#How To Get Your Ex Back After A Few Years Astonishing Useful Ideas

[moon3thereal]

Hey, i have a natasha x reader request. So Natasha is a very composed person always know what to do and basically everybody is terrified of the ex-assassin. But when she sees you for the first time she gets so flustered and ends up stuttering over her words, and it doesn’t stop every time she sees you her cheeks will turn red and and don’t know what to do, but it’s worse when you will compliment her or tease her, she will blush so hard when you ��accidentally touch her” or throw a suggestive joke at her. The avengers will tease her relentless because of this because she is so lovestruck even in important meetings they will tease her to embarrass her in front of fury. Fluffy ending where reader kisses Nat and a very flustered and happy Nat after.

Title: Forbidden Rendezvous

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none but if you find any do lmk

a/n: thank you for the req! I enjoyed writing this one very much and i hope you guys like it <3

1.4k

Natasha Romanoff, the black widow herself, seemingly had a reputation to uphold. She was cold, ruthless, efficient, her instinct uncannily accurate. In short, she was one of the best agents in S.H.I.E.L.D if not the best. The Avenger was also pretty much the most stone-faced, cold-heartedly composed person in the world. She was a force to be reckoned with

That all went to hell when she met you, it was an avengers meeting, to be acquainted with the newest recruit to the Avengers initiative, all the Avengers had been told was that this recruit was a she and that she was one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s most elite agents and was probably here to babysit them and keep them out of trouble.

Which is why Natasha never expected someone like you to walk into the room, back straight, with the same elegant strut she’d found herself using more often than not. There was an air of composure around you, people could take one look at you and know that they shouldn’t mess with you. You had somehow managed to look daintily pretty but if they looked carefully at your posture, ready to attack should a threat arise, highly dangerous.

Once Natasha’s eyes landed on you, she couldn’t seem to tear them away, she was completely fixated on you, all the way from the door to when you took your place in an unoccupied seat with a bright smile on your lips that were painted just the right shade of red. Natasha studied the way a few strands of your hair fell out of your ponytail and curled around your jaw perfectly, framing your face. The way your lips parted to speak, presumably to introduce yourself, the Russian was put in a trance and there was an awkward silence when it was her turn to introduce herself

Clint, who was sitting next to her, raised an eyebrow at the dreamy look on her face and had to nudge her twice before she jumped slightly, startled and glared at him, he gestured to you and Natasha’s expression of indignation morphed to one of embarrassment and back to her original neutrality. You had noticed Natasha’s lingering stare on you, not the stare you’d seen her use on so many interrogatees and victims of her wrath, this stare was softer, almost like she was captivated by you

After a solid five seconds of Natasha pulling herself together, she extended her hand to you with a soft “hi, Natasha Romanoff” and before you had the chance to introduce yourself, she said “I mean, I’m Natasha Romanoff, you’re y/n y/l/n, I didn’t, I know you’re not Natasha Romanoff” The Avengers all had looks of astonishment on her face, she was always composed, even in the worst situations, none of them had ever seen her like this. Damn you Natasha she thought, she had absolutely no idea why her brain was short circuiting like this, it had never happened before

You laughed lightly before extending your own and shaking hers that was slightly sweaty, “hi, nice to meet you” she nodded, evidently flustered. How can someone be this perfect she thought. She’d seen you training in S.H.I.E.L.D quarters a few times but since she spent most of her time in the Avengers compound now, she’d never seen you up close.

After the meeting, which she hadn’t paid attention to anything else but the crease in your brows when you were concentrating, the way you knew how to disagree without offending the other individual, how intelligent you were, within the 2 hours you had joined the Avengers you had already solved a major problem with ease

It had been a month since that day, you were settled in the compound, you had a room to yourself, and you found it pretty comfortable, you’d gone on a few minor missions, nothing serious. You were already enjoying their company and was getting used to the new environment. But you enjoyed Natasha’s company most, from what you know and what you heard, she was supposed to be an extremely dangerous individual, but around you, she was an absolute klutz and also the most adorable person you’ve met.

All the interactions between you too had always ended up in Natasha blushing furiously and you adoring how her cheeks got all rosy and her face would turn the same fiery red of her hair when you casually threw a suggestive comment her way, basically you both being absolutely whipped for each other and refusing to admit it first

You were hacking into a computer system with Tony’s tech when Steve said “there’s no way you can pull that off, I know, I’ve tried” you simply scoffed, your hands flying over the keyboard typing in several coordinates “I’m y/n y/l/n, I can pull off everything” seizing the opportunity to once again fluster the redhead you pointed at her “including your clothes” just like you predicted, her cheeks immediately flushed red and a panicky chuckle fell from her lips

Steve rolled his eyes “see, according to you, I’m a million year old fossil, but still, even I can see that you are completely and irrevocably in love with her” you had successfully hacked into the system and pumped your fists triumphantly, transferring the information into a hard drive “I never said I wasn’t Rogers” you said sending a wink Natasha’s way and ‘accidentally’ brushing her bare arm lightly with yours as you passed by earning yourself a nervous squeak from her

Even in important meetings, Natasha was often caught giving you heart eyes, like this one right now, Fury was staring at her waiting for her to give him a plethora of solutions like she normally would. This time however, she was busy staring at you and were practically making out with you with her eyes. Fury cast his glance around the avengers silently inquiring as to what happened to his best agent. “she’s infatuated with her new girlfriend” tony said

The abrupt voice snapped Natasha out of her thoughts and she sent him her killer glare “I am not” knowing chuckles reverberated around the meeting room, even you let out a soft laugh at her obliviousness. “Did you know that Romanoff let y/n borrow her motorbike?” Clint said in a faux conspiratory voice. The director’s eyebrows shot up “is that so?” one corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk

“So what if it is, its just a bike” Natasha tried to act nonchalant but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her. “Ah look, the adoptive murder daughter has found love” tony said sarcastically “I will cause you pain in ways you can’t even imagine” Natasha gritted out. Taking pity on her, you snapped your fingers “Okay okay, this has been fun, but back to the tesseract?”

After the meeting, and more relentless teasing, resulting in an extremely irritable Natasha, she had pulled you aside into an empty store room “ooh is this our forbidden rendezvous” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. Even in the dark, you could swear that Natasha was blushing like she always did even if you so much as looked at her

“no this is me apologizing on behalf of the team and what they said back there, it was disrespectful-” catching your quirked eyebrow and look of amusement indicating that you were in fact not at all offended by the team’s teasing and she was the only one amongst all of them that didn’t know you had feelings for her too. Deciding to be bold for once, she smirked “it could be our forbidden rendezvous though”

You smiled and closed the distance between you. You could feel her breath hitch when she noticed how close you were, how she could tilt her head slightly and her lips would meet yours, how much she wanted to feel your lips on hers. So that’s exactly what she did, when your lips touched, it was just like how they described it in books. It ignited something resembling a thunderstorm in you and you couldn’t acknowledge anything else except how her lips felt perfect against yours. You reached to run a hand through her crimson tresses, and when breathing became a difficulty she pulled away, ruffled and lips parted she smiled showing all her impossibly white teeth

“Who knew you were such a good kisser”

“Who knew you would ever get bold enough to find out”

Taglist: @phoenixofash @michelle-dsn @midgardianweasley @zolvaska @jokertgkk @yeeterthekeeper

[raine-kai]

Contextualizing the Messy AkiHaru Scene

So...it came to my attention that a lot of translations of the scene where Akihiko crashes at Haruki's house in chapter 20 of the manga or the anime movie suggest that nothing happened more than we see in the panels/on the screen.

This is a translation error. The Japanese is unambiguous that a lot happened during the scene break; the art backs this up, in the change to Haruki's hairstyle from before to after the scene break.

Mainly, I want to retranslate for people who are interested, who didn't know that this was a mistranslation. But, I think that no matter how the scene is translated, there are subtexts and undercurrents that are lost, that cannot be simply translated into existence.

So I would like to explain several things in the lead-up to the scene in question, as well as in the aftermath, in order to hopefully give more context.

WARNINGS FOR SPOILERS AND NONCON

Notes on Translation: Given astonished me from its very first chapter with its deliberate and brilliant use of words. It is a story that is so incredibly articulate when it wants to be that moments of wordlessness or fragmented words are equally articulate, for they are crafted with as much deliberation and care as the articulate moments. As anyone knows who has ever tried to translate something, just plain translating the surface meaning of words often leaves a lot of the meaning behind. I will do my best to convey in English what the original text conveyed to me in Japanese, but it will inevitably fall short of the original text.

The Lead-In

First off, let's talk about Akihiko and the particular damage that he brings with him into this scene. He, of course, has the argument with Ugetsu and the fact that he has nowhere to go; but he has also been living this way for two years, presumably only a little longer than he has known Haruki. Akihiko describes the patterns that he and Ugetsu go through:

[Translation: "Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be.]

Later, Akihiko reveals that he has a pattern of dealing with being kicked out of the home he shares with Ugetsu by finding someone, anyone to stay with. He has come to associate these stays as transactions, where the thing that he provides is most often sex. (We also see this transaction-based approach in his relationship with Ugetsu, for whom he feels compelled to cook—a thing that he later continues for Haruki with an urgency that does not match Haruki's easygoing acceptance of this dynamic.)

In fact, we see hints that perhaps Akihiko associates crashing with someone with providing sex to a deeper degree than even he acknowledges, in a scene in volume 1 where he crashed at Haruki's apartment while drunk, and upon stating it would be too much trouble to pull out a futon, did not merely crawl into bed with Haruki, but on top of him.

[Translation: Haru: Akihiko, get a futon and sleep wherever... Aki: Whaaat? But that's so much effort... Haru: So sleep on the....floor....]

So this is a deeply engrained association for Akihiko.

However, it is also a part of his life that he has gone out of his way to conceal from Haruki. From Haruki, he has not merely concealed the many times that he has essentially prostituted himself for a place to sleep; he has also hidden from Haruki that he has any flatmate at all, much less the nature of his relationship with said flatmate.

Haruki has the idea that Akihiko used to sleep around, but does not anymore. He is blinded partly by his own desire to see only the best parts of Akihiko; he is also blinded by Akihiko's desire to only reveal the best parts of himself to Haruki.

In volume 4, we see the moment that Akihiko lets slip that he has a flatmate, and the degree to which this shakes Haruki.

But the more emotional moment for Haruki comes when he realizes that Akihiko is talking to him on the phone while having sex with a woman.

[Translation: "That was a woman.... He was totally having sex."]

No promises have been broken; no trust has been betrayed. But there is an illusion of Akihiko that Haruki has, that Akihiko himself has carefully cultivated over the recent months for a reason that even he cannot explain. It is a paper-thin illusion, that only held up because Akihiko and Haruki both wanted it there.

But now, that illusion is shattering.

This just so happens to overlap with Take suggesting that Haruki take on a support role in his ex-gf's band.

Haruki has struggled from volume 1 with insecurities. He is the band leader; he is the one who brought them together, the one who runs their social media, the one who keeps them in line. Given is a band that absolutely would never have existed without Haruki. Yet he feels outshined by the other three members. There are several scenes depicting Haruki struggling with this. Akihiko is often the one to whom he voices his insecurities, and always without fail sets him straight. There is one particular exchange, during the same conversation when Akihiko reveals that he has a flatmate, when Haruki calls himself ordinary (凡人枠) and Akihiko retorts that he is not, he is 調停者枠....which is difficult to translate, but essentially means mediator, but in this case is denoting that he is the one who brings the different pieces of the band together (both musically, and as a person). Akihiko tells him then, "You're the one that everybody seeks," with a particular look in his eyes even as he reaches for Haruki's face. (Haruki pulls away and Akihiko pulls back and laughs it off.)

But the undercurrent is, for the first time, Haruki is beginning to see the truth of the words that he never quite believed. He is wanted and needed...he just needs to find a way to explain this to the other members of Given. In particular, Akihiko, who has always felt to Haruki like someone on equal or higher footing than himself, despite Haruki himself being older.

And these are the undercurrents at play as we head into the scene in question.

The Crucial Chapters 19-20

Akihiko shows up on Haruki's doorstop in the middle of the night, with an injured face from a fight with Ugetsu.

Haruki lets him in and they start talking as usual....but this time, it's different. They are both just a little bit at odds in a way they have never been before.

Haruki is aware, now, of a facet of Akihiko's life that until recently he had believed was left in the past.

Akihiko perceives that Haruki is hiding something, and in his typical way, immediately wants to know what it is.

This is why, when Akihiko asks his questions and asks if Haruki is hiding something, Haruki snaps back in a way we have never seen him do before:

[Tr: "[I am, but] you're one to talk!"]

Akihiko grabs Haruki by the wrist and asks again, and Haruki tells him...but throws in that the band he is doing support for is his ex's band.

Akihiko responds, "So you're going back to your ex?" and proceeds to crawl on top of Haruki to acknowledge for the first time what has always been unspoken between them: "You're in love with me, yet you're gonna run away?"

As Haruki lies sputtering for a response (he tries to pretend ignorance, but can't finish a sentence, between Akihiko pressing closer and his own shock) Akihiko reaches for Haruki's braid—the hair that Haruki has been growing out for as long as he has known Akihiko, as something like a wish charm (願掛け) for his love; the hair that Akihiko is somewhat obsessed with, taking every opportunity he can to play with it or style it—and speaks words that reveal that he is still fixated on Haruki's ex.

[Full text: 春樹さぁ、元カノがどうとか言ってたけど、お前こんなんで本当に女なんか抱いてたの？

Translation: You talk about this ex-girlfriend, Haruki, but did you seriously have sex with women like this?

Note: the こんなんで/"like this" is beautifully ambiguous. On a surface level of course it is referring to Haruki's long hair—with all the years of pining and love for Akihiko that that implies—but it also draws attention to how they are right now. The fact that Akihiko has crawled on top of Haruki as he has before, and Haruki does not fully push him away. It draws attention to the way that Akihiko himself is so central to Haruki's entire being.]

While Haruki flushes and thinks to himself, "Shut up, shut up! I did have sex with women, before I met you!" Meanwhile, Akihiko kisses him—a kiss that the art carefully does not show us lip-to-lip, either only showing us angles where we cannot see the point of contact, or focusing on the contact of only their tongues. Make no mistake, this is not a romantic kiss. This is a kiss full of frustration and pent up emotions and two years of unspoken, unacknowledged emotion brewing between these two.

Akihiko begins to strip Haruki further, and Haruki interjects, 「え、うそ、うそうそ、待った」(tr: "Wha- wait wait wait, just a sec"), which Akihiko ignores, and proceeds to begin performing oral sex on Haruki, even as he acknowledges internally that his actions are taking out his frustration with Ugetsu on Haruki.

[Note: the words Haruki uses at this point are not clear "Stop" signals. え、うそ、待った are all words that convey shock and uncertainty, and it is noteworthy that Haruki does not at any point use a word that would convey an equivalent of "Stop". That doesn't make this consensual, as his consent has not been obtained, but this is important to note, that Haruki deliberately does not ever outright tell Akihiko to stop.]

This is where Akihiko reflects on his messy relationship with Ugetsu, and the lingering hold it has on him:

Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be. Like he is urging me, "Great, here's an opportunity. Let's part ways and break up for real." Like he is shutting me out of his world by force, to reinforce that he doesn't need me. What the hell? If you don't want me, why do you allow me to hold on? If you sympathize with my holding on, why do you try to throw me away? I want to trap you. I want to escape. I want to give up. I can't fully give up. I want to touch you. I can't breathe...

And when Akihiko comes back to the present, some time has past. His shirt is gone, Haruki places a hand over Akihiko's with tears in his eyes, and for the first time, says やめてよ [approx. translation: "Please stop," but this is a very gentle way of saying it—a plea in softer language]....and then continues, そんな顔しないでよ、辛そうな顔しないでよ、なんなの？言ってよ、なんでもしてあげるから [tr: "Please stop looking like that, like you're in such pain...What is it? Please tell me. I would give you anything."]

It is the なんでもしてあげるから here that is utterly striking. @edragoon​ and I debated translations and arrived on "I would give you anything" as the best option, but even with Haruki's soft language leading up to this, even with his words so focused on Akihiko's pain, the sheer love conveyed by these words is heart-wrenching—as is the art, Haruki's hand reaching out to Akihiko's face.

Akihiko has unearthed Haruki's unspoken feeling as part of his self-destructive spiral in a move that he no doubt expected to hurt Haruki, but instead, Haruki has owned up to his no longer hidden feelings and offers all of himself to Akihiko; turns the focus back onto Akihiko and his pain, rather than on himself, as Akihiko probably expected. As no doubt has happened in similar situations with Ugetsu.

And Akihiko, caught between Haruki here and the mess in his heart that is Ugetsu, expresses resentment that these words are coming from Haruki instead of Ugetsu.

"Why did you have to be the one to say that?" Akihiko laments silently, and then out loud,

[tr: "Telling you won't change anything."]

He follows this up with a small, "Sorry," and wonders to himself "Why couldn't it have been you?" (In Japanese, as in English, it is ambiguous whether he is wishing that Haruki were the one he wanted those words from, or that Ugetsu were the one saying those words. The last use of "you" in his internal monologue was directed at Haruki, supporting the first interpretation, but he is also lost in his head, so it would be no surprise if he is swaying back and forth.)

The scene breaks here, and on the next page, Haruki is curled up facing the back of the couch, fully dressed in new clothes and his hair now pulled back in a ponytail, and Akihiko is seated on the floor with his back to the couch, shirtless.

[Tr: "I'm sorry. Truly. I was completely in the wrong."]

Haruki responds, "That's not the part I want an apology for," even as he remembers those damning words, Telling you won't change anything.

[Tr: "...I said I'd give you anything. By the end it was basically consensual."]

Haruki goes on to say Akihiko is free to stay over, but he will be going to a friend's place.

Akihiko visibly panics, but only manages to call Haruki's name once as Haruki tells him he can use anything, can leave the door unlocked, but simply should be gone by morning.

Haruki leaves the apartment, and we see him cry as he walks through the darkened streets as those words Akihiko spoke again.

Left behind, Akihiko berates himself for how much he lets himself lean and depend (甘える) on Haruki, and he reflects on the events with his family and Ugetsu that lead him to where he is, without anywhere else to go. [NOTE: this is no doubt a significant factor in his later decision to move out of Haruki's apartment once as he goes through the process of bettering himself.] He contemplates the ways in which he has behaved towards Haruki, the parts of his own life he has almost instinctively hidden from his view.

Akihiko spends the night on the floor by the couch. (A shot of the clock at one point tells us it is 1:20am.)

We see morning dawn, and it is as Take is at work discussing lunch break that he gets a text from Akihiko, asking if he's seen Haruki. It is in the evening, when Take goes home, that he finds Haruki listless and hollow-eyed in front of his apartment.

The clock reads 9:40pm when Haruki comes home at last. Apart from the few hours he was with Take, Haruki has spent the better part of a night and a day alone who knows where.

[Tr: "Oh, you're still here"]

The hair that Akihiko had adored, the hair that Haruki had been growing since the day he met and fell for Akihiko, is cut short.

The Aftermath

The two of them don't shy away from the subtext of the last day—especially Haruki, who says blandly, "Sorry, but I'm tired after your rejection of my feelings, as you can see. Please go home." And when Akihiko tries to reach for him with a, "Wait, but—" his hand his slapped away by Haruki, who informs him, "Look, I'm angry at you." and cuts off Akihiko's attempted apology one syllable in with an admonishment that an apology will only make him angrier.

But Akihiko says what he should have said the night before—that he is at the end of his rope and has nowhere to go. He quietly asks to be permitted to stay in Haruki's apartment, assuring him that he will sleep on the floor, that he will not do anything again. He begs for Haruki to help him.

Haruki is furious.

「サイアク」the narration repeats: "[This/he] is the worst."

At last, Haruki agrees, but with the words, "If you weren't a band member, I'd throw you out."

The next day at band practice, Akihiko and Haruki are wildly out of sync, and while Haruki puts on a carefree smile for Uenoyama and Mafuyu, he is still spiraling with despair and humiliation.

And yet Akihiko too is on pins and needles, reacting with abject (though silent) horror when Uenoyama asks Haruki what's wrong.

But Haruki tells Uenoyama and Mafuyu nothing, and when he walks off and Akihiko goes after him, the words that come out of his mouth are all about his insecurities about his place in the band. About how he is too ordinary and does not belong in such a band of geniuses.

This is not what Akihiko was expecting his outburst to be about; this is also familiar territory for him, that he knows how to handle. Akihiko knows music.

He assures Haruki of why his music was off today, as he would have any other day. He assures Haruki that he is utterly deserving of his place in their band, as he has so many times before.

[Tr: "I've pretty much always told you that you're necessary, haven't I!?"]

And all at once, memories come rushing back to Haruki of so many times that Akihiko has told him of his value.

Haruki's anger loses its momentum and he deflates. They had back to Haruki's apartment, with Akihiko promising to cook dinner, as he is the freeloader. (Another nod to his tendency to view these arrangements as transactional.)

Living together proves a disillusionment process for Haruki. Of course, the night that Akihiko first came to his apartment was the enormous catalyst, but the disillusionment process continues.

All of those ways in which he had formerly idealized Akihiko crumble one after another for Haruki as they live together. Akihiko cooks, but he only has one flavor profile, and often makes fried rice. Akihiko spends most of his days on music, be it violin or the drums, and it is louder than Haruki is used to with his bass—it is also evidence that Akihiko is the musician he is because he puts in the work, not just inherent talent.

...And that brings us to the end of volume 4, so I think I shall stop here!

If you read all this way, thank you, and I hope this added something positive to your day!

[lokislittlesigyn]

Wake Me - Loki x Reader [Oneshot]

[My masterlist, where this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / gender neutral reader

Warnings: Angst. But fear not, for fluff awaits!

Author’s Note: I have legitimately no idea if I’ll write more Loki x Reader; I never intended to write any because I don’t know the reader so I can’t characterize the reader but then I had a headcanon.. And then I had an idea...

And then I wrote this and I thought “hmm, I should challenge myself to do a New Thing?” and then this happened. Blame Loki, maybe? He seems to be behind a lot of this.

Is there any demand for a taglist of.. Possible future Loki x Readers? I dunno? Let me know.

This fic is loosely based off a song by the same name, which is also one of my favorite songs! Enjoy. <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t notice it at first.

Not for the first few days… Weeks? You weren’t sure how long it had been happening. How long Loki had been leaving your bed in the middle of the night.

Your apartment was a decent size - more than decent, considering the average size of a New York City apartment. Being a close friend and employee of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts (was it Stark now?) had its perks. The apartment had a bedroom, a bathroom across the short hall, a living room which doubled as your workspace, and a good-sized kitchen. Even had a washer and dryer at the end of the hall, tucked neatly into a little closet that also held a few of your coats. As an added luxury, there was a small - very small - balcony off the living room. Hardly big enough to stand on, it was nevertheless a wonderful spot to sit and watch the sun set over the city. You loved living there, in that cozy space you’d made your own, and eventually welcomed Loki into. 

Loki. Not exactly someone you’d intended to end up with. Then again, who intends to fall in love with a god?

Who intends to fall in love at all?

You’d met through friends of friends, and that was about the only mundane thing about your relationship. Said friends of friends were the Avengers for crying out loud, and the moment you saw Thor in person you nearly froze from shock. The moment you saw his brother, however, your heart practically leapt out of your chest and into the hand Loki reluctantly extended, per his brother’s direction.

You took his hand in your own, trying not to tremble as you shook it. You gave your name. He gave his. You parted ways. A mundane interaction, right?

But again, few things about your relationship were mundane.

You would’ve written it off as a simple, regular greeting if Loki hadn’t found you later as you skulked along the edges of Tony’s huge party. You knew the hosts, of course, and some of the other guests - but everything was so big and frightening and new you hardly knew what to do with yourself. 

How were you, a regular human, supposed to deal with all… That? Heroic wasn’t a word you’d really use to describe yourself. Let alone super-heroic - that title was reserved for the incredible individuals around you, whose personalities and achievements eclipsed your own. You mulled over the thought, drink still clutched firmly in hand, but untouched.

And that was when Loki commented on the fact you looked “nearly as miserable as he felt.” You couldn’t help but blush a little and laugh at the comment. You quipped something back - something about misery loving company, and Loki’s eyebrows raised. His expression gave little else away, though. It hardly ever did.

It wasn’t until many months after the party, after you and Loki had gotten to know each other better and started dating, that he whispered the truth to you: the idea that anyone would be gladder with him around than with him gone, was astonishing to him. He could hardly believe it.

But when it came to you? He believed you.

You had no reason to lie to him. No need to impress him, or earn his favor, or act cordially for fear of an Asgardian royal. You were safe at that party, and you were safe when you visited him at the Avengers compound - you had no reasonable ulterior motives. Nothing to hide.

And, likewise, he had no reason to actively hide things from you, now that you lived together and you knew about his past, about his parentage.

Or, you thought he had no reason to hide things from you…

So why was he leaving you at night?

The first night you truly noticed it was on a dark, cool night of spring. 

You’d left the bedroom window open while you fell asleep, and upon waking up thought to yourself, still under a veil of sleepiness, that you should probably get up and close it. But as your eyes opened and adjusted to the dark, you noticed two things.

First, the window was closed, the curtains completely drawn. 

Second, the place next to you, where Loki usually lie, was empty. Completely empty, the bed covers pushed toward you to help keep you warm. Still half-asleep, your hand smoothed over the sheets to his spot - cold. He’d been gone a while. 

You squinted to see through the crack in your bedroom door, but couldn’t make out if the bathroom light was on. Maybe he’s in there.. You shrugged to yourself, flipping back over and nuzzling into your pillow. You’d meant to stay awake until he returned, just to be sure he was okay, but sleep quickly washed over you again.

When you woke up the next morning, you realized you definitely should’ve been able to see if the bathroom light was on, had it been on, so Loki couldn’t have been in there. He was never one for midnight snacking, as far as you could tell, so he probably wasn’t in the kitchen.

The more you thought about it, the more it bothered you. You tried to brush it aside - after all, Loki was a very private person, slow to trust or to show much emotion. He was vulnerable with few people... Maybe only one person - you. The trust between you had been hard-won, and you loved every new piece of himself he showed you. 

He also enjoyed quiet time, often spent with books. Reading, writing notes, sometimes even napping in the safety of your apartment, his forgotten book on his chest as he lie draped across the couch, his lanky limbs hanging off the edges. You really needed a bigger couch.

Yes, you assured yourself. Loki just needed time alone every now and then. Everyone did, right? 

You tried to ignore it, you truly did. 

But later, it happened again. 

You woke up to an empty bed, a dark room, and the door pulled to. This time you could swear you saw a light coming from the other room, so this time you figured he was in the bathroom and once again you succumbed to sleep.

~~~~

The morning after, you woke up to your regular routine: Get up, get dressed, make coffee for two, eat some sort of breakfast, and get to work. Work didn’t exactly have a set location - that close friendship with the Starks stemmed from having worked with Pepper for years, and now since you worked for Stark Industries, you enjoyed several perks. 

Sometimes Pepper brought you in on-site, other times (more often than not, considering the fact you had an ex-villain alien god to worry about… and not everyone was convinced about the ex part) you simply received work on your secure Stark-tech computer and worked remotely. From home, from a cafe, even from the Avengers compound when you visited. (You had a room there, too - as did Loki. Courtesy of Tony.)

So as you sat with your laptop in front of you on your desk, the window cracked to let some air in, you started the day. Coffee in hand, a half-eaten croissant next to you.

Loki stood next to you, sipping his own coffee. 

He liked to watch you work. Liked to distract you from work too - he wasn’t the god of mischief for nothing.

“Sleep well?” He broke the silence first.

You took another bite of breakfast. “Yeah. You sleep okay?”

He shifted his weight. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

His hand touched your shoulder, as if to reassure you. “Just fine. How long are you working today?” His fingers smoothed their way from your shoulder to your clavicle and back - slowly, rhythmically. 

“I literally just got started,” you muttered a soft laugh, and he chuckled in turn.

“But I like spending time with you.”

“Well I like spending time with you, too. But work is important.”

“Would it be less important if I gave Stark something better to worry about than..” Loki leaned over, scrutinizing the screen, “Interview paperwork?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Loki, do not attack my boss, please.”

“I said nothing about attacking him.”

“Loki.”

“Yes, love?” He smiled down at you. You huffed - he had no right to be this charming, nor this cute - but that worry was still gnawing at you. Why had he left last night? 

“Are you sure you slept okay?”

He paused a moment, then smiled - but it seemed forced. “Yes. I slept just fine - do you need to talk about something..?”

“You left.. In the middle of the night, I woke up and you were gone.”

He swallowed. “I hadn’t realized you were awake - forgive me.” His hand slid down your shoulder, to your arm - and then away. “It was just a bit of restlessness, darling, you mustn’t worry.” He kissed the top of your head, then straightening up, raised his coffee mug to his lips again. “I’ll leave you to that.. Riveting work of yours… Let me know if you ever need a welcome distraction.”

“You’re always welcome,” you smirked slightly. You weren’t convinced he was only restless but.. Maybe he was. Who knew? Loki was a mystery to many. You’d try to believe him, at least.

“Am I?” He grinned. “Then I’ll be sure to distract you often.” With a small wink, he turned and left.

~~~~

The next time you noticed it, it seemed later in the night. And this time, you heard something too. Crying. Talking - like a whisper, barely audible past the soft sobs.

The door was cracked again, but had swung a bit more open than the times before. That must be the source of the sound...

Resolved to figure out what was going on, you slid out of bed. Tried to stay quiet as you walked to the door and peered out.

There was faint light coming from the living room. A silhouette on the wall showed Loki’s position - in front of the balcony, the street lights casting his shadow. You inched down the hallway, stopping just before you reached the living room.

“...Mother, you would. I just know it. (Y/N) is endlessly beautiful, and intelligent, and… and kind…” Loki was sitting in the floor, his back to you. Dressed in the same clothes he usually wore to bed - loose pants and a comfortable green shirt. His long black hair was messy, and his body shook with sobs.

The door to the balcony was open, allowing a cool night breeze to drift in. An occasional car drove by, or plane flew overhead, but Loki was focused on the stars.

“Just like you. But I, I don’t.. I don’t deserve it. Any of it-” his voice cracked, “And I miss you.”

Your heart broke. You made your way across the living room, quietly, carefully. 

“I miss you every day,” Loki continued, shaky hands brushing hair back from his face, then gripping it in agony. “I-I wish we could speak, we could.. See each other.. That you could see me - see us, but... You’re not here.”

“Loki?” you muttered, and he inhaled sharply, turning around. 

Now you could clearly see the tears streaming down his face. His mouth was slightly open, but he closed it, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I- ... Darling, you shouldn’t be up at this hour,” He stood, blinking away his tears. “Go back to bed.”

You stood your ground, but tried to pick your words carefully. He looked so vulnerable, standing there in the dark, still trying to steady himself.

“No, something’s clearly wrong. Loki... How long has this been going on?”

“It doesn’t matter..”

“Yes it does.” You moved closer. He twitched - but let you approach, let you reach up to brush a tear off his cheek. More fell as he pressed his face against your palm, relishing the touch. His brows pressed together, he looked as though he could break at any time.

“Weeks,” he whispered.

“Oh, Loki..” You embraced him. He welcomed it, his arms wrapping around you, clutching you close to his shaking chest. He moved to lower himself and you followed, the both of you slowly sitting on the ground, you tucked against him, his body trembling with sobs.

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. What had this long life done to him?

How many nights had he cried alone?

It was several minutes before either of you spoke again. Loki calmed, his nose finding a comfortable place nestled against your hair, and his breath eventually steadied. His grip loosened. The crying slowed.

“I-I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I left you,” He gulped. “This is the only way I can talk to her anymore.”

You pulled away to see his face. Tilted your head. “Her..?”

Loki’s eyes met yours. “Frigga. My mother. She..” He couldn’t bring himself to say the next word.

“I remember.” You nodded slowly.

He’d told you a while ago that his mother had died, after Thor had brought up their parents. But he never said how. 

Loki clenched his jaw. “It… It was my fault, it was all my fault-” He settled into another bout of crying.

“Loki, love - that can’t be true. I-I don’t know everything about your life,” You cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. He sniffed, swallowing again. “I don’t. I wasn’t there for all of it. But I know you. And I know you would never, ever harm your mother.”

“But I did, I did- that monster, I told it how to escape - I told it how to reach her. And it did, and she-” He stopped himself, biting the inside of his cheek. His breath grew shaky again as he forced himself to speak. “There was a funeral. I wasn’t allowed to attend - Odin would never allow that. He barely wanted me alive in the first place,” he hissed, his face contorted with rage for a moment, before relaxing again. “I found out after. By then her body had returned to the stars..” Loki turned to the outside again.

Moonlight graced his skin, highlighting the tears still glistening on his cheeks. His eyes searched the heavens, as though begging for a sign - something real, something palpable, something to tell him she was out there. 

“Loki, I’m.. I’m so sorry. But it’s not your fault. It’s not.” You spoke as gently yet firmly as you could. Giving a monster - whatever it was - directions (you figured it was to spite the Asgardians who imprisoned him) didn’t equate to murder. He hadn’t intended it to play out that way, after all. But you could understand the guilt behind it.. And you hated the fact he’d carried that burden alone.

He stayed quiet. Pulled you closer, his chin on your shoulder, his eyes still trained on the sky. 

“I wish she could meet you.” he confessed, his head leaning against your own. His arms still firm around you, his hands finding yours - your fingers intertwined. “She’d love you.”

“I’d like to meet her, too. But maybe she can see us now.” You moved closer to him, your thumb stroking his hand. You felt Loki smile next to you - it was small, and fragile, but it was there.

“Perhaps she can,” he murmured. 

“Maybe she can see how happy you are - you’re happy, aren’t you?” You glanced at him. He kissed your temple, staying cuddled up against you. 

“Happier than ever. I.. Thank you, love. Thank you for finding me. I hadn’t the heart to, to ask you to join me… I’d hate to wake you.”

“Loki, you’re important to me. I love you, remember?” You turned, facing him fully, your back to the open door. “Can you promise me something?”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he seemed willing to listen, watching you intently.

“Promise me, if you’re lonely, wake me.”

Tears glistened in his eyes again. He nodded, slowly, and managed a soft smile.

“Yes, my love,” he murmured. “I promise.”

[son-fuori-di-me]

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

[writinggarbage007]

The Captain’s Assistant

Chapter 6

Steve Rogers x dark! reader, Avengers x dark! Reader

Summary: After 3 years as Cap's assistant and being treated like nothing, you are captured by Hydra and everything changes.

Warnings: swearing, dark themes, abduction, torture, cannon level violence

Will update warnings on each chapter.

Slight AU

Walking down a mountain after leaving the castle wasn't your idea of fun. Still wearing your sack dress and no shoes had you wishing you had stabbed Brock a few more times.

At the bottom of the mountain you found a small general store. You scouted around but the store didn't seem to have security cameras. That was a bonus.

You had stolen money from the doctor so it wasn't hard to purchase a pair of cheap shoes, a tank top , some t-shirts and jeans. The cashier seemed to be curious but smiled when you said you had run away from your asshole ex.

"Good for you honey." She said softly. "Now I know we're supposed to forgive those who trespass against us but I never had use for a man who couldn't control himself. Some of them were just born mean."

You agreed softly and smiled when she added another pair of jeans, some socks and hair ties to the pile of purchases. You really wanted to buy a case of bottled water but settled for a few bottles you could fit in your pack and some granola bars.

She let you use the employee washroom to clean up and change and you thanked her by putting a hundred dollar bill in her apron pocket.

As you left you made sure to tell her if anyone asked she didn't see you and she assured you she wouldn't tell a soul.

With your pack and some decent clothes you once again walked down the road, keeping yourself in the trees. You moved further into the shadows when you heard a noise that seemed suspicious.

It took you four hours before you found an abandoned house set back from the road. The windows seemed intact and stepping up on the sagging porch you surveyed the area. Lots of cover, the driveway unrecognizable with overgrowth, A good place to hide for tonight. Tomorrow you'd see what was in the area.

The house smelled musty so you opened the windows on the second floor. Singing to yourself you went through every room once again collecting what you could use.

It was still partially furnished but since there were no beds you moved an ancient chaise lounge near the window of the master bedroom. The linen cupboard yielded sheets that were clean but needed airing. You hung them over the porch rails.

It would be dark soon so you gathered everything and moved it all into the master bedroom. The sheets were all you could find for blankets and pillows so you would make do. Tomorrow would be soon enough to make a plan.

As you lay reclined on the chaise lounge you wrapped the darkness around you again. You needed to test these powers. Tomorrow, you told yourself as you closed your eyes.

You awoke with a start when you heard crackling in the trees. It was almost daybreak. Rising slowly you clung to the shadows by the window keeping your eyes moving in the darkness.

A flash of red and gold almost made you laugh out loud. Tony Stark was many things but subtle wasn't one of them. You stayed in your position to see if he could find you.

"Y/N" he called after retracting his helmet. "Please don't be dead. Fury is gonna eat my liver with fava beans if your dead."

He approaches the house slowly and you hear him ask Friday to do a scan for signs of life as you creep down the stairs.

"Nothing human is showing up boss" Friday answers as you slowly ease the door open.

The look on Tony's face when you drop the shadow and yell "Booo!" Is priceless. You really wish you had a camera. He clutches one hand over his heart and the other comes up with the repulsor ready to fire.

Your laughter feels rusty but this is literally the funniest thing you've seen in years.

"Guess Fury isn't going to need a bottle of Chianti Tony," you say with a hiccup and watch as he rolls his eyes at you.

"Yeah, yeah. That's so funny."he says lowering his arm and tilting his head in curiosity. " Wanna explain how you hid from Friday. And how you got this far from that castle so fast? The team has been searching all night...Shit. Friday inform the team I've got the package and to prep for evac at my coordinates."

"Right away boss."Friday answers and you cringe.

"Yay, the Avengers are coming" you say with no enthusiasm.

Tony looks at you funny then sighs, as if it occurs to him you may not want to see the team.

"Come on and show me your party tricks Y/N" he said, thinking it would kill time waiting for a jet.

You let him experiment with reading your energy with his suit and he was astonished that the shadows concealed you completely.

He handed you a rock to see if you could conceal it as well and as the jet approached he had a brilliant idea.

"See if you can conceal me in the shadows with you. We'll scare the team. I promise to record."He adds the last in a joking manner and you couldn't resist.

Wrapping your hand around the arm of his suit you pulled shadows around the two of you just as the jet rose over the trees and prepared to land.

The two of you grinned at each other as the ramp lowered and Cap and Bucky strutted down looking around. They seemed confused as they called out for you and Tony and got no answer.

You approached them slowly as you had Tony and when you dropped the shadows you and Tony screamed "Boo!!" In unison.

Steve threw his shield in your direction and Bucky punched Tony's suit and sent him back a few feet.

Everyone froze in shock as your hand came up and the shield slowed and stopped in front of it.

"Tony, I want to go home now." You said letting the shield drop in the dirt and walking past the super soldiers like they didn't exist.

"You heard the lady, Rogers. Let's get out of here."Tony said watching Steve recall the shield.

"What did she just do?" Sam asked. "I'm not the only one who saw that, right?"

"I can't feel anything from her." Wanda said, eyes glowing red. "It's like a black hole. Drawing all the light." She looks at Nat and shares a silent message "She is very different."

Nat just gave a slight nod and watched as you took a seat next to Bruce and started discussing what had happened. You felt like someone was staring at you and turn to see most of the Avengers are. You give them a toothy smile and turn back to Bruce.

You didn't show weakness for months in renaissance fair hell, you'd do your damnedest not to show it to this bunch

[mymoonagedaydream]

Stranger’s Kiss

Summary: Heartbroken and lost, the neon city streets seemed to guide you to exactly where you needed to be.

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language, smut references

Author's Note: Cheeky little oneshot, hope y’all enjoy. It’s based around lyrics from Stranger’s Kiss by Alex Cameron.

---

Don't even bother climbing out of the well That ain't no way to get out of the hell that you're in

Four years.

You’d given him four years of your life, for what?

For you to walk into your bedroom and find him balls deep in some tramp from his office.

You left without a word, but it felt like something of yours had stayed there, with them. Like they’d chipped away a piece of you and left it lying there on the carpet.

As you walked aimlessly for hours, the city started to feel like it was dying around you. 

The night was made of flickering street lights, sirens, broken glass and junkies. You thought about leaving, starting somewhere fresh, but what was the point? You'd have to take your baggage with you wherever you went.

Keeping your head down and your pace swift, you half-listened to the faded whispers of people passing you in the street, but even those were eventually drowned out by the pattering of rain against the sidewalk. 

Turning into one of the city’s many dreary backstreets, you saw a solitary neon sign bathing the uneven concrete and murky puddles in a jarring red light. 

The only place that was open this late, Stark’s Bar.

It was the end of the earth, the rock under which all the sad and lonely insects of the city crawled. You’d never been inside, never before sunk low enough to warrant a visit, but tonight it seemed to be calling your name.

As soon as you tugged the door open, the heavy scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit you like a wall, knocking you backwards. But inside was warm, dry and quiet. 

That’s all you wanted.

Keeping your eyes fixed on the sticky, creaking floor, you trudged towards the bar, taking the first free stool you found. A broad torso planted itself opposite you, blocking out the dim light that streamed from underneath the crooked lampshades.

‘Double scotch.’

‘You sure you’re in the right place?’

The torso’s low voice came from above your head, but you didn’t bother glancing up. You didn’t have the energy or the inclination for conversation right now.

‘Double scotch.’

The dim light returned, only interrupted again when a tumbler flecked with hard water stains and half-full of liquor was dropped in front of you.

You stared at that glass for what felt like hours, just thinking.

There was no way you could go home tonight. You’d struggle to ever set foot in that apartment again, the whole place was scattered with painful reminders of everything you’d lost. Maybe you should call your mom, ask her to pick a few things up for you.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, just find a motel and sob yourself to sleep. 

---

I know you're wondering why you wish you were dead And there's no solace in the fact that it's all in your head

That flickering red light just kept leading you back to where you knew you belonged.

You dropped yourself on the same barstool and waited for the torso to plant itself in front of you again, ordering the same drink as you had for the past however many nights you’d been here. They all seemed to blur into one.

Something different happened this time, though.

The shadow didn’t shift. You waited, eyes fixed downwards, but the dim yellow light didn’t return.

‘Are you alright?’

This was only the second time you’d heard the torso speak, but the voice was much firmer than last time.

‘Fine.’

‘So you’re depressed and a liar? Not a great combination.’

Your eyes shot up, widening a little as you took in the monolith of a man in front of you. His dark, stained t-shirt was stretched over his thick shoulders, bright pink lips trained into a slight smirk as he kept his gaze fixed on you.

‘Excuse me?’

He placed his hands flat on the counter either side of you, bracing himself against the bar and bringing his face down to level with yours. ‘You been in here four nights in a row. Ordered a double scotch without even looking at me, sat for a couple hours staring at it and then left without a word. You’re telling me you’re fine? Whatever.’

'Maybe it's none of your goddamn business, asshole.'

'So drink at home.’

You watched him back away, his sharp blue eyes only breaking from yours when he eventually turned around.

He was right, you definitely weren’t fine, but you figured the only thing sadder than drinking in this place was picking up a ten dollar bottle of whiskey from a liquor store and drinking it alone in your motel room.

Besides, it made you feel a little better knowing that you probably weren’t the most tragic loser in the place.

---

Don't bother flying when we jump off the cliff Make sure it's head first if you don't want to deal with what ifs

When you arrived the next night, a double scotch was waiting on the bar above your usual stool.

You flicked your eyes up to the bartender, who gave you a nod and a knowing smile as you climbed onto your seat, your gaze slowly wandering down the length of his arms. The way they tensed and shifted as he slowly polished a glass was almost mesmerising.

It was only a minute or so before he approached.

‘Still fine?’

Maybe it was the crippling loneliness, the bottle of wine you’d had earlier in your motel room or just the fact that he was the only human being who’d smiled at you all week, but the idea of opening up and spilling all to this perfect stranger really wasn’t as unappealing as it should’ve been.

‘Been better.’

‘No shit.’ He reached a bottle of scotch from under the counter and topped up your drink, knowing full well you hadn’t so much as touched it yet. ‘I always thought we should rename this place Rock Bottom.’

A faint laugh escaped your lips. ‘Funnily enough, that doesn’t make me feel much better.’

‘Maybe not.’ He edged your drink a little closer to you. ‘But this will.’

The golden liquid rippled around the glass as you plucked it from the bar, squeezing your eyes shut and necking it down in one.

His smile widened into an astonished grin, making your face begin to heat up and your chest tighten slightly.

‘Bucky.’  

‘Y/n.’ You felt the corners of your mouth curl up slightly, a movement they’d almost forgotten.

‘Nice smile, y/n.’

Your gaze stayed on him as he went back to work, serving all the other hopeless nonentities propping themselves up on the bar. It only wavered when you felt your phone vibrate against your thigh.

It was him, your ex, asking if you could talk. He wanted to work things out.

Five days since it’d happened and this was the first time he’d tried to get in touch.

This fucking asshole had banged some random bitch in your bed, made you to live out of a duffle bag in a sleazy motel for almost a week and then expected you to come crawling back as soon as he whistled?

Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

He knew you’d be low and vulnerable. He knew you’d be tempted. He knew that, even now, you were still wrapped around his little finger.

And it hurts, and it hurts But I don't wanna talk about it

A rogue tear escaped from the corner of your eye, rolling halfway down your cheek before being quickly and firmly wiped away, its brief presence going unnoticed by most of the other figures scattered around the bar.

Most, not all. 

‘Hey, you see that dude over there?’

Bucky folded his arms on top of the bar so he was eye level with you, gesturing his head slightly towards a white-haired man in a three piece suit, sitting alone at a table in the corner behind two empty martini glasses.

You had no idea where this was going, but you were pretty glad for the distraction. ‘Mhmm.’

‘Used to be a millionaire. Invested all his money in CDs in ‘98 and lost it all when Steve Jobs invented the iPod. He was married to Claudia Schiffer for a couple months but she left him when he couldn’t afford to pay for her nose job.’

A single, full-throated guffaw escaped your lips, making you clamp your hand over your mouth before slowly lowering it and muttering. ‘That is absolute bullshit.’

‘You got me.’ He leaned in a little. ‘Fun though, right? You try.’

You bit your lip slightly, gazing at him for a few seconds before reluctantly nodding and beginning to scan the room. This place was so full of eccentrics and weirdos, it was difficult to choose just one.

'Alright. Woman over there.’

Bucky twisted slightly to look at a very broad, stern-looking woman sitting at the bar, wisps of dyed red hair clinging to the moisture on her forehead. ‘Go on.’

‘She used to work security for Bryan Adams. The two of them were best friends, but he fired her after she got hammered and told him that she was in love with him. She can’t listen to Summer of ‘69 without sobbing, he broke her heart.’

His eyes darted back to you. ‘And how did she feel about that?’

Your gaze was fixed on your subject but it felt more like you were looking straight through her, your mind wandering somewhere else entirely, words falling into your mouth spilling out involuntarily.

‘Like someone shoved their hand into her chest, grabbed a handful of anything they could feel and just ripped it out. Like all the sensations in her body had been permanently replaced with waves of fear and dread that got better and worse at seemingly random intervals. Like the last four years of her life meant nothing to-’

You stopped suddenly, eyes shooting back towards him as you realised what you'd said. He stood up straight, triumphantly folding his arms across his broad chest, smirking down at you.

‘Bingo.’

'Oh what do you think you are, a fucking shrink?'

'In this job, gotta be.'

'Cause in my dreams, I miss you Then I wake up to reality's bliss

For the first time, you decided to hang around at the bar until it closed. You weren’t sure why, you had no idea what you were hoping would happen, but every minute that passed made your motel room seem less and less appealing.

Bucky called last orders, and minutes later the few remaining dispossessed wandered out into the red-bathed side street.

You hoisted yourself onto your feet, turning to leave but stopping dead when a full bottle of whiskey was firmly planted on the bar in front of you, a very smug-looking barman smirking at you from behind it.

The two of you sequestered yourselves to a snug, dimly lit corner and began sharing the liquor straight from the bottle.

As you stared blankly out the front window, you could feel his eyes roaming over you, a sensation you were enjoying far more than you were letting on. Being this close, you could pick up his faint scent of old spice and cigarettes, you could hear his deep, slow breathing and feel his muscular thigh pressed up against yours.

‘He messed you up pretty good, huh?’ You nodded faintly, keeping your gaze fixed forward. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Nothing to say, really. After four years I caught him fucking someone else. It is what it is.’

He scoffed, taking a long swig before holding the bottle out to you. ‘What a fucking asshole.’

‘Mhmm.’

‘If it helps, my last girlfriend stole my TV to buy weed.’

You almost choked on a mouthful of liquor, just about managing to swallow it as you choked back fits of laughter. ‘That does help, actually.’

‘Thought it might.’ He reached over and gently pried the bottle from your hand, placing it on the table and shifting himself to face you. ‘Seems like we’re both shit outta luck.’

‘You’re not wrong there.’

As you slowly turned towards him, the wild look in his eyes made the hard thumping in your chest quicken, your lungs tightening slightly as you rapidly pulled in shallow breaths. You to adjusted yourself as his arm slid over the back of your seat.

Letting your eyelids flutter closed, you focused on the gentle stroking of his fingertips over your shoulder, the feeling of his warm breath brushing over your lips as he leant towards you, the soft pressure of the side of his nose against yours and the muffled bump as your foreheads connected. 

Everything else melted from your mind, all the stress and misery of the last few days briefly disappearing in the distance as you just let yourself live in this moment. 

His hand moved up to cradle the side of your face, drawing it towards his and finally closing the gap between you.

Now all I ever wanted and all I ever needed is right here In the stranger's kiss.

---

Permanent Taglist: @nnuree @tcc-gizmachine @emmabarnes @somewhatasoftbaddie @juenenfeu @ddowii @rebekahdawkins @x0xchristine @maevemarethyu @thechaoticargonaut @yayrainday @linkpk88 @mcolbz14 @indigo123789 @verygraphicink (Italicised names are untaggable)

---

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 8: merry ex-mas

Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancée,, percabeth

Percy’s heart just about stops the second he sees his ex at the Christmas Party.

He has just walked into the room, prepared for this to be a good night, but then all hope going flying out the window when he catches the red flash of hair that’s painfully familiar. He really shouldn’t be surprised considering all their friends were the same, but he didn’t think they’d both be invited.

It’s been a few years he supposes, but he still can’t bear to face her. It wasn’t like their relationship ended in a hostile manner or anything. She had just dumped him, and he had been heartbroken, and they haven’t spoken since.

That being said, he thinks it’s totally appropriate when he walks right back out the front door of the party and holds himself against the wall. He’s sure the people that pass by him think he’s going insane, but he can’t bring himself to really care because his ex-girlfriend is in there, and if she sees him alone, she’ll no doubt make a jab at him, and that just cannot happen.

Percy doesn’t move for what feels like eternity. He’s thinking of every possible solution, but the only one that comes to mind is flat out leaving. The only problem is that people have already seen him and greeted him, and it would make its way to her that he left, and then she’d know. Percy curses himself for getting into this situation in the first place. There’s no escape at this point, and it kills him. The only way out would be to do something stupid like fake being engaged, or—

Percy starts, standing straighter.

He could fake being engaged.

Honestly, it’s the best chance he has of not being made fun of by his ex. But Percy knows her too well despite it being years. It would bother her to no end to see him with another girl, much less engaged to another girl.

About a million things could go wrong, but he thinks it’s brilliant.

As Percy begins to through the groups for anyone that looked willing to participate in plan fake-engagement, he can’t believe that this is what his life has come to. He should be ashamed of himself.

Oh well.

People walk into the party in groups or pairs, and it makes his life much more difficult. New York in the winter is freezing, and his fingers are becoming painfully numb. He’s about to give up as his body starts involuntarily shivering, but then there’s finally a girl approaching the front door by herself, and this is his only chance.

She looks really pretty, too. She’s wearing a short black dress with a pink wool coat reaching to right below the length of the dress, and her hair falls in blonde ringlets down her back, ruffled in the wind. She would be the perfect fiancée for him.

“Uh – hi,” he says, stepping a bit into her path. It’s admittedly not the best thing to say to a stranger you’re about to propose to, but how else is he supposed to start this conversation?

“Hi,” she answers cautiously. She moves a bit to his side as though she’s about to step around him, but he moves to follow her. The glare she gives him has him jumping back in alarm. “Can you move?”

“Yeah, I will,” he says. “I just have a quick question, if that’ll alright.”

There’s a pause as she doesn’t answer. Her grey eyes trace over his, questioning, and then she says, “Do I know you?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then I’d appreciate it if you could move so I could, you know, get inside.”

Maybe she isn’t the best fiancée because he can already tell that her patience is thin in the first two seconds that he’s been speaking to her. Still, he’s out of options.

“I need you to marry me.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Just for tonight,” he promises.

“Uh, the length of the marriage is not my concern here.”

Percy glances over his shoulder, making sure no one was listening. This didn’t seem like it was going to be ending in his favor, and he did not need an audience for that.

“My ex is in there,” he pleads. “If I go in there, she’s going to have some rich boyfriend on her arms, and I’m going to look like a loser. She likes to insult me, according to my friends, and it would really make her mad if she thought we were engaged.”

She chokes. “Your solution to seeing your ex is to fake an engagement?”

“I never said I was smart.”

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever head.”

Percy’s moves out of her way, conceding to the fact that she wasn’t going to be of any assistance. Surprisingly, she doesn’t move.

“How do you plan on making it work?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“Are you considering doing it?”

“Oh, no, but I want to see just how badly this is going to go.”

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t think that far.”

She laughs, covering her mouth. “She’s going to know.”

“Not if you help me,” he pleads. “We’d be a cute couple, too…”

She grins, sensing the silent question. “Annabeth.”

“Percy,” he returns. “This is going to come off weird, but you’re super pretty, and she would not like that.”

“She’s the jealous type, huh?” Annabeth shifts on her feet, biting her lower lip. “I do love making people jealous.”

He claps once. “Perfect!”

“And if I do help you, what do I get out of it?” She smirks. “Besides a hot fiancé.”

“I’ll take you to dinner afterwards.”

“Hm. Where?”

Percy’s wallet screams as he says, “Wherever you want.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” She steps towards him and slides her arm into his. Percy is completely astonished that it worked, and as they step inside, he realizes how natural this feels, which is hilarious considering this is the least natural engagement there is.

There is a wave of warmth that washes over them, and there’s Christmas music playing in the background.

“So,” she starts, locking eyes with him. “Is there a plan?”

“The plan is to not fuck this up.”

“Foolproof.”

They don’t actually end up talking to anyone for a while. It turns out there weren’t as many people there that he knew as he thought there was. His ex is still there with her friends in the corner of the room, and Percy’s sure she’s seen him by now. There are eyes burning holes into the back of his neck.

“Who are we trying to fool?”

“Behind us. The girl with red hair. Her name is Rachel.” Annabeth outright turns on the couch to glance at her, not at all subtle, and Percy nearly shrieks.

“She was looking at you,” Annabeth tells him. “And now she knows we were looking at her,” he mutters. “Thanks for that.”

“What do we do?”

Percy blanks. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me what to do! I’ve never been in a fake relationship before!”

He gawks. “You think I have!?”

“This was your idea,” she accuses, but she slides in closer to him. Her body presses up against him. He tries not to focus on the curves he feels pressing into his body. Percy’s hand automatically goes to wrap around her waist and holds her in place.

It takes a while before they actually have to speak to anyone, and when they do, it’s not at all smooth. Percy’s bright red as he introduces her as his fiancée to a group of kids from his class, and Annabeth doesn’t even hide the laugh that bubbles out of her mouth. She seems to bask in his embarrassment, and it makes Percy feel a little insulted.

(Also a little endeared, for some reason)

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, avoiding eye contact after they leave.

“That was hilarious,” she disagrees.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“How could you expect me not to.”

Percy glares at her and is about to retort something, but then someone else is standing in front of him, and when he finally tears his eyes away from Annabeth, he is surprised to see Rachel standing right before him, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Percy,” she says, though her eyes are trained to Annabeth. “It’s been a while.”

He shifts uncomfortably. He had thought he wanted to make her jealous, but he had been so deep in conversation with Annabeth that he’s lowkey disappointed to be pulled out of it. “It has been.”

“How are you?” she asks, and Percy can sense the plastic tone of her voice. He hates it, and he hates the way she’s looking at Annabeth as though she’s ever had any right to judge.

Percy’s grip tightens on Annabeth. “It’s going pretty well. The wedding is only in a few months now, so that’s been pretty busy.”

He sees the gears turn in her head. “The wedding?”

Percy mocks a frown. “My fiancée and I are getting married. Haven’t you heard?”

“Of course I have,” she says, “I just didn’t hear anything about a wedding.”

Percy quickly learns that Annabeth is absolutely horrible at masking her emotions as she presses her face into the sleeve of his shirt and snickers. The lie is so obvious considering Percy and Annabeth themselves haven’t even heard of a wedding.

“Invitations were sent out months ago,” he says innocently.

“Oh? I was invited?”

Percy pouts. “Of course not. I just figured you would have heard.” The look on Rachel’s face is priceless. Percy doesn’t think him and Annabeth are convincing in the slightest, but it is pretty fun regardless. “I don’t think you’ve met my fiancée. Rachel, this is Annabeth,” he says, motioning to the girl in his arms. “Annabeth, Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Annabeth says. She doesn’t sound pleased to meet her at all. She’s nothing if not a loyal fake fiancée. “Heard so much about you.”

“All good things I hope,” Rachel says.

Annabeth gives her a sympathetic look. “I wish I could say they were all good things, but you know how it is.”

“I know how Percy is,” she counters.

Annabeth laughs, and Percy feels tiny under her scrutinizing gaze. He didn’t know someone could disarm another person with just once glance, but here he was about to marry that person. He kind of loves it. “Baby, no, you don’t.”

Rachel looks like she’s about to open her mouth to say something else, no doubt a weak jab back at Annabeth, but then Annabeth turns to look at him, a soft smile on her face. “We should probably get going, yeah? We have the meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow.”

Percy decides to play along. “I thought we had the cake tasting in the morning.”

“The meeting is for the cake tasting, silly.” And next thing he knows, she’s pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, leaving him trying his best to not make it overbearingly obvious that his brain is going haywire. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Her face is close to his, and he can feel her breath on his lips. He wants to kiss her again, so he does. For the act, of course. “Let’s go.”

They stand up together, hand in hand, and they barely even glance at Rachel as they walk past. Annabeth calls over her shoulder, “It was nice to match the name to the face,” and they leave trying to maintain what little composure they had left.

The second they make it out of the house, Annabeth breaks down laughing, and Percy follows after her.

“Oh my god,” she wheezes. “That was amazing.”

“There’s no way she believed us,” he breathes out, ducking to rest his hands on his knees. “That was the worst performance of my life, and I was in theatre in high school.”

Annabeth laughs harder, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Did you see her face?”

“Yes. I didn’t know someone could be so mean. She looked like she was about to cry!”

Annabeth shrugs, still stifling giggles. “Who cares. She’s never going to see me again anyways.”

That does bring Percy back down. It’s been maybe two hours since they met, but he’s loved every second of it. He wants to see her again, but…

“I guess I owe you that dinner now, huh?”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “You don’t have to.”

Percy swallows, looking anywhere except her eyes. “I want to.”

“Oh.”

Percy brings his eyes back to hers now and finds her looking at him with a smirk. “You’re laughing at me again.”

“Only because we’ve been engaged and you still don’t know how to ask me out,” she assures.

Percy brings himself to her. “Annabeth. Would you like to get dinner with me?”

“Depends on where,” she says teasingly.

“Anywhere your heart desires.”

She puts her hands behind his neck and kisses him once. “I’d love to.”

Percy thinks it’s a bit insane how everything has played out. They started with an engagement, and now they’re on a date, and he’s already falling in love. It must be something of a Christmas miracle.

[nicka-nell]

How you celebrate your New Year

Pairing: Ushijima x reader Tendou x reader Warning: a bit of toxic relationship with parents?

The cool air of the air conditioner tickles your skin, while the seat heater warms your back and makes you relax. The radio can only be heard quietly, as a newscaster talks about the New Year, which is soon to come.

“My father’s in town for work, so he’ll probably be here for dinner this year.” Although his words are addressed to you, he does not turn his gaze from the road, does not take his hands off the wheel for a second.

Somewhat surprised you look at his, as always quite monotonous look, ask yourself why he has not told you something about it before and not only now, when you are already on the way to his mother.

He hadn’t seen his father in a long time. Now that you’re thinking about it, you’ve never seen his mother and his father together until now. Do they make up? How does Ushijima feel about seeing his parents reunited?

“Are you happy to see your father again, Toshi?” Attentively you check his gaze, try to elicit a reaction from him, but he still looks the same as before. 

“He’s my father. It’s too much to say I’m happy to see him again, but it’s not bad.” Ushijima is accustomed to not seeing his father often, but since he no longer lives with his parents, but with you, he also rarely sees his mother. Because through his career, he travels a lot, doesn’t have the time. Most of the time you are alone with his mother when there are celebrations or she needs help.

Completely immersed in your thoughts, you do not notice that the car is already slowing down; you drive into a small avenue full of snow-covered trees.

Like small diamonds, the snow glistens on the branches, while the road under the white snow is barely visible. His mother’s house can already be seen when Ushijima parks the car and comes to your side to open the door and grab your hand.

He’s wearing his black suit, a purple tie that matches your dress. “Let’s go, my love.” His voice is so deep, quiet in your ears, while his large hand lies on your small back.

The snow crunches under your shoes as you arrive at his mother’s doorstep and the ringing of the bell is heard. A few seconds later, you hear footsteps, and a woman opens the door with a strict bun.

“Wakatoshi, Y/n, good to see you. Come in, my child.” She greets you both with a narrow smile before the door opens wide and invites you in. 

You take off your shoes, hang up your jackets before Ushijima’s father welcomes you and is happy to see his son, and especially his son’s girlfriend again.

You have little time to talk, because you are asked by Ushijima’s mother directly to the table, should start eating before it gets cold. “Y/n my child, please sit on the other side. Otherwise, Wakatoshi always pushes his hand against your arm. You know, he always eats with his left hand. Just like his father taught him...” 

Her voice is almost reproachful as her gaze wanders to the side of her former husband, who has just sat down at the table. He breathes deeply before he crosses his hands and looks at her as calm as possible.

“I didn’t raise him like that, I kept his talent.”, “His talent… So he can start a volleyball career like you? Just look at him. He may be famous, but he’s never there for his girlfriend. He’s never with his mother. He never has time! He won’t stay young forever. What does he do when he’s old? What money should he live on? This volleyball career is not right for him! How can he be there for his family? They still don’t have kids, just look how long they’ve been together!” Her voice gets louder with every word.  

Her anger is palpable, as if she regretted not having prevailed at that time. That Ushijima was not raised up to be a right-handed man, as it should be. He should have learned a sensible profession, should already be married and should already have children, instead he travels the world while leaving you alone at home. She shouldn’t have let her ex-husband get away with this.

“Now stop… He can still be a coach. Besides, it’s not an issue for the New Year’s dinner.” Unlike her voice, his is calm and collected. The situation is getting more and more unpleasant for you, actually you want to say something, but you don’t dare.

Something lost, you look over to Ushijima looking from his parents in your direction. His gaze is still emotionless, but his hand moves under the table to yours, squeezing it tightly before stroking your back with his thumb.

Every time he sees you, he feels his heart beat differently, and how his mind changes. When you laugh, give him a breathtaking smile, he can barely control himself and unconsciously returns your smile.

You’re everything to him, not seeing you happy, makes him unhappy. He knows he’s not the best boyfriend, that you’d probably be happier with another man by your side. A man who comes home every day, supports you in the household and in raising children.

But he’s too stubborn to admit that he doesn’t want to be without you, he can’t be without you. Because you’re the woman who’s different from everyone else. The woman who understands him. The woman he wants to carry in his hands, who is to carry his children.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners… That was inappropriate of me, let’s eat.” During the meal, only the chopsticks can be heard that meet the bento boxes in front of you and begin to clap. It’s so quiet that you could drop a needle. Quiet with tension.

After the meal, you thank his mother for preparing such a delicious meal before she clears the table and the plates. “As a coach, he’s just not home.” She calls to her former husband as she comes out of the kitchen back into the dining room and looks at him, frowning. “Do you want to start this topic again? I think it’s better if I go and you guys just party alone. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to come here.” 

But before Ushijima’s father can manage to get up, it is Ushijima who moves his chair backwards and gets up from the table. You feel your chair being pushed backwards, Ushijima’s hands resting on your shoulders, warming your skin beneath them.

“Mother, the food was really delicious. However, I am not feeling well today. I think it’s better if Y/n and I go home now. I’m very sorry we can’t spend the evening with you. Mother, Father, goodbye.” 

Quietly he looks into your three astonished faces, sees his father just lowering his head, sighing, as if he wanted to apologize. Ushijima helps you up before his parents can react to his sudden announcement.

Quickly you say goodbye to the two before Ushijima’s hands pull you into the hallway, hold out your jacket so you can slip in before he puts on his and you put on your shoes to leave the house with a last “Goodbye.”

Until the car you are silent, do not talk even after Ushijima has already started driving. You know he’s not feeling sick, but that he was avoiding this conversation, this unnecessary argument. 

However, it is better to leave him alone for now. To give him time until he opens up from within you. You look thoughtfully out of the window when you notice Ushijima making a wrong turn at a crossroads. “Toshi we have to go to the other-” 

“I know.” Almost chilly, his voice cuts off your words before stopping at a place you know. Again he opens the door for you, helps you out of the car before you look at him questioning.

“What are we doing here, Toshi?” You want to know, but instead of answering you, he puts his hand on your lower back and sets you in motion, looking forward.

“We haven’t been to a temple or a shrine. Haven’t wished us something for the New Year, haven’t prayed yet.” For a while you still wander through the snow, your cheeks tingle slowly, your nose is cold and you see how your breath becomes visible.

Arriving in front of a small shrine, you already see many people standing in front of it who want to pray to ask for happiness and health. You too stand at the shrine before Ushijima takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

You follow him, pray for his health that he will not get any injuries, that he will continue to enjoy volleyball and that he will continue to be so successful. That he keeps coming back healthy, has no worries, and that you can keep making him happy.

You open your eyes, look over to Ushijima, who is also about to open his, and notices in the corner of your eye you are looking at him. “What did you wish for, Toshi?” You ask with a bright smile, but don’t get an answer. 

With a sigh, he puts himself behind you, takes you firmly in his arm while he lovingly kisses your hairline. He doesn’t care if people are staring at you. He doesn’t care if they talk about you. He just wants to feel your closeness. Smell your scent, hear your laugh and enjoy the time he has with you.

He still won’t let go of you, putting his chin down on your head while his broad upper body rests against your back. “I have wished for us to be a real family, you, me, our future children… The noble family Ushijima. One who is together and not as divided and separated as my parents. I want you to stay by my side. I want you to be happy, shine next to me, and we to look to our future together.” 

Even when it’s cold outside, you’ll notice how his words warm your entire body. Your vision suddenly blurry and a fiery liquid runs down your cheeks. These words that are so unbelievably pure, serious but also loving.

You almost don’t notice the ringing of the bells in the background, which makes the New Year come true for everyone, so that the people get to wish themselves all the best for the New Year.

“Happy New Year to you, my love.” Ushijima whispers in your ear, your body still pressed against his before you turn around and look up at him. 

With the warmest smile you can give him, you face him, see how he looks down at you with a thin smile before you wrap his cheeks with your hands and give him a kiss full of love. “Happy New Year, my bear.” 

You’re nervous about getting out of Tendou’s car. Take a deep breath of the cold air before you exhale and try to calm down. This is the first time you met with his parents. And then on such an important day.

They probably don’t want you around because New Year’s Eve is a family celebration. You’ve been together with Tendou a long time, but his parents don’t know you.

“Hey, paradise, why are you looking like that? Are you nervous~?” He hums and tilts his head aside to look at you with a wide grin and narrow eyes. He seems as calm as ever, loose as if he has no worries.

“You really don’t have to be nervous. My parents are anything but a prime example of an intact family. So relax.” He giggles before he knocks on his parents’ door, his slim fingers wrapped around yours.

Almost as if someone had been waiting at the door for your knocking, the door opens at an incredible speed. A tall man comes out, thinly built, who looks first to Tendou and then down to you.

His look is not unfriendly, rather surprised and almost overwhelmed. “So you were serious when you said you were bringing your girlfriend?” Says the man in front of you, who must have been Tendou’s father by appearance.

And before Tendou can answer him, he bends forward, looks at you and frowns in confusion. “You really are a beautiful woman. How much did he pay you to play his girlfriend?” 

Speechless from his rude words, your gaze sweeps over to Tendou, who just clicks annoyed with his tongue. “As friendly as ever, eh, Father?” Tendou just laughs, and pulls you past his father to go into the house.

The house is chilly, almost as cold as outside, when you take off your jacket and grab your arms with stiff fingers. But the cold air does not bounce on your skin for a long time, because it is wrapped in just a few seconds by the soft cotton fabric of Tendou’s sweater.

With big eyes you look into his red ones, see his warm smile, and his naked arms now that he’s only standing in his T-shirt in front of you. “I don’t want you to freeze.” 

“But aren’t you cold, Satori?” You worry, but he just shakes his head and pushes you into the dining room, where some food has already been placed on the table.

The closer you get to the dining room, the more the fresh breeze disappears until the scent of food completely envelops you. Tendou’s mother is just about to put the plates on the table as she turns around to greet Tendou and looks at you both with a warm smile.

Unlike his father, she hides her surprise well at first, but can’t help but wonder if you’re really his girlfriend. More and more you understand why Tendou didn’t want you to meet his family for so long.

If you saw the two of them in a photo, you would think that they are wonderful people who would make great parents, but apparently they are not. 

Even if Tendou has no grudge against his family, it begins with every question, at every glance, to grow with you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just so unusual to see Satori with someone other than Ushijima. Especially if it’s a beautiful woman like you. What’s your name again, my child?” 

His mother apologizes to you with a warm smile and for a moment doubts arise in you whether you really were wrong and her previous words were just chosen unhappily.

Silently you mumble your name, returning her smile when it becomes even wider for your shy answer. 

She asks you both to come to the table, also calls her husband, who watched Tendou and you from the door frame with his arms crossed. But you were wrong to think that his family had expressed themselves unhappily, because at dinner they question you like in an interrogation.

“Now, be honest, if you’re really together with him, tell us why? Why our son? He’s not popular. I think he just has this one friend in his children’s sports club, and let’s be honest, Satori is a bit peculiar.” Laughs his father a little incredulous, before his gaze wanders to his son, who has not said a word yet, eating his food with a buzzing.

It hurts you to see him like this, to know that these words only hurt him, to know that he’s just pretending that they do not touch him, but you of all people know how fragile he can be sometimes.

“Yes, I would also like to know why such a lovely, intelligent and probably popular girl like you chose someone like Satori. You could have something so much better, you��re playing in a whole different league.” Now his mother also interferes, who looks at you with big eyes.

You would like to yell at them now, but instinctively you seek the gaze of Tendou, trying to calm down. But when you look at him, you see his constantly wide smirk as he gets up from the chair and stretches his arms once with a loud growl.

“I’m getting some fresh air. It’s really too warm here. Be right back.” He mumbles to himself and disappears from the room. Just now he lets you and his parents look back on the now closed dining-room door, before they look at you again.

Did he go out because he can’t hear any more of this? Because those words hurt him? His family is the one who’s weird, who’s mean and not him.

And just as his mother wants to open her mouth again, you hit your hands on the table and stand up. “Stop! Both of you! Do you hear yourselves? Don’t you love your son? Aren’t you proud of him? Satori is a wonderful man, he is so caring, attentive, lovable and funny. He gives me so much love and security, I can’t give him that much back. And his volleyball club is not a children’s club! Have you never seen one of his games? How strong his team is! How incredible Satori is?” 

You yell at them, and you don’t care what they think of you now, whether they want to throw you out and never see you again. But you won’t let these people deal with Tendou like that.

“Satori has more friends than just Wakatoshi. Nevertheless, Wakatoshi is his best friend, the person with whom he gets along best. You should be ashamed that you know so little about your own son! That you talk so bad about him, even though he’s so wonderful! You’re the weird ones, not Satori! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some air!” 

You almost yell when you leave his parents completely amazed but also with an abashed expression and grab your jacket, put on your shoes and go to Tendou.

Through the open window, he could hear every word of you, yet self-doubt arises in him as he leans from the outside against the facade and looks into the cloud-free sky, which slowly gets dark. Of course, his parents are right about you being wonderful, and he knows that best himself.

But is it really so wrong to have you with him? Does he really keep you from finding someone better? Someone like Ushijima? Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s really not good for you. You’d always be confronted with why you’re with a weird guy like him.

“Hey, my lollipop, are you okay?” Your tender, calm voice makes him look away from above, in your direction, as you approach him and reach for his hands.

They are freezing cold, taking away the heat from your hands in just a few seconds. “Satori, your hands are so cold…” Your fragile, sad voice resounds as you press your both hands against your cheek. He was probably already cold in his parents’ house, after all, he had given you his sweater, and even now he only wears an autumn coat.

“Huh... really? I didn’t notice…” He replies, and even when he smiles at you, his voice is sad. Makes you feel bittersweet. “Satori, your parents are wrong about everything. You’re wonderful, and I can’t put it into words how much I love you. Only you! And I will always only love you…” 

You try to reach out to his inner self with your words. To touch his heart and at least warm his body from the inside if you can’t do it from the outside. You must think of Tendou’s words back when you first met. He told you he could read you like an open book.

And now he’s the one you can read, analyze, and understand. Even though you said little, it was enough to put a smile on his face to turn you around and take you in his arms.

Playfully he cuddles himself in the crook of your neck, tickles your cheek with his red hair before he closes his eyes and enjoys your closeness. However, he opens his mouth after just a few breaths and revels in old memories with you.

How you tried to explain Ushijima how to use emojis correctly. How he had saved Ushijima from giving you probably the worst birthday present, as he wanted to give you a huge pillow with the inscription “Y/n loves Satori very much”.

Instead, you got a sweet cactus from him, which had a red flower on top and somehow reminds you of Tendou, which is why you also named it Tendou.

Or also the fact that every Wednesday you watch your favorite baking program together, make fun of some dishes and others want to bake a day later directly.

And also how excited he was when you had your first actual date and he had to go to the doctor a day later because he sat down on an anthill.

With every flashback your smile gets bigger and bigger, also makes Tendou laugh sincerely, while he still braces you in his arms. Still with tears of joy in your eyes, you ask him if you want to go back in, but he just shakes his head.

“I have another idea. Come on, we can also wish my parents a happy new year on the phone.” He whispers to you as his breath forms a light mist through the cold.

Somehow you can understand that he doesn’t want to go back in, yet you ask him if you should at least say goodbye. But again he shakes his head.

Both of you sit down in his car, when you automatically turn on Tendous seat heating, so that hopefully he gets warmer again soon. “Some music~?” He hums with his usual cheerful voice as he pulls out a few CDs from his driver’s side.

Grinning, you nod, tap on a CD that Tendou, with a click of the plastic sleeve, pushes into the CD drive. Slowly it glides in as the first track begins and the loud rock music rings through your ears. 

Anything but Christmas music. But if you’re being honest, neither of you are the traditional person or couple celebrating Christmas. 

Together you sing the songs that you already know by heart up and down. Remember the concerts you were at and make the whole car shake until Tendou slows down and stops at a cliff.

His thin, long hands reach for the turning wheel to make the music quieter as he smiles at you before he looks forward. “Do you remember?” He asks quietly and contentedly with a dreamy face.

After all, your gaze drifts from Tendou’s face, to the front, to the cliff from which the entire city can be seen.

The sky is now dark as the night, while the bright lights of the houses illuminate it again. How could you ever forget this place? The place where Tendou asked you to be his girlfriend? The place the two of you kissed the first time that had gotten you so many butterflies in your stomach. Never could you forget this place or his words. 

“I can read you like an open book, and yet I’m afraid of your reaction, but do you want to be my girlfriend?” You repeat his words and look at him with a smile.

His eyes grow big, his joy huge as he nods hastily. “Exactly my words, you really are the best Y/n~!” He sings again before he bends over to you and cuddles you like a little cuddly animal.

You laugh out loud before he loosens his grip on you and looks at you in silence. You almost don’t hear the bells that open the New Year, yet they softly find their way into your ears.

“Happy New Year, my lollipop.” You whisper before you kiss him gently. And as your lips separate, Tendou turns his head to the side, back to the back seat, before his gaze lands on yours again, his fingers at your chin making you look into his eyes. 

His red eyes, full of excitement. “What do you say we start the New Year by ringing a few other bells, my paradise?” He breathes hungrily, before you both chuckle in a conspiracy, when you strip his seat belt off. 

“So… Let’s ring those other bells.”

[charliedawn]

Imagine being a corrector (someone there to erase mistakes) and witness Iron Man's progress throughout his life to judge him on his final moment.

" And how many people will die from this impressive weapon ?"

You asked and Tony smiled widely at your question, as if he had impatiently expected it.

" Hundreds ! With only one big boom, all of America's enemies will be annihilated !"

Stop smiling, you dirtbag. You are selling this as if it was a party cake. You're going to sell a weapon of massive destruction to the US army that will exterminate hundreds of people in a few seconds with it and you can still look at me dead in the eyes with this repulsive self-absorbed smile..You thought and sighed before looking at the paper in your hand where was written in bold letters.

TONY STARK : SAVE/ERASE?

You looked at him and his stupid smile again, wondering if you should erase his existence. It was your job after all, to erase everything and everyone that may be nocive for the world, or that may end up being a problem..Mistakes could happen of course, but taking a life was always hard, no matter how you looked at it. Now, Tony Stark..He was a difficult case. He was an idiot, there was no doubt in your head about that..but, he also had potential..If given the right opportunity, he could even be great. You decided to take a step back and looked at his file. You could give him a bit of time..You had loads of time to watch him and his every move. You wanted a change. And would spare his life, for now. You stepped back into the shadows and disappeared as Tony Stark entered a nearby black car.

A few years later :

Why ?

Why did you save that idiot ? You ask yourself while watching him snap his fingers. Your wide eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. You had given this man so many choices and chances..All that for that. What a disappointment..! You sigh before walking towards the now floating soul of Tony Stark, still in his eye-catching red super suit. Typical. He finally notices you and eyes you up and down with an eyebrow raised.

" I thought angels would look a little bit more..feathery ? And less like one of my ex-associates.."

Oh boy..Here it is, the introduction part.

" Hello, Mr Stark. I am Y/N, your corrector, my job consists in making sure that your life hasn't been wasted or meaningless.."

He smiles proudly before answering in a pompous voice that daddy's rich boys usually took when asked the question.

" I didn't waste any of it ! That's for sure !"

You frown before writing something on the file, moron..He was a complete moron. But, you still had a job to do. You force yourself to stay polite and look back at the record in your hands.

" So, Mr Stark.."

" Please, call me Tony."

You ark an eyebrow, but don't linger on the subject and only look at the file in your hands even though you already knew what was written on it. You had to pretend, if only to make him realize how lying wouldn't help him.

" I see here that you don't believe in any particular religion..So, you will have the privilege to choose which god will supervise your transfer to the afterlife..Your judge, if you will ?"

He seems to think for a moment before having an idea and looking back at you with a wide grin.

" I know ! Can I try to go to the Valhalla ?"

You ark an eyebrow again at his surprising answer, but then remember that Thor was a friend of his during his life. He surely wanted to see a familiar face during the trial. Understandable. Maybe he wasn't such an idiot after all ?

You nod understandingly before looking back at the file again.

" As it is procedure, I will ask you a few questions and you'll have to answer them as truthfully as possible, alright ?"

Tony agrees and you start with the first one on the list.

" Okay..So, did you ever experience love in your life ? Did you care about anyone, more than yourself that is ?"

He snorts at that last part before replying sarcastically.

" Nope. Never more than myself. Because I've been raised to look after number 1..However, I would say that Pepper and my girl will always be my first priorities.."

You nod before adding.

" And your father ?"

The question catches him off guard, but he quickly composes himself and seems to hesitate before replying.

" My father and I had a..a very complicated relationship..I admit having hated him for a long time, but now ? I only feel pity.."

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, knowing that he had also admired his father in his youth and felt a certain regret as to not have been able to save him and his mother..But you don't comment on that and only go to the next question.

" Do you think you died a better person than you were at the beginning of your life ?"

He smirks confidently at that question before answering ironically.

" Let me see..I've gone from weapon smuggler to superhero..So, yes. I think I changed. Greatly."

You bite you lip in order not to brutally state him the facts that he's killed more innocents as a superhero than as a weapon smuggler.

" Fine. And finally, are you satisfied with the life you've lived and do you think you deserve to go to the great beyond ?"

He laughs, as if it was some sort of joke and shakes his head before looking up at you.

" I saved the world, isn't that good enough ?"

This is the last straw. You close your book with force, which makes him jump a little as you look at him with your nose scrunched in obvious anger and eyebrows furrowed in clear disappointment.

" You, Tony Stark, are the most selfish blind stupidest man I've ever met ! You really think that all of this is funny ?! Are you really satisfied with the life you've lived or do you really have no idea of the chaos and misery you've created around you ?!"

His mouth is agape in astonishment at your sudden outburst and you decide to show him. You flick your fingers and you both find yourselves in front of a burning city that Tony recognizes as New York..the night when the chitauris attacked.

" I..I don't understand..Why show me this ?"

He asks as his eyes linger on the fire ans the people crying and screaming for help. You smile sadly at his own unawareness..

" Because, Tony, the damage you caused didn't stop when you stopped the bad guy. People died before, during, and after you've fought the bad guy. It takes time to rebuild a city, and human ressources that you seem to have overlooked because, what ? You've send them some money ?!"

Tony brawls his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white and suddenly turns towards you with determination in his eyes.

" I think I did okay !"

He argues, but you only snort mockingly.

" Okay ? OKAY ?! You died, you moron ! You died before you've had the chance to truly do good..The money you've accumulated during all those years ? You were going to give it all to the families of all those who died during all those attacks. You were going to have a child ! You were going to be a wonderful father ! And you gave it all away..The money will now be used by the Shield to create more weapons and destruction ! Your daughter will never grow up to be a hero, because you will not be here to inspire her..And Pepper will be forced to raise her all on her own ! You selfish bastard !"

You yell, not noticing how you get carried away, while pointing an accusative finger at him.

" You could have lived your life ! Happily Ever After ! But no, instead you had to die, leaving a child and your wife behind ! How does that sound, genius ? Does it sound like you did "okay" ?! Now, tell me, before I send you either back to Earth or up there. Tell me why I should let you live ? After you messed up the last chance I gave to you ?"

His breath hitches at your words and he looks at his hands, as if considering what he had done before looking up at you with, what you can only describe as, a feeling of loss.

" I did what I did to save my friends. As far as I know, I didn't waste my life, I saved lives. Those lives were as important as mine, who would I be if I hadn't saved them ?"

You roll your eyes at his hero speech before looking at your datapad. You were only a small gear in the mechanism of Earth's afterlife. You were supposed to bring souls to their final destination..However, there were always tricky situations, like Mr Tony Spark. He had been good, there was no doubt about that, but he had also been awful..Damn awful judging by his long list of infractions and lives sacrificed..You sigh before looking up at him in silent contemplation, wondering what you should do with this one..? Suddenly, an idea pops up in your mind and you smile before advancing towards him and extending your hand.

" How about you come and work for me as a way to get your redemption and reunite with your wife and child ? My work may be tedious, but you'll soon come to find that it had its perks..Of course, you'll still have to get the approval of god you chose..but I don't think he'll deny it. A few years as a corrector, and you'll be able to go to the other side, how does that sound ?"

He looks at your extended hand, and then at you before asking something that you had not thought about.

" Please, could you bring me to Asgard ? Just to say goodbye to an old friend ?"

You sigh loudly, of course he would want to see Thor..He would surely ask the god to save him, try to make him pass without any setbacks. But, who were you to deny a soul its last wish ? You flick your fingers and appear at Asgard. Obviously, you couldn't bring him to a place that didn't exist anymore and not right after his death, this is why you had decided to appear just before its destruction..When Loki was in charge..However, unlike what you had previously thought, Tony doesn't seem lost and walks towards the royal hall with alarming confidence. You tag along and soon find yourself in the throne room with Odin (aka Loki) staring at you with a hint of surprise, but still remaining in character.

" What are you doing here, mortals ?!"

He booms and you sigh, another brilliant idea, as always..Loki would surely report you to the High Council and it would be finished of your career. You try to say something, maybe something to keep you both from being shifted into nothingness..But Tony steps towards him and, to the greatest astonishment of Loki and you, embraces him.

" You've done good, son..You've done good.."

Suddenly, as if the both of them had had a silent conversation, Loki wraps his arms around Tony and starts crying against his shoulder.

" I can feel it..You're gone, aren't you ?"

He asks with grief in his voice and you are too shocked to answer..even Loki, the god of Mischief, the bad god as some would call him, was crying for this mere human..You didn't understand why ? Why would he tear up over his death ? A mortal that he hates..The notion was incomprehensible for you and Loki seems to notice and straightens up to look at you.

" I assume he chose Thor as a judge ? Unfortunately, my brother is out of Asgard at the moment.."

Before he could continue, Tony shakes his head negatively before looking back at you with a slight smile.

" No. I've chosen you, reindeer game."

Loki's eyes widen significantly and he repeats, visibly as dumbfounded as you are.

" M..Me ? But..But why ?"

You couldn't have asked it better, why did he choose him ?! Out of everyone else ?! You grab Tony and put on a wide fake smile for Loki.

" I'm sorry, but I must discuss with him for a moment. We'll be back soon, I promise."

You then proceed to drag Tony out of the throne room and, as soon as you are sure to be out of reach, lose your smile to look angrily at Tony.

" Are you mad ?! You could have chosen Thor and go on your merry way to Valhalla, Paradise or whatever..But nooooo, you had to choose the god that despises you the most !"

Tony doesn't seem that worried and only shrugs with a confident smile.

" I know..Loki is the first one to be chosen, ever. He wasn't the one that was supposed to be king, he always got left behind and never got any chance to prove that he could be better..Maybe, for once, he could be my first choice ?"

You open your eyes wide and want to face-palm yourself so hard..Damn heroes and their moral codes !

" It's not about his redemption ! It's about yours !"

He nods, keeping his wide smug smile and replies nonchalantly.

" I know..This is why I chose him. If even him can forgive me, then I'll know that I definitely deserve to go to..whatever is best after.."

You gape at his answer, but finally sigh in defeat. You couldn't make him reconsider, you know that..He was the most stubborn man that you had ever worked with..You drag him back inside and look up at Loki defiantly and warn him, to his utter astonishment.

" Okay, I know now that I can't change my client's mind..But, I can assure you that if you try to sabotage his only chance to go to the great beyond, I'll personally take care of your case when the time comes..Understood ?!"

Loki's eyes glance at Tony then at you, all malice out of his eyes as he nods in agreement.

" I may not be fond of the Avengers, but I know better than to mess with you people..You are not merely humans and even though we were on opposite sides, I still value the life of the human beside you, as a warrior and the worthy opponent that he is.."

" Aww..Love you too, Reindeer !"

You glare at Tony to shut him up as he only smiles smugly at you. Damn Stark..You extend your hand towards the king, aware of the procedure, he takes your arm and looks directly in your eyes.

" Do you promise to be impartial and to not speak of this trial to any living beings as long as you will inhabit the land of the living ?"

" I promise."

He answers solemnly and takes back his appearance, as he was supposed to judge as Loki, not Odin. He then looks at the coin that had appeared in his hand, either he would give it back to you with heads, and Tony's soul would be saved..or tails, and his soul would be lost forever. You take a big breath before beginning the trial.

" We will start with the beginning. Tony Stark is a selfish egocentric man who did spent most of his life searching for recognition, money and fame.."

Loki and Tony both open their eyes wide, not expecting you to be so hard from the start.

" Hum..Aren't you supposed to be my lawyer ? You're supposed to be on my side, remember ?"

Tony asks, a hint of worry in his voice, but you narrow your eyes at him and respond in all seriousness.

" I am not your lawyer, Mr Stark. I'm a corrector. I am supposed to tell the truth and not hide anything from the judge..Now, is any of the things I just said wrong ?"

He gulps loudly and lets out a defeated sigh, looking at the floor and shaking his head.

" No. You're right.."

Your expression softens, at least he had the decency to admit it..

" However, he has proven on multiple occasions that he was a particularly good man that inspired many that will do good in the future. And, became a very good father figure for Peter Parker that will accomplish great things in the future..I have seen a lot of men change in my career, for better or for worse..But none of them were as impressive as the one of Tony Stark that came from being only an average man to a hero that will inspire millions in the future.."

Tony's eyes widen as you start showing holograms of moments of his life in the air, showing every moment of his life to Loki. The god looks and listens attentively as he plays with the coin in his hand, toying with Tony's soul. However, he seems to take it seriously and looks at each moment with great interest. You are more than happy to answer every question he asks and add.

" I must confess that Tony Stark was and is an incredible man that devoted his life to helping others..even if sometimes he was lost or misguided..He always had the best intentions at heart..You, of all people, should know what the fear of failure feels like.."

You try to appeal to his own history for him to feel pity for Tony, but the god of Mischief knows when someone is trying to play with his feelings and only asks with a small tremor in his voice that sounds like a reproach.

" However, Tony never had any beliefs. His only god is money and that he spent on very trivial things..Plus, he had the audacity to think himself a god, Zeus above his friends that he also considered above anyone else..Why should he get to spend his life in bliss when all he ever did was to mock anyone around him and have very big illusions of grandeur !"

You bite your lower lip, you couldn't say that what he was saying is wrong..However..

" However, he never used his money for destruction, he always had the greater good in mind when using it. He also made sure that Peter Parker don't focus on money to accomplish his goals.."

Loki only laughs before searching for one of his memories and projecting it for everyone to see..It was the man. The man that had helped him build his first suit and that had died, even though Tony had promised to save him..

" You tell me about his accomplishments..but what about his failures ? He sacrificed that man. He made a promise and broke it. How are you going to justify that ?"

You clench your jaw in obvious frustration, knowing that Loki was provoking you. Even if he had no grudge against Tony, he still had the ego the size of the Empire State building and more..He wouldn't let go so easily. You glance at Tony that is looking at the short movie of his life with tears in his eyes..He had surely forgotten about him, or he hadn't ? You couldn't tell..

" That man tried to save Tony..It is not his fault if he died while doing so. He saved many like him afterwards and never asked for anything in return..He always thought that the security of his friends and family was above everything else."

Loki stands up at your reply in disagreement and grits his teeths before reaching for another memory.

" Are you sure about that ?"

You frown at his question before you see the moment he had invented Ultron..

" He created that knowledge monster and, even with the green man's warnings, didn't listen to what was safest..Now, do you think he really always had the purest intentions at heart ?"

He is one tough cookie, you'd give him that..You search in Tony's memories to get the vision he had when Wanda manipulated his mind and show his worse nightmare, the Avengers all dead.

" This, this is his worst nightmare. You have to admit that it is proof of the value of his comrades to his eyes..like Asgardians, he fought side by side with his friends and would have died for them..as he did."

However, Loki doesn't back down and finally yells in frustration.

" HE HELPED MY BROTHER TO PLOT MY DEMISE !"

You ark and eyebrow at that before replying, your arms crossed.

" Well..I don't see how's that of any relevance to him being a bad man.."

Flabbergasted by your words, he stares at you with tears in his eyes before sitting back down, visibly shocked at your answer. But, you know that he is thinking about it..You smile and look up at him to announce.

" This is why, I ask you to welcome Tony Stark to the great beyond, or at least let him work his way there !"

At your words, his eyes flash at you with a certain interest.

" Go on.."

Your smile widens. You know that Loki would not let Tony enter if he hadn't been trained before.

" Make him a corrector. Allow him to correct his mistakes and apologize to all those he wronged.."

Loki seems to consider it for a moment and, finally nods.

" I'll allow it, however, I'll also accept him in Valhalla directly.."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his sudden act of mercy..but you quickly understand when he adds with a small smirk.

"..If Tony accepts to kneel in front of me."

You close your eyes, knowing already the reaction of Tony that doesn't waste any time voicing his disagreement.

" Dream on, goat head !"

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose and turning towards Tony that still had his mouth wide open, ready to protest. You want to intervene, but Loki does it for you as he suddenly stands up again and grits his teeths at Tony before ordering.

" Kneel ! Or you can say goodbye to your soul !"

You open your eyes wide in fear as he starts crackling the coin in his palm. You turn towards Tony that feels as if he was being crushed himself. You then look back at Loki before yelling at him.

" The trial is not over, your Highness ! You have no right..!"

He glares murderously at you before cutting you short by laughing maniacally.

" That's where you're wrong ! I have every right !"

You look between the two men with panic seizing your whole being before sighing and getting out a lasso. You use it to grab Loki's arm and yank him on the floor, letting go of the coin by the same occasion that starts rolling before stooping just in front of you. You take it in your hand and Loki looks up at you with his jaw clenched and eyes red with fury. However, you don't let yourself be intimidated and take him by the collar to drag him back to his throne.

" You'll regret this.."

He whispers in your ear and you only laugh at his threat before tying him up to the throne.

" There are many things that I fear in this world..But, prince Loki, you aren't one of them.."

You can feel him tense at your words, but still put back the coin in his hand with a small smile.

" Now..I know that my existence is a mistake and that your huge ego can't handle the fact that a mere woman is keeping you still..But, there is no reason for you to deny Tony his afterlife. You said it yourself, he was a worthy opponent and never wielded, even once. He is prideful, a recognition seeker and a liar..But he is also the Iron Man, the man of steel who defeated far more powerful beings than you..I didn't tell you how he died, but I think I should.."

You suddenly turn around and extend your arms to show two things..One is the day Tony died, and the other..when Loki did.

He looks at the images with wide eyes and, even after seeing it over and over, can't believe it..He had died. And Tony had avenged him. He almost laughs at his choice of word: avenge. He looks up at Tony with a new-found respect and Tony doesn't shy away from his gaze that he meets with determination. Loki then glances at the coin in his hand before throwing it at you..it lands on tails and you smile widely at Loki that nods in affirmation.

" I'll allow it..I'll allow him to enter by the doors of Valhalla to the other side. However, as agreed, Tony Stark will have to serve as a corrector for as long as it takes for him to understand the true repercussions of his mistakes, it means until I allow him to pass..Are we clear ?"

He looks down at you intently and you nod vehemently, happy to have saved his soul. Tony himself can't seem to believe it and looks shocked as he looks at you. You can't help but smile widely at him and he reciprocates. You then turn towards Loki and, to his surprise, bow down to him.

" Thank you, your Highness."

He then coughs loudly, making your head shoot up and realize that he was still..well, attached. You blush widely before clapping your hands and the magical lasso loosens to get back around your waist. Loki stares intensely at you and you feel cold sweat rolling down your back. You swiftly turn around to grab Tony and get out of the throne room, too afraid that he would ask for your name and report you to the High Council..When you're far enough, Tony suddenly takes you in his arms and twirls you around to your surprise.

" We did it ! I'll be able to see my wife and kid again ! Thank you so much !"

You can't help but giggle as he spins you around and when he finally puts you down, he frowns, his brain working full on as he seems to realize something.

" You helped me and were so angry at the fact that I had wasted my time..even though you now seem so happy that I made it..Who are you, really ?"

You let out a small sad smile as you look back at him with your eyes filled with tears. You should have known he would guess it eventually..

" I love you 3000.."

You finally mutter and his eyes widen as he understands and his own eyes prickle with tears as he gently runs his hand against your cheek.

" You're..?"

You nod and take a step back to smile at him through your tears.

" It was nice to meet you, dad."

He tries to hold back his tears before taking you in his arms.

" You've grown so much..How..How are you here ? You're not dead, are you ?!"

He asks worriedly, looking at you as if for the first time and you chuckle at his fatherly concern.

" No, Dad..I became a corrector because I wanted to meet you..Some are humans. I asked uncle Thor to make me one."

He nods, and then remembers that you have access to all of his memories..For the first time today, Tony Stark feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

" You must have felt ashamed of your old man, huh ?"

He asks and you smile kindly at him before answering him truthfully.

" I must admit that multiple times, I asked myself if it was good for the rest of humanity to let you live..that I wasn't being selfish in wanting to save you, but, at the end, I knew that you would become a great man..And, you did."

He smiles proudly at you before kissing your forehead lovingly.

" I'm sorry for not being there, sweetheart..I really am."

You shake your head and wipe your tears before answering him with a hopeful smile.

" It's okay..At least, I'll be able to spend time with you, until your final departure at least.."

He smiles at you, understanding now why you wanted him to become a corrector so bad and takes you in his arms again.

" That's my daughter. Scheming plans to spend time with the old man..Stark material, I tell you."

You can't help but snort at his comment while tightening your grip on him and finally closing your eyes in contempt.

" I love you 3000, dad.."

You feel his lips etch into a smile against your skin as he answers back.

" I love you 3000 too, kiddo.."

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging by Sebastian Junger (2016)

“Humans don’t mind hardship, in fact they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary. It's time for that to end.”

- Sebastian Junger,  Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging

The phenomenon of tribal solidarity is the subject of Sebastian Junger’s enthralling book, Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging. Junger offers a rich but unevenly researched patchwork of history, psychology, and anthropology to explore the deep appeal of the tribal culture throughout history. The result is less of a tour de force book that I would have expected from the likes of Sebastian Junger than an interesting and thought provoking read. Certainly it should be read by anyone interested in the human condition.

As a British ex-military veteran and a fan of Junger’s other books I naturally found it fascinating.The memory of my most recent tour in Afghanistan was still raw upon my return to Britain. Although the book really focuses on returning American army servicemen and their integration back into the American ‘tribe’ there were several themes that I and many others who had seen war could readily identify with.

“Tribe” is not a typical Junger book. He doesn’t tell one knockout story, as he did in the “The Perfect Storm,” which made him rich and famous, or as he did in “War,” which — along with his documentaries “Restrepo” and “Korengal” — established him as one of the world’s most mesmerising chroniclers of the Afghanistan war. Rather, he gives us an extended-play version of an article he wrote for for Vanity Fair — one that’s part ethnography, part history, part social science primer, part cri de coeur. Junger previously served as a war correspondent for Vanity Fair, embedding for long stretches at remote American outposts in Afghanistan’s frightful Korengal valley. This experience may help explain his interest in the intimate bonds that define tribal societies as well as the despair that can come from being wrenched out of a situation that makes those bonds necessary.

Junger’s premise is simple: Modern civilisation may be awesome, giving us unimaginable autonomy and material bounty. But it has also deprived us of the psychologically invaluable sense of community and interdependence that we hominids enjoyed for millions of years. It is only during moments of great adversity that we come together and enjoy that kind of fellowship — which may explain why, paradoxically, we thrive during those moments. (In the six months after Sept. 11, Junger writes, the murder rate in New York dropped by 40 percent, and the suicide rate by 20 percent.)

“I do miss something from the war,” Bosnian journalist Nidzara Ahmetasevic tells Sebastian Junger halfway through the book. Ahmetasevic is talking about the wartime closeness she shared with friends in a basement bomb shelter in besieged Sarajevo. “The love that we shared was enormous,” Ahmetasevic says. “I missed being close to people, I missed being loved in that way.”

The sentiment lies at the heart of Tribe, a book offering a surprising thesis about the ways humans have traded communal belonging for excessive safety.

Junger gets a considerable amount done in a quick 133 pages: Tribe posits a reason why white settlers found life among Native American tribes appealing, theorises about false PTSD claims among returned U.S. veterans, and conveys the author’s equality-minded view of how heroic behaviour varies between genders — all in addition to remarks on hitchhiking, attachment parenting, Junger’s dad’s opinion of military service, and more. It’s an awful lot of ground to cover in such a short book, and it’s inevitable that Tribe would either feel inchoate and sketched or else aggravatingly dense. Because Junger is an adventurous storyteller (rather than, say, an academic theoretician), he opts for the former.

It’s not necessarily a good thing. The book’s lightness makes it accessible, an easy entry point to weighty subject matter. But its concision can make Tribe feel breezy even as it discusses life and death — if not sometimes confusing.

As a former anthropology major, Mr. Junger takes a special interest in tribal life. He notes that a striking number of American colonists ran off to join Native American societies, but the reverse was almost never true. He describes the structure and values of hunter-gatherer groups, including the ones that lasted well into the 20th century, like the !Kung in the Kalahari.

Unfortunately, these parts of the book are also the dullest and most problematic. There’s a numbingly familiar quality to much of the social science research he cites. It is not exactly news that nations with large income disparities are less happy than those without them, or that group cooperation increases levels of oxytocin, the bonding hormone. He notes, for example, that American mothers in the 1970s had a level of skin-to-skin contact with their babies that traditional societies would consider criminally low. Fair enough. I wonder, though, if he realises that in saying this he’s crashing open the gate for every helicopter parenting (or attachment-parenting) demagogue out there? And that parents who actually have to go to work for a living - and therefore can’t have their babies pinned to their chests all day long for three years straight - will read these words and start rolling the eyes back in disbelief.

Though Junger cautions against romanticising tribal cultures, he sometimes does exactly that, and in ways that can be annoying.  Tribe aptly opens with Benjamin Franklin’s observation, decades before the American Revolution, that more than a few English settlers were “escaping into the woods” to join Indian society. Franklin noticed that emigration seemed to go from the civilised to the tribal, but rarely the other way around. White captives of the American Indians, for instance, often did not wish to be repatriated to colonial society. At this distance, it is simply astonishing that so many frontiersmen would have cast off the relative comforts of civilisation in favour an “empire wilderness” rife with Stone Age tribes that, as Junger notes, “had barely changed in 15,000 years.”

The small but significant flow of white men — they were mostly men — into the tree-line sat uncomfortably with those who stayed behind. Without indulging the modern temptation to romanticise what was a blood-soaked way of life, Junger hazards an explanation for the appeal of tribal culture. Western society was a diverse and dynamic but deeply alienating place. (Plus ça change…) This stood in stark contrast to native life, which was essentially classless and egalitarian. The “intensely communal nature of an Indian tribe” provided a high degree of autonomy — as long as it didn’t threaten the defence of the tribe, which was punishable by death — as well as a sense of belonging. Tribe is then essentially a critique of modern civilisation, beginning with Junger’s observation of the inexorable appeal of Native American way of life to early settlers (“The intensely communal nature of an Indian tribe held an appeal that the material benefits of Western civilisation couldn’t necessary compete with”).

“The question for Western society isn’t so much why tribal life might be so appealing - it seems obvious on the face of it - but why Western society is so unappealing.” Junger is making a provocative point, but he is no provocateur. He swiftly justifies this jarring idea:

On a material level it is clearly more comfortable and protected from the hardships of the natural world. But as societies become more affluent they tend to require more, rather than less, time and commitment by the individual, and it’s possible that many people feel that affluence and safety simply aren’t a good trade for freedom.

All of these points have been covered in other, heavier books. Jared Diamond’s The World Until Yesterday examines traditional tribal lifestyles’ usefulness in the present day. The entanglement of war with human closeness and purpose is the focus of Chris Hedges’s War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning. (Both Hedges and Junger include the same anecdote, in fact, about a teenage couple in besieged Sarajevo, that dies, sniper-shot, on the banks of the Miljacka River.) Junger also briefly mentions the work of seminal disaster researcher Charles Fritz, noting that Fritz could find almost no examples of mass panic during large-scale disasters. This plays into his overarching point that difficult experiences can be unifying rather than shattering. The exact same studies by Fritz and fellow researchers — and that exact same, crucial point — are detailed in Rebecca Solnit’s brilliant A Paradise Built in Hell.

Junger uses these insights towards another point. “Because modern society has almost completely eliminated trauma and violence from everyday life, anyone who does suffer these things is deemed to be extraordinarily unfortunate,” he writes. “This gives people access to sympathy and resources but also creates an identity of victimhood that can delay recovery.” This is an important observation. It, too, resonates quite closely with previous work - in this case Harvard psychiatrist Judith Lewis Herman’s seminal book Trauma and Recovery, which remarks that “to hold traumatic reality in consciousness requires a social context that affirms and protects the victim and that joins victim and witness in a common alliance.”

At best what Junger tries to achieve, then, is to assemble parts of all those books into one slim volume. So much the better for the busy reader. Unfortunately, Junger’s quick look at violence, trauma, and modern anomie also omits important information from other books, and as a result ends up on shaky ground, failing to consider counterpoints or bring its own arguments to a close.

Junger in the second half of the book proceeds through an examination of how disastrous or violent circumstances can create similar human closeness, and includes a discussion of how our society’s distancing itself from such harsh conditions has inadvertently sharpened those events’ capacity to traumatise the people who endure them.

War is hell, so this scourge of loneliness may seem the inevitable price for those who fight in them. The second half of Tribe insists that this impression is gravely mistaken. “Studies from around the world show that recovery from war is heavily influenced by the society one belongs to,” Junger observes. Iroquois warriors, for instance, did not have to contend with much alienation because the line between warfare and normal Indian society was vanishingly thin. This is not to deny that the Iroquois were traumatised by combat, but it was generally acute PTSD, limited in duration and distress. Their trauma was ameliorated by the fact that the trauma was shared by the entire tribe.

War, then, for all of its brutality and ugliness, satisfies some of our deepest evolutionary yearnings for connectedness. Platoons are like tribes. They give soldiers a chance to demonstrate their valour and loyalty, to work cooperatively, to show utter selflessness.

Is it any wonder that so many of them say they miss the action when they come home?

Part of the takeaway from this book is that regarding military service as a source of permanent psychiatric disability is incorrect for most (American) soldiers. Junger includes a lengthy discussion of how the U.S. Veterans Administration mishandles former soldiers’ mental health issues, and how America’s cultural misunderstanding of war plays into that deleterious milieu. The information isn’t wrong per se, but what it has to do with the rest of the romanticising of foregone tribal way of life, etc., or why that necessitates anything more than the 2015 Vanity Fair article from which the book sprung is never quite made clear. Worse, Junger says that the low rate of combat engagement among U.S. soldiers means their diagnoses of post-traumatic stress disorder often aren’t real - but he fails to consider that some soldiers develop PTSD from military sexual trauma, or from other adverse experiences outside of combat or before their enlistment.

Worse, he seems to misunderstand the diagnosis entirely. Here, as in the Vanity Fair article, Junger describes his own bout with what he calls “classic short-term PTSD,” departing from this insight to further dissect trauma and the ways modern society misunderstands it. The problem is, there really is no such thing as “short-term PTSD.” It sounds like what Junger had was post-traumatic stress, a weeks - or months - long psychological adaptation to adverse events (in his case, exposure to war) that typically resolves on its own.

Although psychological care can sometimes be relevant, most mental health professionals don’t regard this as an illness. (Tellingly, Junger’s approach to his diagnosis involved little more than an acquaintance’s ad hoc comment at “a family picnic.”) Post-traumatic stress disorder is only diagnosable after three to six months, does not often go away on its own, and can endure for a lifetime if untreated. The implication that Junger’s case is typical PTSD is misleading - and to some extent, calls his conclusions into question.

The problems in his argument go even deeper. “In Bosnia — as it is now — we don’t trust each other anymore; we became really bad people,” Ahmetasevic tells Junger. “We didn’t learn the lesson of the war, which is how important it is to share everything you have with human beings close to you.” Junger’s thesis is that other cultures (the “Stone-Age tribes” white settlers once joined) did learn that lesson. But he assumes that violence is innate to humans and necessary for human closeness, never parsing evidence that it is not. And he doesn’t examine what this Bosnian journalist means by “really bad,” and how becoming so after the war might have arisen directly from the painful, long-lasting effects of the severe trauma Junger doesn’t quite seem to believe in.

If there is any doubt on this point, consider the alarming rates of PTSD among our warrior class, and the desire among many of them to return to war — a subject on which Junger has been at the leading edge of the public discussion. When combat vets return home, the alienation and aimlessness of modern society aggravates their psychological traumas and prompts them to yearn for the brotherhood of combat. It’s not for nothing that a recent book on post-traumatic stress is entitled The Evil Hours.

Many soldiers actually miss war. “Adversity,” he writes, “often leads people to depend more on one another, and that closeness can produce a kind of nostalgia for the hard times.” Soldiers go from a close-knit group in which everyone has a purpose to a society in highly individualised lifestyles are “deeply brutalising to the human spirit.” Soldiers who come home to situations in which there is no social support from family and community are more likely to suffer PTSD than others.

Thanking veterans for their service aggravates the problem, in Junger’s opinion. “If anything, these token acts only deepen the chasm between the military and the civilian population by highlighting the fact that some people serve their country but the vast majority don’t.” Tickets to games and other such perquisites can incentivise veterans to see themselves as victims, making their reintegration into society much more difficult.

What they really need is the one thing that will make them feel like valuable members of society: jobs. In their tribe-like military units, they each had a specific function without which the group could not perform. The worst thing that can happen to them when they return is to feel useless, marginalised. The suicide rate in America mirrors the unemployment rate, Junger points out. The best protection against devastating depression is meaningful work.

“Ex-combatants shouldn’t be seen - or be encouraged to see themselves - as victims,” writes Junger. Lifelong disability payments for PTSD, which is treatable and usually not chronic, actually debilitate veterans, Junger claims. In war, the passivity of victimhood can be deadly, he explains. Turning veterans into victims when they return is not only confusing but also destructive because it erases their sense of self. Instead of sympathy, “veterans need to feel that they’re just as necessary and productive back in society as they were on the battlefield.”

Of course much of this book is really around the American experience of war and the experiences of American veterans returning home. So some points don’t quite stick with either British or European experiences. For example neither British or other European societies thank veterans for their service as a matter of course. Of course there are special days to commemorate major war events and even an armed forces day but on a general day to day basis one doesn’t go up to a military person to thank them for their service probably because British and European servicemen and their service don’t enjoy a privileged standing. Respected and admired yes, but not deified. How British and other European countries take care of their returning veterans is hard to detail as the experience varies in terms of disability allowances and other measures. Certainly a misunderstanding of mental trauma or PTSD of returning veterans has led sometimes to a criminal mismanaging of taking care of those most affected. Again, it varies from country to country.  

Contemporary America is a considerably less consolidated society than it used to be. Cultural diffusion and economic stratification have increased the isolation felt by those who have borne the heat and burden of battle. I won’t a forget photograph shown to me by an older brother who had served with distinction in Iraq. He made a few American friends from the US soldiers serving there alongside and one day he was shown something that captured the dark humour and cynicism of war. The photo captured a graffito scribbled on a wall in Ramadi, Iraq, that read: “America is not at war. The Marine Corps is at war. America is at the mall.”

Multiple studies demonstrate that “a person’s chance of getting chronic PTSD is in great part a function of their experiences before going to war.” The relationship between combat and trauma seems to be a murky one. For instance, “combat veterans are, statistically, no more likely to kill themselves than veterans who were never under fire.” Junger says that even a significant number of Peace Corps volunteers report suffering severe depression after their return home, especially if their host country was in a state of emergency when they did. In Junger’s telling, particular burdens endured by socially disadvantaged Americans - from a poor educational background to chaotic broken family life - can make a candidate especially susceptible to PTSD. Indeed, these risk factors “are nearly as predictive of PTSD as the severity of the trauma itself.”

The decline of social order and solidarity has contributed to a loss of what researchers call “social resilience.” This has simultaneously supplied more potential candidates for PTSD and impaired society’s ability to help them recover. The United States must place a premium on boosting its levels of social resilience. Americans should no longer be content to simply thank veterans for their service; sporting events are not places of healing. Nor should they seek to outsource the responsibility to the federal government. The solution lies closer to home, in the mediating institutions of civil society — from families to churches to community and professional associations. I think this echoes the views of quite a few veterans in my experience with them.

More sensitively and perhaps controversially, ex-combatants shouldn’t be regarded, or encouraged to regard themselves, as victims. This I also agree with. America is still a tremendously affluent country, Junger writes, that can afford to perpetually care for a victim class of veterans dependent on government largesse, “but the vets can’t.” They have generally performed exemplary service for which they should be honoured, and they must know that their service is not over.

Next, Junger says, veterans (like most social animals) depend upon a sense of purpose that begins with a job and a position in society. Here the “hire vets” initiatives and retraining programs are necessary but insufficient. The traditional means of securing social resilience has been egalitarian social provision. Individualist America may blanch at that notion, but it should at least act to build a more open economy and inclusive culture where individuals can reliably advance by merit and develop social capital.

Not being an American I don’t wish to speak out of turn but as a veteran and especially in speaking with other British and foreign veterans I think Junger is on the right path. Victimhood and a lack of purpose are the unseen enemy that the returning veteran will continue to fight when he or she comes home.

To all this I would also that - arguably perhaps in America especially - a revival of national cohesion is needed if - as a nation that pays lip service to honour the sacrifices of its servicemen - it is to arrest the full savagery of battlefield trauma. This will require what Edmund Burke called “a revolution in sentiments, manners and moral opinions.”

One clue about how to achieve this can be found in the early pages of Tribe, when Junger tells an affecting anecdote about his father. Not long after the end of the Vietnam War, the author had received a Selective Service registration form in the mail, in case the United States government ever needed to conscript him into the military. When he announced that, if drafted, he would refuse to serve on political grounds, his father’s reaction caught him off guard. Although sternly opposed to the war in Indo-China, Junger’s father insisted that American soldiers had “saved the world” from fascism during World War II and many never came home. Junger writes;

“‘You don’t owe your country nothing,’ I remember him telling me. ‘You owe it something, and depending on what happens, you might owe it your life.’” This did not oblige anyone to enlist in an unjust war - “in his opinion, protesting an immoral war was just as honorable and necessary as fighting a moral one” - but it did mean that the country had just claims on its citizens, and refusing to sign a registration form constituted a dereliction of duty.

Year after year, Americans hear arguments for taking the stink out of their sulphurous political rhetoric. It would be better for congressional productivity. It would be better for our international dignity. It would be better for their national literacy, their local advocacy, their general civility and the future etiquette of their children. But the one argument I had not heard, until reading Junger’s book is that they should clean up their act for the sake of their returning troops.

Junger never makes this point explicitly. What he writes, simply, is this: After months of combat, during which “soldiers all but ignore differences of race, religion and politics within their platoon,” they return to the United States to find “a society that is basically at war with itself. People speak with incredible contempt about - depending on their views - the rich, the poor, the educated, the foreign-born, the president or the entire U.S. government.” Soldiers go from a world in which they’re united, interconnected and indispensable to one in which they’re isolated, without purpose, and bombarded with images of politicians and civilians screaming at one another on TV and cable.

It’s a formula for deep despair. “Today’s veterans often come home to find that, although they’re willing to die for their country,” he writes, “they’re not sure how to live for it.”

With that, Mr. Junger has raised one of the most provocative ideas for bitterly divided Americans to grapple with without mentioning a single political candidate, or even a president, by name.

In this age of social and economic fragmentation, many of America’s disadvantaged fellow citizens have begun to chafe against an elite class - left and right - that often behaves as if it were exempted from the national compact. Junger only hints at the necessary leap beyond a social-psychological view to a political-economic analysis. He writes, "As great a sacrifice as soldiers make, American workers arguably make a greater one…. [w]orking in industries that have a mortality rate equivalent to most units in the US military." He suggests, "It may be worth considering whether middle-class American life - for all its material good fortune - has lost some essential sense of unity that might otherwise discourage alienated men from turning apocalyptically violent."

Nobody then should be surprised if the ranks of disaffected citizens – not least those who have borne arms in our name and in their defence - ultimately decide that the sensibility of the tribe is superior to their own.

As a proud Brit who is guilty at times of poking fun at America but borne out of sincere fondness and respect for America I do sincerely hope during these turbulent times that they are capable of coming together and recognising their tribal identity is to be Americans first and other labels (liberal or conservative or red state or blue state) whilst not inconsequential are not important enough to undermine the primary American tribal identity. They did it so marvellously after 9/11, but that feeling as we all know soon dissipated. It can’t afford to be a house divided from within when there are predatory wolves pawing at the door (I’m looking at you Russia and China). Junger correctly writes America is a strong nation, “The only one who can destroy us, is, well, us…..which means that the ultimate terrorist strategy would be to just leave us alone.”

Tribe is an important, thought-provoking book that encourages Americans to see its veterans and American society in a fresh light. Policymakers of all political stripes would do well to consider Junger’s arguments, for as long as they fail to fully integrate returning soldiers, everyone will continue to pay a high toll for their incredible service and sacrifice.

Junger’s “Tribe” even if it was written in 2016, remains relevant and serves as an important wake-up call. Let’s hope we all don’t sleep through the alarm. But this too brief and too scattershot book with an important message won’t get us all the way there. There is an old South African Zulu proverb, ‘If you want to go fast, go on your own. If you want to go further, go together’. It’s up to all of us.

[paradife-loft]

okay, some Thoughts On Kyros (& the PC), because I keep seeing takes that feel weird and unsupported and I need to get all this out of my head --

much like Tunon and Nerat, as an intensely magical person that’s a few hundred years old and is subject to an astonishing amount of belief about them across the world, Kyros is... not particularly humanlike any more. they have a personality, sure, but they’re also like 90% Overlord Brain All The Time.

like, even when you’re a normal person with a lot of power, that fucks with how you think about other people, the world in general, etc. - so then add magic of the “becoming what people think you are” feedback loop sort? yeah.

anyway, this is to say: I think the idea that Kyros is not actually immortal, being ruined by casting Edicts, etc. etc. and wants to groom you as their successor sounds. kinda far-fetched. for one thing, I don’t... think that’s how magic quite works in this setting? (the metaphysics feel pretty “power begets power” to me, not “power causes degeneration in a physical sense”) - and for another, using the other two and the set of beliefs Kyros disseminates about themself, I would be kind of surprised if “intending to share power” is even something they’re... capable of, at this point.

the Edict of Execution was almost exclusively intended to come to pass and kill everyone in the valley. yeah, it has an “unless” clause, and fulfilling that clause would also have been a good/acceptable solution, but... at this point I don’t think anyone who’s known Ashe and Nerat for the last hundred years is going to expect them to be able to work together, and frankly at this point in the conquest of the continent, they’re both probably going to become a liability if they stick around much longer.

I mean, further evidence that Kyros does basically want them both dead is that the civil war is allowed to go on, and then is explicitly sanctioned later with the “only one Archon allowed” decree. (like, my feeling on the civil war is that the ideal outcome is “one kills the other, who then gets sentenced/killed by Tunon for incompetence/sedition/etc.” - the decree only becomes necessary once Kyros has also decided they also need to put a target on your back for being too powerful.)

the PC is not... sent into this mess with Kyros somehow ~knowing~ that they’d be able to break the Edict and their rise to power being part of their plan. the PC is sent in because Kyros needs someone to read the Edict and frankly, if the intention is that everybody in the valley dies, they want to send the most expendable person in the area that they can. so, the newest member of Tunon’s court, who’s unlikely to survive long after reading a second Edict (so soon after their first) to begin with - as opposed to a more established member of the court, someone who’s never read an Edict before at all and still has that “use” in them, etc. etc.

more or less the only essential power the PC has that’s unusual at that point, is the ability to withstand Edict-casting a bit better than usual, and probably also their cleverness, force of personality, leadership potential, and so on. those are what lead them to Ascension Hall, which is the fundamental turning point that enables everything else.

something I find interesting that I don’t remember seeing any of the other characters bring up (at least in the playthrough I’ve done so far), is that at the very least in the beginning, the magical power you acquire seems to be piggybacking on Kyros’s, not just something you have ex novo.

a lot of people comment on your ability to issue Edicts and say or imply the PC is kind of like the “same” sort of being as Kyros because of it - and while I think that can eventually grow into being true, I don’t think that’s true as of the one you proclaim on Vendrien’s Well in act 2. because, the power that awakened the Spire came from breaking the first Edict (=power from Kyros); and the subsequent power you acquire that you can then turn into your own Edict, also comes from breaking & absorbing the power of existing ones (=also power from Kyros). you can’t proclaim Edicts you haven’t directly interacted with until later, in act 3; and the one in act 2 also dissipates on its own, which again isn’t something Kyros’s do. so, similar magic, yes, but until people start spreading this idea that you can do it on your own the same way Kyros does, and you continue to absorb more magical power from artifacts etc.... no, it’s not the same.

I don’t know if I think this necessarily is the case, but, I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman in the past that you see standing atop a Spire in the same place as you when you cast the act 2 Edict and go through the right links in the dialogue tree, was in fact a vision of an early- or pre-conquest Kyros herself. while I can come up with an in-universe story for what could be going on there, the reason I really have is pretty much just “the game draws our attention to this one specific person; there’s clear narrative parallels being drawn and this would fit with those; also the fact that it does specify a woman and there’s all the to-do made about Kyros’s gender in-game, where some of the main people who start the pronoun fuckery saying “she” are ones who’ve actually met them”.

[khiphop-stories]

Getting Off The Wrong Foot

[Christian Yu | Chapter XII]

Previous Chapters:

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X | Chapter XI

“How could you just leave like that?” You shut the passenger door close after you had entered Christian’s car. You used a little bit too much force causing him to flinch at the sudden noise.

“I thought you might wanted to talk to him,” he attempted to explain, but he didn’t seem to have much confidence in what he was saying. How did he expect you to believe his lame excuse, if he didn’t even believe it himself?

“How did you get that idea?” You glared at him in disbelief. You weren’t able to say it out loud with Kiseok being there, but you entire body language was basically screaming for him not to leave you alone with your ex. Christian wasn’t stupid; he got the signal but seeing the way you looked at Kiseok made his stomach turn upside down. Without knowing, he clenched his jaw and balled his fists as if he were ready to fight. It all happened subconsciously. He didn’t quite understand it himself, but in that very moment he felt irritated and frustrated with you. Why did you still allow Kiseok to have that much power over you? Why did you still have feelings for him despite how much he had hurt you?

There was a little pause since Christian didn’t know what to say and he didn’t want to lie to you either. Instead of answering your questions, he asked his own.

“Why are you avoiding him so much?”

“I might forgive him if he gets a chance to apologize,” you answered honestly. 

Kiseok had been a big part of your life for five years and you got used to him being around. You wanted him to be back in your life, because ever since he was gone you felt an empty hole in your chest as though part of you was missing. If you were being honest, forgiving him would make a lot of things easier. You wouldn’t have to change your lifestyle, you wouldn’t have to step out of your comfort zone and you wouldn’t have to be all alone. Everything would remain the same, be it good or bad. If you let Kiseok tell his version of the story, if you listened through his explanation and apology, you might not be as strong and resolute as you were now. Your heart might waver and that was one thing you couldn’t let happen. 

“Did you?”

You looked down, avoiding his gaze while a sudden silence surrounded you. 

“I really want to.”

Then there was a pin drop silence. Christian’s eyes rested on you, but he didn’t say anything. The anger he had managed to suppress struck him again at full tilt as he realized he stood no chance. He wouldn’t be able to compete with Kiseok. The love you felt for him was painfully real. 

You wanted to forgive him so badly, but if you did you would let down your past self. You would become the person you spent your adolescence despising. It wasn’t just about cheating any more. Sure, you had felt embarrassment, rage, pain and devastation. You heart had been completely shattered into pieces and your trust completely broken by the person you loved most. However, it wasn’t just about that anymore. Eventually it turned into an issue of identity. What kind of person will you be? Were you able to throw away your dignity and pride for love? Could you grit your teeth, endure the pain and look past his mistake while turning into someone you vowed you would never become?  Forgiving - was it a sign a of true love or foolishness? 

“But I can’t. I won’t,“ you came to a conclusion.

“Why?“ “Because if I do, I would break a promise I once made.“ A promise you had made with your younger self. 

“Even though you still love him.“ He seemed be asking a question, but he didn’t raise his voice at the end. There was no question mark.

“It’s love, but it’s not the kind of love I want.“ 

You loved him, there was no denying that, but you hated what your relationship had turned into. It would never go back to the way it used to be. It couldn’t. It could never be the same. You had seen it with your own eyes, the magnitude of a betrayal, how the seed of betrayal would fester and slowly but surely grow to poison every aspect of your life.

“Did you ever think about getting back together with Nayeon?”

He spent a brief moment thinking about your question, before he came to a quick conclusion: “No.”

You turned your eyes to him, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re always so sure of yourself. I admire that.”

“Putting aside the fact that she never wanted to get back together, there is a reason why a relationship comes to an end. I’m not someone who breaks up over little things. I try my best in every relationship and really make sure I don’t have any regrets. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.”

As you listened to him speaking, you wondered whether you had tried your best with Kiseok. Did you have any regrets? Was there anything that you could have done differently? If you had the ability to turn back time, was there anything you would change? Could you really confidently say that you had done your best? Kiseok was the one who made the mistake, who betrayed you. But if you had noticed and reached out a helping hand when he was at his darkest, his most insecure, wouldn’t things be different?

“Can I take a rain check?“ You said out of the sudden. His car was still parked in front of your apartment. Christian hadn’t even started the engine yet, almost as if he knew you were gonna change your mind about going to the movies.

“I figured you weren’t in the mood to watch a movie,“ Christian chuckled as he nodded his head at you gently. He placed one of his hand on your shoulder giving it a light squeeze. Then he released a little smile. “Don’t blame yourself too much.”

Your eyes widened at him staring at him silently. Just how did he always know what was going through your head? Did he have the ability to read minds?

~*~

[Time leap]

Since you brother was on spring break he came to visit you in Seoul. When you were little you used to spend almost every school vacation in Seoul, so he had a couple of friends he wanted to catch up with. But more than anything, he wanted to escape your mother’s hawk’s eyes, breath a little, live a little. Although he stayed in your apartment, you didn’t get to spend much time with him as you were too busy with work and catering to your clients and he was too busy meeting his friends and enjoying Seoul’s nightlife. You tried to shift things around so you could make time for him, but it was one of the busiest times of the year. You were able to finish work early today, so you forced him to have dinner with you. Even though he complained a little, you knew he was actually excited. You were a gourmet so you knew the best restaurants in town and he also missed you, but he wouldn’t ever admit that to you. He was too cool for that. 

~*~

“We broke up,“ you told him in a flat tone before you took a sip of your water. There wasn’t much emotion in your voice. You could as well have been talking about the weather. It wasn’t something you tried to hide from him, you just didn’t know how to bring it up, since he had always been quite fond of Kiseok even before you had started to go out with him. 

“I know,“ he answered in the same manner.

“You do?“ You arched one of your brows at him, a stunned expression covering your face. You expected him to be more surprised, perhaps even in disbelief, but he was none of that. His calm demeanour was astonishing, but you were grateful nonetheless that he didn’t make a big deal out of it. If it were your mother sitting in front of you right now, she would have probably flipped a table and made a mountain out of a molehill.

“He hasn’t been around lately,“ he answered simply. You were surprised that he noticed and you could barely hide it. He had been so busy and happy meeting his friends the past few days, you didn’t think he would pay much attention to things going on in your life, but he did. He always did and he was right. Kiseok used to drop by almost every other day when Minho came to visit two years ago, but he didn’t even show up once this time.

“I’m not stupid, you know“ he laughed at your bewilderment shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. No, he was far from being stupid, yet you still tend to underestimate him. Ever since he was young, he had been very aware of his surroundings. He noticed every little thing, every subtle change. He knew things, before they had been said and he knew more than he let on. On many occasions he had pretended to know less than he really did, sometimes to avoid getting into trouble, but oftentimes also to protect the dignity and pride of the other person that was trying to put on an act.

The smile on his lips faded as quickly as it appeared. His face suddenly turned dark as he looked at you, his eye softening. “I don’t want you suffering like Mom.“ Again you were caught by surprise. He was spot on. But how in the world did he know? You had barely even exchanged a word with him since he slept all day and went out at night. Were you that easy to read?

“I don’t want to be anything like Mom either,“ you nodded in agreement.

You were in middle school when you caught your dad cheating on your mother and it took you another year to tell her the truth. You didn’t want your family to be destroyed, you didn’t want your baby brother to suffer through a divorce. More than anything, you wanted the lies your dad had told you to be true. You were mistaken. It wasn’t what it seemed like. She was just a friend. You shouldn’t tell your mother because she might misunderstand. 

Your mother wasn’t surprised when you she heard the news. No, she was in rage; not with her husband, not with the situation, but with you, because by telling her you had shattered the perfect world she had created for herself. She already knew, but she turned a blind eye to your dad’s affairs. At first you thought, she stayed with him for your and your brother’s sake because she wanted for you to grow up with a father in your life. That might have been one of her motivations, but you later found out she valued her lifestyle too much. She didn’t want to lose her status. She became known to be his wife and leaving him may have closed doors professionally and socially. She didn’t want to risk breaking up her social circle either. Men will be men, that was what she always said and repeated like a mantra. 

It was never again mentioned and cheating became a taboo word in the household, but the time you caught him wasn’t his first time and it certainly wasn’t the last. At some point even your bother knew. You all were part of an act you mother had put on. The picture-perfect family. The loving and devoting husband, the caring mother and wife, and two smart and successful children. None of it was true. None of you fit the role you mother had assigned to you, but you all played along, fooling other people, fooling each other and fooling yourselves. 

There was one thing that your parents and all of it had taught you though. You vowed to never turn into a pathetic woman like her and your brother never wanted to grow up to be a man like him. You tried so hard not to be like her in any aspect, but without knowing you eventually ended up being more and more similar to her than you wanted, blinded by what you thought had been love.

You actually didn’t want your brother to know the reason why you broke up with Kiseok because you didn’t want him to be disappointed again by a man he looked up to. To him, your father was always something like a superhero, someone who was invincible and without fault. In a similar way he thought highly of Kiseok.

“How are things at home lately?“

“Same as always. She’s still pretending we’re the happiest family….No one actually believes it, but her.“

“What about Dad?“ “Haven’t talked to him a lot since I moved out. You?“ 

Hearing that, broke your heart. Your father and your brother used to be inseparable. He took him literally everywhere, baseball games, the movies, business meetings, the golf course. They had a strong bond - the strongest father-son bond in your entire neighborhood. But ever since Minho learned the truth, he distanced himself more and more, building a wall around him.

“He sometimes calls and visits when he’s on business trips in Seoul, but that’s it.“ You as well never saw your father with the same eyes anymore. You noticed that he tried his best to fix his relationship with you, he tried to be the good father supporting you in everything you did. He never once questioned your decisions and when you fought with your mother he always took your side. It was easier for you to talk to your father than to you mother, but there still was this invisible barrier that stopped you from getting too close to him. He tried to be a good father, without question but despite his effort things were never really the same anymore. 

“Enough with the depressing talk,“ you let out a chuckle, giving your head a quick shake as if to shake away all the bad thoughts. “You’ve finally finished high school! How does it feel to be free?”

You spent the rest of the dinner talking about his life at university which he seemed to enjoy much more than his high schools days. He accustomed himself quickly and made new friends. You didn’t expect him to enjoy university that much, because it was pretty much hell on earth for you. The people you majored with were way too competitive. You always felt like you lacked something, like you weren’t good enough. The friendships you had made there were superficial and shallow, none of them lasted long while you still kept in touch with your friends from middle school. The only people you considered friends were the people you met outside the walls of education. Jay was the first friend you made in Korea and it was thanks to him that you didn’t end up having depression or going crazy. It was a relief that Minho wasn’t struggling like you did. He deserved only the best in the world. You were ecstatic for him that he had finally found his place.

~*~

As you were calling the waiter to pay the bill, you received a call from Christian asking if you wanted to join their bowling night with the DPR guys. You had to decline since you were with your brother, but he told you to bring him along. “You wanna go bowling or stick to the original plan?” You asked your brother, with Christian still on the other line. Your original plan was to have dinner and then go home and watch a movie with him. You didn’t really have energy for anything else. “Bowling for sure. I know you’re gonna make me watch some weird horror movie.“ He laughed.

~*~

You decided the teams by playing rock, paper, scissors. You ended up in a team with Dabin and Scott, while your brother, Christian and Cream were on the other team. The loser would have to pay the bills. At first you didn’t understand why Christian and Cream were so excited, high-fiving each other while Scott was a little bit bummed. But you soon learned the reason. Scott was really good but Dabin totally sucked, tanking your overall score whereas the players on Christian’s team were all pretty decent. 

“Dabin you suck!“ Scott groaned out in frustration, giving Dabin a playful slap. His ball had landed beside the bowling alley once again. “Why are you so consistent in sucking?“

“Skill come with practice,“ Dabin retorted with pride. “I don’t see any improvement though,“ you said jokingly as you shook your head at him with feigned disappointment. 

“It takes time.“

“Stop bullshitting, just pay the bill, Dabin,“ Christian joined in teasing him.

Scott and you managed to raise your score so it wouldn’t look too pathetic next to Christian’s team, but you still lost by far. 

“Let’s play another round! I’m sure this time, we’re gonna win,” Dabin clapped his hands together determined. 

“In what world?“ Minho broke out into laughter.

“No way,“ Scott shook his vigorously as though his life depended on it. 

“Not with you on our team,“ you both said in unison and he immediately stretched out his hands for you to give him a high-five.

As the game ended you moved to a pub to get a late night snack and some drinks. It turned out Minho actually listened to Dabin’s music and was quite a fan of Cream’s beats, he had a little fanboy moment in which he raved about their craft with admiration. Somehow it then turned into a freestyle rap battle with Dabin and Minho participating and Scott beatboxing. “Damn you got bars!“ Dabin complimented him, surprised by his witty lyrics.

“If you join DPR, I’ll make you a star,“ Scott agreed.

“Don’t make him change career paths! He’s at an Ivy League right now,“ you said jokingly. 

Your little brother was the pride of your family, the shining star. Your mother always wanted her children to be Ivy League graduates, but you didn’t have the interest nor the grades and ambition to attend an Ivy League. All you wanted was to be as far away as possible from your controlling mother. You didn’t apply to any university in the U.S. All the applications you had sent out were to universities in foreign countries. Eventually, you decided to turn back to your roots and attended a university in Korea. That’s how you ended up where you were now. You remembered the time when he dreamed to be a rapper and you were glad Kiseok was able to talk him out of it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t talented enough, he was. He had the talent and the looks, but having seen the industry from behind the scenes, you knew that alone wasn’t enough to succeed. You had seen with your own eyes how the industry destroyed people taking everything away from them, leaving nothing but emptiness. He would barely survive under these harsh conditions and along the way he would have probably lost himself. That was something you didn’t want to watch.

“I guess now we know who got all the intelligence genes,“ Christian said playfully, sticking out his tongue at you as he gave you a gently nudge.

“At least I graduated from university,“ you teased him back. You found out at his aunt’s birthday that Christian had been accepted into a prestigious university. But he dropped out even before the semester started, packed his bags and flew to Korea to pursue his dreams. Another thing you admired him for. His ambition. 

“Not an Ivy League though,“ Minho teamed up with Christian to tease you.

“You’re in you first year, let’s see how long you’re gonna survive,“ you replied playfully.

~*~

While you went home with Minho the other guys returned to the studio. The reason why they went bowling in the first place was because it was feeling too stuffed and suffocating in the studio. They had been listening to, recording, and mixing songs since the sun had risen over the roofs of the city. There was only one month left until the release of Dabin’s new album which meant sleepless nights in the studio for them.

As Cream was rearranging one of the tracks, Christian and Dabin plopped onto the couch enjoying the little break that they had. 

“When are you going to tell her the truth?” It was a vague question, but Christian knew exactly what his younger friend was talking about. 

“Never.” “I think she likes you too.” “And since when are you such an expert, Dabin? Didn’t your girlfriend just dump you?” Christian laughed. It happened recently, but Dabin got over it quickly. They hadn’t been dating for long and she lost interest in him quickly. Dabin didn’t like her that much either, he just didn’t like to be alone. 

“But what if she does?” “She made it clear that she doesn’t want to be in a relationship right now. I don’t want to pressure her. Besides, I don’t think she’s over her ex yet.” Christian just like anyone else was afraid of rejection but what was even worst than that was losing what he currently had with you. “It’s just a stupid crush, I’ll get over it.” “I think I can help you with that.” Dabin said, peaking Christian’s interest. He turned his head to his friend, motioning him to go on. “You remember Jenny?”

“Who?” Christian furrowed his eyes digging in his memory for a face that matched the name. “One of the models who starred in my first music video?” 

Christian tried to remember, but he needed more information than that. Over the years he had directed many videos. He accepted almost every request in his earlier career because he needed to get his name out there and he also needed the money. It was almost impossible for him to remember all of them. He had lacked skills, knowledge and experience back then, so many of those visuals weren’t very special to him or carried any meaning at all. Watching those videos now made him cringe. But he was still proud of his work. It what made him what he is today. “We filmed in Itaewon and I accidentally destroyed your camera.” “Oh! Yeah! I definitely remember that!” 

That camera had costed him a fortune. He had so save money for months in order to be able to afford it. It was his most precious possession back then and there was no one that didn’t know how much he loved that camera. However, Dabin ended up dropping it while they were changing locations. It was in the middle of winter, so his hands were frozen when Christian shoved the camera into Dabin’s hand so he could help the staff carry the props.

“Sorry about that by the way. But do you remember the girl you lusted over, but she didn’t give you the time of day?” “Oh! That girl! Right! Jenny! Of course I remember! Man, she was hot! But wasn’t she in a relationship?”

Christian recalled an image of her in his head. He usually wasn’t that interested in models. Though he had to admit they were pleasing to the eyes, they were also a tidbit too skinny for his liking. But Jenny — that girl had the right curves in the right places. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t fantasized about her before. He didn’t have an ideal type, but if he had one he always imagined her to look like Jenny. The fact that he couldn’t have her, made him even more intrigued by her. Christian felt the blood rush through his veins as images of her popped up in front of his imaginary eyes. 

“Well, she’s single now if you’re interested.”

“How do you know?” “We kept in touch. If you want I can set you guys up.”

It didn’t even surprise him that Dabin actually got her number. Dabin was friendly and chummy with almost everyone he met. He didn’t discriminate between male and female when it came to making friends. He had as many female friends as he had guy friends. He was someone that was well liked by everyone of all ages, regardless of gender. Even Christian’s mother was very fond of Dabin. She always asked about him while she didn’t really care about the rest of his crew. “Yeah…why the hell not?” He agreed with a shrug. He had to get over you somehow. If he didn’t, he could end up destroying your friendship and trust. He definitely had to get over you and why not start with someone he found visually and physically appealing?

~*~

[Time Leap]

“So you want me to go on a double date with you and meet some guy you know nothing about, just so you can get laid tonight? Did I get it right?“ You summarized everything that Christian had been trying to tell you for the last half an hour through constant stutters and pauses. Christian usually never beat around the bush, he would just get straight to the point. But today he was having a hard time trying to form cohesive sentences which you found quite amusing. You haven’t really seen him this nervous yet.

“Basically,“ he nodded his head although you couldn’t see him. 

Dun Dun Duuuun! Minhee’s little brother is in town and Christian’s finally acknowledging his feelings for her. Will he really get over her by seeing Jenny? Aaaand a double date - that’s just calling for a disaster isn’t it? Do you think Minhee will agree to go?

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Five: The One with the Burnt Pancakes

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2516

    Coming out of a divorce unscathed was more uncommon than its counterpart. Typically, a bit of baggage attaches itself to one or both parties. No matter whether or not divorce rates are through the roof in today's modern era, it still hurt more than words could describe. Especially when it's due to an affair. It creates this sense of unworthiness, and as though you weren't good enough. And when the pair has a child, it makes it ten times more difficult. Knowing that you'll have to break it to the child that their parents will no longer be together, and that they will most likely spend more time with one in comparison to the other.

But, when your child already has a bit of distaste towards your partner, it can make the blow a little softer. Sure, every mother wants their child to have a relationship with their father, other mom, etc. Whatever the situation is, parents, want that. They want to be able to see their child's face when they see their ex-spouse, but sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it. Especially when your ex never put in the effort, to begin with.

Above all, your perception of love changes. and that's exactly what happened to Lily. She lost all belief in herself and didn't believe she could ever find someone who would love her, along with the baggage that she carried alongside her. And that broken heart that she has yet to mend, and honestly, she wasn't sure if she'd ever find someone who could help. To cup warm hands around the two halves and hold them together until they combined once again.

Other things she deemed impossible, was her sitting in a kitchen with the avengers. Earth’s mightiest heroes. The people that destroyed an entire army. travelled to space. Some even having been ripped out of time and thrown into different roles and periods. These people had stories people couldn't even dream of, lived lives people only wished to be able to experience. And here sat Lily, a single mother of an 11-year-old boy, who lived in a domestic area, and worked as a pediatrician. She was minuscule in comparison to the Gods and soldiers that sat around her.

"So, is Hunter’s father around?" a soft voice asked, an accent dripping from the words. It had pulled Lily out of her thoughts of astonishment, as she tried to wrap her head around what was currently happening.

"Hm? Oh, no," Lily spoke, her voice as soft as the gentle ripple of a pond, while she sipped the coffee they had given her. Glancing up, a few of the superheroes looked at her with inquisitive eyes, wondering where he may be, or if he even was to be anymore, "We uh, we divorced four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the girl continued. Lily had placed her as Scarlet Witch, or Wanda Maximoff. Hunter adored her. He ranted and raved about how cool her abilities were and how she could probably take down an entire army by herself if she wanted to, "He's cute. I've always wanted kids."

Lily nodded along as the conversation continued around her. She stayed as silent as a sleeping lamb, her green eyes glancing around as she tapped her fingers against her coffee mug. She wasn't sure what they wanted her to say. It had been proven time and time again that Lily was the farthest from a talker. Deep inside of her mind, the little voice of self-doubt had convinced her that no one cared about what she had to say. That the only reason people even spoke to her, to begin with, was because it was polite. But she's also been told that the world around her found that shy demeanour endearing, and mysterious. As if she held secrets behind those sealed lips when in reality, Lily was scared that if she spoke, she'd create secrets. Letting the world in on the pain she hid, that she kept locked away in a vault deep within her mind. protecting herself from being destroyed again.

"...So if you ever need a babysitter," Wanda’s voice sang again, yanking Lily away from her deeper thoughts once again, as though the two were tethered. the young blonde's attention perked up as the young girl continued speaking, "I'm your girl."

Was the Scarlet Witch, offering to babysit Lily's eleven-year-old? As in, seriously? Like to pick him up or come down from upstate New York to deliberately take care of him? If it weren't for the fact Lily rarely left the house, and if she did, it was with Hunter, she may have considered the idea. But Lily wasn't one to go out. The noise that came along with the idea of partying or going out on the town always got Lily's heart beating at a much too fast pace. If she was going out, it was to gen's cafe, or with three glasses of wine down and a whole bottle to go. The world was loud and intimidating, and could easily crush Lily's fragile heart and mind with a simple touch. And where would that lead her? Nowhere good, that's where.

"Oh that's sweet, but I don't typically go out, and when I do, he comes with," Lily stated, lips forming a tight smile as she ran her finger along the circular hole atop her mug.

"Really? A girl that's as beautiful as you must get tons of guys and go out on dates. and I see no ring on that finger," the infamous Tony Stark teased while shifting his weight to look at the blonde, "unless there's already a lucky fella."

A laugh of almost disbelief escaped through Lily's full lips as if the idea of Tony Stark calling her beautiful was too good to be true, "Oh no. my best friend tries but I don't date. Already have my hands full with work and Hunter."

"Where do you work?" Steve's voice now chimed in, pushing off the counter he leaned on as Bucky worked away, staying silent. He hadn't spoken a word to Lily since Steve walked her through the threshold of the kitchen, merely a gruff hi before returning to the feverish work he was doing on the pancakes. It was as though he was trying to make them perfect.

"I'm a pediatrician at Mount Sinai Kravis Children's Hospital down in Manhattan," Lily answered, her eyes averting from looking at any of the intimidating people around her. Why were they so interested in her? Why did they seriously care so much about her personal life? She just brought Hunter here for a tour, not an interrogation...was this what people did? Like...they wanted to learn more about her? It didn't make sense, she was pretty basic. There was nothing special to her, Lily thought.

"Oh, that's awesome. I have a few-"

"SHIT!"

The large outburst caused everybody to immediately turn their attention to where it came from. Behind the counter, Bucky was waving smoke away from his face that seemed to be billowing from the pan on the stove. He burnt the pancakes. Lily felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips as she watched him throw a towel at the counter, his face turning a crisp shade of red, like a cherry. The moment his eyes landed on her though, his entire body lit up in a hue of pink it seemed. He grew flustered, biting down on this ever so soft lips he had. Lily was only human, she couldn't help but avert her eyes down to the thin layer of skin. And as if on cue, Wanda let her voice ring through the kitchen.

"Damn it, Barnes! I told you not to cook, and you decide to challenge your abilities in front of our guest?" The ginger exclaimed while standing from her chair, going to help the built man clean his mess.

A few of the others in the room whined, and Lily guessed they had been waiting for a bit to eat. She felt a twang of guilt deep within her, as though it was her fault. But it really wasn't, she wasn't the one making the pancakes. no, she was merely answering the personal questions they all seemed to have for her, as well as constantly glancing at the hall or behind her to see if Hunter was on his way back. Instead, he was now outside with Sam, looking at all of the different artifacts and things that weren't able to be kept inside of the compound.

"You much of a chef, Lily?" James Rhodes (Warmachine, she reminded herself), asked. No matter the amount of mental effort it took, Lily couldn't help but allow the tinge of rose to decorate her full cheeks. They seemed to want to get to know her, and she felt almost...accepted? No, maybe more so welcomed, by these beings of immense power and ability. She allowed her shoulders to relax, and her grip on her mug lessened.

"Nothing impressive, but I do know my way around a kitchen," she responded, tilting her head to the side, causing her blonde locks to dance across her shoulder, "Most nights, I try to make homemade meals for Hunt and I. It's important for a child's development." she finished but noticed how all of their eyes were glued to her. Raising her left eyebrow ever so gently, she let a giggle escape from her throat, "but sometimes I give in and order pizza."

"You should help Bucky out, he's never been the best cook. Got used to boiling everything in the forties, so he makes a mean hot dog," Steve teased, sauntering over in all of his Captain America excellence, "Anything else? Completely lost on him."

"It's a good skill to have. But difficult to master, I suppose." Lily shrugged, crossing her legs over one another as she rested her elbow on the glass table, cupping her chin as she sipped the hot liquid in her cup. She couldn't seem, however, to take her eyes off of the culprit of the burnt pancake smell. The way the muscles in his neck rippled whenever he clenched his jaw. How his metal arm glinted as a small stream of light entered through a window, creating a bright reflection. How his scruff along his chiselled chin seemed to be a bit overgrown underneath.

Her mind began to wander momentarily, a gentle and soft vision dancing itself into her brain. Him sitting on a chair in her bathroom, Lily sitting comfortably on his lap, facing him. His eyes sleepy and his hair unkempt. Her skilled and nimble hand resting on the side of his face as she trimmed underneath his jaw, getting those areas he seemed to miss. His lips parted as he seemed to slowly drift off again, as though Lily's gentle hands were willing him to...

A hand waving in front of her face snatched Lily out of her odd fantasy land. She cleared her throat and looked around her, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, as though she had been paying attention to the whole conversation she just missed. Holding her lips inside of her mouth, Lily shifted once again in her seat, attempting to play it cool as the blush that had formed on her cheeks seemed to grow rapidly.

"Sorry, could you repeat what you said?" she asked, her voice weak as her eyes shifted to look at the man behind the counter once again. She couldn't help it...he was beautiful.

"I said you should help Buck out making the pancakes. Most of us haven't eaten, and if you're as good as you say, maybe you can help." Steve grinned, a knowing glint in his sky blue eyes. The way he looked at Lily, as though he could see inside of her head, sent a shiver down her spine. The idea of anyone knowing where her mind just wandered was basically mortifying for her. Being such a conservative person, the idea of that getting out? Yeah, no.

"Oh no I shouldn't...I'm positive he's capable of making pancakes." Lily chuckled, her voice cracking halfway through. This caught everyone's interest, and Lily had to hide her face with her mug as the dark liquid slid its way down her throat.

"He isn't. We don't normally let him in the kitchen. C'mon Lily, show us whatcha got." Steve continued to pry, leaning back in his chair as the others encouraged the entire idea.

Lily's head turned back to where Bucky stood, an almost pleading yet bashful look gracing his perfectly sculpted features. Just the way his eyes seemed to call out for her, was enough to allow the eldest Osborne to give in to the peer pressure of her new acquaintances. That was something Lily believed to be impossible, being friends with these heroes. These people that laid their life on the ground multiple times, saving her and her son by protecting the world around them. She was in debt to this group, everybody was. They've kept them protected for countless years. But how would one even begin to thank them?

"Okay okay, I'll do it," Lily mumbled, finishing her drink before pushing herself out of the chair that probably cost the same amount as her dog. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist and securing the blonde locks at the nape of her neck as she gracefully floated towards the kitchen. Glancing around, she couldn't help but let out a laugh at how expensive the items around her were. Sure, she didn't live in a house with run-down appliances, but these were top-of-the-line, high-end, see-on Food Channel things. A far reach from Lily's budget, "Well, first of all, Bucky, you need to turn on the fan."

After preparing everything to ensure not only safety but also to optimize space and time, Lily turned towards the man she had just moments ago daydreamed of. For a moment, she found herself lost in those steel-blue eyes he had. As though he had captured the moon and made them his own, adding a tinge of the blue from the sky above. How with every flicker across her face, a story was told. The pain and suffering he had endured etched into the dips and creases of his face, especially around those beautiful orbs. A part of her wished that the other members of the group were gone and that she could grip the sides of his face and kiss those lips he kept licking. His tongue darting out to wet them, creating a slight chapped ring around the pink layer of skin.

"Hey if you two are done gazing into the eyes of each other and looking like Hollister models, the rest of us are hungry." Starks’s voice rang, snapping Lily out of the trance the ex-soldier had put her under for a few seconds.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, coke can," Bucky muttered while turning his gaze away from Lily's and focused on washing the blueberries, "I'm just cleaning fruit."

[letterboxd]

How I Letterboxd #13: Erika Amaral.

Film sociologist Erika Amaral on the blossoming of Brazil’s women filmmakers, the joys of queuing for the movies, the on-fire Brazilian Letterboxd community, and the sentimental attachment of her entire nation to A Dog’s Will.

“It is hard to produce art without institutional support and it is very complicated to produce art during this tragic pandemic.” —Erika Amaral

In the wide world outside of English-language Letterboxd, Brazil occupies a particularly fervent corner. Sāo Paulo-based feminist film theorist Erika Amaral has connected with many other local film lovers through her Letterboxd profile, and for anyone with an interest in Cinema Brasileiro, her lists are an excelente place to start.

From her personal introduction to Brazilian film history, to her own attempts to fill gaps in her Latin American cinematic knowledge, Erika’s well-curated selections are a handy primer on the cinema of the fifth-largest country in the world, and its neighbors. These lists sit alongside her finely judged academic deep-dives into filmmakers such as Luis Buñuel, Glauber Rocha and Sarah Bernhardt.

Endlessly fascinated by how “the history of cinema is all intertwined”, Erika has also written on Jia Zhangke for Rosebud Club, is an Ana Carolina stan, enjoys collecting films directed by women featuring mirrors and women, and, like all of us, watched many remarkable movies during quarantine.

Suzana Amaral (left, rear) with cast and crew on the set of her film ‘A Hora da Estrela’ (Hour of the Star, 1985).

Olá, Erika. Please give our readers a brief introduction to your brilliant Introduction to Brazilian Film History list. I’m so happy to see this list getting popular! I’m a sociologist interested in film and gender studies. It’s been four years since I started studying Brazilian film history but my passion for film is much older. I tried to combine those two aspects in this list; films that are meaningful to me, historically relevant films, and historically relevant films erased from film-history books, for instance, those directed by women. The main purpose of my list is to highlight Brazilian women filmmakers’ fundamental contributions to Brazilian cinema.

I listed some absolute classics such as Hour of the Star by the late director Suzana Amaral, and other obscure gems such as The Interview, by Helena Solberg, which is a short feature released in 1966 alongside the development of Cinema Novo. Solberg’s work was hidden for decades. No-one knew about it. In Brazil, especially in the field of film studies and feminist theories, we are experiencing the blossoming of public debates, books being released, and film festivals that look specifically into films such as Solbergs’s and [those of] many other women directors, including Adélia Sampaio, the first Black female director to release a feature film in Brazil in 1984, Amor Maldito. We need these debates on Letterboxd as well, so I wrote this list in English.

As a representative of the passionate Brazilian community on Letterboxd, can you provide some insight into the site’s popularity where you live, especially for those of us who have not learned Brazilian Portuguese? I feel at home using Letterboxd. Everywhere I see Brazilian members posting reviews in both Portuguese and English. It’s a passionate community. It’s directly related to Twitter where Brazilian cinephiles are so active and productive, always sharing film memes (and even Letterboxd memes). Many content creators are using both Letterboxd and Twitter to showcase their podcasts, classes and film clubs. I once started a talk at a university for film students mentioning that my Masters research project came into life when I watched Amélia, showing my mind-blown Letterboxd review in the presentation. I follow many of those students now and it is so good to be connected. Brazilian Film Twitter and [the] Brazilian Letterboxd community are on fire!

Alexandre Rodrigues as Buscapé in ‘City of God’ (2002), directed by Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund.

When uninitiated cinephiles think about Brazilian cinema, City of God is most likely top of the list. It’s the only Brazilian film to be nominated for Best Director at the Academy Awards (despite co-director Kátia Lund being shut out!) and it’s the only Brazilian film in IMDb’s Top 250. After nearly 20 years, is it fair for City of God to represent Brazil? Of course, it is fair for City of God to represent Brazil! The only problem is if we think all Brazilian cinema is exclusively City of God. The film is entertaining, well-directed, has a great cast, but it has some flaws—for example, the aestheticization of violence and misery in Brazil, which scholar Ivana Bentes calls the “cosmetics of hunger”. Even so, it is a great film and it captivated Brazilian and international audiences. We shouldn’t limit any country to only one or two films.

If you enjoy City of God, check my list for Brazilian films directed by women in this period, which we call “Cinema da Retomada”—the renaissance of Brazilian cinema after the economic problems [that] hampered the film industry in the 1990s.

Selton Mello and Matheus Nachtergaele in beloved Brazilian comedy ‘O Auto da Compadecida’ (A Dog’s Will, 2000).

Several Brazilian films have stunningly high ratings on Letterboxd, giving them a place on many of our official lists. This includes A Dog’s Will, which is in the top ten of our all-time Top 250. On Letterboxd, A Dog’s Will reviews are cleanly divided into two camps: Brazilians (who absolutely love it) and everyone else (who fail to understand its popularity). What drives this home-team spirit? People truly love A Dog’s Will! It’s funny, has a fantastic rhythm, and it references many aspects of Brazilian culture, especially regarding north-eastern Brazilian culture. It was shown both as a film and as a miniseries infinite times on the largest and most popular television channel in Brazil. I can’t help mentioning that A Dog’s Will portrays Jesus Christ as a black man and Fernanda Montenegro as Brazil’s patron saint, Nossa Senhora Aparecida. It’s a brilliant moment for Matheus Nachtergaele, one of the greatest Brazilian actors ever.

Can you offer us a ‘Gringo’s Guide to A Dog’s Will’? I love the idea of a ‘Gringo’s Guide to A Dog’s Will’! You need to have good subtitles. The beauty of A Dog’s Will is that it is regional but it was made to be understandable to all of Brazil. You are going to need subtitles that [cover] the expressions, slang and proverbs—not mere translations. I would recommend watching some other films from north-eastern Brazil; Land of São Saruê, Love for Sale and Ó Paí Ó: Look at This. This can help you understand other social and cultural dimensions of Brazil beyond, for instance, City of God. A Dog’s Will is a movie that we would watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon with the family, so we have a strong sentimental attachment to it.

Leonardo Villar bears the weight of a cross in ‘The Given Word’ (1964).

Religion plays an important role in Brazilian cinema—for example, one of the few Brazilian films to win the Palme d’Or is the masterful The Given Word. Is this connection a part of what makes Brazilian cinema so potent for the local community? Religious symbolism and religious beliefs are extremely significant in Brazilian cinema. Its presence in cinema seems to address our daily challenges, rituals, history, but not always apologetically—as you can see in the despair of Zé do Burro in The Given Word. Religion does not seem to help him. There’s nowhere to run. The spiritual belief, as well as the cross itself, is a weight on his shoulders.

So you see, religion in Brazilian cinema is so potent because we can think beyond it, we can understand how people relate to their beliefs and how sometimes religion can fail a person. That’s what happens when a priest falls in love with a local girl (The Priest and the Girl), when a curse falls upon a man who turns against his people (The Turning Wind), when we teach fear and sin to young girls (Heart and Guts), when religion becomes a determining way of life that does not pay back efforts (Divine Love), when we accept the possibility of going against religious institutions (José Mojica Marin’s, AKA Coffin Joe, films).

We have all these movies fascinated by religion and how it creates meaning in our society. This is just from Christianity, because if we think of African and Indigenous heritage, we have another whole dimension of films to reflect upon, such as Noirblue and the documentary Ex-Pajé.

We have some Brazilian films in our Official Top 100 by Women Directors list, including The Second Mother, which sits in the top five with City of God. Who are some overlooked female Brazilian filmmakers that you want to celebrate and put on our map? Undoubtedly Juliana Rojas and Gabriela Amaral Almeida. They’re both on the horror scene and their work is astonishing. I strongly recommend Hard Labor and Rojas’ latest film Good Manners (if you are into werewolves). I can’t even pick one for Almeida—The Father’s Shadow and Friendly Beast are awesome. Beatriz Seigner’s The Silences—filmed in the frontier between Brazil, Colombia, and Peru—is really impactful. Glenda Nicácio’s films, co-directed with Ary Rosa, are among my favorite recent Brazilian films. Watch To the End immediately!

Eduardo Coutinho’s ‘Twenty Years Later’ (1984).

Brazilian documentarian Eduardo Coutinho has not one, not two, but three of his films in the Official Top 100 Documentaries list, including the all-time number one Twenty Years Later. Can you describe Coutinho’s significance in Brazil? Coutinho is a monument! Coutinho is an institution! Coutinho is everything. His works are of strong political importance, as you can see in Twenty Years Later. A movie he was making in 1964 was interrupted by the dictatorship installed in Brazil, and the main actor and activist, João Pedro Teixeira, was murdered, then his wife Elizabeth Teixeira had to flee and change her identity.

The documentary follows Coutinho and his crew looking for the actors from his movie from twenty years before. Later, his works developed many different tones and formats as you can see in Playing, an experimental portrayal of real women and their personal experiences side-by-side with actresses representing their real-life events as if in a play. Playing was one of the mandatory films to be analyzed for [my] Film School entrance exam, so I had to watch it a million times in 2017. His works are profound studies on Brazilian people and culture—piercing, but also delicate.

Contemporary documentaries are also doing well; Petra Costa’s latest, The Edge of Democracy, was nominated for an Oscar, and Emicida: AmarElo – It’s All for Yesterday was briefly Letterboxd’s highest-rated film late last year. How are these docs tapping into the zeitgeist? Those are both very different films. Emicida is part of a strong and structured movement against racism, against the marginalization of Black people, against limiting the access to art and culture to certain social groups, which is a common practice in the history of this country. Petra Costa’s documentary is another form of reflection on contemporary politics but in a melancholic tone since, recently in Brazil, we have been facing political storms such as the impeachment of ex-president Dilma Roussef, the imprisonment of ex-president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva (who has recently been declared not guilty), and rising far-right politicians. Not to mention another of our losses, the still-unsolved killing of Marielle Franco, a Black and lesbian political representative. These films have helped us face these difficulties and try to gather some hope for the future.

Bárbara Colen (center) and villagers in ‘Bacurau’ (2019).

How has Brazil’s cinema industry been affected by the one-two punch of the pandemic on top of ongoing social and political issues? And, can you talk a bit about how the acclaimed Cannes-winner Bacurau shocked the nation two years ago, and in what ways the film confronted these problems? This question is challenging because there’s so much happening. At this moment, we have 428,000 deaths [from] Covid and we are still mourning the Jacarézinho favela massacre in Rio de Janeiro. We have very troubled political representatives that are not fighting Covid in an adequate way to say the least, and we have had major cut downs in the cultural sector since, in Brazil, a lot of artistic and cultural projects are developed with governmental incentives. It is hard to produce art without institutional support and it is very complicated to produce art during this tragic pandemic.

Right before this chaos, we had Bacurau. Actually, I have a pleasant anecdote about my experience with Bacurau. Everybody was talking about how it was going to premiere at a special event with the presence of its directors. We had some expectations regarding the premiere because it was going to be free of charge and it would take place at the heart of São Paulo, the Avenida Paulista, in an immense theater.

We arrived at 1pm to form a line and people were there already. I discovered through Twitter that the first boy in line was hungry so I gave him a banana. I had brought a lot of snacks. The line was part of the event, and it got so long you couldn’t believe it. It was great to see so many friends and people gathered to see a movie—and such an important movie! There weren’t enough seats for everyone but they exhibited the film in two different rooms so more people could enjoy it.

I love everything about that day and I think it helps me to have some perspective on cinema, culture, politics and what we can accomplish by working collectively—people uniting to fight dirty politicians, people joining forces to fight social menaces, generosity, empathy, fight for justice and the power of the masses.

The life of 17th-century nun Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz is explored in María Luisa Bemberg’s ‘Yo, la Peor de Todas’ (I, the Worst of All, 1990).

Would you like to highlight some films from your neighboring countries? I have been watching some fascinating films from South America. Bolivian filmmaker Jorge Sanjinés has an extensive filmography and his films were the first to portray characters speaking Aymara. I really like his Ukamau. I also love Argentine director María Luisa Bemberg’s films, such as I, the Worst of All. I’m currently studying Jayro Bustamante’s La Llorona, from Guatemala. I have no words to say how incendiary this film is. You’ll have to watch it for yourself!

Who are three Brazilian members that you recommend we all follow? Firstly, I recommend you follow my beautiful partner in crime and cinema, Pedro Britto. Secondly, a fantastic painter and avid researcher of Maya Deren and Agnès Varda, my adored friend Tainah Negreiros. Finally, I recommend you follow Gustavo Menezes, who is the author of many excellent lists [about] Brazilian cinema. He’s also the co-founder of a streaming platform called Cinelimite, which everyone should take a look at.

Related content

Silvia’s Cinema Novo list

Gabriela’s Cinema Brasileiro master list

Serge’s list of films that have won the Grande Otelo (Grande Prêmio de Cinema Brasileiro for Best Film)

Follow Erika on Letterboxd, Tumblr and in print

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[to-star-lake]

ether [ pt. 3 ]

pairing | pjm/jjk x reader genre | angst, love triangle word count | 6.6k rating | M, 18+

You placed the large garment box gently on the floor of your apartment beside the couch and looked at it, wondering what to do.

You thought back to how pleasantly Jimin reacted to your telling him about Jungkook. The way he simply smiled and candidly admitted to you how he thought it was sweet that Jungkook finally confessed his feelings for you. How there was not a single ounce of judgement or anger to be found in his eyes, smiling sweetly.

But you thought of Jungkook, about how terribly he reacted to the possibility of you being with Jimin, at how he wanted to take things slow with you, to get it right. You bent down, carefully sliding the box under the couch, putting it out of your thoughts, deciding that you wouldn’t attend the event with Jimin. You wanted things to work out too, you wanted to do this right. And it would not be a good idea to antagonize Jungkook with something like this.

You walked into your bedroom, sliding your clothes off before deciding to take a bath. And when you were done, you slipped into your pajamas, and sat down at the edge of your bed, and saw the screen of your phone light up with an incoming text.

Taehyung: Yo, wanna get lunch tomorrow?

You thought about it for a moment, and returned to your text history and opened your messages with Jungkook.

Hey, Tae just invited me for lunch tomorrow. Would you wanna go?

You stared down at the words you wrote and wondered why you were nervous to ask this. You hit the back button a few times and made some edits.

Hey! Tae invited me for lunch tomorrow, you should come with!

Ugh, too peppy. You deleted everything and rewrote it again.

Hey, Tae just invited me for lunch tomorrow, do you wanna come with?

You held your breath and hit the little blue button to send, berating yourself in your head for obsessing over how to word a simple text. To your surprise, you saw three little dots pop up on the left hand side almost immediately.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and with a little whooshing sound, a reply came.

Jungkook: What time?

You smiled, quickly typing a response. Probably around 12-12:30?

Jungkook: I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, but I’ll let you know ok?

You felt your heart sink at this response and your hands dropped in your lap, but quickly felt silly for reacting this way. It’s not as though he’s saying no, he just has stuff he needs to do, probably errands or laundry, you rationalized in your head. You decided to try to not let it get to you and flipped over to Taehyung’s message, typing a response. Yep, sounds good. JK might come too.

Taehyung: Sweet. Yoongi’s coming too.

-

The restaurant Taehyung picked for lunch was absolutely packed when you arrived. You looked around at the bustling tables, waiters carrying large plates of food through the aisles, playing human dodgeball with the guests getting up and or sitting down.

“Y/N! Over here!”

You followed the sound of the voice, and saw Taehyung seated with Yoongi at a table in the back corner and you made your way over.

“Hey guys,” you greeted them as you took a seat in the booth beside Taehyung. “Yoongi, I haven’t seen you in so long, how have you been? I heard just got back from Spain, how was it?”

“It was lovely,” he responded simply. You smiled at this, Yoongi was always so straightforward. Not curt, but he always only said exactly what was necessary and not a word more. He was always a nice contrast to Taehyung, who’s constantly talking about some kind of nonsense or another.

“Where’s JK? I thought you said he was coming,” Taehyung asked as the waitress walked away with your menus after taking your orders.

“Oh, uh” you glanced down at your phone which you’d been clutching in your hand the whole morning, expecting a text from him. “He said he might, but he’s pretty busy today.”

“Sooo what’s going on there?”

You looked up and saw Taehyung staring at you, face resting against his hand, elbow propped up on the table, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” he rolled his eyes. “You and JK? You and that guy you left with at the bar on Friday? Spill.”

You took a sip of one of the bloody marys the waitress brought over for the table and told Taehyung and Yoongi everything from the past two days.

“So then he gives me this giant Chanel box, I haven’t opened it yet, but I guess since Jungkook and I talked, I don’t think I’m gonna go with Jimin to that event. But I thought things would be great since JK and I talked about us, you know? So I asked him to come out to lunch today, but he’s doing that thing again, where he’s being distant. He hasn’t said anything to me at all today...what?” you looked up to see Taehyung’s brows wrinkled in a frown at you.

“Y/N, babe,” he reached out and patted your hand condescendingly. “What’s wrong with playing the field?” he lifted his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “On the one hand, you’ve got JK, who you finally found out that after years of you liking him, he likes you too. On the other hand, you have this guy who is rich as fuck, who’s driving you around in a McLaren P1, buying you expensive things, and asking you out to fancy dates? What the hell’s wrong with you, what’s that depressed look on your face for? Just enjoy it! Yoongi, back me up here!” he gestured at a quiet Yoongi, who sat across from the two of you, listening while taking sips of black coffee, saying nothing.

“Tae, that doesn’t help. Look, I want to commit to something with JK since we talked, but it’s just- I don’t know, I still feel like something’s off, like he’s saying all the right things, but he’s still being distant-”

“Why do you like JK?” you heard Yoongi say.

You looked at him, astonished that he’s actually participating in this conversation, the type of conversation he would normally prefer to stay out of because it was ‘shenanigans.’

“Well, I mean, I’ve liked him since college..”

“That’s not why you like him.”

“I know,” you pursed your lips, thinking. “He’s gets me. He’s a perfect complement to me. I’m a bit messy, and he’s super neat. I work off my gut, and he’s deliberate and methodical. And he always seems to know exactly what I need - a chill night in, just sitting on the couch eating junk food, or watching a sad movie just to cry it out.”

“Mhmm, and do you like this Jimin?” Yoongi asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“I mean..I do..I did,” you quickly corrected, staring down at your plate of food, pushing a french fry around.

“And why do you like him?”

You thought about this for a moment. Yoongi’s question brought to mind images of Jimin’s eyes, smiling sweetly at you from behind strands of his silver hair being blown by the breeze, shimmering in the afternoon sun, holding onto your hand, laughing his infectious laugh.

“He’s so...light..” you began. “I feel..everything’s just so easy with him, he’s so light, he’s always smiling, always laughing. Even when something is serious, he has such a childlike and bright-eyed disposition towards it…he makes me want to run around in the grass with him and just laugh all day..” You looked up to see Yoongi looking down at the cup of coffee in front of him, his hand lingering on the handle.

“Y/N, I’m gonna say something, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he prefaced before continuing. “I mean, listen to the way you just described the two of them. Are you sure you really like JK? Or do you just like that after years of wanting him, you’ve finally got your prize, and the fact that he makes you feel like you’re always on the verge of losing him is just keeping you tethered to him for no good reason?”

You frowned at this. “No, that’s not true, I love JK.” You said the words and you heard the way you said it, placing that emphasis on the word love, as though you were trying to convince them of it. You sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I’ve loved him for years..”

You turned and looked up at Taehyung, who exchanged a nervous glance with Yoongi.

He leaned over to look at you. “Yoongi’s right, Y/N, like, your eyes literally lit up when you started talking about Jimin.”

You scooted back in your seat, shaking your head. “No, he’s just a distraction, the only reason I even left with him on Friday night was because I was jealous of the way Yuri was all over JK,” you muttered, tightening your grip around the fork in your hand. “You guys just don’t understand.”

-

You threw your purse onto the table when you walked into the apartment, plopping down onto the couch, huffing at the whole conversation you just had with Yoongi and Taehyung.

They just don’t get it, you thought. They weren’t there when Jungkook comforted you over your breakup with your ex. They weren’t there every time he would show up at your door, the way he would take care of you, making you food, knowing exactly how you like your coffee made, letting you hog the blanket whenever the two of you were snuggled together on the couch watching a movie because he knew you were always cold. He got you.

Then you heard Taehyung’s voice in your head - Your eyes literally lit up when you started talking about Jimin.

Looking down, you saw the corner of the garment box sticking out from under your couch. You reached down and picked it up, setting it down on the coffee table. You stared at the top for a few moments before reaching down, tugging the giant satin bow loose. You brushed the excess ribbon away and lifted the top open.

You gently flipped through the layers of tissue paper and heard yourself gasp when you saw the dress. As gently as possible, you lifted the delicate silk material up by two thin gossamer strings that held up a bodice of lace, silk, and tiny crystals, sewn into the lining. You set the dress down into its little tissue paper bed and stood up, pacing through your living room.

Are you sure you really like JK? You heard Yoongi’s voice in your head say.

You stopped in front of the coffee table, looking down at the dress, and decided you would go to Jimin’s event tonight. It’ll prove once and for all that you don’t actually have any feelings for him, you only loved Jungkook. And maybe as a fringe benefit, you’d still be able to have Jimin as a friend going forward.

-

It was 7:55 and you were standing in the courtyard of your apartment complex, pacing, moving about stiffly because you had no idea how to move in such a delicate dress, afraid you might step on the hem or accidentally tear one of the straps if your range of motion was too big.

“Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and saw Jimin standing in the stone entryway, hands in his pockets, eyes wide, staring at you as you turned around, his lips parting slightly.

He was wearing a black sweater, tucked neatly into a pair of black pants, under a long gray coat, a silver chain hanging around his neck, matching the silver of his hair blowing easily in the wind.

“H-Hey..” you brushed at the gown nervously. “Um..I didn’t hear your car come up.”

He took a few steps toward you. “I took the limo,” he reached his hands out and took you by the hands, spinning you around. “It comes with a driver,” he looked at you, eyes soft and slightly tired. “This is unbelievable..”

You felt your cheeks become hot. “Oh no, am I wearing this dress wrong? It’s just, I’ve never seen a dress so fancy it doesn’t even come with a tag, I couldn’t tell which was the front and which was the back,” you looked down at the dress, embarrassed. “Or is it the hair, is it too much?” you reached a hand up, tugging at your wavy strands.

He reached out and took your hands in his, waiting til you settled enough to look him in his eyes. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice soft.

He led you out to the limousine where the driver stood, holding the door open for you. You got in, and Jimin slid into the seat adjacent from you, beside the window.

He sat quietly in his seat the entire drive to the venue.

You watched him nervously, looking up occasionally at his profile as he rested his elbow on the edge of the window, his fingers brushing at his lips as he looked out the window. You’d never seen him like this, you thought. He didn’t look upset or anything, but he wasn’t his usual cheery, smiling self. You wondered if something was wrong.

When the limousine came to a stop and the driver came around the open the door, Jimin stepped out first, holding a hand out to help you step out onto the sidewalk to an imposing glass and marble entrance, lined with lights, a row of black town cars and limousines along the sidewalk, backed up into the street, full of people who must’ve also been attending this event.  

He led you into the venue, to an elevator that rose 60 stories above the city, opening up to a rooftop terrace.

“Wow..” you gasped when the elevator doors opened, and you stepped out onto the stone terrace. There were men and women dressed in evening gowns and suits, some standing in clusters, engaged in conversation, others seated in sofas and chairs that looked like they were made of vintage upholstery, sipping drinks from crystal glasses, as an amber sun rose below a purple horizon in the distance.

“What..kind of work event is this?” you asked, eyes wide.

Jimin finally laughed, taking your hand and leading you to the bar.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call your name as Jimin picked up two glasses of champagne and handed one to you.

You turned and saw Namjoon walk up, eyes squinted in disbelief at the sight of you in that gown.

“Hey, Namjoon, what are you doing here?” you reached an arm up around his neck, giving him a hug, surprised to see him at such an event.

“One of my investors invited me here tonight. The better question is what are you doing here, looking like that?” his jaw dropped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, staring at you.

You laughed, “Um, I’m here with a friend, this is Jimin..”

Jimin held out his hand to Namjoon, “Hi man, how do you do?”

“Holy shit, Park Jimin? Oh shit, I mean, oh crap, sorry please excuse me, I just,” Namjoon stuttered, shaking his hand, utter shock on his face. “I didn’t know you were Park Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you turned and saw an older gentleman walk up to the bar, arm in arm with a woman in a black evening gown who you assumed must’ve been his wife based on the giant art deco ring on her left hand. “Happy birthday, my boy,” he said, reaching a hand out.

Jimin stood back, shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“What a lovely event as always, dear, we look forward to this all year,” his wife smiled, picking up a glass of champagne from the bar.

“Is your father around?” the older gentleman asked.

You saw Jimin’s jaw clench at the question.

“No, I haven’t seen him yet. I’ll be sure to tell him to find you when I see him,” he said, and you felt goosebumps rise on your skin, shuddering slightly upon seeing his eyes suddenly go dark at the question, his tone coming out with a cold and stern edge, a severe departure from the sunny and cheery disposition you were used to seeing him with.

“Be sure to have him give us the name of his event planner too, will you dear? This is absolutely marvelous, I must have them plan my next party,” his wife asked as they both turned to walk away.

“Certainly,” Jimin answered, and as soon as they turned their backs, you watched as he raised the champagne chute to his lips, downing the entire drink in one gulp. “Whiskey neat,” he said to one of the bartenders, setting the empty glass down.

“Yo, Jimin!”

You opened your mouth to say something but the voice of someone calling Jimin’s name stopped you before you could. Across a few clusters of people gathered in conversation, you saw a young man about Jimin’s height, with black hair slicked back, in a sharp suit and tie, bearing a remarkable resemblance to Jimin, motioning for him to go over.

The bartender set the whiskey glass on the counter in front of him and he lifted it to his lips, downing it before turning to you, and obviously forcing a smile, said, “Please wait here a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Dude, so that guy from the bar on Friday was Park Jimin? Holy shit, you are here with Park Jimin?” Namjoon gushed, punching you in the arm jokingly. “Duuude, nice pull, Y/N!”

“He didn’t tell me it was his birthday..” you said softly to yourself, staring after him as he approached the young man with the black hair, who held his arms out for a hug while Jimin hesitated for a moment, before returning his hug.

“Huh? What was that?” Namjoon asked, taking a sip of champagne.

“Namjoon, who’s that guy Jimin’s talking to?” you asked, gesturing over toward the two of them.

“Oh, that’s Park Jihyun. Oooh he must be Jimin’s younger brother. Oh man, I guess I should’ve known that when I saw Jimin, it all makes sense now, they look so much alike, he’s basically an older version of Jihyun.”

He has a little brother? You thought to yourself, looking at the two of them, Jihyun smiling, holding onto Jimin’s shoulder and walking him around to various guests to greet them, and Jimin obliged, forcing a smile.

The evening dragged on and you sat on a sofa with Namjoon, chatting with a few of his colleagues that were also at the party and losing count of how many glasses of champagne you’ve had.  You couldn’t tear your gaze from Jimin, who was pulled from group to group. He would occasionally look around for you, and when his eyes met yours, he would mouth the words “I’m sorry” and you’d muster a smile, shaking your head, mouthing “it’s okay” back to him.

“Hey, Namjoon, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” you stood, heading back into the building, tipsy and struggling to find your balance in your heels.  

At the end of the hall, you saw a sign for the ladies room and pushed the door open to a dimly lit powder room, with a large vintage mirror above bronze sinks, a velvet sofa in the corner, and a group of girls who turned and stared at you as you entered, halting all conversation.

You smiled nervously, and walked over to one of the sinks, running cold water over your hands and patting your warm cheeks. You looked at your reflection, wondering what the heck you were doing here.

“Excuse me,” you said softly, ducking behind one of the girls and picked up a cloth towel from a marble vanity plate and dried your hands before turning and walking out.

“Oh my god, is that her?” you heard one of them say as the bathroom door closed behind you.

“I’ve never seen her around before,” another chimed in.

“She’s obviously not a society girl, I mean, did you see her hair? She probably did it herself. What’s Jimin thinking?” the third one said and the three of them burst into laughter.

You scoffed, turning and walking back down the hallway, saw Jimin and Jihyun walk across the open space down the other corridor. You turned the corner and saw them enter a room at the end of the hall, and you followed behind them, stopping beside the slightly ajar double mahogany doors.

“Happy birthday, son,” you heard a voice say.

Through the crack in the door you saw Jimin seated in a leather armchair, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Across from him sat an older man in a dark navy suit, his grey hair expertly groomed, wisps of white at his temples, and Jihyun stood beside his chair.

You quickly turned, leaning back against the wall, knowing that this was a private conversation, but still wanting to know what’s happening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back from your trip for this,” you heard Jimin say.

“Don’t be absurd, of course I’m going to attend my son’s birthday celebration,” you heard the man say.

Jimin sighed, “You’re not actually here for my birthday, so why don’t we just cut to the chase and you tell me what’s going on?”

Peeking through the crack in the door, you saw Jihyun hand a stack of papers to Jimin.

“What’s this?” he asked, flipping through the pages.

“I’m taking over Park Industries,” Jihyun announced, standing up tall, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Jimin looked up at him for a moment, and then looked at his father. He scoffed, nodding and tossing the stack of papers aside onto a table, standing up. “That’s great, Jihyun, I’m really proud of you. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go back outside-”

“Sit down, son,” his father said. “There’s no reason for you to take this tone, you’ve known for a while now that this would be happening.”

“And it’s not like we’re cutting you out. You’re still on the board, you still own 16% of the enterprise,” Jihyun added.

You saw Jimin nod again, and turn to walk towards the door, and you quickly backed away.

“Jimin, Jimin, wait,” you heard Jihyun call out as Jimin threw the door open, walking out, and you had already turned the corner down the hall. “Jimin, he asked me to take over the company officially two weeks ago, what was I supposed to do, say no? I’ve already been helping him with everything for a couple of years, and you haven’t even been around-”

“Jihyun, what are you doing?” you heard Jimin say. “I mean, all your life, you’ve done exactly what he said. Boarding school, Stanford, Wharton, and now this? Don’t you wanna live your life? You wanna be his slave your whole life?”

“That’s not fair..”

You heard Jimin’s steps moving closer and Jihyun’s voice stopped him. “Jimin, dad also wants to know when he can officially announce your engagement with Miya.”

You felt all air escape your lungs.

“Who’s that girl you brought here tonight? All the other girls were talking about it. You shouldn’t be so unscrupulous, you’re lucky Miya is in France with her family this month.”

“Jihyun, I’m not getting engaged to Miya.”

You heard Jihyun let out an exasperated sigh. “Brother, can you please for once in your life just do the right thing?”

A few moments of silence passed before you heard Jimin respond. “Can you for once in your life just do something for yourself?”

You turned quickly, running towards the elevators in the opposite corridor. You’d heard enough. You hit the button to call the elevator and the door opened and you stepped inside, hitting the lobby button repeatedly, hoping the door would close before Jimin emerged from the hallway and saw you.

When the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened, you flew threw them, across the marble reception, and outside onto the sidewalk. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest, and you clutched onto your stomach, wondering why there was such a painful knot in your gut. You thought you had to get out of there.

Reaching into your purse, you took out your phone, scrolling to Jungkook’s name and hitting the ‘call’ button. It rang and rang and rang, and finally it went to voicemail. You held the phone in your hand, anxiously opening a text message to him.

“Y/N?”

You looked up and saw Jimin walking down the steps from the entrance toward you.

“Are you alright?” he reached a hand out to take your hand but you turned away. “Y/N, what’s happened,” he asked sternly, putting his hands in his pockets.

You took a deep breath before turning to face him. “I heard your conversation just now,” you began, as steadily as you could manage in this moment with your adrenaline pumping and your heart racing a mile a minute. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I was just coming out of the bathroom and saw you and your brother..”

He listened to you calmly, an unreadable expression on his face.

“All of this, Jimin?” you looked around at the black limousines lined up along the sidewalk, the groups of men and women in designer clothes, at the tall glass and steel building where his birthday party was being held. “It’s not me, like I couldn’t be further removed from this whole other world you live in.”

You looked back at him and froze, seeing him looking back at you, the corners of his mouth dropped, his jaw tight, and his eyes glassy under the light of the street lamps.

He looked away, laughing softly, sniffing. “It’s not me either,” he turned back to face you, a dejected smile on his face.

“Jimin..” you regretted how harshly your words came out.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, looking at the phone in your hand and you looked down at the half composed message you were writing to Jungkook. You looked up and saw Jimin still smiling back at you and you felt a heavy weight on your chest. “Don’t leave,” he said quietly. “Please.”

-

“When my mother passed away six years ago,” he continued, refilling the empty glasses in front of you with a cold bottle of tequila. “I took it really hard.”

You sat on the soft cushions of the bench in a large bay window of Jimin’s penthouse apartment, wrapped in a chenille blanket. He had changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and sat across from you, one leg propped up, the other hanging over the edge of the bench, taking a shot from the glass. The large open space of his apartment was completely quiet except for his soft voice and yours, and the light pitter patter of rain hitting the window.

“That’s completely understandable, it was your mom..” you said quietly, also drinking the shot he poured you.

He let out a wry laugh. “Not for my father,” he poured another shot. “I quit Penn for a few years and kinda went on a bender. In retrospect, it’s my fault that my brother’s getting locked into my dad’s plans. If I hadn’t left, maybe my dad would’ve gone easier on him, I could’ve taken some of the hit.” He tossed another shot back and you did the same.

“But you know, sometimes I look at Jihyun and..I mean sometimes I think he actually really wants this. He actually wants to take over the company. It’s not some kind of obligation for him, he really wants it. And not for the prestige, he just...he just really wants to do the right thing for our father.” He sighed, shaking his head. “How’d he get this kind of discipline? I certainly didn’t set the example for him. All I did was run around doing whatever I wanted, I had no sense of responsibility.” He sighed, catching your gaze. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

You looked back at him, confused. “Look at you like what?”

“Like you empathize with me,” he said, looking down. “Like you understand.”

You were taken aback by this, frowning, “You don’t want me to understand you? You want me to look at you coldly and say some generic shit like don’t worry, it’s all gonna work out? I’m trying to be supportive-”

He leaned forward, cupping your face in his hand, and pressed his lips to yours.

“Mm, Jimin, stop..” you mumbled against him, pushing him away gently.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he pulled away, his hand lingering at your jaw. “I’ve been so good all night, keeping my distance, but you looking at me like that, like I know that you understand and hear me, it makes me crazy..”

“Jimin-”

You felt his hand slide to the base of your neck, his thumb gliding across your skin, taking ahold of you. He leaned forward, molding his lips against yours once again, and you felt your eyelids fall shut, like an involuntary response to the feeling of his lips on yours, like you couldn’t help it.

He scooted closer to you, reaching his arms down around your waist, pulling you into him and felt your muscles relax against him, but quickly caught yourself.

“Mm, no, Jimin, wait,” you stood up, backing away clumsily, shaking your head. “I can’t, I can’t do this,” you turned and moved towards the front door, putting all the energy you could control in your drunken haze into defying the magnetic pull you felt towards him that was keeping you from walking away.

“Y/N…” you looked up, hearing Jimin call out your name and saw him walk towards you, his shoulders slumped down, a shadow over his eyes.

You sat down onto the floor, wrangling with the straps on your heels in agitation, your mind foggy and clouded with frustration and confusion, unsure what to do. You heard him take in a deep breath, before kneeling down in front of you, touching your hands gently. He reached for the straps of your heels, tying them with ease. He took your hands and helped you stand, and refused to let go.

“Jimin-”

He stepped forward, making you take a step back, and you felt the cold of the concrete door hitting your back. You felt him grab ahold of your wrists, pinning them behind you and holding them there with one hand. With his free hand he grabbed your jaw, lifting your face up to his, and pushed his lips into yours.

You looked at him, wide-eyed, fighting every urge to close your eyes, the sensation of his lips against yours, his hand sliding down to the base of your neck, pushing you against the door behind you, his body pressing against yours firmly, making it difficult to turn away.

He let your hands go, but you felt the palm of his hand against your hip, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you against him, not allowing you the space to move.

“Jimin-” you managed to get out through the movements of his lips against yours. His lips are so warm, you thought, and so soft against yours. The warmth of his body against you, the smell of his cologne thinning the air around you made you dizzy and you felt your eyes fluttering closed as your ability to fight waned, you felt as though you were melting against his body.

You were barely able to lift your arms up, your hands forming tiny, ineffectual fists against his chest as his lips slid to the corner of your mouth, tracing your jaw, finding your neck. The feeling of his lips, the heat of his breath on the skin of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

“Jimin..” you panted through his movements, feeling his hand slide down the side of your thigh. He pulled your leg up and wrapped it around his hips, and you felt a moan escape your throat as he pushed his pelvis against you and you could feel how hard he was through the thin material of your dress now bunched up at your waist.

You made a feeble attempt to push his chest away, “Jimin, we can’t do this-”

At your words, you felt his lips open against the base of your neck, and you felt his tongue sliding over your skin. “So tell me to stop,” he whispered against your skin, the low and resonating sound of his voice sending waves through your body. But you were unable to say anything, the words refused to come out.

He slid his hands over your shoulders, brushing the straps of your dress loose and he tugged at the material forcefully and you heard the sound of the fabric tearing. He pulled the dress from your body, letting it drop to the floor. Reaching around you, he unhooked your lace bralette with ease, tossing it aside before reaching down and looping his fingers around the satin ties of your panties, untying them and letting them fall to the floor.

He stood, looking at your naked body before him for a moment, his chest rising and falling, out of breath and in an instant, his lips found yours again, this time with more force, pushing your mouth open and his tongue fell on yours, completely overpowering you. Your head fell back languidly, as though your limbs had succumbed entirely to him, turning to jello. You felt his hands reaching around you, tracing the dimples in your back before sliding down, taking your ass in his hands, squeezing roughly.

“Fuck..Jimin-” You moaned against his lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he hissed, as though he was challenging you not to give into him, his low voice gravelly as he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. He pushed forwards, and the feeling of the warmth and softness of the skin of his chest against you made you shake.

His tongue continued to roll over yours, pressing his face against yours hard, making it difficult to breathe. He moved his lips to your collarbone, biting and sucking, creating a little trail of blood clots in your skin as he moved down your chest, your stomach until he was kneeling in front of you. He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with need. Jimin slid a hand to your inner thigh, the warmth of his palm burned against your sensitive skin. He pushed your leg up, draping it over his shoulder.

You were about to open your mouth to say something when you saw him lean down, and felt his tongue press into you, making you gasp. You could feel every bump and ridge of his tongue moving against you, his lips closing onto you, sucking at you, and you reached your arm over your head, your nails scratched against the door, grasping at anything you could hold onto to brace yourself.

Jimin looped his arm around your leg over his shoulder, reaching his fingers down to massage your clit, making your body squirm against him. You felt your breathing become ragged, your heart pounding against your chest and he pulled away suddenly. He stood, reaching down, sliding the edge of his sweatpants below his hips. You moaned in anticipation as he leaned forward, his mouth finding yours and you could taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, and you could feel your wetness gliding down your thigh. Jimin slid his sweatpants and briefs from his legs, and reached out, pulling your leg over his waist and pressed against you.

A small gasp escaped your lips when you felt his tip press against you, gliding against your clit, coated in your wetness.

“Fuck..Y/N..”

He continued pressing his tip lazily against you, teasing you, making you whine into his lips, yearning for him. “Jimin..please..”

A grin formed on his lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, “Yes?” he teased, tormenting you.

You pushed your hips against him, wanting him, begging to have him inside you, feeling yourself dripping around him.

“What do you want?” he whispered into your mouth, sucking on your lower lip, and you groaned in frustration against him.

“Jimin..please...I want you inside me..” you begged.

“Yeah?” you felt him reach his hand down, rubbing the tip of his cock against you before pushing into you just slightly, making you gasp at the sensation of him opening you up. “Like this?” his hot breath against your skin felt like electric pulses rushing through your body. He looked down at you, a fiery need in his eyes as you tried to push your hips against him. “More?” he asked, his lips finding your neck, latching on and sucking at your skin, making you throw your head back at the sensation of him taking complete control of your body. He pushed in deeper with an agonizing slowness and all you could think about was wanting to feel him pushing in and out of you.

He pulled out slightly, slowly, before pushing his full length back inside you, the sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you made you shake, completely overwhelming you. Jimin moved his hips against you slowly, his pelvic bone pushing against your clit each time he pushed back into you, and you completely melted around him, the pleasure building in your core, your breathing growing more and more ragged as he bit into the skin of your neck.

Jimin could tell he had you at the very edge. He pulled his head back, giving you soft kisses as he slowed his pace, not allowing you to have all of him. You moaned into his lips, wanting him back, wanting more.

“Do you want me to make you cum?” he grinned, his lips forcing your mouth open, his tongue rolling over yours. You nodded, kissing him back in desperation, your head dizzy and vision blurry, unable to think of anything except the aching need within you.

“Yes..Jimin...please..” you choked out between panting breaths. He pushed himself deep inside you, quickening his pace, feeling your climax build.

“Do I feel that good Y/N?” his grin grew, the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you drove you to the edge. “Do you like having me so deep inside you?” he pressed on, his voice a low growl. You felt your eyes roll back as you tightened around him. “Fuck..Y/N….fuck..I’m coming..”

He drove his mouth into yours, covering the scream that would’ve escaped your lungs as your whole body shook underneath his, his fingers digging into your skin, holding your body flush against his as you both rode out your orgasm.

You suddenly felt for the first time how cold the air was in his apartment as the sensitivity slowly wore off and you felt him pull himself from you. You leaned your head back against the door, eyes still closed, world still spinning and felt his soft lips planting gentle kisses on your cheek, his arms sliding lazily around your waist.

You opened your eyes and found him looking back at you, his eyes sleepy, his skin glowing in the dim light.

Shit.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, planting feather-soft kisses on your lips, smiling.

“Um..I’m fine,” you pulled away, leaning down to pull the dress back up to your shoulders, finding that he ripped the strap and bodice when he tore the dress from your body earlier.

“Here, let me get you something to wear,” he took you by the hand, leading you past the kitchen to the closet and you held your arm across your chest in an attempt to hold the dress up.

He pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt down from the shelf, and told you to drop the dress as he slid the shirt over your head. You stepped out of the silk and lace puddle and slid your legs into the sweatpants before leaning over and picking up the dress, bundling it in your arms. He slid on a new pair of briefs and put on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants as well.

“Um, I’ll get this to a seamstress and return it to you once it’s fixed,” You said frigidly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

He reached a hand out for your waist but you turned, backing out of the closet.

“Y/N..” he followed behind you.

You grabbed your purse from the counter and moved towards the front door. “Jimin..look I...I have to go,” you turned the knob and he stopped you, grabbing ahold of your arm.

“Y/N, it’s 2 in the morning and there’s a thunderstorm outside,” he sighed, looking at you with a concerned expression. “Stay the night, I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You shook your head. “No Jimin, I can’t stay I-” you turned to look at him. “This was a mistake. I have to go, ok?”

His brows knit together and he reached his arms out, sliding them around your waist and pulling you in. “How can you say that, Y/N..look at me,” he reached a hand up and took ahold of your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Are you still thinking about Jungkook? After everything? Look me in the eye and tell me you still want him.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot as a rush of liquid came to your tear ducts.

“Jimin, let me go,” you breathed, grabbing onto his forearms and tearing his hands from you.

“Y/N..” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let me at least drive you, it’s pouring outside.”

-

You sat in the passenger side of his car as close to the door as possible, wanting as much distance between your body and his as you could manage. You stared out the window, heart pounding, fingers nervously picking at your cuticles, and Jimin noticed.

He drove swiftly through the thunderstorm, pulling up to the outside of your complex. You had your hand already on the door handle, sliding it up before the car even came to a full stop, running out into the rain.

“Y/N!” he called after you, running up behind you, throwing open an umbrella.

“Y/N-”

You looked up, brushing the hair that’s been stuck to your forehead from the rain and froze, seeing Jungkook stand up from the bench under the awning by the security desk. He looked at you, eyes widening as they saw the little marks on your neck, that you were wearing Jimin’s clothes, the dress in your arms.

You saw his teeth clench as he lunged forwards toward Jimin, winding his arm back and you stepped in front of him. “JK! JK, don’t!” You raised your hands up, pushing his chest, but fell backward a little yourself. You ran your hands along his arms, “Hey, hey, don’t do this ok? Hey, JK-”

He threw his arms up, flinging your hands aside, “What the fuck did you do Y/N?” he yelled, turning and raising his hands to his ears. “What the fuck did you do?!” He took a step toward you, making you jump, and Jimin stepped in front of you, pushing him back.

“Y/N, get back in the car.”

“What did you do,” over Jimin’s shoulder you could see Jungkook slam his back against the stone wall, sliding down to the ground, his head in his hands.

“No, Jimin, you should leave,” you pushed past him, kneeling in front of Jungkook, trying to pry his hands from his face.

“Y/N..” Jimin moved toward you.

“Just go!”

You turned to face Jungkook, still huddled against the wall and in your periphery you saw Jimin lean down to pick up his umbrella, his hair and clothes drenched, and you could tell he stood looking at you for a moment before turning and walking out. You heard the engine of his car turnover, and its echo as it roared down the street, leaving nothing but the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement and water splashing from the rain gutter above.

[wizardouxie]

Evil Douxie AU Ash Dispersal Pattern is something I Have Not been able to stop thinking about. Just, whoever the leader is, seeing this moping emo kid working in a cafe and being like “ah. New recruit.” Douxie gets dragged along to a meeting somehow (cough Archie gently bullies him into going cough) and he picks up the guitar. For the first little while he’s grouchy and adamantly refuses to be pleasant or even civil. After he meets the old lady, his jabs start to get more friendly and 1/2

teasing and the band notices and responds in turn, until you eventually get an exchange like this: “aw, you know you love us” “...” “YOU DIDNT DENY IT” “waIT NO SHUT UP” “YOU LOVE US” etc etc and just,,, this group of college kids forcibly adopting Douxie makes me soft. How accurate would you say this is to your AU?? -M.H. Anon 2/2

VERY ACCURATE.

[ DISCLAIMER: This is... very very long. That’s all. ]

Ash Dispersal Pattern took a hard hit this year, losing their guitarist in a nasty fight after a gig. Because of that, they were forced to opt out from the Battle of the Bands. Of course then the end of the world happened three times, which also sucked.

But you know, life is too short so might as well say ‘screw it’ and find a new member right? The member that left can eat dirt for all they cared now. And so they put up flyers calling for auditions as a guitarist.

...no one shows up.

Okay so they gotta figure out a new plan. And what better place to do so than in a cafe? So here they are trying to figure out how to get a guitarist. Douxie shows up with their drinks and one of them goes “ayo what’s up!” only to receive a “tch” in response. They’re confused.

“Yo what’s his problem?”

“He’s probably having a rough day, maybe family issues?”

“I dunno man, but his hair looks sick as hell,”

And then it clicks to them. Maybe... him?

And now Douxie is surrounded by strangers that vaguely look around his age, well roughly give or take a few centuries, and he’s biting his tongue.

“I said no.” he replies firmly, backing away. He slings his jacket over his shoulder and eyes a stray black cat curled up nearby before heading on his way. Weirdos. A discussion immediately blows up among the members.

“Are you sure you wanna go with this guy? We’ve had our share of jerk guitarists,”

“Okay but can we talk about his hair? It’s so cool, I bet he has tattoos too,”

“Enough about the hair! Look this kid’s tryna play tough guy with us, but I think we can soften him up, it’ll just take some time.”

“Aight you’re the boss here, but if he screws us over, you’re taking responsibility,”

Archie overhears the conversation and smiles. These children seemed kind, and Douxie could use some normal friends. Nothing against the Arcadia gang, but they have more than enough on their plate and he can’t exactly force them to integrate the ex sorcerer into their friend group.

Douxie hates the idea. It’s stupid.

“You’ve already signed me up for two jobs and school. I don’t even need school! I have centuries worth of knowledge these mortals can’t even dream of knowing,”

“Yes, but we are trying to blend in, Douxie. And besides, I remember you used to play the lute. The guitar is quite similar I believe,”

“Arch I haven’t touched that instrument for god knows how long,”

“Have you forgotten how to play it then?”

Douxie goes quiet. Archie smiles. Well that makes his job much, much easier. He readjusts his glasses.

“I overheard their next meeting is this Thursday, and you’re going. Isn’t that convenient? You don’t work any shifts on that day. It’ll be good for you,”

“That’s what you say about everything!”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

Silence again. So Archie may have developed a talent for shutting up his familiar. He doesn’t really know if that’s a good thing, but it’s definitely frequent.

Thursday rolls in and Douxie shows up to rehearsal grudgingly. The members are surprised. He tells them not to get cozy; just wanted to try something new out. Luckily for him, the members had a backup guitar. The strings feel strange against his calloused hands but also familiar in a way. He strums a chord and a chorus of “ooooo”s fill the room.

“What? I’m competent,” he snaps. The leader raises her hand.

“Didn’t imply you weren’t.”

And so the first few weeks pass by without much conversation. Rehearsals weren’t so bad on the musical aspect; Douxie could play the guitar pretty effortlessly, much to their astonishment. They regularly complimented him even when he did things his own way rather than follow the sheet music. They rarely ever got a response though. Maybe a “hm” if they’re lucky.

Stage presence on the other hand... he was too stiff and lacked energy. Not to mention he constantly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. This was where the others started to get slightly ticked off.

“He’s sucking the life out of us dude, like we’re Ash Dispersal Pattern and he’s the freaking vacuum!” the drummer complained

“He doesn’t even sing with us! It’s supposed to be a group effort,” the bass player added.

“Yeah... honestly playing without a guitarist seems better than this,” the vocalist muttered quietly. Everyone looked at them and then the leader.

The leader pinches her nose. So that’s what they all thought huh? And as much as majority would usually win, this wasn’t what she wanted, to lose someone at such an early stage. What they’ve got going is not bad; it just could be better.

“Look, I get it, we’ve had a hard year and him being difficult doesn’t help us. But don’t you think he’s having it hard too? And we’ve all been there before. We’ve had our fights with parents, schools, society and he’s clearly going through it. Right now our best course of action is to just let it pass and let him approach us instead of coming on too strong.”

“Ah so that’s why we chose you as the leader,” the bass player jokes. The leader rolls her eyes.

“Can it, buttsnack.”

Miracles start occurring after the introduction of the little old lady. Douxie no longer keeps on a straight face. Rather, his eyes wonder curiously, mouth forming expressions that he’s not even conscious of. One day the drummer catches him... pouting. Now that’s an expression he didn’t think he’d get to see. 

“You okay there, Hisirdoux? Something get you down?”

“The stairs,” he jokes halfheartedly. 

He gets startled when he hears the drumsticks rattle against the floor. The drummer is running upstairs, yelling. And then he comes back dragging the leader who’s looking at him with concern.

“Yo Hisirdoux my dude, tell her what you told me!” 

“He asked me if something got me down. I said the stairs. Thought it was funny,” the guitarist shrugs. The leader snorts.

“That’s the best you can do?” she comments smiling. Douxie returns the smile much to her surprise.

“Of course not, but do you deserve my best?” The drummer’s jaw drops. Oh snap. The leader on the other hand is very pleased. This is what she’s looking for.

Suddenly Douxie’s phone rings. He picks up while the others listen curiously. His face breaks out into a huge grin. It’s the little old lady.

“Hello love, I’ll pick you up in ten minutes, sound good? Just finishing up rehearsal,” he says softly.

The drummer wiggled his eyebrows at the leader.

“Ooooo we got a lovebird in the band!”

Douxie chokes. 

“Are you okay Douxie?”

“Yeah, yeah, something came up but I’ll be there okay!” He ends the call promptly and shakes his head furiously.

“Aww Douxie’s such a cute name, why can’t we call you that?”

“FIRST OF ALL SHE IS NOT, ahem, she is not my girlfriend. That would be awkward because she is um, sixty to seventy years old,” 

He doesn’t tell them that technically he is 919. The leader meanwhile, looks pointedly at the drummer who is slowly shrinking in his spot. Whoops. Bad call. Douxie looks at the clock. 5:20 pm. He starts packing up, slinging the guitar backpack over his shoulder.

But before he leaves, he surprises them one more time.

“You guys can call me Douxie or Doux too, by the way. The name is growing on me.”

Rehearsals are so much better after that. Douxie’s smiling and talking to them, performing much more animatedly and giving it his all. He still kinda jabs at them, but there’s no tension behind it.

Nowadays he practices at home instead of waiting for rehearsal. It’s a little hard to fit time what with schoolwork and shifts, but he makes it happen. Archie stares at him fondly. This was the life that Douxie needed. One with a balance between honest work and fun.

One day, Douxie brings in some takeout from the bistro. A little celebratory gift because Ash Dispersal Pattern finally got a successful gig after so long. They open up all the boxes, set out plates, napkins flying all over the place. It’s loud, chaotic, a little dirty, but it doesn’t matter to Douxie because he’s with his friends.

Wait.

“Dang Doux, you didn’t have to do all this but you did anyways. I bet you love us. don’t you?” the vocalist teased.

Douxie remains quiet. Friends. As in, people he really cares about and looks forward to spending time with. People who he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with. People who he --

“--LOVES US SHUT UP OH MY GOD!” the drummer yells, taking him back to reality. He looks at them with a smile and a shrug and suddenly he’s being attacked with hugs. They’re all screaming about how he’s always been soft and loved them from the start.

And then he’s crying. Everyone starts to panic and they’re scrambling off of him, asking him if he’s okay, if what they did was too much or anything like that. He shakes his head, trying to wipe his tears. It’s just... he’s never been held like this by so many people and for so long. He was so touch starved that he didn’t know what to do with this much love and appreciation. Quite frankly it’s been so long since it felt like he was truly wanted. 

He tells them it’s okay, really, he was just a little overwhelmed. But now the craving for their touch is so much stronger.

“Can you hold me again like that? Just for a bit? It was nice,” he asks timidly and they nod eagerly. Within ten minutes, they fall asleep in each other’s arms. Archie quietly pulls a blanket over them and sleeps on Douxie’s lap.

His work here is done.