything Goes dark and nothing moves unless it belongs To that dark, darting in and out or undulating Slowly or cruising unblinking, jaws open or closed.     7 / spell broken by suppliant to helios for protection                    from the Greek Magical Papyri This is the charm that will protect you, the charm That you must wear: Onto lime wood write With vermilion the secret name, name of The fifty magic letters. Then say the words: “Guard me from every daimon of the air, On the earth and under the earth, guard me From every angel and phantom, every Ghostly visitation and enchantment, Me, your suppliant.” Enclose it in a skin Dyed purple, hang it round your neck and wear it.     8 / roll of film: photographer missing Vines of smoke through latticework of steel Weave the air into a garden of smoke. And in the garden people came and went, People of smoke and people of flesh, the air dressed In ash. What the pictures couldn’t say Was spoken by the smoke: A common language In a tongue of smoke that murmured in every ear Something about what it was they’d been forced To endure: Words spoken in duress, Inconsolable words, words spoken under the earth That rooted in smoke and breathed in the smoke And put forth shoots that twined through the steel, Words plunged through the roof of the garages’ Voids, I-beams twisted; the eye that saw all this Tells and tells again one part of the story Of that day of wandering through the fatal garden, The camera’s eye open and acutely Recording in the foul-smelling air.     9 / lamentation on ur                                from a Sumerian spell,2000 B.C. Like molten bronze and iron shed blood           pools. Our country’s dead melt into the earth           as grease melts in the sun, men whose helmets now lie scattered, men annihilated by the double-bladed axe. Heavy, beyond           help, they lie still as a gazelle exhausted in a trap,           muzzle in the dust. In home after home, empty doorways frame the absence of mothers and fathers who vanished           in the flames remorselessly spreading claiming even           frightened children who lay quiet in their mother’s arms, now borne into oblivion, like swimmers swept out to sea           by the surging current. May the great barred gate           of blackest night again swing shut on silent hinges. Destroyed in its turn, may this disaster too be torn out of mind. Tom Sleigh, “New York American Spell” from Far Side of the Earth. Copyright © 2003, by Tom Sleigh. Reprinted with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved. Source: Far Side of the Earth(Houghton Mifflin Company, 2003) Tom Sleigh BiographyMore poems by this author Poem of the Day: New York American Spell, 2001 Poem of the Day: New York American Spell, 2001 Poem of The Day {$excerpt:n} Source: Poem of The Day

http://babakziai.org/poem-of-the-day-new-york-american-spell-2001/

[weavingmemories]

5 Things Tag

tagged by @drcoxsredwingsjersey ! thanks *q*

5 things you’ll find in my bag :

my wallet

d&d dice

eos lipbalm

sketchbook / pencils

crumpled up receipts. everywhere

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom:

tales of alter figures... my most impulsive spending EVER

a LOT of plushies, including a turret, wheatley, companion cube, multiple kirbies and meta knight, tokunaga, wreck it ralph and lloyd n colette

a bunch of change scattered on the dresser, everywhere

a makeup bag i haven’t properly touched in 50 years, rip

tiny adorable mini alcohol bottles (like replicas of the original size but smaller than ur hand)

5 things I’ve always wanted to do in life:

get more into music (sing, play guitar, play piano, heck even a triangle)

definitely backpack europe, by myself, just wandering the world without having any obligations or anyone telling me what to do, just living day to day and exploring

stand up for myself more (especially re: my personal boundaries, just saying no in a way that is respected or speaking up when i’m uncomfortable with someone’s attitude;; and re: me having daily crises about knowing people in the world probably think i’m scum on their heel for shipping something they don’t like??? like??? how do people live like this)

get a tiny apartment that is super small and cozy where i can just Exist peacefully on my own terms

make something as inspiring as the great games/shows/etc that have inspired me and kept me going at my darkest times. i want to exist in that way, to have created something that i might never know of, but keeps people trudging on just one extra day

5 things that make me happy:

gladley \u/

rapid fire spitting ideas at people and getting other ideas back

hearing intense rain and thunderstorms

submerging myself neck deep into any show/game/etc. and only thinking about that

that toasty warm feel when you’re in bed and you actually don’t have to get up right away so you just lay there in the perfectly comfortable position you woke up in, wrapped in cozy perfect blankets, and just sorta chill without thinking about ANYTHING

5 things I’m currently into:

always portal, it has only given me good things

the 100 (i’m weak for apocalyptic situations, characters panicking over intense moral questions, and bonds forged in fire, aight)

the office (slowly mowing my way through it, but it’s really fun to watch when i’d just zone out and get nothing done otherwise)

fuvk (their music is so chill and there are two songs!!! ‘world of gray’ and ‘solano drive’)

borderlands (im playing coop usually twice a week, how can i not)

5 things on my to do list:

actually finish all my homework and projects (WEEPS)

practice different aspects of drawing! might focus on specific anatomy like hands, arms, legs, feet, etc.

get my hair done for my max cosplay in like 2 months

start seeing someone (therapist, etc.)

play all the games and watch all the shows i need to catch up on,, rip

5 things people may not know about me:

i’m a leftie!

i’m genderfluid and bi

s h a k e l e g 

every time someone is a jerk in the portal tag i draw gladley to cheer up

i really dislike milk alone, as well as melted cheese; however cereal-infused milk is the best shit ever, especially froot loops

Tag five people: @thejinxedjailer , @dyathxianna , @consistentlyaverage , @draconic-doc , ? ? ? um whoever wants to do it go ahead aaa