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metamorphesque · 18 days

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On March 1, 1984, a short article titled "Imprisoned Armenian Dies" appeared in the New York Times: “Gourgen Migirdic Yanikian, an Armenian author and engineer who killed two Turkish consular officials in California in 1973, died Monday in prison of natural causes. He was 88 years old. He was sentenced to life in prison in July 1973 for first-degree murder."

But who was this man? And why did he commit this "crime"?

Gourgen Yanikyan was born on December 24, 1895, in the city of Karin, Western Armenia, into a traditional Armenian family. Gourgen was six months old when the hamidian massacres began, claiming the lives of approximately 300,000 Armenians. His father had good relations with the Persian consul in Karin, and with the consul's help, the Yanikyan family found refuge in the Persian consulate, escaping the massacres. After two weeks of safety, they were transferred by a mountain road to the village of Kyotah near Kars on the consul’s orders. Suddenly, it was discovered that Gourgen was missing. He had fallen on the road from his mother’s arms that were numbed from the cold. Despite the danger, his mother and brother Hakob went back and, after walking about six kilometers, found Gourgen nearly lifeless. They revived him with the warmth of their bodies.

Six years later, the mother returned to Erzurum with Gourgen and Hakob, intending to take back the money and documents hidden in their barn back. While digging, two turks arrived, captured Hakob, beheaded him, and took the iron chest. The mother and Gourgen witnessed everything from their hiding place. A terrified Gourgen tried to scream, but his mother held his mouth shut. Gourgen never forgot this tragedy throughout his life. For political reasons, he became a Persian citizen and later moved to Switzerland with his family, where he continued his education, which he later pursued in Tbilisi and Moscow.

Like many Armenians of his time, he experienced the devastating effects of the massacres committed by the turks against Armenians. He lost 26 family members to the Armenian Genocide of 1915, as well as his homeland—Western Armenia.

Although Gourgen was far from his homeland, the injustice of the genocide never left him. He had exhausted all peaceful means to inform the world about the genocide and hold turkey accountable for the atrocities they committed.

He chose cinema as the means to achieve his goal: “Our plan was very simple. With our personal funds, we secretly planned to make a film showing the world the sufferings of our people and the barbaric turkish massacres, not forgetting the Armenian genocide and the conspiracy of so-called civilized nations against our rights."

Yanikian's factual book "Paradise" (originally in English), which his wife Shushanik had titled, became the basis for a screenplay. Several foreigners joined the film project, and they shot 20 hours of material depicting turkish atrocities with striking authenticity.

"The film was to be shown simultaneously in the capitals of three different countries, free of charge. Flyers explaining the purpose and our demands were to be distributed with the tickets… The goal was to return the land stolen from the Armenian people to its rightful owners and provide compensation for our two million victims. Many individuals were to join the cause once the film was ready."

Despite the strong dedication to completing "Paradise," the endeavor was unsuccessful because U.S.-Turkey alliances and strategic interests were prioritized, and the US government hindered the production of the film.

Yanikyan, by then old but not despairing, had spent decades using every peaceful means to punish the perpetrators of the Armenian Genocide and avenge his compatriots, but he ultimately felt compelled to choose an alternative.

"In all my writings, I always defended the belief that violence should disappear from our lives. But when all of this happened and humanity and the world remained silent about the Armenian Question, I made the decision to take action in order to bring the Armenian cause to the attention of humanity and world governments."

On January 27, 1973, at the age of 78, Gourgen Yanikyan, without hesitation, fired 13 bullets at the turkish consul and vice-consul in Santa Barbara in his room at the "Baltimore" hotel. Following a highly publicized trial, Yanikyan was sentenced to life imprisonment, and in 1984, with a clear conscience, he passed away into eternity.

But his sacrifice was not in vain: the Armenian Question was finally brought back from the dusty archives of history. By sacrificing his freedom, Yanikyan ignited a movement. His act became the catalyst for a wave of Armenian activism, inspiring the creation of ASALA, who would go on to fight for the recognition of the genocide.

Everyone condemns violence but, alas, it is the only language the world understands.

#in my eyes he's a true hero #break the chain of ignorance #armenian history #armenian genocide #turkish crimes #azeri crimes #gurgen yanikyan #world history #world politics #armenia #armenian culture #genocide #cinema #asala

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thetorturedbuckydepartment · 5 months

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chapter one: the bolter

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

warnings: language, self deprecation, mentions of school bullying(?)

word count: 1.6k

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! I used to write fan fiction a few years back as a weird, lonely teenager, and this is me making a comeback! I have a few original works I like to write, but that's about it. I know a lot of you guys have been waiting for a while, but I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please feel free to comment any plot theories or thoughts! :)

Pathetic fallacy is a fucking bitch. Steve’s been away for a day or two, off to Wakanda, and everyone’s here, faces sour over grey clouds and heavy downpour, busy making preparations for the big day. He says that his best friend is coming home, finally, where he belongs.

Everyone’s heard of this best friend in question — James Buchanan Barnes. Your friends are a bit skeptical, afraid he’ll come with his eyes painted as dark as the night sky and his hair long in some lab rat’s defiance. You can’t help but fear the same.

When you were hired to work as a nurse in the Tower’s infirmary, you’d kept to yourself. It’s a wonder anyone’s wanting to give you a job after the way you were fired from your last one, let alone Tony fucking Stark, taking pity and picking you off the streets of a foreign country. You’re currently perched on a wobbly stepladder, trying your best to not fall headfirst as you stand vulnerable, trying to push the damn pin into the sign that reads Welcome Home, Bucky! In sloppy, maroon handwriting made entirely by you, ever since you heard it was his favourite colour.

You wonder if it could’ve been a poor choice considering the striking resemblance to blood — the same colour as your shirt, white coat long forgotten over the back of the couch in the main communal living area.

“Here, let me help you with that,” comes a gruff voice from beside you.

“Oh no, I’m fine, honestly. Can you go check to see if the quinjet’s landed?” You glance down, and directly into deep blue, entranced by the hypnotic hue. No dark paint, hair cropped messy over the crown of his head. Dressed in a sweater the same colour as yours, and you could’ve sworn it’s like fate.

“Bucky,” you breathed. Bucky? What is he already doing here? He’s not supposed to be for another hour or two? These are just some of your racing thoughts as you examine his face, looking as bright as fucking sunshine. And then you stumble, the ladder giving out from under you and you yelp, expecting to come plummeting to the cold, hard ground. And instead, warm arms envelop you instead, holding you firm to his chest as you struggle to find the words.

“Sorry! Sorry, I don’t usually fall like this I promise.” He looks directly at you, and you register he hasn’t set you down yet, still holding on tightly. He laughs, the vibrations igniting something inside your chest, the flame spreading itself all over your cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it. What’s your name, beautiful?” He gently helps you place your feet on the floor, and you find yourself desperate to cling to his warmth once again but letting him go, blushing at his compliment. As if it couldn’t get any worse, he’s probably a smooth charmer, fuck. You stumble a little bit over your words as you give him your name and he runs it over his tongue.

Has your name always sounded this pretty? Especially spoken in that gruff, heavenly voice of his?

“I, I thought you weren’t supposed to be here for another hour, we’re still setting—.” You look around, only to find the room completely empty and every decoration in its perfect place, save the ladder now laying on its side in one corner. When had everyone finished, and why have they all just left?

“They’re all talking to Steve.” He attaches your name at the end of it like a newly discovered drug he’s desperate for another hit of. You tilt your head, a million questions on the tip of your tongue.

“It was really loud in there. Steve takes all the attention anyway, so I used that moment to sneak out.” Your heart breaks for him. This was supposed to be his party, but you offer him some reassurance instead.

“Well, I know we just met but when they all come piling in here to give you a big hug and bring all the noise with them, you can come to me. I know what it’s like, but for now…welcome home!” You awkwardly gesture to the sign behind you, giving him jazz hands. He chuckles and nods his head in thanks, making you smile.

“Now what’s your favourite baked treat? I heard you like just basic brownies?” His grin only widens. “Yeah, I do love basic brownies.” You gasp in joy, glad to get it right, practically skipping to wrap one and hand it to him.

He tentatively takes it from your hands, ensuring they brush and one more spark flies into the raw distance between you and him, and you don’t miss the way his beautiful ocean eyes flutter at the contact. You clasp your suddenly sweaty palms around each other, patiently waiting for him to take a bite, and the second his pearly teeth dig into the sweet treat in a way that makes your heart run hot, the noise arrives.

A cacophony of shouts and cheers make the both of you flinch as Steve walks up to his best friend, attacking him in a hug. “So happy you’re back Bucky!” And takes a bite out of the brownie in his hand as he turns to me, moaning.

“Did you make this? It tastes amazing, dear.” You beam at his praise, nodding along when your eyes fall back on the ladder, long forgotten in the now crowded room. You wouldn’t say you’re lonely, after all, Natasha and Wanda are some of your best friends in your current situation, but they’re almost always off on missions and all the nurses love to talk about is the Star Spangled Man they’d just die to get in their beds. When you first arrived, you were almost always found silently chuckling in the corner, always wanting what you can’t have. Now, your days are always busy, being jetted off on missions once Tony finished the extensive background check on you and letting you figure out who you work the best with. But still, all the days staying silent and to yourself have left you quite…left out. Even as the masses party around you, you feel oddly still. Stagnant, almost.

“Sorry guys, I’ll be right back, I need to go put the ladder away.” You point, and both super soldiers follow your finger, when Bucky interrupts.

“It looks really heavy, let me carry it for you,” he all but begs, a pleading look in his eyes to be taken away from all this din. You glance at Steve who doesn’t argue, letting his gorgeous friend do whatever the fuck he wants. The look on his face is smug and omniscient, as if privy to a secret you’re on the outside of when he glances between you and Bucky.

You decide to take mercy on his poor soul. “That would be lovely thank you.” You smile politely, moving off in the direction of the bright yellow ladder, trying your best to not stare at Bucky’s bulging muscles rippling beneath his sweater with your mouth so wide open. And to ignore the heat in the pit of your belly at the ease with which he does so, as if the hunk of metal you struggled with for an hour is only a feather to him.

You lead him to the storage room in silence, thinking it best to not overwhelm him with questions in a saccharine tone. “Thank you, I know it’s really heavy.” You stand in the doorway as he walks up to meet you, and you push yourself as hard as you can against the doorframe so he can pass, but he hovers. Inches away from you. You stare up into his beautiful eyes, taking a quiet moment to admire his pulchritude. Full lips more pink than a spring flower, stubble just enough to catch on your hand if you were to touch him. Cheekbones carved by the careful hands of the Gods themselves, so well-versed in human attraction. How is anyone not to fall in love with him when he can haunt you so stunningly?

You’re so lost in him you don’t register the lean of his body closer to you, intent on studying your face right back, hellbent on memorising the constellations of your moles and spots. You swallow dryly, unsure of what to do. Is the tension so palpable that he feels it too? Surely not.

Being the way you are, you’re no stranger to rejection. Or to have nobody feel anything for you in the desolate wasteland of your youth, all the nights you’ve screamed at the sky to feel just one genuine connection and all the days you’ve tried to accept it and move on. It’s not the people around you, they are the understanding ones, and apart from one man, someone is yet to treat you like you fear they would.

But someone is yet to truly love you. To truly want you.

And you highly doubt it’s going to be Bucky Barnes, man whose house can be found in the highest echelons of heaven. Stick to safer things, you try to remind yourself but when your eyes fall back into his, that flies straight out the window. You find yourself not caring, wanting to try anyway. You—

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” The words fly past his lips before he can stop them, and your cheeks turn crimson. Maybe he’s the cruel sort — trying to hook you onto him just so he can laugh when you beg for a fix. At your desperation, at the naive hope you’d hold onto with your dear life that he could feel the same high as you on even the tiniest morsel.

The taunts of children on playgrounds still echo in your ears, all these eons later.

So you do the only thing that feels familiar and right.

You run away, and in your haste miss the longing, confused stare he gives the path you take.

NEXT PART

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #x plus size reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel

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plussizefantasia · 4 months

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Don't Call Me Kitty

Bucky Barnes x Black Cat! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Chapter 1/6

Next>

Warnings: Reader is plus size and it's talked about being somewhat of a negative thing (its not) , language, I think that's it

AN: This is part one of the BlackCat!Reader x Bucky work that I've been working on for a while. It was a request although I can't seem to find the original request anymore. This is part one of six, all fully written but I decided to split it up because this is by far the longest thing I've ever written and I wanted to publish it in chunks. Let me know if you like it, or if the rest of this should just stay hidden in my drafts for all of eternity.

If you had to spend one more fucking minute in the same car as James Buchanan Barnes, one of you would be dying. And you are pretty fucking confident that it won't be you.

He won't get off your back. Every chance he has it seems like he launches himself at the opportunity to remind everyone that you weren’t always the goody two shoes he thinks you are pretending to be. But God forbid you call him out on the obvious hypocrisy he's spewing because then you’d have to face Rogers and the inevitable tirade he’d go off on about how his best friend was never a bad man, just deeply broken and how the actions he’d taken while under Hydra’s control were not his own.

You don’t take issue with Barnes bringing up your past, it's not a secret. Everyone on the team had at one point been the focus of your ire on one of your bad days and that more often than not led to some sort of discussion where you would disclose more and more about the things you were trying to forget. Your issue with Barnes was that he was trying to insinuate you were one of the good guys. And you’d rather die than admit you were an Avenger.

You are not, nor will you ever be a good guy. You aren’t necessarily a bad guy, but you are not a goody two shoes. Barnes knows that, he also knows that it pisses you off to no end when he tries to tell everyone that you're acting like one.

“Shoulda seen the way she was sucking up to Fury Stevie, she’s trying to be teacher’s pet I’m tellin’ ya.” You were not sucking up to Fury you were stealing his wallet and trying to distract him so he wouldn’t notice the fifty bucks you lifted, but Barnes didn’t need to know that.

The worst thing about this hate that you have for James Barnes was the fact that you know deep down you don’t hate him at all. Sure, he pushes your buttons and knows just what to say to get you to want to knock his pretty little teeth out. But he's also a genuinely good guy and most of the time isn't all that bad to be around. But god it's so much easier to hate him than it is to sift through all those feelings.

There was also the fact that the two of you work well together. You can be bickering one second and covering each other’s sixes flawlessly the next. You have a theory on that though, you think that because both of you had been forced to work with people you didn’t trust very much at one point or another you got used to getting the job done no matter what other feelings were floating around in the background. That's what you try to convince yourself is the case. The idea that you and Barnes simply make a good team is nauseating.

Barnes isn’t only good to have in the field though, he has proved his worth off the battlefield when he knocked around some poor recruit who had been running his mouth about you in the training gym. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty and honesty you weren’t going to hold his ignorance against him. If he underestimated you because of your size, then that was on him and in a way, was only gonna help you in the long run.

That was something that you had noticed early on, that most people couldn’t fathom that someone who wasn't a size four could be as good at your job as you are. “Most People” also included people on your team, it had taken you saving Tony’s life in the field more than once for him to admit that he was wrong about you. You are still trying to convince Thor that just because you look soft does not mean you can’t still kick his ass.

You have made people’s lack of faith in you into a good thing. Rich guys aren’t worried about their wallets or watches when a meek little thing bumps into them on the subway and who would suspect the overweight chick to be the one who scales the sides of buildings to get her hands on some unreleased tech from Hammer’s R&D department? Bucky Barnes.

Bucky has never regarded you with the same kind of hesitance as the others. He has never once made it seem like he thought you couldn’t get the job done because you were bigger. And you had to admit, it's refreshing. Not that you need his approval but it's still nice to not be looked at with some kind of doubt, or incredulity. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t piss you off though.

“I swear to God Barnes, if you change the radio station one more time I’m gonna cover your whole arm in fucking extra strength magnets while you're asleep.” An interesting threat sure, but one you will one hundred percent follow through on.

“The station keeps changing to static, kitty, you want to listen to static for the next three hours?” He asks. He's right, you are both on your way to some ball in Alabama and according to Tony, all the Quinjets are in use for this weekend (bullshit), which leaves you and Bucky to get there the old fashion way, a road trip.

You're already eight hours in and are currently driving through the small towns and mountains that cover a good section of the south. Which means that the radio is cutting in and out. And yeah he's right, you don’t want to listen to static but you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I’d prefer the goddamn static over the song changing every five fucking seconds.”

“Well, it’s either that or silence, kitty.”

“First of all Barnes, I’ve told you not to call me kitty. It’s demeaning. Secondly, maybe some silence will do you good, you might be able to hear yourself think for once. If you’re capable of thinking.” You shoot back at him.

“Oh, kitty I have plenty of thoughts I’m pretty sure I think enough for the two of us.” He looks at you without turning his head away from the road, giving you a sidelong glance.

“Oh yeah, about what? How to get more beefy? Whatever the next idiotic insult you’ll hurl at our resident birdbrain will be? Whether or not you'll get wrinkles from the perpetual furrow in your brow?”

“I don’t think you want to know what goes on in my head, Mittens.” He pulls his bottom lip up in between his teeth to stop the smirk that is spreading across his face.

“You did not just call me fucking Mittens” Your jaw is practically on the floor. The audacity of this man.

“You said I couldn’t call you kitty. What are my other options?”

“Maybe my name? Asshole.” You also have to fight back a smile. Teasing Barnes is nice, it was the closest thing you have to a genuine relationship. Too bad you can’t stand him.

“You memorized your cover?” He asks you. You almost scoffed at him, you're not a goddamn amateur.

“Of, course. I’m Debrah Longborne, Georgian peach and heiress to my Daddy’s large fruit processing fortune.” This mission is a simple one. You're here to take down a corrupt governor and what better place to do than at the gala he and his wife organize every year? You had Tony donate to his wife’s foundation under your cover name. Large enough to draw attention but not too much attention that you can’t get your job done. “And you…?”

“Brantley Moore, Law professor at Vanderbilt, and your arm candy for the night.” You like going undercover, and this assignment is a short one, just one weekend. It's almost like being another person, just with all your skills and an ulterior motive.

“Who the hell picked the name Brantley?” You ask.

“I know right, I sound like some preppy douchebag”

“Not too far off then.”

“Fuck off.” He laughs. You like his laugh. His eyes crinkle in the corners when he does it, a brief glimpse into the years he has lived through, not all sunshine and rainbows, but enough joy to have laugh lines.

“So Debrah and Brantley met where?”

“Vanderbilt has society mixers every winter, where the professors and some select students get the chance to network with some donors and other important people. It’s a believable story plus there’s over a thousand attendees at these things which makes it easy to slip our names onto the list.”

“And whose idea was that?” you lift an eyebrow. “Mine.”

“How do you know about the Vanderbilt mixers?”

“I had a life before I met you, didn’t you know that.”

“I knew you had a life I guess I just didn’t assume it involved rubbing elbows with southern socialites at prestigious university parties.”

“I wasn’t rubbing elbows, it was for a deal made by Peirce with the university president, I was there as a bodyguard for Pierce and to cover our tracks when things inevitably got bloody.” Any hint of teasing falls from Bucky’s voice. He says shit like that sometimes. Shit that you think he says to scare you or to remind you how dangerous he was. All it does is make you sad. Nobody deserves to go through what he had, and you hate that those evil bastards had taken a great man and mangled him.

The conversation peters out after his revelation. The two of you ride in silence for the next two hours. Thirty minutes in, you get closer to the city and the radio sputters back to life. Bucky reaches to turn it off.

When you finally reach the hotel both of you are a bit on edge. You’ve been driving all day, switching back and forth every few hours but Bucky’s silence for the last little stretch seems to have affected both of you more than you’d thought.

Still, you have a job to do and you’ll be damned if you let the metal-armed nuisance ruin your reputation for perfect follow-throughs. You grab your small weekender bag out of the backseat and make your way to the front desk. You school your features and dust off the southern belle persona that has been stashed away in your metaphorical conman toolbelt.

You can feel Bucky trailing behind you, and an idea pops into your head. Swiftly turning on your heel you pass your bag into his unoccupied hand. Not giving him a chance to say no you rotate back around and march forward at a pace fitting to a very busy society woman.

Bucky sputters behind you and you toss over your shoulder, “If I’m playing an heiress this weekend, I'm not lifting a goddamn finger if I don’t have to.”

Marching the rest of the way to the desk you flash the young woman behind the counter a polite smile, “Room for Longborne”. She immediately matches your smile and begins typing away on her keyboard pulling up the reservation that was made for your cover.

“Of Course Ms. Longborne, I have you down for the Iris sweet for three nights is that correct?”

“Sounds correct to me, although if you could hold the room for one more day that would be just peachy of you, we don’t know how long our business here is going to take and it’s better to be safe than sorry. You understand of course.” You put every ounce of Southern charm into your words and pray to God that this interaction can be over sooner rather than later.

“Of course Ms., Here are your keys. Your room is on our twelfth floor and the number is embossed on the front of the card.” She hands you a package of three cards across the desk. “If you need anything at all don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod, taking the key cards from her hand, and motion for Bucky to follow you to the elevator.

The ride up to the twelfth floor is silent, much like the last stretch of the car ride. What you aren’t expecting is Bucky’s exclamation when he walks into the room before you.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first words Barnes has uttered in nearly two hours. “There's only one fucking bed.”

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