#and even told me that theyd give me a call and give me a tour of the station (which they did not offer to the other two men that were there

[hauntedwoman]

i just had the best job interview ever for a local radio station pls manifest this for me mutuals we are all joining hands and praying

[pwblogarchive]

August 2004

August 9, 2004

“Dear Queen Of Hearts Killer”

we finished shooting the video- i dont want to give it away but it is our darkest video yet, see: basement face punches and playing cards. youll be able to see it soon. we have more suprises in store. cruise over to the alternative press site and tell em thanks for putting us on the cover or that you hate them and us and the world. oh yeah, another installment up over at the fueledbyramen journal- im not gonna put up too much more because i dont want to give it all away- peterpan

ps- as much as you wish you were me, i wish i was you so much more

August 9, 2004

for all the trophy boys and sleep over princes - for all the bruised thighs and smokedout eyes:

i am a zombie who doesn’t want to live, a corpse bored with my own funeral. we live like gypsies only with less gold and maybe more curses. people say you can’t run away from your problems (we are the problem). well thats just shit. cause i’ve spent 20 years on the run and i can’t remember most of the problems that started this (maybe thats been the problem all along). it’s funny. you become a different person when you don’t have a home. you take for granted sleeping in the same bed, looking at the same clocks, waking up with a rug underneath your feet. the world looks different from the back of a van- and rest stops and hardwood floors. we are ghosts with addresses in ghost towns. no matter how much you clean yourself, your clothes and your pillow it never really gets clean, neither does your memory. it never lets go of that smokey, cold/wet feeling. if there was a word for what i am looking for right now it would definitely sound like her name. at some point you wanted her innocence for your own. to breathe in every single breath that she breathed out, to taste her spit- to feel how she feels to fall asleep next to you and to be let down for the first time. 

when i leave could you please say your sheets would never be the same and that maybe you even missed my smell just a little bit?

- petey

August 11, 2004

“Sugar We’re Going Down Swingin”

we are having a blast on warped tour so far. it is hot. french canada is awesome cause there are all kinds of weird candy bars and sodas and girls are pretty. come out and tell hey chris he is a hottie with a body at our merch tent. for realz.

call me up and tell me you are doing okay.

that would make my day.

me plus you 4 eva.

peterpan

September 2, 2004

noone ever fell in love with anyone because of empty pockets or red splotched eyes. drove around for hours tonight just to keep myself from feeling anchored. weighed down. to keep my mind off thinking about what kids like me deserve. desperation isnt a strong enough word (but it will have to do). my wrists are only black and blue cause i don’t got the balls. nothing gets you ready to have every single word dissected and put under a microscope. i got ringing in my ears but none on my fingers. i got sunsets in the veins on my wrists. we’re not just falling in love anymore, we’re demanding it. im the latest bloomer (dried out my wet dreams and saved them for a rainy day). i can still see you standing on my front porch- slowed my own thoughts down to a single blade of grass. you couldnt catch my eye cause i was too busy rolling them. the buttons on one side of your coat that wouldnt snap on the other side. they were just for fashion not for function you told me. you were pretty for a boy. it made me laugh when i thought of it, im sorry i wasnt laughing at what you were saying. it makes me laugh still- when im driving around for hours at night. id love to swerve off and blame it on the fog, but ive been talking on these roads too much lately. theyd spill all my secrets. this city won’t let me go. im sure theyd lock me up somewhere if anyone saw me at 23 sneaking into cemetaries. taking pills to make me feel okay sleeping in the grass just above you. the sirens find me at the first light. my lips cracked and dried from the tears, i'll probably die a cliche. flash the lights to kissing boys. provocative. i promise you i wont ever have another afternoon like when we used to sneak out of school and drive the lakeshore. noone will ever sound as cool as you. we built cool. we made up style. we set the standard and theyre all just trying to live up to it. if theres nobody who thinks like us anymore. untouchable is unlovable. you always have me humming in my head just out of key. i bought an alarm clock just so i could hit the snooze button. whats the point in getting out of bed anymore if you only get out to say you did. if you could love the biggest fraud or the best liar- then im your prince. i was made just for fashion not for function.

- petey

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Five Ways of Saying I Love You

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: Five ways that Roger shows her he loves her

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Sorry it’s been a few days since I’ve posted anything - please let me know what you think of it! I love hearing what all of you have to say about my writing! And remember that I reply with my main blog @ijustreallylovezebras, I hope you all had wonderful days xx

Roger wasn’t good with telling Y/N he loved her. She knew he did, and she knew that she loved him too - he was well aware of it as well, she was constantly reminding him. Roger just wasn’t good at saying it.

He could show it though, he was really good at showing it.

“I’m going to really miss you,” Y/N sighed, resting her head on his bare chest, tracing careful shapes onto his pale skin. Roger twined his fingers through her hair, gently tugging the knots out of it.

“I’m going to miss you too, Princess,” he murmured, lacing his free hand with her small one - the one that wasn’t resting on his chest. Y/N gave their hands a squeeze before placing a gentle kiss to his hand. “You could still come with me, the boys wouldn’t mind - they’d love it to be honest,” Roger said and Y/N moved her head to give him a sad smile.

“I can’t do that, Rog,”

“I know, it’s a nice thought though,” Roger sighed, squeezing her hand again.

“What time are you leaving, again?” She asked, cuddling closer into his chest.

“Six in the morning,” Roger groaned. “I’ll leave you asleep, Princess,”

“Don’t! I want to say goodbye to you,” Y/N whined, kissing his bare skin and Roger shivered at the action, a soft smile forming on his face again.

“Six is really early, Darling,” he pointed out but Y/N shook her head.

“It’s worth it for you,” she declared and Roger chuckled.

“You’re so cute,”

“I love you,” Roger hugged her a little tighter and he felt her smile against his chest.

The next morning, Roger woke at five, carefully sliding out from under his girlfriend, who was asleep on his chest. He brushed some hair from her face, smiling down at her, feeling himself falling further in love with her. He changed quickly, running a brush through his hair.

“Princess?” Roger whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. Y/N let out a quiet moan as she blinked her eyes open. A wide smile took over her face upon seeing Roger and she reached up to rub her eyes but Roger caught her hands in his. “Don’t wake up properly, Y/N/N, I’m leaving now okay? Go back to sleep and I’ll see you in six weeks,” he said, keeping his voice low and quiet before leaning to press a kiss against her forehead. Then he straightened up, turning to leave the room. 

“Wait - Rog!” Y/N called, swinging her legs out of bed and running to him, jumping up to hug him from behind.

“Princess,” Roger laughed, turning around and hugging her back tightly. “I’ll miss you,” he said and Y/N looked up, eyes cloudy, and pressed her lips firmly against his.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered. Roger gave her a gentle smile, kissing her once more.

“Get some rest, Princess,”

“Rock the world, Rog,”

“Just for you, Y/N/N,” he murmured and then picked her up, placing her back under the covers and kissing her forehead. “Have a good day at work,”

“I love you,” she called quietly as he left the room. Roger turned only to blow her another kiss, the words drying up in his mouth. 

When Y/N woke later that morning, a sadness weighed on her chest upon remembering the absence of Roger’s presence. She sighed and pushed herself out of bed, wrapping herself up in one of his jumpers that he had left behind. She trudged into the kitchen, and stopped, her brows furrowing at the appearance of a box on the table with her name scrawled across the top in Roger’s messy handwriting.

She opened it and her eyes welled up with tears at the image of dozens of envelopes each addressed to her.

Even though he didn’t say it very much, Y/N could tell that Roger loved her.

Since going on tour two weeks ago, Roger had called Y/N up every night without fail to talk to her and ask about her day, make sure she was okay and happy and not missing him too much. The last question always made her laugh, because of course she was missing him an extraordinarily large amount. But tonight Roger had warned her that he probably wouldn’t be able to call, as the boys were all going to a party that started straight after the concert, the time that Roger usually reserved for talking to the love of his life.

Which was why Y/N was confused as to why the phone was ringing. 

“Rog? Aren’t you at a party?” Y/N asked as she furrowed her brows and tugged her hand through her messy hair.

“Yeah - I just missed you too much,” she could tell from the slight slur of his voice that he was drunk.

“I miss you too, Rog,”

“I felt bad for not calling you tonight,” he explained, sounding disappointed in himself. Y/N gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“You have a busy life, Darling, you don’t need to worry about it,” she assured him and Roger whined a little.

“You’re too good for me,” he declared. Y/N laughed, shaking her head despite knowing that Roger wouldn’t be able to see her.

“That’s the opposite of true,”

“You’re perfect,”

“You’re so cute,”  she told him. “But you should definitely go enjoy your party,”

“I have more fun talking to you than I have at any party,” Roger informed her seriously and Y/N giggled at his words.

“If you don’t go to the party then you know Freddie will give both of us a hard time about it,” Y/N pointed out. Roger groaned.

“I just miss you so so so so so much,”

“I miss you lots too,” Y/N’s voice was quiet and Roger easily picked up on her sad tone.

“Don’t be sad!” He demanded. “I’ll be back before you know it,”

“I love you,” Roger smiled, as he always did when Y/N told him that.

“I don’t want to hang up,” Roger pouted and Y/N chuckled. Roger could almost see her shaking her head at him.

“Go and have fun, Rog, I don’t want to hold you back,”

“You never hold me back! I like talking to you!” He protested. Y/N covered her mouth to contain her joyful giggle.

“You’re very drunk, Rog,”

“Calling you was all I could think about,” he admitted quietly in response. Silence settled over the phone as his words sunk in. Y/N bit her lip to stop her smile from stretching too wide. “You’re all I think about,”

Y/N grinned as her took the box from the postman, nodding her thanks to him.

“Have a nice day,” she called after him as he set off back down her driveway. He paused to wave back at her but Y/N had already turned around, eager to open the package.

She had somewhat anticipated it’s arrival - Roger had been dropping hints for the past week, ever since he called her drunk only two weeks into the tour to tell her how much he missed her.

So she had expected something. A letter or a postcard. While Roger had provided her with a shoebox full of letters at the beginning of his tour, he always sent her either a post card or a letter when the boys neared their halfway point. He always admitted to her that he found his written word easier to express his feelings with.

Y/N rumaged through her kitchen draws and picked out a knife, slicing open the box with ease and folding the flaps over, being greeted immediately by the expected postcard. 

She turned it over in excitement.

Hey Princess,

For some reason this tour I’m missing you now more than ever - from our conversations it seems as though you’re feeling the same. So I’ve been buying shit along the way that I thought would either cheer you up or make you think of me or laugh or something. Don’t want my girl missing me too much.

Always yours,

Rog

As always, he had signed off the note with a smily face and three kisses. Y/N beamed at the message, feeling her eyes brim with tears at the thoughtfulness of her boyfriend.

Inside the box lay a teddybear with a cheesy ‘I love you!” shirt on, a pair of drumsticks, one of which had been broken (this was accompanied by another note explaining how Roger had broken them in a show when he was missing her particularly much, a story that, while cute, Y/N didn’t believe for a second as she knew it was the pair that John had told her Roger through at Brian’s head during an argument), there was three of his button up shirts, a box of chocolates and two books that Y/N had been wanting to read for a while but had never gotten around to purchasing.

She stepped away from the box, holding the bear in her hands and hugged it tightly to her chest, letting out soft sobs as she felt the full weight of Roger’s love for her.

Since Roger had returned from tour a week and a half ago, everything had been perfect. Almost perfect. Y/N had been feeling as though she had hardly seen her boyfriend, he was always practicing with the band and, while she understood that the band was important, one of the most important things in Roger’s life, she had missed him.

After expressing these feelings to Roger the previous evening, he had invited his girlfriend to join the band at practice the following day, once Y/N had finished her shift at work. He had been feeling much the same as she had, if he was being honest. While he understood Freddie’s keenness to write the next album so they could start recording ASAP, he wanted nothing more than to spend a little while with Y/N in the comfort of their home. 

She was his priority.

“Y/N!” John was the first to notice her presence as she awkwardly moved into the room. John and Y/N had always been close - the two more soft-spoken members of their band-family had gravitated towards each other in a way that Roger had only hoped they would.

Roger raised his eyebrows as the bassist was quick to cross the room and embrace his girlfriend in a hug.

“Rog said you were coming today!” John beamed. Said drummer stood from behind his kit and joined the two. Freddie gave a dramatic sigh before giving in and joining the group, seeing Brian placing down his guitar as well.

Roger was quick to place his arm around her waist and kiss her cheek. an action that she grinned at, leaning further into his loving touch.

“She’s my priority,” Roger pointed out to John.

“What about the band?” Freddie asked with a raised eyebrow, quickly hugging Y/N in greeting.

“The band’s my other priority, obviously. I play better with her here anyway,” Roger declared, winking at his girlfriend, who shoved his shoulder playfully, the action making him laugh.

“I’m already in love with you, Rog, you don’t need to flirt to bad anymore,” Y/N teased and Roger chuckled, kissing her lips.

“Has he even told you he loves you back?” John asked Y/N later, when Roger and Brian had both returned to their instruments, trying to fit the song together. Freddie was sat in the corner, listening to them with his eyes closed, calculating their next move in the song, as he often did.

“Yeah he has,” Y/N assures her friend quickly.

“He didn’t say it earlier, that’s all,” Y/N smiled at John, shaking her head a little.

“Rog doesn’t like saying it so much - but I know it anyway, he makes sure of it,”

“How’d you mean?”

“It’s the little things, Deaky, like inviting me here today, just so we could spend more time together, or like yesterday when he came home even just an hour earlier to help me cook because he knew I’d been feeling down,”

“That’s sweet,” Y/N’s eyes wandered over to Roger, as they always did. Her blond haired drummer caught her eye and offered her a playful wink, causing the smile to widen on her face.

“I’m just lucky I guess,”

Roger grinned when he entered his house to be greeted by the smell of a home cooked meal.

“Princess?” He called, slipping his shoes off of his feet. “I’m home!”

“I’m in the kitchen,” Roger followed the sound of her voice, smiling even wider as he saw her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and bringing her into a tight hug, feeling her relaxing back into his arms.

“It smells good,” he commented, spinning her around and kissing her. Y/N wound her arms around his neck, smiling up at him before leaning up on her tiptoes again to press another kiss to his lips.

“Thanks, how are the boys? Practice?” Her voice was quiet, content and the soft tones of it helped to relax Roger.

“Stressful - Freddie’s being a dick, he was late again, and then shit all over our ideas,”

“You didn’t fight him did you?”

“No,” Roger paused, mulling over his thoughts. “I don’t think it’s his fault anyway,”

“Paul?” Y/N asked and Roger nodded, leaning down to kiss her again.

“He’s changing Freddie,” the drummer sighed and Y/N gave a sad nod.

“Bring him back, Rog, I know you can,”

“I’m so glad I have you in my life,” Roger commented as he watched Y/N draw away from him, plating up dinner. She looked at him over her shoulder, smiling wide.

“You’re such a dork, how could anyone mistake you for a rock king,” she teased. Roger let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“I am a rock legend,” Roger was quick to disagree.

“Who likes to have his hair plaited,” Y/N was laughing as she placed the plates on the table. Roger squeezed her sides as he walked past her and she squealed away from him, glaring at her boyfriend who just gave her a cheeky grin in reply.

“I’m only a sap for you,”

“That’s... reassuring?” She questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Roger beamed and nodded.

“I love you,” he says suddenly. Y/N’s head snapped up. “I know I don’t say it much but I do,”

“I know you do, Rog,” she said, reaching over the table and grabbing his hand. “And I love you too, you don’t need to say it if you don’t want to,”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that sometimes the words don’t seem enough and... you can fake words,” he said. Y/N squeezed his hand tightly, never wanting to let him go.

“I know, Rog. But it’s okay, I understand,”

“You’re my favourite person on Earth,”

“You’re mine as well,”

[angrylizardjacket]

when i said it i thought it was true [3] {Ben Hardy}

A/N: 2973 words. Fake Dating AU.

[part 1] [part 2]

Roger Taylor has barely spoken two words to you since the start of filming, and it’s caused you so much anxiety. Were you disappointing? Did you not look or act accurate enough? Sometimes you catch him watching you when you’re with Ben, the two of you in costume, and he just looks... pensive. 

Brian’s nice enough, soft spoken and always kind when he speaks to you, actually mentions that seeing you and Ben together makes him a bit nostalgic, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it. 

The day you see the real Amanda, the woman you’re playing, you feel like you’re about to pass out. It’s as if you’ve got a direct look into your future, she could be your mother, though her hair’s just a little lighter than yours, hence the wigs they keep putting you in. She’s incredibly beautiful for her age, but that’s not the most striking thing about her. She cries the first time she sees Rami in costume, and she doesn’t speak to Roger. 

The moment she meets you, she has to take almost a full minute, hand covering her mouth as she looks you over. It’s like a test, and all you can do is stand there awkwardly in full costume, watching as she tears up a little.

“What do you think?” Brian asks with a proud smile, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a little uncanny, isn’t it?” Nodding, she approaches you, smiling brightly and greeting you warmly. 

“Feels like I’ve gone back in time.” She’s surprisingly soft spoken, and she tugs at your collar, straightening it, before she rests her hands on your shoulders. “I’m flattered they’ve got you playing me, dear.” She tells you, and you think you might cry.

She only stays on set for about a week, the week you’re filming on the Garden Lodge set. The two of you are talking before filming starts for the day, you’re trying to glean any information you can that would help bring depth to your character, and Ben joins you. It’s the first time she’s seen him in full costume, and when he presses a kiss to your temple in greeting, her voice dies in her throat. Ben looks confused, concerned as she has to excuse herself.

It keeps happening, something about seeing the two of you in costume, together and sweet, it’s something she can’t stomach. She can talk to Ben normally, even when in costume, but the moment you arrive, and he smiles at you like he does, she feels her heart in her throat.

“I loved Roger, perhaps to my detriment.” She admits, taking a long sip of wine. She’d invited you out to dinner with her before she has to fly back to her family. “And I know what they’re saying in the movie, but he never really loved me.”

When you go to Ben with this information, he’s quiet, before he admits that Roger told him that when they were younger, their relationship was far from the sanitised version that was being presented in the film. 

They’d been together for years, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved him, and he took her for granted, always assumed she’d be there when he got back from trips and tours, he’d even proposed to her, and yet he’d do any pretty young girl while he was away because he knew he could get away with it. He’d cheated on her, and lied to her, and strung her along because it was easier than letting go. 

Roger Taylor can’t bring himself to speak to you; you’re the spitting image of his biggest fault. Perhaps the way they’ve got it in the movie is his attempt at an apology, not that she’d accept. 

Something about your relationship with Ben changes after that. It doesn’t feel like a performance, the way it used to, it feels more grounded. Neither of you are sure how to deal with the new information, but when the cast go out for dinner together, he’s got a hand on your knee under the table, and when you’re hanging out in his trailer between scenes, you let yourself fall asleep against him where you’re watching Netflix. The two of you go out with some of the others for the night, and he kisses you as you’re leaving the club together, his hands holding your face so softly, the kiss so surprisingly tender that you don’t even hear the click of the paparazzi’s camera from where they’re hiding around the corner of the building, and when you see the kiss on instagram the next day, you don’t think you care.

“Have you seen my nice, black blouse?” You called, elbow deep in a pile of clean washing on a Saturday morning.

“Which one?” Ben calls back from the shower, and you frown at the clothes before you; you really had meant to fold them sooner.

“The nice nice one, the one I wear for callbacks, you know the one I’m talking about.” And you move to rifle through the closet again, glaring at each piece of clothing as you flip past it.

“You sure it’s here?” The shower shuts off while you’re eyeing off a perfectly fine cream shirt that could serve as a decent replacement if you came to it. “Are you sure it’s not at your place?” He asks, stepping out of his adjoining bathroom wearing only a towel.

“No, I’m pretty sure I came back here after my last callback.” You mused, and you could hear him getting changed behind you as you tried to recall the last time you’d found yourself in the shirt in question.

“This would be easier if you just lived here.” He muses, letting the statement hang in the air. After a beat, you turn to look at him, brow creased as you considered his words. “If you want to, you can.” He offered, standing there in just a pair of jeans, his hair still damp. It might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Are you serious?” Voice quietly hopeful, your expression brightens as he nods, grinning. Blouse forgotten, you cross the room in a few paces, throwing your arms around him. “Really really?”

“‘course I am.” He doesn’t tell you he loves you, but it’s there in the tone, in the way he kisses you, and it’s there when he spends the next twenty minutes helping you look for your shirt, though when you admit you don’t need it for a few days, he suggests breaking in the bed to fill the time.

“It’s the same bed.” You laugh as he flops back on it, coaxing you over.

“Yeah, but it’s ours.”

The wrap party for Bohemian Rhapsody is... a lot. It’s a bit overwhelming; you’re by Ben’s side and everyone wants to talk to him, congratulate him, and they want to talk to you, tell you how beautiful you look. Everyone is everywhere at all times, and the only constant is Ben. 

His arm is around your waist when the two of you are standing by the bar, he’s chatting to someone who’s name you’ve forgotten, though you’re pretty sure he’s the second assistant director or something, and you’re trying to communicate to the bartender what you want over the music, leaning over the bar. The moment the bartender finally nods in recognition and scurries off to get your drink, Ben turns, sees your eyes shining bright in the light of bar, and he forgets what he’s saying, just for a moment. The guy he’s talking to leaves, pulled away by someone in the crowd, and you turn, smiling brightly, confusion creasing your brow when you see Ben watching you.

“What?” The bar is in a terrible location, far too close to the band they’ve got set up, but Ben can read your lips well enough in the bar’s fluorescent lights. He shrugs, doesn’t even attempt to answer as the band, not ten feet away, blast their way through a guitar solo. They’re mostly playing classic rock, a few Queen songs here and there of course, and they’re not bad, they’re just loud. 

With your drink in one hand, you take his without thinking, weaving through the crowd, his fingers linked with yours. When you find the door to the courtyard, which is significantly quieter, you feel like you can breathe again. The air outside is cool, and you drop Ben’s hand now that you’re not likely to lose him in the crowd, and the two of you find seats to the side by a tall table. 

“You don’t have to stay with me all night.” You tell him, resting your head on your arms, watching as he lights up a cigarette. It was a filthy habit, but damn if it didn’t make him look a hot. Hotter. 

“I know that, dude,” he pauses, taking a draft and looking, watching all the people talking and laughing and bopping along to the music, “I like your company.” He says it easily but it still has you grinning, and when he catches sight, he grins in return.

He doesn’t leave your side. Not for the rest of the night. 

Photographs are being take all night, and when you look back on them, you see you and Ben sitting side by side, his arm around you as you lean into him, laughing, and he grins at something off camera. You see the cast together for a group shot, all smiling brightly, most a little tipsy, and you’re holding Ben’s hand, your linked fingers just visible in a gap between Allen and Lucy. You see the two of you in the background of a shot of Rami looking absolutely ecstatic; you’re fixing Ben’s hair, and he’s giving you such a soft, endeared look that you hadn’t noticed at the time. If you crop it enough to make it your phone background, you don’t feel the need to call attention to it; for reasons you can’t quite articulate, it makes your heart warm.

It’s strange, and the thing that terrifies you is that it doesn’t feel like acting. It’s that grey area you keep finding yourself in, where it feels so familiar, and it’s like swimming upstream to remember that it’s all fake. 

The two of you don’t even share a kiss, not even when you’re both tipsy, not even when you lean in to murmur something in his ear, and his answer brings his lips inches from yours. You want to kiss him, to forget that it’s all fake, but he sees you hesitate, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Lips twisting in to a sad smile, you look out at the crowd of coworkers around you, dancing where the band had been replaced with a DJ, and you take another sip of your drink.

You’ve passed tipsy and dived straight into being drunk by the time you’re ready to head home, or well, back to your hotel room, but that required a taxi. Ben’s not much better off, and when you tug him into the back seat with you, he doesn’t argue. He’s the one who tells the driver the hotel they’ve got you all set up in, and you just lean against him, eyes fluttering closed, contentment filling you as he wraps his arm around you. 

“I don’t have any makeup wipes!” You gasp into the silence of the hotel elevator. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to head to his room, your arm tucked into his to keep you from swaying in place in the elevator. It might also be that Ben refused to let you be by yourself after you almost face planted getting out of the taxi.

“I’ve got some in case of emergencies.” He assured, fidgeting with his key card before the elevator comes to a stop.

“See, this is why I love you.” The words come so easily that neither of even catch at first as you make your way down the hall. Ben slows once your words have sunk in, and you both realise what you’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Voice quiet, there’s a sudden sinking sensation in your chest that dampens the whole night for you, but he doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and starts rummaging through his suitcase for the wipes once he’s inside. Once he tosses them to you, he follows it quickly with an oversized shirt to sleep in. 

There’s a solid five minute argument about who would sleep on the sofa, both of you trying to give the other one the bed. It takes you yanking a pillow from the bed, laying on the sofa and refusing to move for Ben to concede defeat. The sofa, however, is the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture you’ve ever had the misfortune of trying to sleep on. Sucking up your pride, you clutch the pillow to your chest as you make your way to the edge of the bed. He’s turned away from you, engrossed in his phone.

“Ben?” You ask, and he looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in question. “The sofa is really uncomfy.” You pouted. With a grin, he shifted, making room for you.

“Holy shit.” Ben looks like he’s just seen a ghost. The two of you are in a nice restaurant in the city, it’s not five stars or anything like that, actually it happened to be your favourite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with surprisingly good food and excellent service, and you were treating yourselves to a night out before Ben had to step outside to take a call. You didn’t begrudge him, that’s just how life was for the two of you. “Holy shit.” He repeated, and you looked up from your meal with raised eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” You ask, and to see the smile spreading slowly over his face has your heart warming. When he meets your eyes, he’s beaming.

“I think I’m going to be in X-Men.” He said quietly, and your fork fell from your hand, clattering against your plate.

“Holy shit.” You echoed, and he laughed a little, taking your hand when you offered it to him, squeezing gently. 

The stars seem to shine a little brighter as Ben beams up at them, your hand in his as the two of you walk home. Sure, there’s paperwork, nondisclosure agreements, rehearsals, and a few months until filming actually begins, but Ben’s landed a role in a high-budget action movie, and you’ve never been prouder. 

He spends the next few weeks in countless meetings, almost constantly in and out of phone calls with his manager and various producers, and when he’s not filming with Eastenders, he was usually training. He’s barely home, though neither of you are home a lot, you’re busy with your own projects, but when you see each other, he’s elated. You haven’t seen him this excited or motivated about a project before. 

Sometimes you miss him. Of course you miss him, you love him after all, he’s your boyfriend and your housemate, and you tell him all of this over dinner and he looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to freeze this moment in time forever, to bottle it up if he could.  You’re so proud, and you love him so much, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to watch those two parts of you coming together over a microwave dinner.

In the weeks leading up to filming, things change, and you feel like you never see him anymore. It’s not like before, then you were just busy, now he’s all over the country, in meetings and fittings and workshops. He calls, but your bed is so empty and sometimes you just want to come home to him and he’s not there, and he won’t be home until the end of the week. Things are still good and bright when you see each other - he’s always eager to make up for lost time - and you never once doubt how much he cares about you, but you feel... out of sync. 

The two of you had fallen asleep not facing each other, but you wake with his arm draped across you, and it feels so familiar, so right, that it stings when you actually come to and realise where you are. 

It’s been years since you’d woken up next to him, and you’d forgotten how pretty he is in his sleep. Part of you thinks that’s a good thing, that if you start to remember now you might keep dwelling. Another part of you urges you to go back to sleep; pretend or not, you should savour this moment you’ve missed so dearly. That’s the part that wins.

You expect when you wake again, for him to already be up and moving, as far away from you as possible, but instead you hear a sleep-rough greeting in your ear, and feel his chest firm against your back, his arm still around you where you’ve tucked yourself against him.

It’s not pretend, it feels like history repeating itself, and so you let yourself forget it’s fake for the moment, lean into him just a little and give a sleepy greeting back. Your heart already aches knowing how lonely you’ll feel once either of you move.

“I forgot how nice you smell.” He murmured, and that’s when you feel your heart already beginning to break. Instead of letting yourself crumble, your link your fingers with his hand where it’s slung over your waist.

“I forgot how warm you are; you’re like a furnace.” And you hear him laugh at that as he leans into you too, and let yourself bask in the moment.

the rat pack: @hotspacedeacon @strangeandwonderfulconcepts @itssaje @d-r-e-a-m-catchme ​ @callumidiot @rockandrollandshit @bohorap @pietrorunsforme @sweetfierceimagines @itsjackothy @mhftrs @sherlockiantheatrenerd @softbenhardy @multifandomgirlrandomstuff @virtualsheepeat @smile-nine @i-padfootblack-things @deaconsroger @spookyfrances @holyurlbatman @your-idiotic-excellency

(crossed out means it wouldn’t tag; i’ll try again for the next part, lemme know if you wanna be tagged xx)

[wolfyred-ks]

Adrinette April 2019 Day 23

@adrinetteapril​ thank you for all you’ve done for the event. I know this one is probably to late for the re-blog. If it’s not a problem over the next few days I would like to tag you in my remaining posts just so you can see what I’ve done.

This was my fist ever ‘writing prompt’ event. And I actually only just created my tumbler so I could take part in Adrinette April 2019. I’m going to also do Marichat May and the other two sides. May take me a little to start though.

THANK YOU FOR MANAGING ADRINETTE APRIL 2019 WITH FLARE AND GUSTO!!!!

Day 23 - Fashion Show

(PLEASE NOTE - THE EXPLOSION IS FICTIOUS. I MADE IT UP FOR THE SAKE OF THE STORY. I DO NOT WISH FOR ANYTHING LIKE THIS TO EVER HAPPEN TO ANYONE.)

It’s just the class. It’s just our families. It’s raising funds for a worthy cause. It’s a chance to show my work before I get big.

Marinette tried to calm herself down with these reassurances. She had been floored when Jagged Stone had approached her for another commission. He had loved his shades so much and they were such a big hit on the tour he had done that he wanted an actual outfit designed.

Tikki had been offering comfort to Marinette the 2 weeks it had been going on. She had been such a source of encouragement Marinette would never have gotten through it with her sanity intact. Well, Tikki and all the others that helped her with this.

As she paced in front of Adrien getting into make up she wondered, ‘How did one outfit end up being a fashion show?’

--------

Originally she had been meeting with Jagged and Penny for a new outfit to tour in. After talking with Jagged she had 5 designs that she wanted to show him. He had liked 4 of them but couldn’t decide which one to use and was suggesting she make them all up. He’d pay for them of course, and if they were all really good he’d use them in his shows.

Penny had joked about Jagged being a personal fashion show for Marinette.

It was at that moment the TV in the hotel suite broke the news that there had been an explosion on the D20 outskirts of Saint-Vulbas. Some terrorists had been on the way to the Bugey Nuclear Power Plant with a bomb in a large van. There was evidence they were going to drive as close to the reactors as they could. However police had stopped the truck before they could get anywhere near the plant. The suspects decided to set of the bomb anyways and the explosion destroyed a portion of the city, leaving a 1km crater that took out a good portion of the town.

Already emergency crews were on the scene and the French Government had offered relief and aid to the small town. A list of places people could donate food, clothing and blankets was being created and the news anchor was urging everyone to help any way they could.

“I want to help them.” Marinette said as the news cast went on. “I want to send them something. I could get some material make blankets and maybe even simple shirts in lots of sizes and slip on pants.” She started pacing and planning, “My parents could make some breads and croissants and we could ship them. And I could organize a food drive at the school with...”

Penny cut Marinette off. “That’s a lot to do for you. It’s great to help out but you don’t want to overdo it yourself and get too exhausted to manage it.” She placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Also buying all that material to make clothes will be expensive. It might be better to do a clothing and food drive. You don’t need to make it a big show.”

“Yes she does Penny.” Jagged had stood up as well.

“What?” Both ladies said.

“A big show! We can help her put on a big show and gather up supplies, clothes, food and donations towards re-building. Did you say with me using 4 of her outfits on tour I’d be her own fashion show?”

“I meant it as a joke Jagged.” Penny said.

“But we could make it real! We can help her set it. She designs a few more outfits and we get some of her school chums to show them off. Charge at the door! Have a set up for dropping off clothes and food at the show.” Jagged pulled Marinette to his side. “It will be big! I know you can do it.” He grabbed Penny and said theyd be in touch. He was going to talk to the mayor about renting the ballroom.

Tikki floated up from Marinette’s purse. “What just happened?”

“I’m not sure Tikki,” Marinette looked at the little red kwami. “I think I was just signed up to do a fashion show.”

Over the next few days it was sorted out that Penny and Jagged were going to organize most of it. Marinette just had to come up with 4 more designs and sew 8 outfits in 2 weeks.

--------

After staying up late for 2 days designing the other 4 outfits it showed on Marinette. It was first period and she was asleep at her desk.

Adrien looked at her as he walked in with Nino. He turned to Alya, “What’s wrong with Marinette?”

“She managed to finish the last of the designs last night.” Alya said while patting Marinette’s head. “Poor girl is so stressed right now.”

“Oh, the fashion show to raise funds for Saint-Vulbas. I was thinking of asking my dad if I could be a model for her show.” Adrien looked at Marinette with fondness.

“Well, you’ll have to let her know today. After school she’s going have to get the measurements of everyone and start sewing all 8 outfits tonight. Jagged is picking her up after dinner to go buy the material she needs.” Alya continued to stroke Marinette’s hair.

“She’s sewing them all on her own?” Nino asked.

“Mmm hm.” Alya nodded. “I would love to help her but I keep making a mess of things when I try to sew.”

“I could ask my dad for help.” Adrien spoke.

“Really?” Alya asked.

“Yeah, I know we’re in between shows and shoots so things aren’t busy for the seamstresses. Maybe dad would be willing to let one or two of them help out. They know how to sew on a deadline.” Adrien glanced at the sleeping girl. “Do you think she would like the help? I don’t want to come across as her not being able to do it, but that is a lot of work.”

Marinette chose that moment to wake up with a start. “Put your sleeves back on!” She yelled.

Alya, Nino and Adrien were shocked for a moment. Then they all burst out laughing.

“Not funny guys.” Marinette realized what had happened. “I had a horrible dream that one of my dresses decided it looked better without sleeves and took them off itself.”

“That is funny.” Nino chuckled.

“Hey Marinette?” Adrien asked softly.

“Yeah?” she responded sleepily.

“Would you be alright if I asked my dad if we could get help from one of the seamstresses? You give them the designs and they can do the sewing for some of the outfits.” He smiled at her.

“I wouldn’t want to put them out. I’m supposed to be designing the outfits and I should make them.” She was interrupted by a yawn before she could go on.

“It’s not a problem. You need the help. 8 outfits in 2 weeks while still going to school is going to be a lot. Also,” Adrien started before she could argue further. “While my dad designs, he really doesn’t do the sewing anymore. Maybe on a specific outfit but he usually gets the seamstresses to do the work.”

Marinette thought for a moment and nodded. She was way too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, all Adrien was going to do was ask. Didn’t mean that his dad would help.

--------

Adrien went home for lunch and asked Nathalie if he could chat with father for a moment.

She came back after Adrien had finished eating and said that his father would see him now.

Adrien asked his father first if it was alright if he was a model for Marinette and Jagged’s fashion show. Adrien explained what the show was for and how much work Marinette was going to have to do and how he’d really like to help her out. Would he be willing to have a few of his designs in the show too to help draw in more people.

Gabriel agreed to Adrien modelling as it was for a good cause. However he would not have his designs in the fashion show. After all it was supposed to be Marinette’s designs. He commented that 8 outfits in less than 2 weeks would be hard for a school girl so he agreed to lend two seamstresses to help out. But they would all have work in the studio downtown.

Adrien thanked his dad and went back to school really happy. He told Marinette what his dad was going to do.

She almost passed out.

During the last class the teacher said that in support of the Fashion Show Fundraiser Marinette could take this time to get the measurements of the students willing to be models and that those who wanted to help out in others ways could meet with Penny in the main yard to talk about how they could help with the food and clothing drive portion of the fashion show.

Adrien, Kim, Max and Nino would be the male models. Chloe, Juleka, Rose and Alix would be the female models.

Ivan, Mylene, Sabrina and Alya decided to help out at the drives. Nathanael says he is going to ask Penny if it would be alright if he did some artwork that could be sold. Lila says she is helping her mother with some of the government organized things and asks to leave.

Since Adrien’s measurements are in his dad’s file Marinette quickly takes the measurements of the others and has Adrien write them down.

-----------

When Jagged comes by after dinner he says they are swinging by the Agreste place first.

“Why are we going there?” Marinette asks.

“We’re picking up Adrien Agreste. His dad called me this afternoon and said you could have access to his fabric room to pick out stuff for the outfits.” Jagged helped her into the car. “Adrien is going to allow us access into the building.”

Marinette was floored.

Over the next week and a half Marinette went to school during the day and then her and Adrien would go to his fathers business offices downtown and she’d look over what the 2 ladies had done. As the seamstresses could work all day long they said they’d do the majority of the outfits for Marinette.

Marinette insisted on making Adrien’s and Rose’s outfits herself as they were going to be the only matched pair.

Rose drops by a couple of nights in a row for fittings. Adrien has been hanging out with Marinette the whole time. Chatting, trying on the outfit and just watching her sew. The other class mates came by 4 days before the show for their first fittings.

With 2 days before the show all the outfits were complete and final fittings were done.

--------

The afternoon of the show Marinette was a bundle of nerves.

Marinette was pacing and worrying in front of Adrien as a makeup artist put on the final touches before he was to go out for the show. “Oh gawd, what if people see the outfits and hate them and demand their money back. What if someone trips and breaks a leg or an arm. What if Hawk Moth finally decides to attack. I’m glad that he hasn’t done anything since the bombing but he could change his mind today. What if..”

Adrien, finished with makeup, got up, went over to Marinette and put his hands on her shoulders to stop her.

“Everything will be fine. Everyone is in their outfits and they look great. They’re getting makeup on. We all went through rehearsals yesterday and know where to walk. Safety inspectors have looked over everything and it’s all safe. Nathalie is stagemanaging.” Adrien kissed Marinette’s forehead. “Nothing will go wrong.”

Marinette blushed and almost forgot to breathe.

“Yeah Mari,” Kim struck a pose, “These outfits are amazing.”

“I feel pretty.” Juleka said. And she looked it. Everyone else made positive remarks about how everything looked and how well it would go.

“Now,” Adrien put an arm around Marinette and steered her towards Penny and Jagged. “Go. You need to be with them greeting people before coming back her before the show actually starts. We’ll take care of everything back here until then. When the last of us have come out for the final walk you join us on the stage and receive your well earned congratulations.”

Marinette looked at all her friends backstage and almost started to cry. “Thank you everyone.” She then went out and hugged Jagged. Now she just had to wait for the show to start.

[adorkablephil]

Fic: Listen (Chapter 5)

Title: Listen Rating: PG Word Count: 2.5K (this chapter) Summary: Phil is a successful YouTuber, and Dan is a fan desperate for attention. Sounds like 2009, right? Except Phil is Deaf. Tags: AU, Deaf!Phil, Mute!Dan, Both YouTubers, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Conversion Disorder Fic also available on AO3 here

[Masterlist of all “Listen” chapters on Tumblr]

Chapter 5: First

Dan evaporated like mist, as if he’d never existed. One moment, Phil felt a constant frisson of awareness of that delicious warmth along his side, only inches away, and then suddenly … nothing.

Well, not nothing: a couple of very enthusiastic teenage girls, obviously subscribers, mouths moving excitedly, probably not really thinking about the fact that he couldn’t hear a word they were saying, though his lip reading had improved a lot since he'd first left the Deaf school. But then the girls were miming requests to take selfies with him, and Phil happily obliged, as always. But his mind was elsewhere. Where had Dan gone? Phil hugged the girls goodbye, trying to smile warmly as he waved at them, attempting to shoo them off without being rude. They clutched their phones, giggling, as he turned away to look frantically up and down the street.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Dan: i’m in the apple store. come get me when theyre gone

The girls were still watching him with obvious fascination, so Phil strolled away from them and ducked into a nearby bookstore.

Phil: I’m in the WHSmith. I’ll wait until I’m sure they’re gone. Don’t you ever get fans stopping you in the street?

Dan: no

Phil: How is that possible? You have more subscribers than I do!

Dan: i don’t go out much & i keep my head down. maybe i dont have many subscribers in wokingham

Phil: I know you don’t go to the conventions, but surely you’ve met some of your fans sometime?

Dan: no

Dan: i mean then theyd know i can’t talk

Phil stood staring at his phone, not knowing what to say in response to that. He went to the front of the store and cautiously peered out. No sign of the excited girls. The Apple Store was about a block away, so he started walking in that direction.

Dan had never met a subscriber? At least all Phil’s viewers knew he was Deaf, and so he could be himself if he met them on the street and they wouldn’t be surprised. He had nothing to hide. But Dan let everyone believe that the “silent movie” theme was just his signature video style. He interacted with his audience enthusiastically on social media, but … he never interacted with anyone in person. He’d never even done any collabs with other YouTubers, as far as Phil knew.

Phil suddenly wondered if he was the only one Dan had told. He’d never thought about it, but now that he did, it seemed obvious.

He’d seen Dan interact frequently not only with fans but also with various other YouTubers on social media over the past couple years, and he seemed very friendly with many of them, especially the ones he knew Phil was personal friends with. Dan was always joking and supportive and self-deprecatingly funny with them all. But … Phil was probably the only one he’d trusted with the truth.

In the crowded Apple Store, Phil spotted Dan huddled in a corner with his hoodie pulled up to cover his hair and much of his face. He was staring down at his phone, his shoulders hunched as if braced for a blow. Phil stopped a couple feet away, not wanting to startle him.

Phil: I’m right behind you.

Dan turned immediately, and the pinched look on his face hurt Phil’s heart. His brown eyes were wide and frightened, his mouth tight and drawn. He looked back down at his phone, typing.

Dan: they didn’t see me did they?

Phil shook his head, smiling sadly, and then couldn’t help but take Dan in his arms for the first time. He was so much larger than the girls Phil had hugged only moments ago, but so much dearer and more precious, because this was Dan. His Dan. And he was hiding in an Apple Store because he was afraid.

Dan’s body went completely rigid for a moment, but then he suddenly relaxed into Phil’s hold as if deflating. His head sank down so that his forehead rested on Phil’s shoulder and he wrapped his long arms around Phil’s waist, squeezing as if clinging to a life raft in stormy seas. Phil raised a hand to brush aside the hoodie so he could stroke Dan’s hair slowly, over and over again. And maybe they were making a bit of a spectacle of themselves in the corner of the Apple Store, but Phil didn’t care.

But Dan might.

So Phil pulled away gently and waited for Dan’s head to come up. Phil gestured questioningly toward the door, and Dan nodded. Phil mimed putting his hood up, and Dan did, glancing around nervously. They left the store and walked to the bus stop more quickly than they’d been walking when they first left the Starbucks.

They didn’t talk at the stop, or even on the bus. They just stared at their individual phones, not even texting each other. Dan just followed Phil like a shadow.

When they arrived at the flat, Dan hovered near the front door, clearly nervous, as Phil removed his coat and hung it on the peg in the entryway. Dan’s eyes flitted here and there, trying to take in the whole room at once. He’d seemed skittish ever since the fans in the high street.

“Want a tour?” Phil signed, using his facial expression and inviting gesture to make his meaning clear. Dan nodded, pulling his hoodie sleeves down to mostly cover his hands in a move Phil had seen on Skype a hundred times, but which he found utterly adorable nonetheless.

Phil led him to the lounge and signed, “The lounge,” before identifying the signs for “table,” “sofa,” and “Playstation.” Well, okay, he fingerspelled “Playstation,” mostly just to see Dan smile. Phil pulled out his phone again.

Phil: How did you learn fingerspelling?

Dan pressed his palms together and then pulled them apart as if opening a book, which seemed clear enough. Phil nodded in understanding: Dan had actually gone looking for a book to learn the BSL alphabet. Phil’s heart swelled.

Dan held up a hand, and Phil stopped, watching him. Then Dan repeated the signs for “lounge,” “table,” and “sofa,” before laboriously fingerspelling “Playstation.”

“That’s great!” Phil signed with a broad smile. “Good memory!” He knew Dan would be able to figure out some of the signs just from context and from what they looked like, since BSL was fairly visually intuitive. So he led him through the flat, pointing things out and slowly signing their names, watching fondly when Dan copied him.

When he’d finished the tour, they wound up standing in the kitchen, just glancing around, avoiding each other’s eyes, not sure what to do next.

In the back of his mind, he kept remembering Dan’s intent eyes back at the Starbucks, Dan signing, “I want to kiss you.” Dan signing, “I love you.” But the Dan here with him in his flat in the present moment seemed comparatively distant and uncomfortable, shoulders hunched as tight as they’d been in the Apple Store, hands shoved nervously in his jeans pockets. He looked young and uncertain and self-conscious.

Resorting to the manners his mum had taught him, Phil picked up the kettle and signed, “Tea?” Then he held up the can of instant coffee and signed, “Or coffee?”

Dan’s shoulders lowered an inch or so and he nodded, clearly relieved. “Coffee,” he signed. Phil wondered if the caffeine might just make them both more jittery and nervous, but at least it would give them something to do. And the only other thing he could think about doing was basically leaping on Dan and claiming some of those promised kisses … and Dan didn’t look remotely ready for that right now.

They ended up playing several games of Mario Kart and Crash Bandicoot, letting their coffees go cold on the side table as they sat side-by-side on Phil’s sofa. Dan was a Mario Kart master, utterly destroying Phil every race and pretending no false modesty as he performed a shameless victory dance after every win. Phil pretended to pout about it, but really he was just happy to see Dan laughing and bouncing up and down. He was also pleased that Dan seemed to finally be making himself at home, running through the game menus himself instead of deferring to Phil like some kind of polite guest.

They slouched down on the sofa when they’d decided they’d had enough gaming, both relaxed and smiling. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and Phil just savored the presence of Dan in his flat. Finally. After all this time! Dan was actually here!

He turned his head to look at this boy, this young man he’d been longing for, dreaming of, for so long. Years of long-distance courting through DMs and texts and Skype calls. And somehow, for some reason, Dan had finally decided to fully trust him, had bought a ticket and gotten on a train and ridden for hours, had braved the wild subscribers of Manchester’s high street … all for Phil. He could feel his heart beating, feel his own pulse in his fingertips and in his throat and on his tongue and … Dan turned to meet his gaze. Phil held his breath. Then Dan’s eyes dropped to Phil’s lips, then back up to meet Phil’s eyes. Phil licked his lips, not trying to be seductive but just not wanting to have dry lips for their first kiss … because that’s what was about to happen, right? He could see the reciprocated longing on Dan’s face, the slight parting of his lips, the intensity in his gaze.

And then Dan looked away, running a hand through his fringe, trying to straighten it, then fluff it, all movements Phil had seen him make on Skype, but in this case Dan had no image of himself to look at, so it was obviously just nervous habit.

Phil wondered if Dan wanted him to take the lead. Maybe Dan was too nervous to initiate a kiss? But that didn’t feel right. It felt like if this was going to happen—and Phil was pretty darn certain it would happen eventually, even if it wasn’t today, even if it wasn’t this weekend at all—it needed to happen on Dan’s schedule. When Dan was ready.

When their lips first met, Dan would be the one to close that last tiny distance between them.

Dan stood up and prowled restlessly around the lounge, inspecting the movies, games, books, and knick-knacks on the various shelves, occasionally casting a nervous glance at Phil on the sofa. Eventually, he held up a DVD case for the horror film Cube and raised an eyebrow, eyes darting toward the tv then back at Phil. Phil shrugged and nodded, gesturing toward the DVD player in invitation. Dan put the disc in and hovered in front of the tv, using the remote to start the film. The subtitles started automatically with Phil’s default settings. Dan went to turn off the overhead lamp, which surprised Phil, since they’d talked about Dan’s fear of the dark. They’d also talked about his ironic preference for full immersion when he watched horror films, though, so maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising.

It definitely made the room feel more intimate, though.

And when Dan returned to the sofa, he sat a little closer to Phil this time.

In fact, their arms were touching slightly. Phil found himself painfully aware of the gooseflesh rising everywhere Dan’s skin innocently brushed his. He stared fixedly at the television screen, though he paid no attention to what he was actually watching. He’d seen the film before, of course, but right now his brain was a blank, all his senses attuned to the warm body so close beside him, so near after they’d been so far apart for so long. His hands begged to reach for Dan, but Phil twined his fingers together in his lap to control himself.

When he felt Dan’s eyes on him again, he turned his head. The flickering light from the telly made it difficult to read Dan’s expression, but the body language couldn’t have been clearer as Dan leaned slightly closer, then hesitated again. Wanting to help alleviate some of the built-up tension and awkwardness, Phil smiled softly and signed again, for the first time since the Starbucks, “I love you, Dan.” He wasn’t sure how well Dan would be able to see his hands in the dim lighting, but the change in Dan’s facial expression said it had been enough.

A moment later, Phil’s eyes closed as a soft mouth touched his, the barest brush at first, just a hint of contact, uncertain, questioning. Phil kept his lips pliant, parting them very slightly beneath Dan’s to show his interest without pressing for anything more. A warm hand reached up to cradle the side of his face, and Phil could feel a slight tremble in Dan’s fingers as he scooted closer to Phil on the sofa and leaned more fully into the kiss. Phil tilted his head slightly to improve the angle, and this aligned their mouths perfectly, Dan’s hand sliding up into Phil’s hair and a timid tongue darting quickly across the sensitive skin of his bottom lip.

Then Dan slid away again, and the brief kiss was over. Dan’s eyes watched him nervously from the distance he’d put between them until he eventually signed anxiously, “Was that okay?”

Phil closed his eyes again for a moment, just savoring the memory of that gentle intimacy, and then opened his eyes to gaze fondly at Dan as he signed, “The best.” In case Dan didn’t understand the sign, Phil raised a hand to press two fingers softly to his own lips and smiled, letting his eyes close again.

When he opened them, Dan was smiling too, glancing down shyly and then back up at Phil through his lashes. He licked his lips, probably unconsciously, and copied Phil’s sign. “The best,” Dan signed, and Phil knew a bewitching blush probably suffused that beautiful face undetected in the darkened lounge.

The film continued to play, ignored, a few feet away, but Phil just admired how its light emphasized the shadow of dimple in Dan’s cheek as they gazed at each other with a sort of blissful, tender joy he’d never experienced before in his entire life.

“I love you,” Dan signed quickly, and then he scooted close to cuddle against Phil’s side, nestling his head onto Phil’s shoulder so that his hair tickled Phil’s cheek, and they pretended to turn their attention back to watching the film, actually just breathing together and feeling closer than any two people had ever been.

Author’s Note: Feed your local fanfic author! Likes, comments, reblogs, reblogs with lovely tags ... go ahead, make my day!

[Continue to Chapter 6]

[allofbeercom]

After the Circus by Patrick Modiano – extract

Read an exclusive extract from the Nobel prize winners mysterious, romantic classic set on Parisian streets filled with dreamy unease and quiet menace now available to English readers in a new translation by Mark Polizzotti

I was eighteen, and the man whose face I dont recall was typing up my legal status, address, and supposed student enrollment as fast as I could state them. He asked how I spent my free time.

I paused for a few seconds.

I go to movies and bookstores.

You dont just go to movies and bookstores.

He cited the name of a café. No matter how often I repeated that Id never set foot in the place, I could tell he didnt believe me. Finally, he contented himself with typing the following:

I go to movies and bookstores. I have never been to the Café de la Tournelle, at number 61 on the quay of that name.

Then more questions about my activities and my parents. Yes, I took literature courses at the university. There was no danger in telling him that lie: I really had enrolled in the program, but only to prolong my draft deferment. As for my parents, they were both abroad and I had no idea when theyd return, if ever.

Then he mentioned the names of a man and a woman and asked if I knew them. I answered no. He told me to think very carefully. If I didnt tell the truth, there could be serious consequences. The threat was delivered in a calm, indifferent voice. No, really, I didnt know those two individuals. He typed my answer, then handed me the sheet, at the bottom of which was written: Seen and agreed to. I didnt bother looking over my deposition and signed with a ballpoint pen that was lying on the desk.

Before leaving, I asked why Id had to submit to that interrogation.

Your name was in someones address book.

But he didnt say who that someone was.

Well be in touch if we need you again.

He saw me to the door of his office. In the hallway, on the leather bench, sat a girl of about twenty-two.

Youre next, he said to the girl.

She stood up. We exchanged glances. Through the door that hed left ajar, I saw her sit down in the same chair that Id occupied a moment earlier.

* * *

I found myself back on the quay. It was around five in the afternoon. I walked toward the Pont Saint-Michel, thinking that I might wait for the girl to come out after her interrogation. But I couldnt just loiter about police head-quarters. I decided to bide my time in the café on the corner of Boulevard du Palais, where it meets the quay. And what if she had gone in the opposite direction, toward the Pont-Neuf ? The thought never occurred to me.

I was seated near the window, my eyes fixed on the Quai des Orfèvres. Her interrogation lasted much longer than mine. Night had already fallen when I saw her walking toward the café.

As she was passing by, I tapped on the window with the back of my hand. She looked at me in surprise, then came inside to join me.

She sat down at my table as if we knew each other and had made a date. She was the first to speak.

Did they ask you a lot of questions?

My name was in someones address book.

Do you know who?

They wouldnt tell me. But maybe you can shed some light.

She knitted her brow.

Shed light on what?

I figured your name must have been in that address book, too, and they were questioning you about the same thing.

No. With me, it was just to give evidence.

She seemed preoccupied. It felt like she was slowly forgetting I was there. I kept silent. Then she smiled. She asked how old I was. I said twenty-one, making myself three years older: legal age, at the time.

Do you have a job?

I deal in used books, I said randomly, in a tone I tried to make convincing.

She looked at my face, no doubt wondering if she could trust me.

Will you do me a favor? she asked.

* * *

At Place du Châtelet, she wanted to take the metro. It was rush hour. We stood squeezed together near the doors. At every station, the riders getting off pushed us onto the platform. Then we got back on with the new passengers. She leaned her head on my shoulder and said with a smile that no one could find us in this crowd.

At the Gare du Nord metro stop, we were carried along in the flood of travelers heading for the commuter trains. We crossed through the train station lobby, and in the checkroom she opened a locker and pulled out a black leather suitcase.

I carried the suitcase, which was rather heavy. It occurred to me that it contained more than just clothes. The metro again, same line but in the opposite direction. This time we found seats. We got off at Cité.

At the end of the Pont-Neuf, we waited for the light to turn red. I was feeling increasingly anxious. I wondered how Grabley would greet us when we arrived at the apartment. Shouldnt I tell her about Grabley, so that his presence there wouldnt catch her off guard?

We walked past the Hôtel des Monnaies. I heard the clock on the Institut de France chime nine p.m.

Are you sure no one will mind if I come to your place? she asked.

Nope. No one.

There were no lights in the apartment windows facing the quay. Had Grabley gone to his room, on the courtyard side? Normally he parked his car in the middle of the little square that forms a recess between the Hôtel des Monnaies and the Institut, but it wasnt there.

I opened the door on the fourth floor and we walked through the foyer. We entered the room that had served as my fathers office. Light fell from a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. No furniture left, except for an old couch with dark red leaf patterns.

I set the suitcase down next to the couch. She went to the window.

You have a nice view . . .

To the left was one end of the Pont des Arts and the Louvre. Directly in front, the tip of Ile de la Cité and the small Vert-Galant park.

We sat on the couch. She looked around her and seemed amazed by the sparseness of the room.

Are you moving out?

I told her that, unfortunately, we had to vacate the premises in a month. My father had gone to Switzerland to live out his days.

Why Switzerland?

It really was too long a story for that evening. I shrugged. Grabley would be back any minute. How would he react when he saw the girl and her suitcase? I was afraid he would call my father in Switzerland, and that the latter, in a last gasp of parental dignity, would try to play the noble paterfamilias, lecture me about my studies and endangered future. But he was wasting his time.

Im tired . . .

I suggested she lie down on the couch. She hadnt removed her raincoat. I remembered that the heating no longer worked.

Are you hungry? I can go get something from the kitchen . . .

She sat on the couch, legs folded under her, resting on her heels.

Dont go to any trouble. Maybe just something to drink . . .

The light in the foyer had gone off. The bow window in the wide front hall leading to the kitchen lit the room with pale glimmers, as if there were a full moon out. Grabley had left the light on in the kitchen. In front of the old dumbwaiter stood an ironing board on which I recognized the trousers of his glen plaid suit. He ironed his own shirts and other clothes. On the folding table, where I sometimes took my meals with him, was an empty yogurt jar, a banana peel, and a packet of instant coffee. He must have eaten in. I found two yogurts, a slice of salmon, some fruit, and a bottle of whiskey three-quarters empty. When I returned, she was reading one of the magazines that Grabley had let pile up for several weeks on the office mantelpiece, risqué periodicals, as he called them, for which he had a great fondness.

I set the tray down in front of us, on the floor.

She had left the magazine open next to her and I could make out the black-and-white photo of a naked woman, seen from behind, hair tied in a ponytail, left leg extended, right leg bent, her knee resting on a mattress.

Interesting reading matter youve got . . .

No, those arent mine . . . They belong to a friend of my fathers.

She bit into an apple and poured herself some whiskey.

What have you got in that suitcase? I asked.

Oh, nothing much . . . Some personal effects . . .

It was heavy. I thought it was stuffed with gold bricks.

She gave me a sheepish smile. She explained that she lived in a house not far from Paris, near Saint-Leu-la-Forêt, but the owners had come back unexpectedly last night. She preferred to leave, as she didnt really get along with them. Tomorrow she would go to a hotel, until she could find a permanent place to live.

You can stay here as long as you like.

I was sure that Grabley, after his initial surprise, would have no objections. As for my father, what he thought no longer mattered.

Are you getting sleepy?

I intended to give her the upstairs bedroom. I would sleep on the office couch.

I led the way, suitcase in hand, up the small inner staircase to the fifth floor. The room was as sparsely furnished as the office. A bed shoved against the back wall. The nightstand and bedside lamp were gone. I switched on the fluorescent lights in the two display cases, on either side of the fireplace, where my father kept his collection of chess pieces, although these had disappeared, along with the small Chinese armoire and the fake Monticelli canvas that had left a discoloration on the sky-blue paneling. I had consigned those three objects to an antiques dealer, a certain DellAversano, for him to sell.

Is this your room? she asked.

Yes.

I had set the suitcase in front of the fireplace. She went to the window, like before, in the office.

If you look all the way to the right, I told her, you can see the statue of Henri IV and the Tour Saint-Jacques.

She gazed distractedly at the rows of books between the two windows. Then she lay down on the bed and removed her shoes with a casual flick of her foot. She asked where I was going to sleep.

Downstairs on the couch.

Stay here, she said. I dont mind.

She had kept on her raincoat. I turned off the lights in the display cases. I lay down next to her.

Doesnt it feel cold to you?

She moved closer and gently rested her head on my shoulder. Lights and shadows shaped like window grates slid across the walls and ceiling.

Whats that? she asked.

The tour boat passing by.

* * *

<img class="gu-image" itemprop="contentUrl" alt="The" cafe aux deux magots in the saint germain district in 1960. the rue de rennes in the background, on the left. FRANCE – JANUARY 01: The cafe AUX DEUX MAGOTS in the Saint Germain district in 1960. The rue de Rennes in the background, on the left. (Photo by Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images)” src=”https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/fcfee192d71e0a16e7c185fc0366fd431d4f7db2/0_0_3508_2339/master/3508.jpg?w=300&q=85&auto=format&sharp=10&s=f330ada83013e1a7d2d29fafec406923″/>

Photograph: Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images

I awoke with a start. The front door had slammed.

She was lying against me, nude inside her raincoat. It was seven in the morning. I heard Grableys footsteps. He was making a phone call in the office. His voice grew louder and louder, as if he was arguing with someone. Then he left the office and went into his room.

She woke up as well and asked what time it was. She told me she had to be going. She had left some belongings in the house in Saint-Leu-la-Forêt and wanted to collect them as soon as possible.

I offered her breakfast. There was still some instant coffee in the kitchen and one of the boxes of Choco BN biscuits that Grabley always bought. When I returned to the fifth floor with the tray, she was in the large bathroom. She emerged, dressed in her black skirt and pullover sweater.

She said she would call me early that afternoon. She didnt have any paper on which to jot down my number. I took a book from the shelves and tore out the flyleaf, on which I wrote my name, address, and phone number: DANTON 55-61. She folded the paper in four and shoved it in one of her raincoat pockets. Then her lips brushed mine and she said in a low voice that she was grateful and was looking forward to seeing me again.

She walked along the quay toward the Pont des Arts.

I stood at the window for a few minutes, watching her distant silhouette cross the bridge.

I stashed the suitcase in the storage closet at the top of the stairs. I laid it flat on the floor. It was locked. I lay down again and breathed in her scent from the hollow of one of the pillows. She would eventually tell me why theyd questioned her yesterday afternoon. I tried to recall the names of the two people the detective had mentioned, asking whether I knew them. One of them sounded something like Beaufort or Bousquet. In whose address book had they found my name? Was he just trying to get information about my father? Hed asked which foreign country my father had gone to. I had covered his tracks by answering Belgium.

The week before, I had accompanied my father to the Gare de Lyon. He was wearing his old navy blue overcoat and his only luggage was a leather bag. We were early, and we waited for the Geneva train in the large restaurant on the upper level, from which we overlooked the lobby and railway tracks. Was it the late afternoon light? The golden hue on the ceiling? The chandeliers that shone down on us? My father suddenly seemed old and tired, like someone who has been playing cat and mouse for far too long and is about to give up.

The only book he brought with him for the trip was called The Hunt. He had recommended it to me several times, because the author mentioned our apartment, where hed lived twenty years earlier. What a strange coincidence . . . Hadnt my fathers life, in certain periods, resembled a hunt in which he was the prey? But so far, hed managed to elude his captors.

We were facing each other over our coffee. He was smoking, cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. He talked about my schooling and my future. As he saw it, it was all well and good to want to write novels, as I intended, but it was safer to earn a few diplomas. I kept quiet, listening to him. Words like diplomas, stable situation, profession sounded odd in his mouth. He pronounced them with respect and a kind of nostalgia. After a while, he fell silent, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and shrugged.

We didnt exchange another word until he climbed onto the train and leaned out the lowered window. I had remained on the platform.

Grabley will live with you in the apartment. Afterward, well make a determination. Youll have to rent someplace else.

But he had said it without any conviction. The train for Geneva lurched forward, and at that moment it felt as if I were seeing that face and that navy blue coat pull away forever.

At around nine oclock, I went down to the fourth floor. I had heard Grableys footsteps. He was sitting on the office couch in his plaid bathrobe. Next to him was a tray carrying a cup of tea and a Choco BN. He hadnt shaved and his features were drawn.

Good morning, Obligado . . .

He called me by that nickname because of a friendly wager wed had. One evening, we had arranged to meet in front of a cinema on Avenue de la Grande-Armée. He had told me to get off at the Obligado metro stop. The stop was really called Argentine, but he refused to believe it. We had made a bet, which Id won.

I only got two hours sleep last night. I made my rounds.

He stroked his blond mustache and squinted.

Same places as usual?

The very ones.

His rounds invariably started at eight oclock at the Café des Deux Magots, where he had an aperitif. Then he crossed over to the Right Bank and stopped at Place Pigalle. He stayed in that neighborhood until dawn.

And what about you, Obligado?

I put a girlfriend up last night.

Does your father know?

No.

You should ask him if its all right. Im sure Ill be getting a call.

He imitated my father when he wanted to appear serious and responsible, but it rang even less true than the original.

And what sort of young lady is she?

His face took on the unctuous expression with which he suggested, every Sunday morning, that I go to Mass with him.

First of all, shes not a young lady.

Is she pretty?

I saw on his face the smug, flattering smile of the traveling salesman in some random station bar who over a beer tells you how he got lucky.

My girlfriend last night wasnt too bad either . . .

His tone became aggressive, as if we were suddenly in competition. I no longer remember what I felt at the time, with that seated man, in the empty office that looked as if it had been vacated at a moments notice, its furniture and paintings pawned or repossessed. He was my fathers stand-in, his factotum. They had met when very young on a beach on the Atlantic coast, and my father had corrupted this petty bourgeois Frenchman. For thirty years, Grabley had lived in his shadow. The only habit he retained from his childhood and good upbringing was to attend Mass every Sunday.

Will you introduce me to your girlfriend?

He gave me a complicit wink.

We could even go out together, if you like . . . Im fond of young couples.

I pictured us, her and me, in Grableys car as it crossed over the Seine and headed toward Pigalle. A young couple. One evening Id accompanied him to the Deux Magots, before he headed off on his usual rounds. We were sitting near the windows. I had been surprised to see him greet in passing a couple of about twenty-five: the woman blonde and very graceful, the man dark and overly elegant. He had even gone to talk to them, standing next to their table, while I watched from my seat. Their age and appearance marked such a sharp contrast with Grableys old-world manners that I wondered what fluke could have brought them together. The man seemed amused by what Grabley was saying, but the woman was more detached. Taking his leave, Grabley had shaken the mans hand and given the woman a ceremonious nod. When we left, he introduced them to me, but Ive forgotten their names. Then hed told me that the young man was a very useful contact and that hed met him during his rounds in Pigalle.

You seem pensive, Obligado . . . Are you in love?

He had gotten up and was standing in front of me, hands in the pockets of his bathrobe.

I need to spend all day at the office. I have to sift through the paperwork from seventy-three and move it out.

That was an office my father had rented on Boulevard Haussmann. I often used to go meet him there at the end of the afternoon. A corner room with a very high ceiling. Daylight entered through four French windows overlooking the boulevard and Rue de lArcade. Filing cabinets against the walls and a massive desk with an assortment of inkwells, blotters, and a writing case.

What did he do there? Each time, I would find him on the telephone. After thirty years, I happened across an envelope, on the back of which was printed the name of an ore refining company, the Société Civile dEtudes et Traitements de Minerais, 73 Boulevard Haussmann, Paris 8.

You and your girlfriend can come pick me up at seventy-three. Well go have dinner together . . .

I dont think shes free this evening.

He seemed disappointed. He lit a cigarette.

Well, anyway, call me at seventy-three to let me know your plans . . . Id love to meet her . . .

I was thinking I had to keep a bit of distance, or else wed have him on our backs nonstop. But Ive never been very good at saying no.

This is an extract from After the Circus by Patrick Modiano, published on 21 January by Yale University Press at £10.99. Visit the Guardian Bookshop to preorder it for £8.79.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/after-the-circus-by-patrick-modiano-extract/

[depositmandepository]

Eichenwald's epic tour-de-force twitter storm on Trump's international corruption and crime

I’ve been criticizing the media quite a bit lately for failing the American people, but Vanity Fair/Newsweek journalist Kurt Eichenwald is not one of those people on the scathole list.  Eichenwald himself has been one of the few journalists to deep dive into Trump’s financials and discovered his incredibly shady ties to foreign governments, criminals and banks, including owing over $650,000,000 to the Bank of China and Goldman Sachs, but the true depth of his decades long sleazy history of corruption, crime, and just plain fractitude can only be fully appreciated when laid out stem to stern, end to end, as Eichenwald did in a massive tweet storm yesterday.

Here’s Kurt on Democracy Now discussing Trump’s businesses conflict with U.S. Interests.

Kurt Eichenwald on How Trump Organization's Links to Russia Could Threaten U.S. Security

1.Trump lied to Congress that he was not meeting with any Indian casino executives when documents and sworn statements show he was.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

2.Trump testified under oath that he is willing to claim success on something even when he knows his claim is false.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

3. Deutsche Bank concluded Trump net worth at $788 million when he was publicly claiming (and told bank) he was worth multiple billions.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

4. Trump said under oath that he determines his net worth based on how he feels.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

5. While Trump suggests he has an MBA from prestigious Wharton graduate school, only attended undergraduate program for 2 years. Has no MBA

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

6. Trump’s first project, given to him by his dad, lost money, according to state records. Trump has publicly lied that it made money.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

7. Trump’s second project was a Broadway show. It bombed, closing after 96 performances. He lost his investment.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

8. Trump’s claim that his dad gave him only $1m is a lie. His trust fund was $1 mill. Dad gave $10.4m for a bogus consultant job…(1 of 2)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

..guaranteed $70 m loan, got him $35m credit line, laundered $3.35mill 2 Don in illegal casino deal, loaned $7.5m more (never repaid.) 2/2

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

10. As Trump claimed great success, tax returns showed not. In ‘78 lost $1.5M. In ‘79, lost $11.4m. No bankruptcy cause dad gave him more $

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

11. When Trump built Taj Mahal, testified under oath to NJ he'd only use bank loans, not junk bonds. No bank would lend. Used junk bonds.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

12. Trump’s 3 casinos all competed with each other, which is why no banks loans. Taj took business from his other 2 casinos, crippling all.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

13. Trump spent huge sums on airline, promising top elegance. People w/ airline experience said it couldnt work. It never turned a profit.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

14. After Trump’s top casino execs died in accident, Trump took over running them. Large numbers of execs quit because of his management.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

15. When Trump about to default on interest payment for casino, his dad/he broke law by having dad launder $3.35 mill through casino. (1/3)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

16. Dad gave Trump another $150,000 loan next day, unreported to banks, in violation of bank agreement. (2/3)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

17 Rules breaking in financing (money laundering from dad etc) resulted in sanctions against him from NJ casino commission. (3/3)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

18. Trump banks were forced to make deal with him after bankruptcy of casinos because he personally guaranteed loans. If they went…(1/2)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

.…after personal guarantee, entire Trump empire would collapse and banks would lose billions. Banks loaned him tons more to save him. (2/2)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

19. Trump was $3.5 bill in debt. Later, when banks bailed him out, he claimed in books he was $9.5bill in debt to make recovery look better.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

21. Trump admitted under oath that, when he claimed he was $9.5 bill in debt in his books, it was a lie and he knew it.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

22. No banks will lend to Trump except Deutsche Bank. In 2008, he defaulted on a $640 mill construction loan to them.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

24. ..Trump Vodka, Trump Steaks, Trump Taj, Trump Castle, Trump Plaza, Trump Dubai, Trump University, Trump Toronto, Trump Hollywood..(2/3)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

25. I could go on many more tweets listing Trump's business failures. It'd be easier to list the Trump businesses that haven't failed. (3/3)

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

26. In Trump University, Trump claimed to “personally select” teachers who would teach real estate secrets. He did not, they did not.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

26. Unable to get bank loans because of his terrible record as a businessman, Trump began selling his name 4 use on other ppl’s projects.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

27. Trump marketed projects of other developers as his own. Only those who read dense legal agreement’s fine print learned it was a lie.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

28. Trump sold his name 2 incompetent developers whose projects collapsed, costing people who paid deposits millions while he made millions.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

29. When condo buyers sued Trump for falsely claiming projects of other developers were his, he said they should have read the fine print.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

30. Trump testified he did a favor to the condo buyers who lost millions by trusting him, because they avoided the real estate collapse.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

31. In 1990, one of Trump’s lieutenants told me ““The thing you don’t understand about Donald Trump is that he’s mentally ill.”

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

32. I wrote about Trump 4 New York Times. First time we spoke, he lied to me in his first sentence. He told three more lies in 5 min call.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

33. Trump lied that to WashPost in '87 that he knew stock market crash was coming and sold all his stocks. SEC filings prove it.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

34. To escape liability for fraud, Trump argued that a “development by Donald Trump” is different than “a Donald Trump development.”

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

35. Trump wrote “Bill Clinton was great president,” denied it under oath then said wrote it be4 knowing of Lewinsky scandal of 10 yrs before

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

36. In 2008, Trump wrote, “I know Hillary, and I think she would make a great president." Testified in 2016 he wrote it without thinking.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

37. Asked under oath identities of professors at Trump U (there were none) Trump said “I know names, but I don't know the identities.”

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

38. After saying under oath he knew the names of professors at Trump U (none existed) Trump could not name any.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

39. When sued for saying other developers buildings were his, Trump said truth wasn’t in ads because there wasn’t enough room 4 the words.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

40. Trump claimed to own 50% of a project when he owned 30%. His explanation under oath: “I always felt like I owned 50%.”

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

41. Trump said he was paid $1m for speech when paid $400,000. Under oath, he agreed he was paid 400, but said $1mill was still correct.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

42. Trump has never released a real medical report. His father had alzheimers, which is genetic and could hit at about Trump’s age.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

43. In 2007, Trump said his favorite book was his own, The Art of the Deal. Once he started running 4 president, he said it was the Bible.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

44. When asked to give his favorite words from the Bible, Trump cited an Old Testament phrase that was the only one repudiated by Jesus.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

45. When testifying under oath, Trump refused to answer questions 97 times about infidelities and suspected mistresses.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

46. Trump has called for US military to commit 3 different war crimes. When told military would refuse, he said theyd do what he commanded.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

47. Trump has directly insulted leaders of four allied countries, while offering effusive praise to Vladimir Putin.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

48. Trump has refused to release the letter sent by the IRS to prove he is under audit, despite dozens of requests from many reporters.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

49. An investigation of Trump’s partners reveals an enterprise with deep ties to global financiers, foreign politicians and even criminals.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

51. Trump revealed none of his partners or dealings with overseas entities in his financial disclosure to the FEC.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

52. Trump receives $8 million a year from South Korea business w/ interests in nukes. He has called for SK to have nukes.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

54. Trump’s conflicts in India are irreparable, and in issues with Pakistan, his financial interests lie solely with India.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

55. Trump’s business partner in Turkey has been arrested for fraud.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

56. Turkey’s president has told associates he will not allow US to use an airbase key to the battle against ISIS if Trump is president.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

57. Trump’s first business partners in UAE were indicted on charges of fraud.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

58. When a member of Saudi royal family criticized Trump, Trump attacked him as “dopey” and said he wants to control America w/ “daddy’s $”

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

59. Trump tried to strike a deal Libyan Investment Authority under Qaddafi, and offered murdering Libyan dictator a place 2 stay at his home

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

60.The father of Trump’s business partner in Azerbaijan is govnt official who US intelligence says launders money for the Iranian military.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

61. Trump’s statement he would avoid conflicts by placing his company in a blind trust is a lie; what he describes is not a blind trust.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

62. Trump told GOPrs at debate that he never pushed Jeb Bush for casino deal in Florida. Under oath a few years earlier, he said he did.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

63. 1.In 1999, Trump’s company secretly violated Cuban embargo. Months later, in 1st run for president, Trump said he never would.

— Kurt Eichenwald (@kurteichenwald) November 7, 2016

 More on Trump’s violation of the Cuban Embargo.

Kurt Eichenwald reports on Trump's dealings in Cuba, 9.29.2016

<div class="player-unavailable"><h1 class="message">An error occurred.</h1><div class="submessage"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GszBpHKNgWg" target="_blank">Try watching this video on www.youtube.com</a>, or enable JavaScript if it is disabled in your browser.</div></div>

Amazingly, this is only about half of his tweets from yesterday on Trump including a long selection on Trump repeatedly deleting emails and destroying documents that he was under order to provide in courts and physically blocking prosecutors for seaching for the documents when after a judge ordered they had the right to do so.  

Over the course of decades, Donald Trump’s companies have systematically destroyed or hidden thousands of emails, digital records and paper documents demanded in official proceedings, often in defiance of court orders. These tactics—exposed by a Newsweekreview of thousands of pages of court filings, judicial orders and affidavits from an array of court cases—have enraged judges, prosecutors, opposing lawyers and the many ordinary citizens entangled in litigation with Trump. In each instance, Trump and entities he controlled also erected numerous hurdles that made lawsuits drag on for years, forcing courtroom opponents to spend huge sums of money in legal fees as they struggled—sometimes in vain—to obtain records.

Rawstory has more.

[playavacationblog-blog]

Walking Mexico Educate Yourself

Mexico is so much more than the border or the beach / Photo: Walking Mexico

At the recent Sustainable & Social Tourism Summit held in Cancun, I had the opportunity to meet Mariana Courtney from Walking Mexico. Mariana and her Walking Mexico collaborators explore places in Mexico that are off the beaten path. After traveling through several countries, the team realized that what they were looking for was right outside their door and created Walking Mexico as a platform to share travel information with other travelers and introduce them to parts of the country that they would never see in travel ads.

Our message is Mexico is a great country. Its not only the beach. Its not only the border. Its all of this, referring to the incredibly diverse country where we live. Mariana recalled that when they started the project, there were places that even the team at Walking Mexico didn't know existed. She explained that even though they are Mexican, theyd never been to most of the places that now fill their website. Its amazing, she explains, Each time we go out and explore, more things come up. Forests, waterfalls, mountains, volcanoes, and this is the message we want to give.

The website www.walkingmexico.com is jam-packed with places to visit, away from the tourist-packed beaches and the hustle and bustle of the big cities. Walking Mexico is geared towards eco and adventure tourism and the members of the team that run the site are the ones out there, exploring, creating the content, and making alliances with local tour guides.

While they mainly promote to a younger, media savvy audience, they have travelers of all ages following them from 44 countries.

During our conversation, I asked Mariana about some of the places she has visited that surprised her. I didn't know there are more waterfalls than you could ever find in this country! Where there is a forest, where there is a hill, it seems like there is a waterfall! She told me stories about places, like a spot in Puebla where there is a pair of craters not far from a highway that you wouldn't even realize were there. The stunning location, called Alchichica, has white rock, turquoise water, and a little house with someone living in it, but other than that there is nothing there.

We could have talked for hours about the places she has visited, but she had to get back to the conference. Before she left, I asked her what she says to people who ask her if traveling in Mexico is dangerous. She thought for a moment and replied, It is true that some places are dangerous. For example, I dont go to the mountains of Guerrero. I would never travel there. Educate yourself about what areas are safe to travel to and places to avoid. Part of our objectives when we are traveling is to take a photo from the location we are in, showing two women traveling alone, to help people understand that this is OK and it is possible. Educate yourself. Great advice.

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The Tea Party leader taking a stand for solar energy: ‘I will do what’s right’

Debbie Dooley is a self-described crusader for solar power in Florida, where she is up against major public power utilities. But she has already won a similar battle in Georgia, and she says her message is that of a true conservative

Debbie Dooley is a firebrand Republican and an outspoken founding member of the Tea Party. But in a fast-intensifying battle over the future of solar power in Florida, she is not on the side you might expect.

Along with a diverse grassroots citizens coalition including environmentalists and other left-leaning activists, Dooley is taking on Big Energy and its big-spending conservative backers in an intriguing fight that puts her toe-to-toe with her onetime political allies.

She is at the spearhead of a campaign to place an initiative before Florida voters next year that would give consumers the freedom to choose to buy their solar energy from smaller private companies and bypass the mega-bucks utilities.

Its Floridas solar eclipse, says Dooley, who points to statistics she claims are proof that the Sunshine State is trailing the nation in utilising its most plentiful natural resource.

If the initiative is successful, Florida would no longer be one of only four states that prohibits so-called third-party power purchase agreements (PPA), which, in basic terms, refer to a consumer allowing a company to install solar panels with no upfront cost, then paying the company for electricity that the panels generate.

As things stand, only those who can afford the substantial initial outlay can power up from the sun, a situation Dooley says is unacceptable. With Florida 14th in the country in terms of installed solar capacity, only $63m was spent on new installations statewide in 2014, according to the Solar Energy Industries Association.

Lets remove the barriers, remove the shackles that protect the monopolies and allow consumer choice and freedom, said Dooley, whose Green Tea coalition of environmentally conscious conservatives is a key component of the Floridians for Solar Choice amalgam.

Unsurprisingly, the big public power utilities dont like the message being pushed by the activists as they tour the state attempting to collect the 683,000 signatures needed by February to get the initiative on Novembers ballot. So companies including Florida Power and Light, Duke Energy, Tampa Electric and Gulf Power are among the donors who have ploughed millions of dollars into a rival group, Consumers for Smart Solar, which is promoting its own initiative that would enshrine in the states constitution their exclusive right to sell solar power.

Their argument is that opening up the industry the way the citizens coalition wants would lead to less regulation and extra expense for traditional consumers in subsidies for the solar industry.

As the duel has become more caustic in recent months, so have the attacks from rightwingers on Dooley, who has driven thousands of miles across Florida with her partner Jason to speak at rallies, lunches and other engagements in support of a new direction for solar power. Some have called her a fake conservative and say she has betrayed her Republican roots. Others have branded her eccentric and dismissed her travels as a solar-powered clown show as she shills for the industry.

I dont worry about the attacks because I understand the political reality, which is theyre afraid of you, Dooley told the Guardian after a recent speaking engagement before the League of Women Voters of Palm Beach County.

If youre not being successful, theyre going to ignore you, so Im really getting under someones skin. I have to laugh at that.

Back in 2009, feeling that the Republican party had lost its way, Dooley joined up with 21 like-minded supporters to give the Tea Party movement its first organised structure. I was tired of politics as usual, tired of big money controlling everything, she said, explaining why she became a director of the Tea Party Patriots.

Now, she says, she finds it ironic that much of the criticism comes from rightwing groups who shared her beliefs, including the Koch brothers-funded American Legislative Exchange Council, but which take an opposite stance on clean energy.

True conservatives champion free-market choice, not government-created monopolies that stifle competition. she said. Trying to protect monopolies from competition is not free market. You should be bound by your principles and develop your position on issues based on your principles, not who your financial donors are.

The presence of Dooley, a pastors daughter from Bogalusa, Louisiana, in the midst of the Florida battle could prove to be a trump card, according to Stephen Smith, executive director of the Southern Alliance for Clean Energy.

Here in Florida, the political leadership is conservative, so having a voice like Debbies and others on the conservative side to be able to stand up for solar is very critical to the success of running this ballot initiative, he said.

Additionally, this is a conflict Dooley has fought and won before. She says the arguments in Florida, and the tactics employed, are similar to those that existed two years ago in Georgia, another red state wrestling with the solar power issue. Despite heavy opposition from the utilities there, and what she says was its $10m war chest against the organisation, Dooleys grassroots coalition won the day, with a third-party solar bill clearing the legislature this April.

If you mentioned solar in Georgia, it was always, No way, no how, but we won that fight with people power, Dooley said. We couldnt match them in money, so we built a coalition, we got free media, we got our message out there. It was easier for us to get press coverage because people were amazed you had these conservative groups, Tea Party groups, the Sierra Club, elected officials, all joining forces to oppose this.

We all had different messages, the different groups, but we were working for the same goal. If we agree solar is the way to go, we come together and ignore issues we may disagree on while respecting the right of everyone to believe and advocate for them. But come together and stay focused. There are many different roads into Atlanta, where I live, and you make your choice depending on which direction youre coming from. What matters is that you end up there.

Debbie Dooley in Atlanta: We won that fight with people power. Photograph: Tom Pietrasik for the Guardian

Even as a little girl, Dooley refused to be put in a box. When her grandfather bought her a dress-up cowgirl costume as a Christmas gift when she was just seven, the self-confessed tomboy complained loudly.

I dont want that. I dont want be a cowgirl. I want a cowboy outfit, Dooley recalls shouting at her relatives. I was so upset, they took it right back and got me the cowboy outfit. Theyd assumed because I was a girl that was what I wanted. But I was not afraid to challenge the norms.

Dooley says her early years following her fathers preachings in Louisiana, Tennessee and Florida helped to shape her political leanings and turned her into the driven character she is today at the age of 57.

I learned at a very early age to speak up and not be taken advantage of. I had no issue doing that, she said. My daddy prepared me well: he was strong, not afraid to take a step out, and I get a lot of my traits from him.

I will do whats right and damn the torpedoes kind of thing. If you know a preachers kid, you know they can be rebellious. People have preconceived notions about you and you fight to show its not like that. You grow up tough, you grow up to be independent.

Any pastor will tell you, you can have 100 in your congregation and only a portion of them will be happy at any one time. You understand that not everyone will be happy; you just do your best and stand for whats right.

Dooley, however, insists that taking a stand does not always have to be a politically charged move. I became a crusader for solar and Im appealing to conservatives, [but] I believe being good stewards of the environment God gave us should not be a partisan issue, she says, pointing out that it was the ultra-conservative president Ronald Reagan who championed the 1987 Montreal Protocol that phased out chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) from aerosols to protect the ozone layer.

I believe in clean energy. Ive always cared about clean air and a clean environment. Ive always been like that, she said.

I have a grandson, Aiden, who is seven. Hell know I fought for energy choice and freedom, hell know I fought for a clean environment for him, so he wouldnt have a polluted world. I see it is my legacy to him.

Unfortunately, the legacy of some of my fellow Republicans is that they simply denied that we were damaging our environment because they were greedy for economic reasons.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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We’re very close. We couldn’t not be: the secret to a friendly divorce

This month sees a spike in couples filing for divorce, many of them vowing to stay friends. But is it really possible or worth the pain?

A few weeks ago, a man came to stay at my house and he and I made so much noise at 1am that we feared we might wake the children. The next morning at breakfast, we had to explain ourselves and apologise.

The man was my ex-husband, and he was telling me an anecdote in the early hours that had us both in fits of laughter. We separated in January 2009, and divorced a year later. He has since remarried, and lives in another city, but often comes to visit our three teenage sons. We have spent several Christmases, Easters and birthdays together.

If liking and being nice to your former partner is the essence of Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martins conscious uncoupling, it could be said that my ex-husband and I are living that dream. In the three years since they announced their much-ridiculed approach to family life and relations post-marriage, the idea of the friendly divorce has become increasingly mainstream. As Helena Bonham Carter said of Tim Burton, her former husband of 13 years, I think well have something very precious still. Actor Kate Beckinsale is so friendly with her ex Michael Sheen (the father of their daughter) that shes often seen hanging out with him and his girlfriend, Sarah Silverman.

And then theres the rise of the divorce selfie, taken outside the courtroom, showing smug ex-marrieds beaming away together in the spirit of a bright future ahead of them (with a caption such as We smile not because its over but because it happened). January traditionally sees a spike in calls to family lawyers from couples wishing to uncouple. The first question for many is: can you really have a happy split?

Divorce coach Carol Sullivan thinks so. She runs Divorce Negotiator, which operates throughout England and Wales. Unlike solicitors who represent the separate parties, Sullivan assists both husband and wife and, to stop the escalation, maintains transparency between them. She claims to save a typical couple 80% of the cost of going to a solicitor, and 50% of their time. So far, she has helped more than 1,000 couples, many of whom apologise to each other and go out for drinks despite their decree nisi.

People are doing divorce differently that is, better, Sullivan says. They are more aware that the only winners are the lawyers, and bitterness and vengeance dont get anybody anywhere.

Of course, most people would say theyd like to divorce well, at least in theory, usually for the sake of any children involved. But, in practice, anger and hurt usually muddy the waters.

I am insufferably smug about what my ex-husband and I have managed to pull off, but I wont pretend it was instant. The parting of the ways was painful beyond anything I had ever experienced, but we managed to sort out our financial affairs and living arrangements ourselves. A lawyer friend kindly did the essential paperwork for both of us. We never went to court, and our whole divorce cost 90. Eight years have since passed, and time has done its cliched but excellent bit in terms of healing. Rancour has been and gone, leaving all the things we liked about each other in the first place: enjoyment of each others company, great communication, affection and respect. Plus all the things we have together accumulated over the years, namely three great boys, an important shared history and the recognition that prolonged bitterness eats away at people and benefits nobody.

Its difficult, but this approach is becoming more common. I have a friend whose husband went off with another woman. After her shock and anger subsided, she had him to stay with his new girlfriend several times, and even took coffee up to them in the morning. (Talk about forgiveness.) It was nice for the kids to see I was accepting of her with him, she tells me. I liked him. I liked her. She says she didnt indulge in any power play, at least not consciously.

The prevailing view is that good relations benefit the children, if you have them. Phyllis Maguire-Harrington, 33, is a carer and nursery manager. She sees many families who arent amicable, which has only compounded her belief that friendly divorce is vital even when she found out, three years into their marriage, that her husband had been unfaithful.

It hurt massively, she says now, but our daughter is my world. Even though I ended the marriage there and then, and never once wavered, I always spoke to him and let him see her. My daughter deserves both parents.

There was no court case. The same lawyer represented them both. It was all their own terms; he just did the paperwork. Her ex-husband has exactly the same parental rights as she does.

The couple, both from Wokingham, met at a bowling alley in their early 20s. Kieran Harrington, 35, remembers that she started dancing and I thought, wow! He found her generous, with a lot of time for others. Phyllis says she is very energetic, while Kieran was very chilled and happy to go along with anything she threw at him. They married in 2008 and separated in 2011, when their daughter was a year old.

To be brutally honest, I cheated on her, Kieran says. Its one of those things I cant explain. It was nothing she ever did or didnt do. When she found out, she went ballistic. Id never seen her like that. I deserved it. I tried to get her back, but eventually knew it was hopeless.

It was complicated, Phyllis says, because in September 2007 he had a brain haemorrhage and that altered him. Kieran says that, although he doesnt remember being tempted before the brain haemorrhage, it is nonetheless too easy an excuse. Either way, he says, the two flings with colleagues were a huge mistake. Initially, he says, there was some nastiness from Phyllis, but then it went away.

For a long time I wanted him to be my Kieran, Phyllis says, but he had changed. After the brain haemorrhage, I became more like a carer. I knew he was no longer fully in control of himself, and a psychologist told us he was never going to change. I had a baby and couldnt live like that any more, the suspicious wife.

The divorce came through in December 2014 and Kieran, a prison custody officer, now lives with his father and sister. He and Phyllis still see each other most days, and go on holiday together. They took Erin, now five, to Disneyland Paris for new year and glamping in Cornwall. Neither has another partner.

I did for a while, Phyllis says, and he and Kieran accepted each other, but he wanted to get married and I didnt. I think Kieran put me off for life, she laughs.

These days, Kieran confides in Phyllis about dates and she gives him advice. He admits hed like to get back together with her, but knows thats never going to happen; he also knows that it could all have been very different had Phyllis not been so forgiving. I could have lost a lot more, he says. As it is, the friendship we have having a laugh, watching movies together, sharing a bottle of wine when the little one is asleep is the best I can hope for, given Id still like to be married to her. Ill be a little bit jealous when shes with someone else, but I messed up, so I havent a leg to stand on. Im grateful Ive got this much and know we will be friends for life.

Phyllis agrees: Were very close. We couldnt not be, after all weve been through. But the divorce was the right decision. Would I get back with him? Never. Hes not the man I fell in love with.

***

Specialist family lawyer Peter Martin has been practising at London firm OGR Stock Denton for 40 years, and has worked with thousands of couples. In his experience, roughly 25-30% of couples are able to be friends afterwards, and its not always to protect the children. In some ways, it is easier for couples without children to stay friends, Martin says. Once the finances are sorted out, they are able to get on with their lives. They can become friends again, because they no longer have any pressures on them.

On the other hand, Martin says, couples without children have less reason to stay in touch. Those with children have to continue to communicate, and they are more likely, because of that, to rebuild a friendship. A forced friendship, because of having children, often develops in time into the real thing. Its the sort of thing I see a lot Im thinking of the first dance of a divorced couple as parents at their childs wedding.

Barry Rutter, 69, an actor, is founder and artistic director of Northern Broadsides, a touring company. He credits his ex-wife, Carol, 65, a professor of Shakespeare and performance studies at the University of Warwick, with their excellent relationship after nearly 20 years of marriage and 20 years of divorce. She credits him with not forcing her and their girls out of their home. You can be vengeful and angry and selfish and do all that stuff, Carol says. All those ugly emotions you can keep up for years, but thats just destructive.

The couple met while Barry was on tour in America in 1976. She, with her Californian chutzpah, came backstage to congratulate me, he says.

He had the tight curls of a Raphael angel and a boxers nose, she says. He was bolshie, challenging: a Yorkshireman. Everything around him was different and new.

She moved to England a year later, and they soon married. Their shared passion meant they always had things to talk about. Briony was born in 1982; their son, Harry, two years later, but he died from cot death aged just 98 days. Barrys support in the aftermath made Carol feel an overwhelming sense that our marriage could survive; how amazing it was that he could love me that much.

When he set up his own company, Barry was working so hard, Carol says, I think he started kind of shifting. Rowan, their younger daughter, was four. Carol had a full-time job at the university and Barry came home wanting shiny faces. There was a gap. It was, Barry says, a build-up of events, which I took to be a diminution between us. And my own restlessness. The cliche: the grass is always greener. The official divorce says adultery, but it is never as simple as that. I didnt fall in love, but I was distracted.

Barry says it was raw. I remember we met in the garden shed and she asked what I wanted, and I said all of my freedom to roam, and yet the home and family. It was a stupid, macho, dumb attitude to have. It was my folly. You make choices, and choices can bite.

How did I come back from that? Carol says. I went to see a divorce person who said dont fight, its not worth it; work it out between you. I was able to keep the man separate from the actor and, little by little, the birth of our three children, the death of our son, those things you shared, count. They represent the real core values of you two as people, as against the accidents of making bad decisions.

Barry says it was entirely Carols leading that set them on the footing they are on today. Its got to be about the future: I remember her saying that. I myself didnt have it in me to come up with anything like that. Its a testament to her. Id hope she is my best friend. Shes kept the name [Rutter]. Ive always been rather pleased about that.

These days, their daughters are both married, and they still see each other at least once a month and speak often. Carol goes to watch her ex-husband perform. She says he is perhaps better at expressing his emotions on stage, but he always made her laugh off it, and always will.

Tara Saglio has been a couples and individual psychotherapist for two decades. She believes that most divorced couples have to experience a period of proper separation before they can actively be friends again. As a generalisation, I think it takes five years for people to settle post-divorce, she says. It helps if both parties have reached a point where they can feel equally content, instead of one being miserable and the other blissfully loved-up with a new partner or even of one being blissfully alone and the other in a less than ideal rebound relationship. The chance of friendship depends on the emotional maturity of both parties. In my experience, Saglio adds, it is usually the couples for whom the passion has dwindled or gone, and who dont feel so betrayed or rejected, who can be friends. Sexual rejection or broken trust can skewer things.

Facebook, Instagram and so on can make it harder for couples to move on. Of course, social media always presents a happy if not idealised picture of everyones lives, Saglio says. It is hard to separate fully while having ones nose rubbed in the exs new life. On the upside, technology can be a force for good, depending on how it is used. It makes continued contact quicker and easier. A text or email is more emotionally distant than a face-to-face or phone conversation. A bit of a barrier can be a good thing.

Resolution is an organisation of family law professionals that promotes nonconfrontational divorce settlements. Nigel Shepherd, its national chair, says that avoiding unnecessary argument demands a shift of perspective: By nonconfrontational, we mean focusing on what is required for the future, as opposed to getting stuck in what happened in the past. A Resolution survey found that 90% of cases settle without a judge.

Current divorce law doesnt exactly help people to remain friendly: unless former couples are prepared to wait for two years once they have separated, they have no option but to cite adultery, unreasonable behaviour or (admittedly rarely) desertion on the paperwork. Resolution believes that a couple should be allowed to divorce simply if they think the marriage has broken down, a so-called no-fault divorce, and are lobbying for change. The current process, which pushes the majority into blame, often against their will, can really put the spanner in the works, Shepherd says.

***

Businesswoman Sarah Bevan never lost sight of the fact that she wanted to retain her friendship with her husband, Tim, despite her deep sadness when their marriage came to an end. We were originally friends, and I wanted very strongly to maintain that for the greater good of our family, she says. We always had a lot of fun and we managed to retain that.

Sarah, who is now single and in her 40s, lives in south London, and is setting up her own company. Tim, 50, the MD of a packaging and design company, lives in Hove. The pair met at work in London and married in 1994. They have three teenage children. The friendship was overriding in the relationship, Tim says. Any other issues were put to one side. Thats what carried us. But then I started to do better in my career, which made me more confident and, when other possibilities presented themselves, I was weak enough to succumb.

It was 2004. He admitted he was having an affair (not his first); they finally parted in 2005 and divorced in 2011. Tim says he walked away with two pictures, a stereo and a pink tea towel.

There were no lawyers, and nothing on paper; money was divided according to their own agreement. The divorce cost 560. Rather than argue in court, he wanted Sarah and the children to have a home and security. He credits their friendship today to his ex-wifes openness and strength, and thinks they have both pulled off something pretty extraordinary. According to Tim, both realise they are not going to be jumping into bed with each other again, but hopes theyll be best friends for life.

Shes currently offering me advice on cholesterol, he laughs. Shes still got my back! It helped that neither of them slagged each other off to the children. The family has a group chat online most days and he visits them every Tuesday for a curry evening.

There were phases of extreme anger and massive hurt, Sarah says, but even though hes certainly a difficult character, I love him and we hug and say we love each other. He remains an important part of her life, all the more so because her parents died recently in tragic circumstances. As Tim says, that focused everyone on whats important.

Despite everything weve put each other through, Tim says, weve come out of it. We will be sitting in our deckchairs in 30 years time with our mint tea, looking at the children, and thinking, Weve done good.

How to divorce well

1. Slow down. Reactive decisions are usually bad ones; if you are feeling hurt, or have just discovered your partner with someone else, dont take any legal action until the red mist has gone.

2. Try to be rational. Going through a separation is highly emotional, but try to put that to one side and sit down with a neutral party with the aim of making sensible decisions. Remember that you loved the other person once.

3. Decide on your priorities. More often than not one of the biggest goals is to move on with your life with your dignity intact. The more amicable the divorce, the quicker it will be over, leaving you to get on with the next chapter of your life. It is also a lot cheaper.

4. Go to a good family lawyer. Find a family specialist committed to working out solutions as amicably as possible and in a way that will preserve your relationship with your spouse.

5. Expect a big change in your lifestyle. Your life is going to change dramatically; being shocked by this can often lead to resentment and breed conflict. Your partners life will be changing, too, and they will have the same problems adjusting as you are. Yes, really.

6. Dont do it the celebrity way. You dont have to fight dirty to get the best result in fact, judges will frown upon it when making their settlement.

7. Dont listen to your friends. Turn to them for emotional support but remember that every marriage is different and every divorce is different. Just because friends think it is a good idea, doesnt mean it is.

8. Be the bigger person. Even if your nearly ex is trying to play dirty, dont rise to the bait. It is easier said than done, but I often hear from people who, years later, regret that they allowed themselves to be brought down to that level.

9. Think about divorce before you get married. What will your situation be if things dont work out? Consider how your partner is likely to behave in those circumstances as well. Think about a prenuptial agreement realism does not have to be anti-romantic.

10. If you have children, be nice for their sake. It is only in the most exceptional circumstances that it is not in the childrens interests for their parents to remain friendly.

Peter Martin, family lawyer, OGR Stock Denton

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