#(given the trouble that cinema has been having on the other side)

[freepassbound]

Actually, no, I'm not done with that.

Look, I grew up on the '80s/'90s Trek - the seven seasons, 200+ episodes - and so sometimes I think that nostalgia is clouding my thinking, and that maybe I'm just the crotchety old man yelling at the clouds for moving.

But I don't think so this time.

When I was teaching at my old school, the kids were watching "The Office" and "Friends"; now, kids here (by which I mean anyone under 28 😂) are watching "Columbo"!

Long-running shows with lots of episodes - in the network style - give the viewer a chance to really get comfortable with the characters, and it gives all the characters a chance to shine! Over the course of that many episodes, eventually everyone gets some A-plots, and a decent number of B-plots. Streaming just doesn't offer that.

Take Discovery as an example - in four seasons, how many times have Detmer or Owosekun had an A-plot? Has there been even one? How many times have Rhys or Bryce had any at all? These are the helm, ops, tactical, and communications officers - primary characters on every Star Trek show ever! It would be unthinkable for them not to have featured in the old style of show - each would have certainly gotten at least one A-plot, and several B- or C-plots to feature in every season. But there they're barely elevated above background.

I know it's possible to make memorable and/or high-quality shows under the kind of constraints streaming imposes - hell, the British have been doing it for decades. But it feels like that's a different kind of memorableness/greatness than a 200+ episode show. And, like any ecosystem, it's weaker when there's less diversity.

[thesublemon]

best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2  or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie. 

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say. 

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like. 

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.) 

[denimbex1986]

'When the companies behind Ira Sachs’ new drama about the shifting currents of intimacy in a troubled love triangle submitted Passages to the Motion Picture Association ratings board, they probably anticipated an R.

But the MPA came back with an NC-17 rating, forcing the distributor to release the film (which premiered at Sundance earlier this year) unrated rather than risk commercial marginalization or impose cuts that would diminish its intensity...

Let’s be clear: Passages — which Mubi opened Aug. 4 in Los Angeles and New York before expanding to other cities in the weeks to come — is a movie with a generous amount of sex, both gay and straight. But it’s neither particularly explicit nor remotely gratuitous, even if it’s frequently quite hot.

The sex is, above all, integral to the movie’s emotional texture, to the way the characters navigate their volatile relationships, the way they express their feelings and explore their connections through their bodies as they come together and pull apart. In other words, the film’s candor in depicting sex and nudity nudges it closer to European cinema than American.

The ratings controversy around Sachs’ movie comes just as Oppenheimer has been generating talk on social media and in the press about being the first Christopher Nolan movie to feature sex scenes. The trysts between Cillian Murphy as scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer and Florence Pugh as his lover both before and during the former’s marriage earned the release an R rating, which is standard given the glimpses of sweaty flesh on view.

But the fact that people are talking about it at all — and no one has been talking about it louder than Nolan himself — just underlines how squeamish American movies are about sex and sensuality.

The sex scenes in both those movies serve a clear narrative purpose. In Nolan’s film, they convey the magnetism of Oppenheimer and its ultimately devastating effect on a woman who, while not really on screen long enough to acquire much complexity, is defined by her intellectual curiosity, political radicalism and carnal desire.

The actual intercourse — once during the affair and once years later, as a haunting specter conjured in a security hearing — is brief and somewhat mechanical, while a long post-coital discussion has Murphy and Pugh sitting naked in armchairs on opposite sides of a room, carefully positioned and framed to keep crotches out of sight. The scene looks like an interview for an admin job at a nudist colony. It’s anything but erotic.

The scene in the Paris-set Passages that evidently had the MPA clutching their pearls, by contrast, is erotically and emotionally charged, raunchy and tender. It takes place after narcissistic German filmmaker Tomas (Franz Rogowski) has strayed outside his marriage to English print-maker Martin (Ben Whishaw) with Agathe (Adèle Exarchapoulos), a French schoolteacher he met at the wrap party for his latest feature.

Back in bed with Martin again, Tomas more or less offers himself up, resulting in sex that could be a bid for forgiveness, a reconciliation, a sad acknowledgment of enduring feelings or a manipulative attempt by Tomas to keep a hold on his husband while continuing to explore a new relationship. Or it could be all of those things.

Like the movie’s other sex scenes, it’s dramatically loaded, and although it’s shot in a single take with no artful draping of the sheets, it’s hardly graphic...

The prim attitude toward sex in American movies goes beyond MPA rulings to Hollywood itself. Sex and unapologetic sensuality have been all but banished from the mainstream since the heyday of erotic thrillers in the 1980s and early ‘90s — films like Dressed to Kill, American Gigolo, Body Heat, Basic Instinct, 9½ Weeks, The Last Seduction, Color of Night and Sliver. People onscreen were getting laid and loving it back then.

What happened to make American movies so desexualized? As the holdover artistic spirit of the emancipated ‘70s faded further into the distance, studios became increasingly corporate and less creative in their thinking. In order to be profitable, movies had to play not only across the U.S. — including conservative Red states and Bible Belt regions — but internationally, where many countries have rigidly imposed codes concerning sex and nudity.

The ascendance of the superhero movie has been another nail in the coffin of sensuality. In the Superman films of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, there was most definitely something cooking between Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder. But in the more recent wave of comic book-inspired action fare, the protagonists are so sexless they might as well be genital-free Kens and Barbies...

Where, in film, is the supposed sex-positive movement that has become part of the cultural conversation? Cable and streaming platforms have stepped into the breach with shows that don’t hold back on steamy content — think Girls, Insecure, P-Valley, Bridgerton, Game of Thrones, Euphoria and The White Lotus.

So is the dearth of grownup attitudes toward sex and sensuality on big screens a stagnant situation or a step backwards? Many would argue convincingly that it’s been that way since the late ‘90s. But it’s also conceivable that we’re in a unique perfect-storm moment, where far-right conservatism has converged with post-MeToo liberal timidity. On social media, some Gen-Z filmgoers have even questioned whether sex scenes have a place in movies. Seriously, kids, you need to get out more.

The presence of intimacy coordinators on set has no doubt helped to ensure an environment of increased safety and trust for actors, establishing essential boundaries of body autonomy. But unlike so many uninhibited European screen stars, the majority of major-name American performers remain shy about stripping down and going at it.

Witness Penn Badgley declaring his dislike of filming intimate scenes and his insistence on less sex and skin for his character in season 4 of Netflix’s You out of respect for his marriage. “That aspect of Hollywood has always been very disturbing to me,” said the actor in a Variety interview. But many of us who bemoan the shortage of full-blooded sensuality at the multiplex might wonder which Hollywood he’s talking about.'

[molter-writes]

I’m writing this currently at 9:30 at night so I apologize if it is not coherent. I have been an admirer and follower of your work since grey ridge, I believe I found it back when it was barely in it’s early stages, chapter 2. I fell in love with the idea of Alicent and Rhaenyra together, facing the complexities of life and children and business. I fell in love with Alicent and Rhaenyra’s relationship, the cracks they managed to mend and promises they kept. I don’t believe I’ve ever sent in any thing so I’m going to try to condense my words . Number one, your writing style. It’s flawless. I’m an American, born and raised, but my grandmothers family has deep ties to Europe, specifically to the British isles, and I’ve always been a bit of an anglophile. I’ve loved reading British classics and simply hearing British English. It’s an absolute joy to me. Which brings me to my point. You write so well! And I love the style you use, so vivid, so tangible it’s as if your viewing it at the cinema! Honestly kudos to you molter. Truly. Second of all, I absolutely wholeheartedly adore how you write children. I myself as a writer, not published, I prefer to keep them to myself, I always struggled when it came to painting children’s personalities. The way you wrote Jace and Helaena, there personalities, there own special unique traits to them, just made them even more adorable in my eyes. Now I actually came on here to leave a comment on your new fict, one I’ve been waiting for with much eagerness. I’ve been ill recently and when I saw you had released I just about sprung from my bed. A good book is akin to good medicine! My grandmothers words.

leaf and blade was not what I was expecting. I wasn’t really expecting what was presented to me. I was just going to go into it like any other story, but I was wrong! It’s a story by you!

The dynamic between the Targaryen family was one that intrigued me. I was delighted when I read that helaena was Rhaenyra’s little sister (by that I mean shared parentage) the uneasy relationship Rhaenyra’s harbors with her father was another. It’s understandable, and extremely well written. I felt extremely sorry for viserys. Alicent and Rhaenyra’s relationship is also something I adore! The humor between them definitely added to the first chapter. I adore how Alicent comforts nyra after the dinner, and I love Alicent with the children!! I truly do! She’s got such a special heart for the sweet things!

(cocky, humorous Rhaenyra has a special place in my heart and it was almost as if you wrote Milly Alcock’s portrayal of a young Rhaenyra. It was perfection.)

I am absolutely willing to lay down my life for Dyana waters!! I just know something isn’t right in her family, and poor thing is scared witless!

Rhaenyra being in charge of football gave me a laugh, though it suits her well. Her dynamic with Ageon is definitely new. I do believe that she will be able to figure him out, though it might take an agreeable amount of time. As we’ve seen with even her little sister she had trouble…what’s the word? Understanding her. I absolutely loved, I say with my whole heart, Mr beesburys book session!! He seems like a very kind and gentle man, even going out of his way to give Aegon a chance to read and given the right praise (even though angry Alicent was welcomed😂) please keep up the philosophical side of things! I do love it. I believe I’ve written enough to bore you, I hope you found this intriguing.

although I do ask this, feel free to not give an answer, are you from the uk? (Again with the British English, lovely grammar) thanks again molter!

thank you so so so much for taking the time to write this. all this has reinvigorated my desire to write and to have sparked joy in someone else is a feeling altogether unmatched

i hope you enjoy the chapters to come -- this response is in no way a service to your delightfully generous message -- but I can't wait to show you more. thank you thank you thank you

[translationandbetrayals]

Shin'ichirō Watanabe: cosmopolitism in the land of invisible walls

Once upon a time there was a country that had the oldest population in the world, and yet, it's unemployment rate was one of the lowest. It had been economically stagnant for the last 30 years, and yet, it was the third largest economy in the world. It had a chronic need for labor, and yet, it was “allergic to immigration”. Yes, I'm talking about Japan. And yes, that last one was a euphemism.

  No country for foreigners

You see, Japan is especially good at masking the problems that concern it. If a Western country does it, it is conservative, but if Japan does it, it's “traditional”. If a Western country does it, it is xenophobia, but in Japan it's just an “allergy to immigration”.

For a country that benefited from globalization, it is very hermetic on a social level. And it is no wonder, since it's immigration laws are practically prohibitive. Come on, the rest of the world perceives the Japanese society as an ethno-nationalist one as opposed to a multi-cultural one.

Japan is an incredible country (being the third largest economy is not easy), perfectly designed for them, but very unkind to foreigners (I'm talking about emigrating, not about going for a month as a tourist, because in that aspect they have done a very good job).

Despite what the media usually preaches, you can (not) be different. Japanese society is the incarnation of the -also Japanese- proverb “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” And when you, just by your looks, already stand out, you… you are gonna be getting hammered like crazy. 

No matter what, immigrants can never claim an integration with the Japanese national identity, even over the long term. This national identity is presented as impenetrable: the language is difficult, the culture almost only inheritable. And the welcome extended to foreigners comes with the clause that an invisible wall will always exist between “us” and “them”.

  Embracing mixture

It’s in this country of giant borders and invisible walls that anime director Shin'ichirō Watanabe stands out.

Watanabe is mainly known for two things: the mixing of different genres and his love for music. In Cowboy Bebop, the most paradigmatic case, he mixes Western cinema with film Noir, Hong Kong action films and various musical genres, relying mainly on Jazz. He connects extremely dissimilar things separated by time and space. However, this mixture, this “declaration of intentions” by breaking down the borders between genres is not only aesthetic. Cowboy Bebop, Space Dandy, Carole and Tuesday: this three are all works by him set in space, in a particularly diverse future. It is not the Japanese who conquered space, but humanity as a whole. Arabs, Mexicans, Americans, in different sizes and colors. The future he imagines is particularly multicultural, especially thinking about how ethnically reduced anime usually is (and no, the typical blonde American girl who is an exchange student is not enough).

On the other side, music is -to me at least- the true universal language, and it seems that Watanabe thinks the same way. Music is what ties up his series in the first place, but I'm glad to see how this way of understanding music has affected the production itself, leading him to work mostly with Western musicians for Carole and Tuesday (which makes sense given its premise of dissimilar people connecting through music).

  Samurais and… what?!

Watanabe has made incredible mixes throughout his work: Space Adventurers with Disco, or Bounty Hunters with Jazz, but the one that continues to surprise me the most is Samurai with Hip Hop.

Samurai Champloo (2004) is a series set in a fictional version of Japan during the Edo Period. Our protagonists are Fuu -a girl, Mugen -a wanderer, and Jin -a samurai, who embark on a journey in search of the “samurai who smells like sunflowers”. Thus, the series narrates their travels and the trouble they get into.

"Champloo" is an Okinawan word meaning "mixed up" or "stirred together." Living up to its name, the series employs a mix of historical settings from the Edo Period, with modern references and styles, especially Hip Hop culture and music. By taking place in the past, Watanabe takes the liberty of creating his own mix of temporalities, presenting anachronisms (characters wearing the equivalent of Adidas clothing), or modifying historical events (in episode 23, Commodore Matthew Perry tries to forcefully do business with Japan not only with intimidation, but also by winning a baseball game, and he loses).

However, the episode that concern us is episode 6: Stranger Searching.

  Once upon a time there was a country

In this episode, the three enter an eating contest, giving up their swords as payment, but all lose to Joji, a strange looking man. In exchange for a city tour, Joji agrees to return the swords. While on the tour, the group defend Joji from samurai enforcers seeking him as a foreigner. During one point when cornered, Joji reveals himself as Isaac Titsingh of the Dutch East India Company, and the samurai leave them alone. The group says goodbye, continues on their way and the episode ends.

What I find incredible about this episode is how contemporary it feels, and the parallels established between sexuality and nationality. You see, Joji was a homosexual in Holland. The 17th century Holland:

- In my country, they treat me like deviant.

Until one day he discovered a Japanese book with a quite suggestive title: “Great Mirror of Male Love”:

-Japan is wonderful! Wonderful culture of man love! When I read that, I thought that Japan would be a country like heaven on Earth.

Sadly, this dialogue between Joji and a samurai enforcer gives you an idea of reality:

-Why do you arrets me? I don’t do anything wrong.

-Here in our land of the rising sun, even if dogs, cats, or even worms are allowed to live, there’s no law saying that foreigners are allowed to!

Truly, the parallel between sexuality and nationality as a useless distinction for a “citizen of the world” is brilliant, as is the use of the series' anachronistic nature to reinforce its contingency. It's sad to see that not much has changed since then, but I refuse to give up on my dream: true understanding.

  Cosmopolitanism

Cosmopolitanism is the idea that all human beings are members of a single community. The term comes from the Greek etymology of "citizen of the world". Cosmopolitanism can be traced back to old man Diogenes a few hundred years B.C., who rejected the idea that one should be importantly defined by one’s city of origin, as was typical of Greeks of the time. It is a broad term with many interpretations, but culturally speaking, cultural borders are no longer rigid and no longer coincide with physical or political borders. It is a more perceptive and sensitive approach to hybridity, couplings, ambiguities and syncretisms.

New York as a physical space that serves as a cultural melting pot, internet as a space for dialogue and interaction that expands our horizon: peace is not achieved by homogeneity through isolation, but by understanding heterogeneity.

It is frustrating that in the process of conformation of identity, to construct the “self”, we need an "other" from which to differentiate ourselves. I guess if one day there was an alien invasion, nations would probably put their differences aside and start acting together as “humanity”. In the same way, when a country faces internal social fractures, the government looks for another country to serve as a straw man to attack, to reinforce national unity against this common and external enemy (c’mon, half of the 20th century history was about that). I understand it, and that's why I'm saddened by it.

  Now what?

Luckily, “No one knows what the future holds. Its potential is infinite”. There’s something poetic in Joji’s story, because despite being treated like a deviant in his country, Netherland became the first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage in 2001.

What I'm trying to say is that change is always possible. It will always be possible to build bridges between cultures. Let's just look at Adult Swim. This was the gateway to anime for young Americans in the late 90's and early 2000's. It acts as a subtle reminder to an entire generation to think globally, starting with recognizing other countries. Their effort and importance at bridging cultural gaps has always captivated me. The Adult Swim anime par excellence, FLCL, flew under the radar in Japan and was practically forgotten after it aired its final episode. Japanese viewers just didn't click with it. Were it not for Adult Swim -and its niche experimental brand- FLCL would've been practically erased from history. And needless to say, since then, increasing globalization has forced the anime industry to expand its production processes beyond its original borders.

Insight allows for commonality, a boon in the internet age. Finding common ground allows people to make changes worldwide. And that's what the world needs right now. That is why I find Shin'ichirō Watanabe's vision valuable. When embracing mixture, you are demolishing the invisible walls that plague the world. Destroy the boundaries between music, film genres, mediums, countries, sensibilities: ultimately, between people.

Anime can change perspectives. For example, in this context of low birth rates, you can see how animes like Usagi Drop, Sweetness & Lightning, Spy x Family or Kotaro Lives Alone have proliferated. Series that practically shout in your face “Look how nice it is to raise a child! Please have babies!” (and while it's not necessarily propaganda, you get the point).

I'm not saying you can end racism just by making Rush Hour with Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker (great comedy, go watch it). It is not that simple. But definitely, art and stories are capable of changing the world. Sometimes it's like a drill that pierces the heavens. Sometimes it's like the drop that persistently erodes the rock. Sometimes it happens overnight, and sometimes it takes 400 years.

By the end of the episode, we can find a certain melancholy in Joji's words:

-I had hoped that I could live in this country as a Japanese. But I suppose that is not possible yet.

But we can also find hope:

-But eventually, the day will come when this country will accept people like me. I am sure that this country will stop being so tight assed one day.

I am sure too, Joji. I am sure too...

Raimundo Gumucio

[stingslikeabee]

rude + melissa... chinhands

send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child . not accepting

Name: Jarah Drsydell and Jasmine Drysdell (to the extent that Rude doesn't want to associate his name officially, of course - otherwise, they would also have his surname! The names are either associated to flowers or honey in a tribute to Melissa/Lilian and the HBI). Gender: A couple of twins (Jarah being male and Jasmine being female). General appearance: Despite the mixed genes, Rude's appear to be more dominant - both kids have darker skin than their mother and closer to their father, raven-black hair and also grow taller than Melissa (although Jasmine wins by a narrow margin whereas the boys make her look tiny in comparison). Jasmine's eyes, however, are very unique and lighter than her brother's, perhaps one of the cases where Melissa's heritage came through more evidently. They both can gain muscle and weight easily and have larger bone structure than an average Midgarian, but only Jarah seems to be interested in a fitness routine to benefit from their genetics. Personality: A good example of cloning themselves - Jarah is quiet, very observant, will only speak when he feels he has something to add and 95% of it is very insightful, would change his path to avoid stepping on a flower; Jasmine abhors silence, makes friends as easily as she gets in trouble, universally considered the life of any party and cannot stay silent in the face of injustice of any kind (to the point of sometimes endangering herself and requiring saving from her father/brother/kind bystander). No one has any trouble believing Rude and Melissa to be their parents, really. Special talents: A bit on the unexpected side since these are not the things people would immediately guess about either of the twins - but Jarah is really good with drawing, illustrations and arts in general (almost as if he translates everything he sees on paper so others can see it as well); Jasmine has a knack for massages - just like Melissa, she has a similar need for physical connection and that developed into working out tension off the bodies of the people she's close to (and she's good enough to make tough people cry when she gets the right spot). Who they like better: Curiously enough, they're both sufficiently well-mannered to never outright admit they have a favorite, but Jarah feels more comfortable with his mother and Jasmine with her father. Perhaps because of the 'mini-clone' aspect, they do find themselves at ease with the parent that has the opposing personality traits (maybe because this made that relevant progenitor easier to manipulate, haha). Who they take after more: Jarah is mini-Rude, Jasmine is mini-Melissa, it's really that bad. The only thing that may potentially throw someone off (in Melissa's case) is because of the skin color - she's much paler than her daughter, but their mannerisms and approaches are so similar that usually any doubts about a familial connection will disappear the moment they part their lips to speak. Personal Headcanon: Jarah has the right build and discipline to be a professional coliseum fighter or wrestler, but he doesn't enjoy violence in that way; despite being scouted by agents before and offered opportunities to be a professional, Jarah turned them all down and he just really likes being fit for his own personal (health) purposes - he speaks of joining the WRO one day and helping with rebuilding efforts and going where he is most needed. Jasmine, on the other hand, has her focus set on the stage - she would love to have a career in something artistic for the masses (like television, cinema or theater), all endeavors that Melissa very much supports and would have loved to do it herself if she had been given the chance (although she never pressured Jasmine into this - the girl just has a similar need for attention). Faceclaim: Regé-Jean Page (Jarah) and Logan Browning (Jasmine).

[popopretty]

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (1)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Final

I translated the first few pages of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.

I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.

In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.

I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying, is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.

Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?

The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tip of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.

I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here. And to top it all off, he is holding a bunch of new notes in his left hand.

What can this mean? Nothing. It means nothing, except that his existence is a huge trouble, and that nothing good will come out of getting involved with him. In other words, he is clearly not someone that an average citizen should get involved with. A normal person in his right mind should have fled to the next city at the sight of him. Just like Jonah in the Bible would do the second time he runs into a giant fish in a stormy sea.

I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.

And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.

I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.

After I am done with the treatments, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. “It’s fine already, just kick him out.” I can hear the voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.

Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering half of his face makes it almost impossible to make out his features. But he is much younger than what I first thought. He is probably young enough to pass as a “boy”.

Then I remember the wad of cash he was holding. He is still holding them. If it is actually as much as it looks, it must be a fortune for someone with a miserably cheap wage like me. In this situation, it should be okay to have some of them gently transferred to my pocket as a thank for saving his life, right? Thinking so, I pick up the wad of notes. And now I finally realize that I am the biggest idiot in this town.

I feel a bitter taste spreading inside my mouth.

That is an unused bundle of notes. There is some blood on them, but the paper strap, the proof that they are new, is there. There is no bank’s name printed on the strap. There is no printing of any kind. And the notes are neatly lined up by serial numbers in ascending order.

I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

There are two possibilities that I can think of. First, this bundle of notes has been taken out of the Reserve Bank of Japan Mint, before it hits the market. That would mean this man is a plague. There is no chance that an ordinary person could get his hands on such a thing. The notes printed at Japan Mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where their serial numbers are scanned to become usable notes. Then they will be sent in cash transport vehicles to branches of the Reserve Bank. From there, they continue to be subdivided and distributed to city banks. At that point, the straps will be switched with those of the city banks.

However, there is no printing on his trap at all. The only way to be able to carry out a wad of notes in that state is to steal it from the Reserve Bank. The most likely way is to attack a cash transport car. Could it be that he just returned from a raid like that?

But if so, I will just stroke my chest in relief, and go back to making coffee in my kitchen. The cash car robbers are violent guys, but only violent. Violence alone cannot make a storm.

There is another possibility.

These are counterfeit notes. I take out a magnifying glass from the back of the room, and carefully examine the wad of notes in my hand. I become completely chilled that my fingers are tingling. I try comparing them with the notes in my own wallet. I can’t tell the difference at all.

A supernote.

I feel dizzy.

If that is the case, the thing in my hand right now has become as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. Counterfeit currency is a tool of warfare that has been used way before bows and arrows. If one can bring an amount of well-made false currency into an enemy country, the value of that currency will drop due to the increase amount of money in circulation, leading to inflation. A country is, in a sense, its own currency. By skillfully fueling distrust in a country’s currency, it is possible to destroy the economy and bring down a whole nation. For that reason, the National Security Agency is always on the lookout for counterfeit notes. If this level of a note is to be brought into the market, it would not be the city police’s business. It is much higher. The National Security Agency, or the Military.

I put the wad of notes on my desk as if I am throwing them away. I don’t want to leave my fingerprints on them anymore. I head to the phone. If I report the incident right away, I might be able to argue for some extenuating circumstances with the authorities. There is no time to waste.

When I pick up the receiver, I hear a faint voice. It isn’t coming from the phone.

“Put the phone down.”

I turn to the direction where the voice came from. Before I knew it, the young man has opened his eyes and is looking at me with those eyes. I look at the receiver and the youth in turn. Then I say, “What if I don’t?”

“I kill you.”

Those words are as mediocre as the unsold leftover packs lining up in a deli, at least to this young man. I can tell from looking at his eyes. When he utters the word “kill”, it is nothing more than an ordinary, everyday word for him. Just like cutting your nails, or going out to buy more cigarettes, those kinds of words.

“How?” I put down the receiver, but I have not returned it to the base station. Then I say, “You’ve got holes all over your body. You can’t move anything. You’re dying everywhere. You don’t even have a gun. To kill me in that condition, it would take two hundred of you.”

“I don’t need that much.” He says with a chilled voice. “I’m Port Mafia.”

Those words only are enough.

“Port Mafia”, I carefully choose my words before saying “Then I have no choice but to obey.” Then I take my time and quietly put the receiver down.

“That’s good,” he chuckles.

If he really is from Port Mafia, I would have to be careful even about lifting or lowering a spoon in front of him. When the opponent is the Port Mafia, the synonym of darkness and violence, even if I report this and manage to escape today, there is no telling what will come later. A human being has a total of about two hundred bones. But it would not be strange if I will be shredded into just as many pieces of flesh.

I stare at him for about three seconds. Then I go to the kitchen. I keep the door open so that I can watch him from there. I start making coffee in the kitchen. I put the kettle on the fire and wet the rod with some water. I add the coffee powder, and pour boiling water in.

“If I’m not allowed to call the police, what about the doctors?” I say, keeping my eyes on the water.

“What I’ve done is just emergency first aids at best. If you don’t get checked by a proper doctor, you will die soon.”

“No need to worry.” The young man speaks with a slightly stretched out voice. “This much is no big deal. I’m used to injuries.”

“Is that so? Then I will obey.” I stir the coffee and set a timer. “In any case, there is no way a normal postman like me can go against the Port Mafia demons.”

“Being obedient is good. So next…”

Suddenly, the young man starts coughing and vomiting blood. I quickly run up to him and turn his head to the side so that he will not choke on his own blood. I check inside his mouth. I can’t tell where the bleeding is from in this situation. It could be just a cut inside his mouth, or it could be an internal injury. I don’t know.

“Go to the hospital. Get treatments. You are really going to die.” I state.

“It’s perfect then.” he speaks like whispering. “Just let me die like this.”

I feel a chilled wind passing through me.

I look at the young man. He is just staring at the ceiling. No emotions, no intents. Just a flat expression, like one who is just telling his age. I cannot believe my own eyes. I don’t even feel like there is a human there. If it was late night instead of a refreshing early morning, I would think that he was a ghost or a hallucination.

Crazy things keep happening today. My life is about to get screwed up it seems.

“Fine then.” I say. “If you want to die, just die. It’s your own life. I won’t stop you. But I will be in trouble if you die here. If you die here, no one will be able to testify that I am not the one who caused your injuries. I might be arrested.”

“To be arrested, or to be killed by Port Mafia later, which one is better?’

I stare at him while saying, “That’s a hard question.”

I go back to the kitchen, wait for the timer and turn off the fire. I then take out the cream can and ask, “You want some coffee?”

No answer.

“How did you collapse in front of my house?”

Still no answer.

“What the heck are those notes in your hand?”

No answer for this one of course.

I feel as if I’m talking to a wind fairy. A character from a picture book who suddenly came to my house on a peaceful morning. Just that he is covered in blood, and he wants to die.

I pour coffee into two cups and add in the cream. I watch the steam, wait for some time and start stirring. Then I notice that I can’t feel the sign of anyone in the next room anymore. I can’t even hear him breathing. No hint of death drifting either.

I poke my head out of the door, the cups still in my hand. The young man is crawling towards the front door. If he could move his legs, he would just walk out. But it looks like he hasn’t got that much strength back, so he just has his arms hooked on the floor and slowly creeping forward. Just like a prisoner escaping from cell in those old war movies.

He notices my gaze, and then as if he has given up, a mocking smile appears on his face.

“You don’t want me to die in this house, do you? Then if I leave, you’ll have nothing to do with it. No need to help me. No need to ponder anything. Just stay there and watch.”

I ask him, still holding the coffee, “Do you want to die that much?”

“Of course I do. I joined the Port Mafia, but there was still nothing.” replies the young man in a voice that sounds like a soul-deprived gasp. “The only thing I want now, is death.”

Then he starts crawling again.

I take a sip of my coffee while watching that. His progress is pathetically slow. I take another sip. He keeps moving without a rest. He has no intent to look back at me anymore.

There is only one thing to do.

“It’s no use to stop me.” The young man seems to notice my movement. He says with his eyes looking forward, “No one can go against the Port Mafia. And no one in the Port Mafia can go against me. In other words, no one can whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!??”

He is pulled backward.

I wrap him with a bed sheet and lift him up. I then twist the two ends to close it. Like a candy wrapping paper. Then I turn him upside down and carry him back.

“It hurts it hurts it hurts! My wounds are opening! What the hell are you doing, you blockhead. You want to be killed?”

“I don’t want to be killed. But I don’t want to let you die either. If you go out in this state, you will definitely die. Just make up a death story without me in it when you get better.”

As it looks like he is going to let out more complaint, I shake the lump of cloth.

“Ouch ouch! Stop it! I hate pains!!”

“Then will you give up?”

“No!”

I try to come up with a way to deal with it and I get one. Let’s tie him to the bed.

I put him down on the bed and open the pack. I bring in a big towel and wrap it around his arms, which are crossed in front of his chest, altogether with his torso. I take the decorative cord from the door way to bind his legs together and tie the ends to the metal fittings of the bed. I raise the pillows, change the blanket into a new one, and open the window to let the fresh air in.

“For the time being, until your wounds have healed, I will have you stay like that.” I look down to the young man and say “Is there anything you want?”

“My nose is itching.” He looks at me resentfully while wriggling his two arms that are no longer free.

“Poor you.” I go back to the coffee in the kitchen.

The young man’s insults are echoing behind my back. But this neighborhood is sparsely populated, so there is no need to worry about disturbing the neighbors. I enjoy my morning coffee.

And so begins the strange and short communal life of me and Dazai together.

...

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part II

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1891.

Part I

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

P.S. To avoid any confusion, I changed the name Savages -> Vicious.

________________________

The next day you spent doubting your own decisions. Was it really wise to leave everything to Steve? How could he find those students all by himself and deal with your problem? Could he really stop them from acting like that? You thought once again it would be so much easier to ask for a transfer, but you had already given him your word to meet him today at 5. It would be very inappropriate not to come when he was trying to help you.

When the time came, you were sneaking in the student council room as if you were some petty thief. You were afraid people would start talking: if everybody knew who stole your things, they would understand you came to Steve for help like a little girl. It was embarrassing - even in a situation like this. Besides, somebody could be following you since at 5 pm the academy was almost empty.

By the time you reached the right door, you heart was beating as if you had just run a marathon. You really, really hoped Steve found some solution, and you wouldn’t have to be humiliated by the student advisor for wanting to leave the school.

Opening the door, you saw a couple of students on the sofa and quickly stepped away, afraid the student council was still having a meeting, “Ugh, sorry!”

“Come in, please,” Steve said calmly behind the door, and you shyly got in again, watching four other guys staring at you with interest. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“What, they too?” You were so perplexed by his words you forgot your manners, speaking of others as if they weren’t in the same room. “I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t know you were involved.”

Wait, were they the ones who stole your things? Did Steve bring them here for you?

“No need to be so nervous.” One of them, a guy with long, jet black hair forming waves around his shoulders told you, motioning you to come closer and sit in one of the chairs opposing the sofa where he sat. “We’re here to help you.”

You remembered his name was Loki. A mathematic genius, he was considered one of the top students of the academy.

“That’s right! Come, come!” Seeing Peter among others was surprising, but his smiling face made you calm down a little, and you smiled at him in return. 

No, they weren’t those guys who stole your underwear, for sure. Apparently, Steve asked them to join you because they knew something and could give you a hand in finding those bastards.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Feeling a little self-conscious among five different men you'd barely known, you landed on one of the chairs and saw that the other two were Bucky and a captain of the academy’s basketball team, Thor. “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes,” Steve said with a loud sigh, “I know exactly who they are. I can hand them over to the school’s officials and get them expelled by tomorrow, but that’s not the real issue here.”

You felt the chills ran up your back. What did he mean by the real issue?

“Is there something else?”

When you saw Loki smirking at you, you suddenly realized you were among five strong men in the student council room on the fifth floor where most classrooms were already empty. If you screamed, nobody would even hear you.

“Stop it.” Bucky’s angry voice cut through the silence, and you saw him literally burning a hole in Loki’s face. “Don’t make her scared, freak.”

Obviously, he wanted to say something offensive to Barnes in return, but Steve silenced them both with his icy glare. Loki sent him an innocent smile while Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes in irritation. It felt like they were in the middle of some school play, and you bit down on your lower lip, having a feeling something was going horribly wrong.

“The thing is, even if we got those ones expelled, it probably won’t stop the others from doing something similar.” Steve leaned up against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest. “I feel terrible admitting it, but many of our students are completely wild. I’m afraid they might keep harassing you.”

“Oh.”

You averted your eyes, realizing your attempts to find a solution were futile. Obviously, Steve could do nothing - he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, ready to protect you day and night from those delinquents who followed you everywhere. As you thought before, the one thing that could help here was leaving the school for good.

Shit, you didn’t know how to explain it to your family, Even your friends thought it was too bizarre to be true and laughed at your worries, saying you probably lost your things yourself. You would have to find a better excuse for a transfer in the middle of the semester.

“Well, anyway, thank you for trying,” you nodded and smiled apologetically at him as if it were your fault, “tomorrow I will talk to the student advisor about my transfer. Sorry for the trouble!”

“I don’t think it’s real to get transferred by now. It’s passed all the deadlines.” Shaking his head, Bucky raised his voice, and you felt suffocating.

Apparently, you would really have to skip a whole year of school. Explaining everything to your family, looking for some garbage job to have enough money to rent a room and pay your bills... Fantastic.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve found another way.” 

Immediately, you raised your head, your pupils dilating.

“You see, the reason they are doing that is because you have no one to protect you. They know the administration won’t take it seriously because they’re a bunch of old misogynists, and you also have no means of protecting yourself. It would be better if you started dating someone, someone strong enough to make these guys back down.”

Steve looked deadly serious for someone saying such nonsense. A boyfriend? Now? Was he for real? Did he think you'd be using someone like your personal shield? Besides, even if you chose the strongest guy at school, it didn’t mean he would be stronger if several people attacked him.

But when you shared your thoughts with Steve, you saw others smiling at you as if they knew you would say that, and you felt uneasy.

“That’s true. That’s why you need more than one boyfriend.”

“What do you mean? How can somebody have more than one boyfriend?" Puzzled, you stared at him wide-eyed as if he said something stupid.

What on Earth did he mean by that? Were you to have your own squad of bodyguards at all times while you were in the academy? This was so foolish you couldn't believe someone like Steve said it out loud.

But then you caught glances of five men in the room and forgot how to breathe for a second. They weren't serious, were they? Steve didn't assemble all these guys here to make them into your boyfriends. It was preposterous even thinking of that, right?

Right?

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is." You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if trying to protect yourself.

"Why are you being so nervous?" Baring his teeth, Loki smiled at you. "Some other girl would be happy if five men were to be her boyfriends."

"It's a joke, right? You're all joking."

You hoped to see any of them laughing and nodding their heads, saying they simply wanted to cheer you up, but all you saw was a guilty expression on the faces of Bucky and Thor and the excitement of others. They really gathered here to offer you this.

"All of us here," Steve looked upon others, becoming a little displeased when his gaze fell upon smiling Peter, "are perfectly capable of helping you. If each of us were to accompany you one day a week, others won't be so brave. I'm sure they will no longer be a nuisance to you if they know what we can do to them."

There was something very dark in the way Steve said that, and for a couple of seconds you weren't sure whether you have to be more scared of him rather than those who was stealing your things.

"But it would be very uncomfortable for everyone, wouldn't it? I mean, going with me everywhere, not using your own time as you'd like. And, well, surely, others will see that we won't act like a real couple, so they might still keep harassing me. I don't think it would work."

Apparently, Loki was bored with this talk, you thought as you heard him clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"Then don't pretend. Act like a real girlfriend. Kiss in public, hug, go to the cinema together, what else girls do?"

"Wait, you mean, with ALL of you?"

"Yeah? Do you think anyone gonna be against it?"

You very much hoped they would be. Being followed by someone like your bodyguard was one thing, but having a real boyfriend was very different. Did they really want to pretend to be lovey-dovey with you? Act like you were close to them?

Oh. Of course, they would. They belonged to the same kind of touch-starved barbaric men they were trying to protect you from. They would do all those things to you, too.

You realized you were crying only when Peter flew off his seat in a hurry and squatted down beside you, taking your shaking hands in warm his.

"Please, don't cry. Nobody's gonna force you into doing anything, I promise. You will only do things you're comfortable with, ok?" Handing you his pearly white handkerchief, he smiled to comfort you. "No one of us gonna say anything."

"And if she starts dating one of us for real? What's then?" It was Loki again, cocking his head to the side and obviously provoking Peter to yell at him.

"We'll be ok with that, too."

The silence felt heavy. As you opened your eyes, Peter's handkerchief in your hands, you realized it was Thor who spoke for the first time, and the way he looked at you softly made you feel a little better. Despite the fact you knew little of him, for some reason, it felt like you would be safe with him - certainly safer than with Loki.

"Naturally, if any of us will bring you discomfort or do something unacceptable, you need to let us all know, and we'll decide what to do with that person." Raising his voice, the head of the student council made everyone to turn their head to him. "We will be meeting here, in this room, if anything happens. Each of us will give you our phone numbers. We will also make a schedule who accompanies you every day of the week."

It seemed he no longer asked for your opinion if you even wanted it to happen.

__________

"Bucky will be with you on Mondays, Loki on Tuesdays. Wednesdays are Thor's, on Thursdays Peter will be following you, and on Fridays it will be me going with you. Of course, if you need any of us to watch over you on weekends, feel free to contact whoever of us you like more."

Part III

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegarden

[iyumeu]

Pillow Fort Movie Time! - with the Brothers

After begging, pleading, wheedling, and scoring As for all your tests, Lucifer had finally given in and allowed you to use the House of Lamentation's common area one (1) time to do whatever you wanted.

And you wanted to build a pillow fort.

However! You were not content with just a pillow fort. No. You wanted a Cinema Pillow Fort: large, extravagant, and with a television you could watch a movie on.

And so you went to Mammon, knowing that he had a large flat-screen television hoarded somewhere within his room that he wasn't using at all.

⭒☆━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When you asked Mammon for the television, he was somewhat reluctant to part with it at first. After all, it had cost him a pretty penny and it was fragile!

> However, after telling him what you wanted to do with it and inviting him along (because he would be part of your pillow fort movie party. C'mon. He never leaves you alone and it'll be better to invite him rather than have him try to squeeze his way in. Inviting him would make him feel wanted and you definitely wanted him there!), he had blushed and said that it wasn't that he wanted to help you, but you had asked and he just so happened to be free so he would help you set up both the television and the fort! But he wasn't being nice! He was just... making sure that your pillow fort didn't suck! Because he'd be in there too! (Because he was your first! Your man!) And he didn't want to be in a pillow fort that sucked!

> Mammon had no idea what a pillow fort was. But he wasn't going to tell you that.

> He plugged up the television and hung up the canopy of the pillow fort, layering the blankets and cloth (and why had Mammon been hoarding so much good cloth?) and attaching them to the part of the ceiling where Lucifer usually strung him from so they were nice and secure.

> Your excitement and joy was rubbing off of him and he found himself looking forward to seeing the end result of the pillow fort the two of you were building together.

> Meanwhile you placed some futons and thin mattresses — whatever you had lying around, really — on the ground before covering them up with a few layers of plush and fluffy blankets for the base of the pillow fort.

This was when Belphegor trailed down the stairs, sleepily rubbing at his eye with one hand and holding his pillow in the other, pausing in his step when he saw caught sight of the utter mess you and Mammon had turned the common area to.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ʕ -ᴥ-ʔ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> Belphegor's first thought was honestly to just leave you guys be. It looked like more trouble than it was worth and he couldn't really muster up the energy for it.

> But then you smiled at Mammon so openly and so sweetly, thanking him for his help, that Belphegor suddenly sound himself standing next to you, arms around you and his chin resting on your head.

> "MC... what are you doing?" he asked, ignoring Mammon's demands for him to keep his hands to himself.

> "I'm building a pillow fort!"

> Despite having a demon hanging off of you, you move with a practiced ease as you shifted the futons and mattresses around to ensure that there were neither bumps nor gaps in your base.

> With a similarly practiced ease, Belphie nuzzled his face into the crook of your shoulder.

> "What's a pillow fort?"

> You briefly explain to Belphie what a pillow fort was (pretending to ignore how Mammon listened in on the conversation as well): a construction made out of blankets, pillows, and other soft material resembling a sort of den or nest. It was supposedly very comfortable and cozy.

> This piqued Belphegor's interest. He asks if he can help. He wants to be praised too, like how you praised Mammon.

> You tell him to bring all the pillows he's willing to part with. This was something he could do. He had a lot of pillows, after all, and he would ask Beel to help him drag them all down.

> While Belphegor went to retrieve his pillows, you already had a few beanbags chairs that you bought specifically for this day that you placed around the fort. You piled your pillows together with them to create a few sizeable and steady piles to either lean back or bury yourself in.

Eventually, Beelzebub came down the stairs along with Belphegor, arms pull of pillows and cushions.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ᙙᙖ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> After setting down the pillows and watching Belphegor lie face first into a pile and fall asleep, Beelzebub's attention was immediately drawn to the pile of snacks you had set aside for your movie night.

> First, there were the snacks you had specifically imported from the human realm. Popcorn with various flavors, marshmallows, potato chips, ice cream... you even got yourself two buckets of cotton candy!

> Apart from those, you had spent the day cooking large servings of mac n' cheese, mashed potatoes, and warm soup (in a thermos!). You had also baked cookies and although half of them "mysteriously" disappeared when you were cooling them, you still had quite a sizeable serving left.

> Why did you have so much food? Because you planned ahead of course! From the very beginning, you knew that even though pillow fort movie night was something you planned for yourself, your wonderful, beloved, amazing, clingy demonic housemates would somehow become a part of it.

> The only thing you weren't sure was the number of demons joining you.

> It didn't matter though, considering Beelzebub was here.

> You had to stand between Beelzebub and the food, sternly holding your ground and talking him down. It was an extremely difficult endeavor, considering the lethality of Beelzebub's puppy eyes, but you pulled through. Just barely.

> You lied. You gave Beel the mashed potatoes.

> When you noticed that Beelzebub was still eyeing the rest of your food, you firmly told him that the food was saved for your movie night and that if he wanted to eat it, he had to wait until then.

> "When will movie night start?" he asked.

> "When the pillow fort is set up," you replied.

> +1 helper, get!

> He helped with most of the heavy lifting, bringing the high-backed dining chairs to act as boundary wall for the fort, tying the blankets to them.

> Your pillow fort was taking shape!

> However, it seemed a little too dark. You had completely forgotten to order the fairy lights you planned to use as mood lighting. Thankfully, you know someone who definitely had what you were looking for.

⭒☆━━━━━━━₍ᐢ ̥ ̞ ̥ᐢ₎ ♥━━━━━━━☆⭒

When you knocked on Asmodeus' door to get some of his charmed candles (spelled to keep the flame to themselves! no more burns! no more accidental fires! no more fire hazards! get yours from akuzon now, for only—), he demanded to know what it was for.

> "Is it for a date? A candlelit dinner, maybe?" Asmodeus sidled up next to you, wrapping his arms around one of yours and snuggling close. "Or perhaps to set a romantic, sensual mood for certain... activities?"

> Was it just you or was Asmodeus' grip getting tighter?

> "Since when did you get a paramour anyway," he pouted. "I thought we were friends? Close friends, even! We're supposed to tell each other our secrets!"

> "It's for my pillow fort," you answered. "I'm making one downstairs with Mammon, Belphie, and Beel. You're welcome to join if you want to."

> "I'd love to join!" Asmodeus let go of your arm to grab his candles. "Scented or non-scented?"

> "Non-scented please, we'll be eating snacks while we watch the movie."

> Asmodeus gasped. "A movie? We're going to have a movie date? Ooh, I want to sit next to you! Can I?"

> "Uhhh, I don't mind, but the others might—"

> "It's settled!"

> Asmodeus looked so happy that you decided that you had to make space for him by your side, even if you were faced with ten thousand puppy eyes.

Just then, you saw that Leviathan's door was open and he was looking at the both of you with a pinched expression on his face.

⭒☆━━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When he realized that you were looking at him, he panicked.

> "MC!!" he blurted out. "I wasn't eavesdropping!"

> His face was flushed red but you noticed that his gaze was still enviously fixed onto you and Asmodeus.

> "Do you want to join us in the pillow fort as well?" you offered. Levi's face turned redder and his grip on the door tightened. Ahh Levi, you're warping the wood.

> "I don't need to join in on your normie activities!" he spat out and then immediately regretted it. "I mean, I don't need to, but I don't mind it! Since you've asked, I suppose I can join in on your movie night and pillow fort!"

> "You don't have to if you don't want to," you said. Half of you was trying to be nice. The other half just wanted to see Levi flustered. You couldn't help yourself. A flustered Levi was a cute Levi!

> Levi mumbled something under his breath. You blinked and leaned in closer.

> "What did you say?"

> "I said I want to!"

> You grinned at him and discovered a brand new shade of red.

> You reached out to link your arms with Asmodeus and Levi.

> "C'mon, let's get back down. The pillow fort should almost be done by now!"

> "Oh right MC," Asmodeus suddenly said. "I've been meaning to ask; what exactly is a pillow fort?"

> "..."

When you were done explaining to Asmodeus and Levi the intricacies of building the Ideal Pillow Fort, you saw Satan standing in the common area, looking curiously at the fort.

⭒☆━━━━━━━(=���� ༝ 🝦=)━━━━━━━☆⭒

> You swear, if you had to explain what a pillow fort was one more time—

> "Hello MC, is this... a blanket fort?" Satan asked.

> Oh thank god.

> Or the devil?

> Religion is hard when you're in hell.

> "Yes! I call it a pillow fort but blanket fort is one of its names as well."

> "I see."

> Satan had come across blanket forts — or pillow forts, as MC called them — before in some of the human romance novels he's read. Usually they were used during terribly intimate moments between the romantic leads, or between two very close friends.

> Huddling together and trading hushed whispers, intertwined fingers and shoulders brushing against each other, a small part of Satan has always wanted to try it out with someone.

> Try it out with you, you, it could only be you.

> But he hadn't known how to make a blanket fort and if he were every to do something like that with you, he would want it to be perfect.

> He couldn't find any books on the subject of making blanket forts either so he eventually gave up on his fantasy.

> But now, here it was. The blanket fort.

> It was a little bigger than how he imagined it to be, but it was fine.

> There were also more people compared to how things were in his fantasy but that was also fine.

> He took careful notes in his head. Next time, he would be able to replicate a blanket fort and hopefully you would be willing to share it with him.

> "Would you like to join in?" you asked because Satan was really eyeing the pillow fort with a strange intensity.

> "If you don't mind," Satan replied with a smile.

It was just then that Lucifer came home.

⭒☆━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━☆⭒

> "When you said that you wanted free reign over the common area, this was not what I had in mind," Lucifer commented.

> "Haha," you said. And because you already had like six out of seven of the brothers agreeing to join you in your fort, you decided to test your chances with Lucifer. After all, it would suck for him to feel left out. "We're all gonna watch a movie together, would you like to watch with us?"

> There was a long pause as Lucifer looked at you, at the pillow fort, at his brothers, and then at his suitcase.

> Just as you were sure that Lucifer was going to turn down your invitation, he sighed and gave you a small smile.

> Tiny, miniscule, microscopic softening of the eyes, but you knew him well enough to tell that it was a smile.

⭒☆━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━☆⭒

> It took a while but eventually you all got yourself settled into the pillow fort. It wasn't a very tight fit, but it certainly was cozy with your clingy demon housemates squeezed tight all around you.

> Each of them had to have a part of their body touching yours, like you were their life source and it brought back memories to the time you went to the beach and, in the hotel, they all formed a circle around you to sleep like some sort of deranged ritual.

> Still, they wouldn't be your beloved demon housemates without all their oddities and quirks and you love them all dearly for it.

> It also helps that not all of them ran hot; some of them actually ran cold so you didn't have to worry about getting overheated anytime soon.

> Anyway, you were comfortable and once you made sure everyone else was too, you loaded your movie and hit play.

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die—"

[angelkurenai]

Long overdue - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Title: Long overdue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: Could you please do a Bucky and y/n where she is shy but is really close to Steve and Bucky thanks their dating and he gets jealous because he loves her but they don’t really talk that much? Love your work

“Still not ready to retire old man?” you smiled, teasingly when the blonde looked at you over his shoulder, but always with a warmth in your eyes that only longtime friends, family, at this point could have. Especially after everything you've all been through.

“What did you just call me, right now?” he narrowed his eyes at you, a lightness and easiness in both his movement and voice, as you couldn't see much of his face at that moment. Granted there was still some heaviness in the atmosphere whenever silence followed, and his moves if one was to pay close attention could notice were short and stiff. And you do notice it.

But who could blame him? Things are better than what they've been five years ago but still, that doesn't mean good. Not when people were still lost in the battle, important ones. Also family.

It's as good as it can get for now at least, and to have your best friend alive and here with you is really the second best thing at the moment. So you can't nor will complain.

“Am pretty sure you heard me. Just as I am sure that if I looked close enough, I could spot a white strand of hair here and there.” you smirked when his eyes widened “But that's not the point here. What I mean is, it's been a good couple months since you gave up that shield, and yet you're still somehow around. Changed your mind, maybe you need a new one? I saw one the other day when I was in town, I think it would suit you.”

“I'm just taking my time, it's not that easy to find an apartment in Brooklyn. You know that.” he turned to fully face you, a frown on his face but it was anything but serious as he crossed his arms over his chest “Besides, weren't you the one that said I should take as much time as I need and that this will always be my home? What happened now? Can't wait to get rid of me?”

“Oh you figured it out, at last.” you played along, letting out a long sigh of relief “Yeah, I'm so sick and tired of seeing that perfectly handsome face all the time. Distracting, taunting and at the same time reminding me of the 20 skincare products I have to use yet again tonight, to look even remotely human.”

A deep chuckle escaped his lips, the easy smile managing to warm you deep to your heart, just as much as his arms did the moment they wrapped around you "If that is to say you look like an angel otherwise, then yes I will accept it.”

“Yeah, particularly the one that rules hell.” you chuckled.

“Why do I even try to say anything nice for you in the first place?” he laughed, shaking his head.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around him as well, trying to find some comfort in your friend- in your family, before you inevitably had to throw yourself into this new world without him. The new age of heroes where many things had changed and in which you wouldn't have someone to turn to any given moment, as easily as it was with Steve. Steve had always been that important. There still was one, much more important of course, but that treacherous heart of yours made it impossible for you to even remotely think you could be so open with him as with Steve. Not without turning every shade of red there was, anyway. “In any case-” you cleared your throat “I could still get you that shield and you can be back on the business in no time. With a new title, of course, but still doing the job... which involves making me breakfast and dinner when I'm too tired. I mean, now that I think about it, you can still keep up that job even if you don't wanna be out on the field.”

“Ah so I do see why you want me to stay after all.” he nodded his head “By the way, what kind of shield are we talking about?”

“Oh it's a special one. I think it was based off a movie? You know how they are with superhero movies lately. And given how bright pink it was I'm guessing Captain Barbie or someth-” but you didn't even get to complete your sentence when a yelp left your lips and soon laughter followed. His fingers moved swiftly as he tickled your sides but you were faster at swatting his hands away.

“Fine, fine. Not a fan of cinema, I see.” you shook your head with a sigh.

“Yeah, forgive me, but we all have flaws. Even me. Is that the real reason why you want me out of here as soon as possible, maybe?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You've got me. Deep down I cannot stand the fact.” you shrugged innocently, but the smile on your lips betraying what you felt.

“Man, I feel the love. You all are glad I came back alive from returning the stones I see.” he said only as a joke, focusing back to gathering the papers filled with older drawings that he had on his table.

“... I am glad you are still here, though, Steve.” you said softly and he looked over his shoulder at you again. This time he didn't just pause, he let go of the papers and turned to face you.

“Where else would I be?” this time a frown set on his face, more serious than any other you'd seen on his face so far, because he understood what your words meant “This is where my family is.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean-” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged “There still were more options. More than you had before.”

“More options, yes. A need for a choice? No. I'm good, more than good. And I wouldn't change a thing about what I have here...” he shrugged softly, looking at you carefully almost with calculating eyes before he started speaking again “I mean, save for one thing I suppose. There is always-”

“Don't. Don't you even-” you gave him a sharp look, fast enough to cut him off “Not unless you want me to kick your ass out of here, right now.” you shook your head, lowering your voice “We agreed we wouldn't talk about it. You promised me you wouldn't bring it up again, Steve. You promised.”

You adored your best friend, you honestly did, but moments like this you really wished you had not told him a single word. Not that he wouldn't have figured it out by himself. He was a persistent man, standing by his opinion no matter what. And this time, seeing as he was somehow convinced your feelings could be reciprocated, he did everything in his power to convince you to act on them. He was the only one that knew the truth and you didn't really know if it was a blessing to have someone to talk to about it or a nightmare with how he acted.

“I try but it is too hard seeing how idiotic the two people closest to me can be.” he crossed his arms over his chest, making you frown for a moment in confusion “And I'm still having a hard time understanding why. I get that you have trouble opening up to people, more than just get it. I know how it is. I'm not the most open person exactly, either, and the thought of getting attached to someone is terrifying given the job we do. But it's not just someone, someone random, we're talking about here. There is nothing to be shy abo-”

“I'm not shy about a damn thing, Steve, stop saying that.” you huffed, giving him a hard look “I'm a grown-ass woman who has saved your ass and the world at the same time, more times than I can count. I'm not some schoolgirl to be shy or crushing or daydreaming or whatever word you wanna use again about- about me and you-kow-who.” the fact that you couldn't even say your name for fear of him somehow being around and hearing did make you look no more mature than a schoolgirl.

“All I'm saying is that if you opened up more, you may be surprised in ways that you couldn't even imagine.”

“Oh like him telling me he feels the same? Well, let's see: you are his best friend, practically his brother. He confides in you, trusts you with his life and everything important to him. Has he told you he sees me as anything more than a friend?”

“Well, he-” he paused “No, not really. He doesn't seem to want to talk much about it... you, with me. Like when I bring you up he gets too stiff but I- I see the way he looks at you! He may not admit it-”

“Because there is probably nothing to admit! It's all in your mind and I can't get my hopes up over just a feeling, Steve.”

“Look, all I'm saying is-” he sighed, shaking his head “All this- All this waiting, and pining because you know that's what this is-” he pointed a finger at you before you could get to retort “You know that's exactly what this is! Waiting and hoping it- it goes away somehow? That your feelings for him are something that will just pass like a scratch on knee, or that you'll cover it up and it will be like they don't exist? This is not how it works. You have to try your chance because if you don't then you'll only live to regret it, and I know you will the same I know it's not something that goes away. He may not see it, but I do. And the way you look at Buc-” he stopped himself when your eyes widened, he sighed instead and raised his arms in surrender “The way you look at him, the way you care and-” he stopped himself, shaking his head before slowly approaching you again.

“For god's sake, the way you love, (Y/n), that is not something that can easily be found. This love that you have in you, this big heart that you are so willing to give without a second thought, the care and selfless devotion is- it's one of a kind.” he slowly wrapped his arms around you, looking you carefully in the eyes “You are one of a kind. And anyone that has even part of your love should thank his lucky stars because it is a blessing to be loved by a woman like you. Waiting is one thing, but to be loved like this and not know it, it would be the biggest tragedy in one's life, (Y/n).”

You knew he was only saying everything because he wanted to help you out, to give you a push as gentle as possible towards the right direction. How right was it for you to confess to his best friend that you've always had feelings for him for so long and possible ruin the dynamics and relation you'd built with all of them (besides making a terrible fool of yourself), you didn't know. You were scared to even think of telling him the truth when you could barely utter a few words in his presence because of that treacherous heart of yours that jumped around like crazy whenever he was near.

“Says the world's leading authority on waiting too long.” you mumbled as a weak excuse, knowing he was right, and let your head rest on his chest as he tightened the hold around your waist.

“Yeah, well, speaking from experience I suppose.” he kissed the top of your head “I just want you to be happy, you know how important you are to me. And I would hate to-”

He didn't, however, get to finish his sentence when another voice was heard “Hey, Steve, you done with those-” but his words were also cut off as he breathed a low, gruff “Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Wha- No, hey, Buck. Not interrupting.” Steve gave his friend a soft smile, pulling away from you and giving you a chance to take a goo look at his friend, and a good look you did take “Just having a word here with (Y/n). Sorry to keep you guys waiting.”

“No I uh should've thought so. Judging from the heartfelt words and all that. I shouldn't have assumed you were talking to yourself, I suppose.” he was mostly speaking to Steve but his eyes were mostly on you, a soft smile on his lips though it didn't reflect on his eyes at all. After barely half a beat, he spoke to you “Hey (Y/n). How you've been?”

“Hello Bucky.” you smiled as well, your throat closing up “Good, you?” you asked and he gave you a soft nod, without taking his eyes off you. Not that you did either. How could you?

Even if somebody were to warn you about it, it would never be able enough to prepare you for what you were seeing. You always knew and would easily admit that the man was good-looking, but this- this even more attractive than you could even imagine. You had seen photos of him back in the days, with his hair shorter and his face on full display, but to see him in person was a whole other thing. It took your breath away to have his eyes fully on you and not for a second hidden. It felt like his whole face was more open, even though his features were still somewhat clouded; the weight on his shoulders wouldn't go away anytime soon that was for sure. But to be able to be like the man he was back then was more than in looks, he could slowly feel like him again.

“Because that would have made so much sense now, wouldn't it?” Steve spoke up.

“Probably. I don't know, I just heard the last sentence anyway, so-” he shrugged, his eyes only stealing a glimpse at you before looking away in what seemed like guilt which you could not understand “Apologies about that. If you guys wanna stay alone some more, I can go by the car and wa-”

“Nah we're good here, all that lady's been doing is distract me anyway.” Steve shot you a playful look “Maybe you can help me out here a bit. I'll take this bag to the car and (Y/n) can tell what else we need from the desk.”

“Alright, I-” Bucky hesitated only for a second, his eyebrows pulling into a frown when Steve all-too-eagerly grabbed his only full bag of clothes and left his room, all excited to leave you alone with Bucky and you would have glared at him if you didn't feel terrified “There he goes.” Bucky sighed before turning to you with a soft smile “Ok, so is there anything you need help with?”

“I uh ye-yeah. Steve was gonna gather his drawings next so given they're important we could... do that.” you breathed out a little hastily but also in a low voice as you rushed to get to the desk. Bucky didn't say a word himself, only letting the tense silence hang in the air; while you struggled on the inside to come up with something good enough. It wasn't just that you were shy or quiet, you were always so unsure of what was best to say to the man, fearing you'd mess it up or make a fool of yourself.

“He's got plenty of these, must have felt really inspired hm?” Bucky spoke in a soft voice, looking over at the drawings Steve had done of you. You got distracted for a moment, taking the warmth in his eyes and the smile that look bittersweet if not sad on his face.

“Uh yeah.” you cleared your throat “It was around the time I was trying to get him back to drawing after I found his art. I was a bit shy about it at first but I suppose they're good.”

“His art always was, he's got a way of bringing things to life, capturing things in a different way but this-” he pause, looking up to meet your eyes, locking them in a look that only made your knees weak if the small distance hadn't already “It would never even compare to the real thing. That is one of a kind. You've always been anyway, I don't think there is a single person that knows you and could deny that.”

“I- I'm not that special.” you could feel the heat rise up on your cheeks and forced yourself to look down.

“I didn't just say special. I said one of a kind, unique. As is... everything about you. But then again, Steve has always been lucky without even knowing it.”

Glancing at him you did notice the honesty in his eyes, the warmth that almost reached out to you like that of the sun. If it weren't for his words that had your heart hammering in your chest, you would have paid more attention to the way his smile didn't really reach his eyes or the longing with which he looked at you.

“I suppose.” you mumbled, though you couldn't understand the meaning behind his last sentence. Letting the silence fill the room again you desperately searched for something else to say. You didn't speak much with Bucky but you wanted – despite your fear – to be the one to keep the conversation going because the truth was you loved talking with him “You look good, you got a haircut.”

Well, when you weren't making a fool of yourself that is.

Bucky paused for a moment, looking at you and you really braced yourself for him to laugh at you and call you out on what a stupid thing that was to say. But instead all you got a smile that you would be damned if it wasn't shy. It was almost too sweet for your heart to take, and the way he ducked his head as if some bashful... schoolboy (you almost laughed at the word that came up in your mind) had your breath getting caught up in your throat once more. You had never seen this side of Bucky. Never.

“Yeah I uh-” he smiled, fully smiled, and your own heart jumped to your throat “I thought that maybe it was time for a change. I didn't know if I could pull it off again after all these years but I-”

“No” you whispered “No, you're- you look great, really, Buck.” you confessed softly and his smile only got bigger “Not that you didn't before, don't get me wrong. You just look like you did back in the days. I- I saw a couple photos of you and Steve, and it's- it's good. Real good.” you gave him a small nod, which he return.

The smile stayed on his lips as he admitted “Yeah, truth is Steve was the one that insisted on it for some reason.” some reason, yeah, more like you saying how good Bucky looked with short hair better yet.

“Well, I'm glad you took that choice. It does look great. And... not that I think you had any trouble before, but now you'll have all the ladies swooning over you, you will barely have time for us.”

“That would never happen, never. I would never put anyone else before you.” he spoke with so much sincerity that you had to look away for a second because of the intensity “Besides-” he cleared his throat “Looking forward to go on double dates or something? I figured you and Steve wouldn't have time for us.”

“Steve, probably, he's got a lot on his plate now. But what do I have to do with any of it?”

“I just-” he shrugged softly, frowning “I figured that moving in a new place is... a lot.”

“It is... hence Steve having a lot on his plate. I still don't get what I have to do with that? I mean, sure, I'm his best pal besides you and Sam, but it's not like I'm moving in with him or anything.” you shrugged with an smile, focusing for a few moments on the drawings before you.

“Oh I thought-” he paused, nodding his head before he let out a soft breath “Well, I suppose I was just assuming. It's not like... this changes anything, right?” his words were so hesitant that it confused for a second.

“...No? Why would it? Steve is still Steve. Things are and will continue to be the way they've always been.”

“I mean-” he cleared his throat again, shifting in his place “You two are good right? Like, together and all that, you're good?”

“Just like we've always been, Buck, I don't understand why you're asking this. Honestly... Is there something not right with you, maybe?” you asked softly, trying to meet his eyes even though he avoided it.

“No, why would there be?” he swallowed thickly, nodding to himself “And besides, I should've thought so.” he offered you a smile, albeit weak “He wouldn't have given up a chance with... A chance to the life he would've had for something that's not important. As far as that is concerned, I don't blame him. I would do the same.”

“You... you mean Peggy, don't you?”

“I-” he shrugged softly “I didn't really wanna mention her in case... Well, he did leave her for you. He stayed here, didn't go back to live his life with her. Which, again, is the right choice. To tell you the truth, I feared for a moment that we wouldn't see him come back from that time travel unless he was graying and old.” feared, and that terrible part of himself that was too selfish, hoped he would stay back in time to have his life with Peggy so that Bucky could maybe get a chance with you in case-

“But he did come back.” you whispered “And he did it for all of us, there's no reason to give me all the credit, Bucky.”

“I mean, you're still the main reason. And as I said, he did make the right choice. Hell, I know that if he had even so considered staying back there, I would have kicked his ass for it. But I guess I'm more than glad you two are so good like this, that I didn't need to.” liar, he knew he was such a big liar for saying all of it.

“Main reason, yeah sure.” you breathed out a laugh, feeling proud with yourself for how casual you sounded “Just say what's on your mind, Buck. Steve's so tired of my single sorry ass that he had to stay here to make sure I don't end up being a crazy cat lady. I mean can I blame him? No. I can't even tell the guy I... the guy I like how I feel about him.” you shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

You were saying things you never thought you would, but feeling bold maybe you would slowly get somewhere in the end “I'm sure Steve's just gonna snap one of these days and tell him 'She likes you you idiot, for fuck's sake do something cause I'm sick and tired listening to her talk about you non-stop.' and I'm not even joking. That will be it, word for word. So-” you let out a low laugh “I better hold him back huh?”

“What?” you did expect to see such a dark and serious look to meet you when you finally looked at him “What did you just say (Y/n)?”

“That... you know, with me being single all this time, Steve might try to set me up with- I'm sorry.” you shook your head “Did I say something wrong? Was it something that I-”

“You're... what?” his voice was so gruff that you felt even more worried.

But before you could voice your concerns, your best friend was walking inside the room again “Sorry for the delay, though I suppose you guys barely noticed my-” but he stopped himself when he was met with the hardest glare you had seen Bucky give his friend “Uh is everything alright?”

“We'll see about that.” his voice was deep “Come on. You. Me. Talk. You have lots explaining to do.” he took a deep breath, looking at you for a few too long seconds too many emotions on his face for you to tell apart, before looking back at his friend “And it's been long overdue.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

For blurb night!! Fluff 7 10 and 13 for Anthony and misc 4 and 8 for Bucky!!💕💕💕💕My two soft and angsty boys🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

(these are going to be under a ‘keep reading’ as it’s two requests, thank your for taking part)

To Wait For You

Fluff 7: “Of course I waited for you.” // Fluff 10: “You look wonderful.” // Fluff 13: “Are you wearing my clothes?”

blurb requests are closed, please do not send anymore.

London in May is decidedly wet. Though Spring was in full swing, the heavens had opened through the night and a rain had soaked the city. 

At some point in the night, you had been chased from sleep by your dreams. Your husband lay soundly asleep by your side; a hand outstretched, wanting to touch you even in the deepest of dreamlike states. Knowing full well that you weren't going to be falling back asleep soon, you left your marriage bed, grabbing a piece of clothing from the floor, and leaving your beloved husband to sleep in peace. 

Condensation lines the window of Anthony’s office and you rest your forehead against it with a sigh. The staff would be up soon, wanting to get the fires lit so the house would be comfortable when you both awoke. It seemed today, however, you would be active before the staff. 

You couldn't pinpoint why you had woken up; the dream wasn't frightful and you hadn't gone to bed angry. Rather the opposite, you had fallen asleep wrapped up in the strong arms of the man you pledged your forever to. Pressing a hand to your face, you go through the events of the last few days, wondering and pondering over why your body didn't need the sleep. 

“Are you wearing my clothes?” Anthony asks, his voice hoarse with disuse. Ten minutes ago he had been fast asleep, now he was standing in his study watching you fiddle with the hem of his white dress shirt. 

“I grabbed the first thing I could find,” You admit sheepishly after startling sightly. You peer up at your husband through your lashes. “I can find something else if you don't think it’s appropriate...”

“No!” Anthony all but shouts, his voice loud in the early hours. “Don’t change. You look wonderful.”

Your face flashes at the compliment; still very much in the honeymoon phase of the marriage. The actual honeymoon had ended some weeks ago; returning to London with your husband on your arm to find that you were very much having trouble keeping your hands off him. Who wouldn't? He had eyes of sapphire, and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. It felt inevitable that you were to fall for the Viscount. 

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Anthony asks, joining you at the window where he reaches for your hand, feeling the coldness and rubbing some warmth into them.

You smile at the action, utterly besotted by the blue eyed man across from you. “I’m not too sure,” You answer honestly, “I can't seem to find a reason.”

“That means you've been thinking too much.”

“Have I?” You laugh, “I suppose I have.”

“What about?”

“Us, I suppose,” You sigh happily, poking your husband with a toe. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Good things I hope,” Anthony smiles wryly. 

“The best,” You laugh. “I’m glad you waited for me,” You whisper, thinking of the age difference between you and your husband. Five years wasn't a lot in your eyes, but to some, it was a gaping void that could only bring trouble. 

Anthony brings your joined hands to his lips where he presses kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “Of course I waited for you. I love you too much.”

“I love you too.”

--------

Hatboxes and Love Letters

Misc 4: pinky promises // Misc 8: handwritten love letters.

The tradition knows no origins. A Barnes’ family secret for as long as the child could remember; her mother and her father leaving notes around the house. Menial notes that ask for more bread to bought from the supermarket, that the child has a dance recital that we absolutely cannot miss - call everyone and remind them. 

Other notes were kept out of the child’s eyes, a secret unknown until the child had turned into a teenager. 

The teenager found the box full of love letters on a whim. An old hat box sitting on a shelf; the colour faded, a sign of its age. The lid slides off easily, showing light on countless pieces of paper - some long, some short, some brown with age and some fresh as if written just yesterday. 

The teenager delves right in, reading and reading as if she were running out of breath.

“I’ve lived what feels like a thousand different lives, but the one I have with you is what I will cherish most. Pinky promise, Bucky.”

“Look after my heart, I know it’s safe with you. Pinky promise, Bucky.”

“I still think of the first night you told me you loved me. Doll, I’ve never known happiness like that until the day we brought our child home. Pinky promise, Bucky.”

“To be given the chance to live my life with you - the love of my life - that is what I fight for. My heart beats for you, doll. Pinky promise, Bucky.”

“What have you found?” He mother asks from the doorway, no trace of anger in her voice. 

“I was reaching for one of dad’s jumpers, but I found this,” The teenager gestures to the hatbox and the letters piled in there.

“I haven't read these in a long time,” Her mother muses, a soft smile turning up the corners of her ageing face.

“What does ‘pinky promise’ mean? All the letters from both you and dad are signed with ‘pinky promise’.”

“When your father used to go out on missions all those years ago, I would make him pinky promise to come back to me. A pinky promise is sacred you see, you can't break them. After a while, ‘pinky promise’ replaced ‘I love you’ in our language,” Her mother confesses, taking a seat on the edge of her bed and holding a hand out for the hatbox of love letters.

The teenager hands them over, watching the memories flicker over her mother’s face as if it were her own private cinema. At this moment, the teenager feels as if she has invaded some private memory - something to be shared only between her mother and father.  

Another voice sounds from the door. “Sentimental, doll?” Bucky laughs.

Her mother smiles, looking like a love-struck teenager as she faces her husband. “Always when it comes to you.”

Her father places a hand over his heart, winking at the teenager before joining her mother on the bed. “I can’t believe you kept them all.”

“Always and forever,” Her mother murmurs, holding her pinky finger up. 

“Always and forever,” Bucky echoes, hooking his pinky around her mother's. “Pinky promise.”

[blu-joons]

DATING SEVENTEEN A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Yoon Jeonghan

A ⇴ AFFECTION 

Affection from Jeonghan will usually come in the form of a practical joke. He loves to mess around with you and wind you up, but once he’s finished pulling whatever stunt it is, he’ll always pull you into a hug to make sure that you’re not mad at him.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING 

The two of you had grown up together, you could never remember a time when Jeonghan wasn’t in your life. You gravitated towards each other from the moment that you met each other, his personality instantly drew you to him, and together, you soon struck up a very close friendship as you grew up alongside on another.

C ⇴ CONFESSION 

As he began to grow up and learn more about love, Jeonghan realised that a lot of those feeling translated to you. When the two of you reached the point in your lives where you were beginning to find your own feet and walk down different paths, he knew that he couldn’t let you go too far down the path without him. His confession pulled you back when it began to feel like you were getting away from walking down his path too.

D ⇴ DATES 

When the two of you started dating, very little changed. You’d often get up to the same things that you did as kids, the arcade or the beach were two of your favourite places to go. Neither of you ever settled on a favourite thing to do, you were both open to trying just about anything with each other. You weren’t people who could just sit down and talk on dates, you loved to mess around and laugh, and often end up getting thrown out of somewhere too for making too much noise and causing too much chaos.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE 

You were the first for Jeonghan when it came to everything, as he was with you. The two of you had experienced so much together before you started dating, it only felt right that you experienced everything to do with love together too. Already knowing each other so well certainly helped the two of you transition into a romantic couple, you didn’t have to learn too much about each other which was a big bonus. And best of all, you were already a suitable fixture to support him when he was working or away on tour.

F ⇴ FIGHTING 

Sometimes, knowing each other so well certainly caused a couple of arguments between the two of you. You both knew the perfect ways to push each other’s buttons and wind each other up, which would often lead to many petty squabbles between the two of you. You’d never argue over anything major, but if you came home to see Jeonghan hadn’t washed up, then you’d hit the roof. The best way to describe your relationship was like an old married couple, but you could guarantee that any time the two of you argued with each other, it made everyone else who was sat around with the two of you fall into hysterics of laughter.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You were already a part of his family without needing to get to know them. Secretly, his family had always been rooting for the two of you, so when you arrived at their home one day and told them that the two of you were together, they struggled to act surprised when they always hoped deep down that it would come true.

H ⇴ HOME 

Having been around the boys since the very start, you’d always just been another part of the dorm. Neither of you were in any rush for Jeonghan to move out of the dorm, you slotted in perfectly, and the boys were always very respectful of your relationship too, so none of you ever had any complaints about the other.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU” 

From a young age you’d always told each other that you loved each other, and so a romantic ‘I love you,’ never really happened. As you began dating, from friends, you still just continued to tell each other that you loved each other, only nowadays, it carried a bit more of a significant meaning then it did all those years ago.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY 

You’d been a part of Jeonghan’s life forever, so if someone dared tried to take his place, he wouldn’t be happy about it. His eyes will often let you know when he’s feeling jealous, as much as you usually love them, all of the colour, will drain from them when he’s feeling bitter towards someone else. He’s always been the one to take care of you, and you’ve always been the one to take care of him, so if anyone tried to get in the way of that, then you both will quickly put an end to it and gravitate back towards each other again.

K ⇴ KIDS 

The two of you always remembered how you joked in school about being mum and dad one day, that the thought of it becoming a reality almost felt too good to be true. You only ever saw your futures with each other, so naturally, you could only imagine having children with each other too. You’d often talk about all the old dreams that you had as children and imagine how many of them would eventually come true.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER 

He absolutely loved to pull pranks on you and mess around, being serious wasn’t something that Jeonghan liked to be. The two of you were the king and queen of practical jokes as far as you were both concerned and would often pull pranks on the other boys and wind them up too. Together you made quite a daunting team because of the trouble you caused, even the staff were often on their toes whenever the two of you were nearby. If you’d had a rough day, Jeonghan would listen to everything that you had to say, but it would be inevitable that he’d soon have you smiling once again and forgetting about it.

M ⇴ MISSING 

Being away from each other never felt like it got easier for the two of you. You’d spent long enough with Jeonghan travelling that you were used to time on your own, but that never meant that you were happy to be by yourself. What Jeonghan appreciated the most was how understanding you were, even if he wasn’t able to call you for a few days, you’d still eventually pick up the phone with a smile on your face and no complaints. He was good at controlling his emotions when he missed you, but he never got used to the feeling of not being able to see your face whenever he wanted to or hear your voice when he walked through the door.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES 

His nickname ‘angel,’ was a bandwagon that you definitely jumped onto. He loved when you called him ‘angel,’ having given it to himself anyway, he was super pleased when you caved and started using it too.

O ⇴ OBSESSION 

Jeonghan is obsessed with your eyes, he can tell exactly how you’re feeling by the look in them after so many years being around each other.

P ⇴ PDA 

He doesn’t mind being affectionate in public too much, but he won’t make a big deal out of it either. He loves to prank the media and get yourselves headlines, and then laugh about it when he sees that a stupid photo of the two of you messing around each other has made its way onto one of the many popular news websites.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS 

When you tell him you’re fine, when you’re not, Jeonghan will refuse to let it go. He knows you far too well to know when you’re faking a smile. He’s a good listener and will sit by your side until you’ve told him absolutely everything.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS 

Over the many years you had together, the two of you collected a lot of things. As a result, Jeonghan loved to scrapbook, first your friendship, and then your relationship. The two of you would often sit down and look back over all the memories you had together, most of them you’d often forget about. Old cinema tickets and arcade tickets filled most of the pages, from films from a few days ago, to ones from many years ago.

S ⇴ SEX 

Initially, intimacy was a big hurdle for the two of you, but you slowly managed to step over it. The two of you always felt like you knew everything about each other, but that was until it came to romance. You could only ever laugh about it at the start of your relationship, but as you began to get more comfortable being so close to each other, intimacy also became a lot easier, and more relaxed for you both too.

T ⇴ TEXTS 

The two of you were always talking to each other, you could never go too long without messaging each other. Your phones were glued to your hands when you were apart, you would always be texting one another.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE 

Life for Jeonghan was not a thing without you in it. He could never remember a time when you weren’t there, but best of all, he loved having that one person there throughout his life who was by his side through it all.

V ⇴ VACATION 

The chance to explore the world together was something that you both adored. You’d never go to the same place twice, Jeonghan loved to be the one to travel with you and show you the world. The two of you loved adventuring together, your bucket lists were filled of places that you wanted to see together.

W ⇴ WHINING 

If someone dared tried to take your attention, Jeonghan wouldn’t be happy, you were always his as far as he was concerned.

X ⇴ XXXXX 

Whenever he pranked you or overstepped the line, Jeonghan would always kiss you by way of an apology. The two of you knew each other inside out, it wasn’t just the look in each other’s eyes that could tell a story, it was often your kisses too. The two of you could pick up on just about any emotion that the other was feeling by their kisses, whether you were happy or sad, the two of you would always fix or support any situation.

Y ⇴ YOU 

You were his soulmate; you’d been there for him since day one.

Z ⇴ ZZZ 

Depending on how the two of you were feeling, falling asleep would vary. Sometimes you’d be the big spoon, other times Jeonghan would be, you were comfortable with each other regardless of how you slept.

---

Masterlist

[lucysometimeswrites]

Awards Season

sup! this is an idea i had that i just had to write. it’s more of the reader’s experience and her thought and her moment than tom, but i still hope you like it. feedback accepted and have a good day :)

Y/N is playing ciara bravo’s role in this, and yeah, enjoy! also lmk if u want a latina version of this or tom winning the award cuz i have it

--------------------------------------------------------------

“And here to present the award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role we have previous winner of the very same award: Anne Hathaway!” the host announced. Anne appeared from the left side of the stage, expertly walking and smiling towards the microphone while everyone clapped and cheered for her.

“Thank you! Thank you, you are too kind” she said cheekily, earning a laugh from the audience. “Tonight, we are honoured with the presence of many talented and passionate actresses, and by that I mean me, of course,” she continued, the audience loving her humour more and more. Anne started her small speech about the characters the actresses nominated in the category portrayed, commenting that I portrayed a troubled character who becomes a drug addict for love. I felt a warmth touch my hand, and I turned to Tom, who was sitting right beside me. He gave me a reassuring smile and squeezed my hand, knowing that I felt a little anxious about this award. It was my first Oscar nomination, and after working my ass off for Cherry where I co-starred with Tom, even I thought I deserved it. I didn’t care much about winning, though, because I felt I won the moment I got nominated. Yes, it is very cliche and almost everyone says that, but now I can see how true it is. This is probably the biggest moment of my career yet, and I was loving every second of it.

Tom and I stared at each other with a smile for a bit longer, until we heard Anne say, “Here are the nominees for Best Actress in a Supporting Role”:

“Emma Stone, Him and Her,” Ooo I loved that film.

“Anya-Taylor Joy - Emma,” Her range is insane.

“Y/N Y/L - Cherry,” I gave a big smile and a wave to the camera as it focused on me, simultaneously squeezing Tom’s hand again because he knew how the cameras made me a little awkward and uncomfortable. “You did great.”  he whispered in my ear, and I gave him a small smile back.

“Jennifer Lawrence - Don’t Look Up,” My literal idol.

“Taraji P. Henson - At 38th Street,” She’s so talented.

“And the Oscar goes to...”

Those five seconds she took to open the envelope were the shortest and longest of my life. I felt as if the world had stopped, along with my breathing, and Tom and I were squeezing each other’s hands to the point where I was sure we’d cut each others circulation off. I loved how excited and nervous he was for me, and he’d made sure to tell me plenty of times before the show that he’d be there for me whether I won or not and that we would celebrate until we couldn’t feel our feet anymore. He had been my literal rock through--

“Y/N Y/L, Cherry!” Anne exclaimed.

...What?!

I looked up astonished to Anne, and even mouthed Me? to her. She happily nodded, and that’s when it clicked that the entire theatre was clapping for me. Shock and confusion and amazement ran through me, making me lose sense as to what to do next. I slowly rose from my seat, looking around and my eyes landed on Tom, who sported the biggest smile ever and helped pull me up. We stood in front of each other for a millisecond before he engulfed me in a big, strong hug and I, still in shock, slowly put my arms around his neck and reciprocated the affection.

“You did it, darling! You did it!” he proudly said in my ear.

“I did it...I can’t believe I did it. I’m so freaking shocked and confused I don’t know what to do” I answered and pulled back to look at him. He cupped my face in his hands and pressed a big kiss on my forehead. “Go get your award!” he laughed, giving me small push as a start.

I laughed, still in disbelief, and looked around again, spotting the Russo’s who went to give me a big hug.

“You did it Y/N! You deserve this so much” they each said, and I whispered a Thank you back.

I finally turned back and slowly made my way up the stage, constantly looking towards the audience so that I could really take the moment in and never forget it. Turning to Anne, she held the Oscar in her hands and gave my a big smile, hugging me and saying, “Ugh you did amazing Y/N, you deserve this so much honey, congratulations!”

“Thank you so much, oh my gosh, you’ve literally been one of my idols ever since I was a kid.” I told her breathless.

“Aw you’re so sweet,” she laughed, “Go! You have about a minute to thank everyone.”

I went to the microphone and looked across the audience, spotting many celebrities who were still standing up and clapping for me, even when we hadn’t worked together. My eyes dashed to Tom, who was also wooing and cheering for me, and gave me a thumbs up, silently saying You got this, as had said to me many times before.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it” I laughed in disbelief again, everyone still clapping for me. Soon, they settled and I continued “I can’t even-- let me catch my breath for second.” I stepped back a little and put my hands on my knees as if I’d just finished running a marathon, making the audience laugh a little.

I went back up, “You guys have absolutely no idea how much this means to me,” holding the Oscar a little higher, “I dreamt of this ever since I started to really get into acting and to actually have it in my hands is a dream come true. I wanna thank the Academy for this incredible honor. I honestly felt I won the moment I got nominated alongside these amazing and talented women,” I gestured to my fellow nominees who I could spot in the front rows. “When I say that you all deserve this award just as much as I do, I’m not kidding. Jennifer you have been such an icon to me ever since The Hunger Games and ohmygoshicantbelievethisisreal,” I quickly said with my hand near my mouth, earning a laugh from her and the audience, me joining them. “Emma and Anya your performances were ridiculously good and Taraji P. Henson I absolutely adore you.” They laughed once again, sending me kisses and smiles.

“A minute is not nearly enough to be able to thank everyone I wanna thank but I’ll do my best. Thank you to my amazing and incomparable directors Joe and Anthony Russo,” a wave of cheering ensued for them, “Thank you for trusting me with bringing this story to life, for guiding me along the way and never giving up on me even on the days when I was unbearable” I said with a small laugh. “Thank you to the screenwriters Angela and Jessica for writing this beautiful piece of work and to Nico Walker for telling his story and allowing us to bring it to the cinemas--cinemas? Wow, sorry I’ve been spending a lot of time with Tom so I’m starting to turn a little British” I chuckled and turned to look at him to find him laughing as well.

“Tom,” here it goes, “I have no words to express how grateful I am for you. You have been my rock and my best friend throughout this entire journey and for that I love you so much. Thanks for putting up with me and my craziness and sharing the good and bad days with me. There is no one I would rather have shared the screen with and I love you so so so much.” I said, from the bottom of my heart, and saw him tearing up while sending me a million kisses with his hands and mouthing I love you more. The audience awed and clapped once more.

“I also wanna thank Victoria- you beautiful woman- for taking me in and always believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself- aw you’re crying! Oop, sorry I’ll shut up, um-” I said as she waved her hand for me not to expose that she was crying, the theatre laughing at our banter, “Thank you Lizzie, Monica and all of my team, thank you to all of the cast and crew who made this happen.” I continued, moving to thank my family and more emotions hitting me like a truck again, feeling tears pool in my eyes. I shook my head and looked up so as to prevent them from falling.

“I- I’m not gonna cry, that’s stupid.” I said into the microphone but mostly to myself, everyone laughing and clapping once again in a comforting manner. “Sorry,” I laughed, “I’m gonna thank my family, but they unfortunately couldn’t make it here tonight so--” everyone awed in sadness, and I jokingly waved them off, “Oh shut up, whatever.” Another chorus of laughter, “I wanna thank my family all the way back home. You guys, you’re the best thing this life has given me and I’m eternally grateful for your support. Although, I did say that if I ever won an Oscar I wouldn’t thank you because you didn’t believe I could do this, l would not be able to forgive myself if I didn’t. Thank you for always being there for me and teaching me everything I know. For the unconditional love” my lip trembled, “and for showing me that you can do anything with hard work and passion. I love you--Please wrap up--sorry! Okay I’m going.” I nervously said. “I also wanna thank all of my friends for their support and finally I dedicate this award to all the girls out there with big dreams that scare you. Follow them, don’t let anyone stop you or tell you you’re not worthy because you sure as hell are destined for great things. Um, thank you so much!” I finished. The audience clapped and cheered and wooed once more and I gave them one final smile and amazed look, catching Tom’s eye and receiving a wink, then following Anne backstage where I would be taking pictures and answering questions.

I wonder how we’ll celebrate now that I’ve actually won...

-------------------------------------

disclaimer: these are all fake names and fake movie titles i made up for the purpose of the fic

[delightfullyatomicfest]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Melody Maker, 20 September 1969

JOHN LENNON HASN’T had a royalty cheque for two years. 

And, believe it or not, he’s feeling the pinch. The man whose group has again been voted top in both the British and International Sections of the Melody Maker poll told me that The Beatles’ own company, Apple, has become something of a monster which is out of control. 

“The problem is that two years ago our accountants made us sign over 80 per cent of our royalties to Apple,” he said. “We can’t touch any of it, and it’s a ridiculous situation. All the money comes into this little building and it never gets out. If I could get my money out of the company I’d split away and start doing my own projects independently. I’d have much more freedom and we’d all be happier. I still feel part of Apple and The Beatles, and there’s no animosity, but they tend to ignore Yoko and me . 

“For instance, [Radio One DJ] Kenny Everett recently made a promotional record for Apple which was played at the big yearly EMI meeting. It plugged James Taylor, The Iveys and so on, but it didn’t mention the things Yoko and I had been doing. And I think that what we’re doing is a lot more important than James Taylor. Apple seem to be scared of us. They didn’t want to have anything to do with our Two Virgins film, for instance. 

“The Beatles’ wealth is all a myth. The only expensive things I’ve ever owned are my house and cars, and I just haven’t got anything else. Don’t even break even on the films we make, and that worries me.” 

I asked John about his recent evening of films at the ICA. (A selection of John and Yoko ’s films, including Ono’s Bottoms and Lennon’s Self Portrait , which detailed the rise (and fall) of his penis, were shown at the New Cinema Club, Institute Of Contemporary Arts, September 10, 1969.) Why, for instance, did he feel it necessary to make a film like Self Portrait, with its highly controversial content, when Andy Warhol did the same thing years ago with his films Empire State and Sleep ? 

“It’s not like Warhol at all. He’s negative and we’re positive. I can’t stand negative things, and our attitude is completely different. Self Portrait has vibrations of love, and it has an immediate message of humanity. 

“When Yoko showed me her Bottoms film I thought it was ridiculous, but she explained it to me and I was convinced - I don’t remember how. I think it was the humour of the film, and that’s what we try to keep in our films. If we’re going to get these films shown, we’ve got to get into the scene. We’d like to make a film that wasn’t so underground in concept, but we wouldn’t do something like Barbarella or 2001 - although that was a lovely trip. 

“Films are moving ahead so fast - much faster than music or anything else. We’re hoping to have talks with a big production company which I shouldn’t name - oh well, why not, it’s United Artists - who seem to be interested. We’d like to get on at the West End.” 

Yoko, who was sitting by John’s side, chipped in, “We don’t know how to go about it. We’re sussing it out at the moment.” 

John continued, “It’s not like films, it’s more like TV. Dylan was right - it should be less important. Our films, and the Beatles and Stones albums, shouldn’t have so much noise made about them. The process of production is so slow. We’d like to speed the process up, and get a new album and film out every month. For instance, we haven’t been able to get our Wedding film out yet. And the trouble is that people will say we copied Jane Birkin on one track, but we didn’t. It’s just that we couldn’t get ours out fast enough. 

“Most of our films are like portraits. For instance, Smile is simply a portrait of me sending out love vibrations to Yoko, who’s on the other end of the camera. People say it’s boring, but they’ll look at Van Gogh, which doesn’t move at all, and they’ll have it on their walls.” 

I suggested that perhaps the audience at the ICA had been dissatisfied because the environment was wrong. 

“Yes, it would probably be best if people had the film at home and could show it on their walls and look at it when they felt like it. The ICA night was too long- but they asked for five hours of film and that’s what I gave them.” 

Wasn’t the work of John and Yoko coming to resemble an open diary, I asked? And don’t most people keep their diaries in their desks at home? 

“Yes, but who doesn’t like to read other people’s diaries? ” he replied. “That’s exactly what it is-but you must realise that The Beatles’ albums, and Dylan’s for that matter, are all diaries. We’re just bringing it out into the open and making it more honest.” 

Does this theory inevitably lead to disposable works of art? 

“Yes, that’s what we’re aiming at,” said John. “Yoko’s having her book of poetry, Grapefruit, reprinted and at the end there’s an instruction to the reader to eat the book.” 

Yoko added, “When you keep things they become tombstones. The world would be clogged up with useless objects.” 

Have they any new ideas for their well-publicised campaign for peace? “There’s this Peace Ship plan,” said John, “which is very strange because I recently read a book which contained almost exactly the same idea. There was this bloke in a white ship from which he broadcast peace messages, and then when I’d read the book a real guy came to me with the plan for doing it. Someone’s also given me some ideas for doing things in Nigeria and Biafra, but I can’t talk about it at the moment.” 

Does this suggest a more direct involvement with war and peace? “Not really, because I think that what we’ve done already, like staying in bed for peace, has been very direct. It wouldn’t do any good, for instance, if I was to go to Vietnam and get shot. That proves nothing, but it’s what people are always telling me to do. 

“We’re after people’s minds. If we go to see Nixon, for instance, it wouldn’t make him down tools, but we think we could find out what he thinks and tell other people. We’d know where he was at. 

“You can’t change anything by violence. You have to be aggressive, that’s part of everyone and I’m aggressive, but we have the machinery to challenge it. We don’t have to get involved in other people’s games, and I think that all the killers should be allowed to take their tanks into the desert and kill each other off. But I don’t want any part of it, and we’ve got the power to do something about it.” 

With two albums in the can Abbey Road and Get Back [sic] - would there now be a lull in The Beatles’ recording schedule? 

“The trouble is that we’ve got too much material. Now that George is writing a lot we could put out a double album every month, but they’re so difficult to produce. After Get Back is recorded in January, we’ll probably go back into the studio and record another one. It’s just a shame we can’t get more albums out faster.” 

Richard Williams

Source

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot. 

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure. 

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

--------------------------------------------------

Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon. 

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child. 

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo. 

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time. 

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema  and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?” 

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…” 

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error. 

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive. 

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile. 

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert. 

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes. 

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department). 

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear. 

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck. 

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up. 

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

-------------------------

“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.”

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book. 

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

---------------------------------------------

He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan. 

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything  he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him.  If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

---------------------------------------

Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on  making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition. 

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down. 

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog. 

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.” 

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees. 

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

-----------------------

“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed. 

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings. 

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect. 

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly. 

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

 “Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold,  pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up. 

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods. 

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked.  I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more. 

 “And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth. 

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

-------------------------------------------

“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms. 

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings,  it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place. 

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

---------------------

He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised. 

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list. 

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.” 

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

[rekrappeter]

care about me || r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!bestfriend!reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: being in love with your best friend is tough, it being rafe cameron makes it even worse

warnings: cursing | angsty | car crash | death wish / suicidal ideation | mention of blood

a/n: i would just like to thank @butgilinsky​ for awakening this crazy undisclosed love I had for rafe within me. plus this is my first rafe fic so i hope it’s okay  ♡ ♡ also, if anyone has requests, please send them my way ♡

One of the hardest things in life was watching your closest friend rapidly spiral into madness and not being able to do anything. Rafe Cameron wasn’t always the man that was unstable and drowning in debts, he was fifteen when he got into his first proper fight with a pogue; he always gave them lip because he was conditioned to do that but he never wanted to result to violence until he got his first taste of it, it was if his whole persona changed. Growing up with Rafe, you knew how ambitious and driven he was to do good in life - which made it even more difficult to watch him throw his life down the drain. 

Rafe was always a different person when he was around you - he was sweet, kind and he laughed a lot. You liked hearing the sound of his bellowed laughter, whether it was to do with something you said or something he came across on his phone. It wasn’t a sound you heard often when he was with Topper or Kelce, definitely never with his family. He laughed but you could tell it was forced, he was always tense around other people. 

“Hey you,” Your ears perked up at his voice and you removed the sunglasses that were resting on your face. You were out your back garden in your favorite swimwear, laying on a sun lounger trying to get an ounce of vitamin D. Rafe, who was dressed in a light blue polo and beige shorts, tried his best not to let his eyes wander down your exposed body and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, not expecting to see him until later tonight. 

Rafe sat down on the sunbed beside your legs, he scratched the back of his neck nervously and his eyes scanned the large back garden that your family had. You knew Rafe too well to know that he needed something but you weren’t going to push him. “I just thought I’d come to see my favorite girl.” 

Rolling his eyes at his words, you ignored the fluttering butterflies that swamped your stomach. It was hard not to fall for Rafe, he was charming and knew how to talk his way to the hearts of many ladies. The only thing that was different is that you never acted on the feelings that you developed, knowing that if you did, you could never go back to how it was before. “And?” You asked, raising your brow curiously. 

Rafe laughed, twisting and resting the palm of his hand on your leg that was burning from the sun. “Can I borrow your car, please? M-my bike is in the garage.”

“Do you want me to just drive you somewhere?” You questioned, wanting to spend more time with him. Despite being best friends, you felt that you haven’t seen him in so long. He was always busy, either golfing with Topper or doing an errand for his father. 

“No, no.” Rafe insisted, running his hand through his hair. That’s why he looked different, you thought, there was no gel plastering his hair back like usual. His brown locks looked soft and your eyes following his fingers going through them. “So, can I?” He asked, moving his head so that he could make eye contact with you.

You blinked rapidly, realizing that he definitely just caught you checking him out. “Yeah, of course.” If he did notice, he didn’t say anything. “The keys are where they usually are… You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?” Every time Rafe wasn’t with you, you constantly worried. 

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not today, I have a date with a special lady tonight.” He winked, standing up from where he was sat. He reached to cup your face before bringing his lips to the side of your head. An uneasy feeling erupted inside you as you bid goodbye to him and you couldn’t relax for the rest day despite the beaming sun above you.

Seven p.m came and went, you were eagerly waiting for the return of your best friend in one piece. The two of you agreed that he would pick you up at seven and you’d go to the outdoor cinema like you used to, but so far, you haven’t heard from Rafe since he left with your car earlier that day. You tried calling him, each call going straight to voicemail. It was until eight-thirty when his name appeared on your screen and you answered it immediately, not in the mood to play any games.

“Rafe,” You exhaled, “Are you okay?” Despite the anger that was seeping through your veins, you were more worried for his wellbeing.

The first sound he made was a sob and it made your heart clench, “I-I’m sorry, y/n… can you come get me?”

“Rafe, you have my car.” You exclaimed, confused but you were already grabbing the keys to your parent’s BMW that they left behind when they went on their cruise at the beginning of the month. 

Rafe cursed through the phone, “Fuck, shit…” He mumbled, “I’ll-I’ll call my father.” 

“No, it’s fine, Ray. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there.” 

After getting his location, you were there in less than fifteen minutes, surpassing the speed limit every now and again but your heart was pounding at the thought of Rafe being hurt. You were surprised to find out he was on the outskirts of the cut, he rarely ever visited that side of the island unless he needed to. You spotted his figure sitting on a rock, his head in his hands, and your eyes scanned the scene as you hopped out of the black car. 

Rafe stood up when he heard you, blood seeping from his multiple cuts on his arms and your car was turned upside down, smoke surrounding the silver vehicle. You couldn’t hide the obvious shock that encompassed your features and Rafe stumbled over to your nervously. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what happened but I… y/n, I can’t get done for this.”

Looking up at your best friend, disappointment replaced the shock. You knew exactly what he was asking you to do, he wanted you to take the fall for this. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin paler than usual and his fingers were shaking. “You’re high…” You mumbled, and Rafe’s head fell in sorrow.

“I’m s-”

“Great, you’ve said that three times, Rafe. It doesn’t change the fact that you got into a car drugged up! Do you know how lucky you are? You could have been killed!” You yelled at him, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. 

“I know…”

“I don’t think you do. What if you couldn’t call me to come and help your ass? You would be stuck in that car, and… and…” You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from your own eyes, your chest heaving as you sobbed at the thought of this morning being the last time seeing Rafe. His blue eyes were trained on you, he didn’t want to hurt you and he especially didn’t want you to cry this much because of him. Despite his mind being cloudy, he reached out for you and brought you close to his chest. 

“y/n, I thought I’d be okay.” He whispered, rubbing his fingers up and down your back. Being best friends with Rafe was unpredictable, especially during these times and today just proved how any day could change with a flick of a switch. 

You pulled back from his embrace, reaching to rub your thumb over a bruise forming on his face. “I’ll call this in. Get into the car and we’ll go back to my house.” 

After you dealt with the authorities, coming up with the best lie you could possibly manage, you finally settled back in your house. Your first-aid kit was opened on your kitchen isle and Rafe sat on the stool, slightly more sober than earlier. You were cleaning the cuts on his arm, luckily he wasn’t in need of any stitches but you recommended that he go and get checked up in the hospital. Rafe’s eyes watched every move you made, noting that you barely said anything to him since you returned from the station. 

“Are you angry at me?” He asked, his voice soft. Your eyes looked up at him briefly before returning your attention to the cut on his hand, ignoring his question. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He mumbled, causing you to groan in annoyance.

You stood up straight, placing the bloody wipes in the bin beside you and looking at him intently. “I’m not angry at you, I’m happy you’re still alive.” 

“But?” Rafe grimaced, wanting to reach out to you and bring you to him but he refrained, knowing that he’d probably receive a slap in return. 

“But what? What do you want me to say, Rafe?” Snapping, you didn’t want to cry again. You had a shed enough tears today to last a lifetime; the thought of losing him made you crazy but the thought of sitting there and doing nothing for him made you insane. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Rafe.” 

Rafe’s expression fell, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” He whispered, he didn’t want you to tell him that you had given up on him. But he’d understand if you felt that way. 

You ran your fingers through your hair, unknotting the heads and you shook your head. “I don’t know, Rafe, but I can’t sit back and watch you throw your life down the drain as if you have nothing to live for.”

“But do I have anything to live for?” Rafe was the one to snap now, feeling the anger bubbling in his veins. The words he spoke hurt you, he noticed how your face distorted but he was only seeing red now. “I haven’t been home since this morning, I haven’t got one phone call from my family to where I am. I could have fucking died today and they wouldn’t have known unless someone came to their door, and at that, I don’t they’d even fucking care. I have no job, no college, no goals like you, Y/N. As you said, I’m just throwing my life down the drain.” He spat, standing up from the stool and stalking away from you. 

“Don’t fucking run off like a child.” You screamed after him, you watched him open the door before slamming it shut. He never left though, he knew you were right. 

“Why shouldn’t I? I should have just driven that car off a fucking cliff.” 

You rushed up at him, slapping his chest in agony. “Don’t say that.” You whispered through clenched teeth. 

Rafe started to sob, collapsing into your arms as they circled around him. His taller figure felt like a weighted blanket on you but you managed to steady yourself, comforting him. “They don’t care about me.” He cried, his fingers grasping your blouse as he tightened his grip.

“I do though.” You whispered into his ear, your heart hurting seeing him like this. Rafe was strong and thick-headed, he very rarely lost his mind like this. 

“You shouldn’t though. I got you in trouble today, and who knows what will happen down the road.” 

You pulled back from him, cupping his face in your hands but his arms remained around your waist. “I am never going to leave you, Ray. I care about you so much and I’m here to help you, always.” Rafe nodded his head, whimpering his gratitude. He sniffled his tears back, his eyes scanning your face. It happened so quickly; one minute, you were staring into his sea blue orbs, and then the next, your back was up against the wall and his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was hungry and needy, it was nowhere near how you imagined your first kiss with Rafe to be. You had studied his lips for so long during your friendship, they looked so soft and sweet. You pushed Rafe’s chest gently, urging him to stop and when he pulled away, he was breathing heavily. 

Realization washed over his features and he stepped away further but you reached out to grab his wrist to ensure he didn’t create too much space between you. “That-that was stupid, I’m sorry,” Rafe mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Rafe, I wanted that for so long.” You confessed, watching him perk up slightly.

“Really?”

“Really, but I want to know if you want it to and you’re not just doing it to ease the pain.” You whispered, and Rafe stepped closer to you, cupping your face gently and his lips met yours again. This time was the one you wished for. His lips were tender and your eyes fluttered shut, allowing him to push you back up against the wall. His thumb rubbed your jaw, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip and he deepened the kiss when you allowed him. Your hands found their way to his hair, running your fingers through his locks and tugging at them gently. The moan that erupted from his throat made your legs weak and his right hand left your face, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you up. He lifted you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Rafe pulled away this time, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes opened, his blue orbs meeting yours and he cracked a small smile. “I wanted this so bad, for years.” He said, breaking the tension that was created by both of yours heavy breathing. “I promise to be a better person.” 

“I want you to be Rafe, you don’t need to change.” 

“I want to, for you.” He whispered, connecting your lips again. In that moment, he felt wanted and needed. There was a lot more to life than just family, when you find someone that is willing to love you for who you were.

🌻 🌻 🌻 🌻

apologies for any typos

but pls gimme feedback, i beg, ty