#could this just be the actor(s) being unaware their hands are still in frame instead of an intentional choice? yes

[greenleaf4stuff]

I cannot get over the little detail of Adar actually releasing Elrond's hand in that scene. (We can see some of it at the bottom left corner of the 1st gif, his grip is already loosening after Elrond drops his weapon; see the 2nd gif for comparison.)

My interpretation is that he is so sure of his greater strength and advantage, and that Elrond doesn't have the ability to fight back/no more knives up his sleeve (so to speak), that he lets Elrond have full autonomy of both of his hands. Mind you, Adar hasn't even lifted Elrond up yet and Elrond could have still fought back multiple ways (using his legs to struggle etc) at this point.

And then Adar proceeds to lift him up, hold him up, choke him and throw him aside like it is nothing. One-handed. Showcasing his physical strength but also retaining the ability to defend himself should Elrond suddenly manage to fight back.

imo, this and his fight with Arondir really show what a unit he is in battle. And that he is aware of it.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 1. Back Into The Field

Intro: Picking up a few months on from the events of Stark Spangled Man, Katie finds herself on desk bound duty following a disciplinary for ignoring Fury’s orders. But when she’s finally released, and disaster strikes on the first mission she’s run in months, she kinda wishes she’d stayed there.

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of blood, injury, angst and a minor character death.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go. A relaunch of SSB thanks to my other blog being flagged. For those of you who are new, welcome! I hope you enjoy. And to all you current Stark Spangled Readers, welcome back, You might spot a few subtle differences as we go through, as things I’m not happy with have been rewritten but don���t worry, nothing will impact the mine lines in the hot mess that is Stark and Rogers.

As always, please leave your comments or send me messages, asks, anything. I love you all!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2013.

Any doctor would cry if they visited SHIELD; the caffeine and alcohol intake of pretty much every worker there would way exceed a dose construed to be healthy. Mind you, if you asked any agent whether they’d give up coffee or alcohol, they’d say alcohol in a heartbeat.

Well, most of them.

Katie couldn’t imagine surviving without an ice cold beer on a hot summer’s day, but she also didn’t function until she had her morning cup of Joe. It was a tough choice to make.

Not today though, she needed coffee. And lots of it. After ‘going rogue’ to chase the Mandarin with her brother, month’s later Fury was still pissed and as such was basically giving her the most boring thing he could think of- working through piles of mission reports to analyse and cross reference with others to pick up on common threads .To be honest, she didn’t mind it too much. After the excitement of the festive period she had welcomed a relatively quiet return to work, and didn’t particularly give a shit what Fury thought about her either.

She circling a part of the hard copy of the report she was working on with highlighter pen, before glancing back at her computer screen to cut and paste it into the Scrapbook App she used to trace trends with, letting out a groan. Who was she kidding? Desk duty sucked ass.

*****

Steve’s morning wasn’t going much better.

Whilst he wasn’t desk bound, after a particularly gruelling Ops Training session during which one of the newest kids suffered a broken nose after colliding painfully with a stray shock baton, he was almost wishing he was. Following a quick debrief, he checked his schedule on his phone and found he was free now for the rest of the day so he showered and headed up to find Katie. He found her in her office, paper in her hand as she stared at her computer screen, eyes narrowed. Steve watched her for a moment, taking in the way her nose crinkled as she read something, her bottom lip being dragged under her top teeth as she continued her work, completely unaware he was there. With a groan she dropped the notes she’d been holding to the desk and ran her hand through her dark hair.

Steve felt he was interrupting something, even though he knew he wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to appear like he’d been watching her either, which he totally had. So he gave a little cough and, as she turned round, her pretty face cracking into a smile which he returned. 

“Hey! How was training?”

“Don’t ask.” He let out a snort.

“That bad huh?”

“In a fashion.” He nodded, leaning on the door frame. “You had lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna come get some?”

She nodded instantly “God yes. Can we get FroYo after?”

“Yeah but don’t let me pile it with all that crap this time!” he shot her his best playfully disapproving look as he remembered his first trip the Frozen Yoghurt stall. He had loaded his with all sorts of different things and the result had been beyond foul.

Katie gave a laugh and picked up her jacket, shrugging it on. Standing up straight, he moved to allow her to step through the door and followed her to the elevator.

“Stick to chocolate chip, mint and cookie dough.” She said, stepping into it. “Trust me.”

They strode across the foyer and into the early spring sun. Katie pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they crossed the street, shivering a little in the cool breeze.

“How are you just wearing a shirt?” she looked at Steve as he fell into step besides her, making sure he was on the side nearest the road. He noticed that she’d long since given up chiding him on this old fashioned habit after he had revealed it was something he used to do for his mom too, and Bucky’s younger sister. In fact, today, he swore he saw something that looked like a soft smile flicker on her lips when he positioned himself on her left, but as quick as he noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s not too bad.” He grinned. “I’ve been through worse.” He opened the door to the Deli for her and followed her in as they took their place in the queue. After a moment or two he became aware that she was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, turning to her exasperatedly. Katie couldn’t help but grin, she enjoyed winding the usually mild mannered man up

“I’m trying to imagine how you would look with a beard. And with shorter hair.” she mused, causing the Captain to roll his eyes.

“Not gonna happen.”

“What the hair cut or the beard?”

“Neither.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Captain America doesn’t have a beard.” he shook his head.

“No but, Steve Rogers could…”

She was impossible, but Steve couldn’t help but want to laugh. This playfulness was the thing that he enjoyed the most, how she could just treat him like any other punk she knew.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re exhausting?” he rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his face as she stepped forward in the queue.

“Yeah, you.” she spun round to face him, grinning “Several times. But you still come back for more.”

“Well I have the distinct impression if I didn’t you’d hunt me down anyway”

They ordered and ate their lunch, Steve filling her in on the ops drill and after Fro-Yo they made arrangements to slob out that evening at his with a film. They walked back to the Triskellion where Katie headed back to her office to continue sifting through the Mount Everest of reports she had to do. As with anything, once she got the bit between her teeth, she completely zoned out. It was only when she heard a gabble of voices all bidding each other goodbye that she looked up from her work. It was dark outside, and past six.

“Shit.” she groaned as the realisation washed over her. She was supposed to be at Steve’s for half past. She clicked to save her work whilst calling him at the same time, phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder.

“So…I’m running late.” She apologised the instant he answered. He chuckled.

“I thought that you said the one good thing about being confined to desk duties was that you set the hours.”

“Yeah, well I got caught up in something, but I’m leaving now. Do you want me to grab pizza on the way?”

“Sounds good, not Chicago Style though. I’m hankering for a proper piece of pie.”

“God you’re such a New Yorker.” She rolled her eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” His voice took on a mock hurt tone and she could imagine him pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Hmmm, I’m undecided. Right, I’m leaving now. See you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

“What are you my dad?” she snorted at his stern instruction.

“Old enough to be.” he shot back.

“Touche.” she sniggered, cutting the call

*******

“Boring New York style for Mr S Rogers…” she spoke into the intercom at the main door to Steve’s apartment complex and he buzzed her in. By the time she’d climbed the stairs to his floor he was waiting, leaning on the door frame.

“Bout time.” He muttered, taking the boxes off her “Was about to send a search party.”

“Mario’s was packed.” Katie said, kicking off her sneakers and heading straight through to his kitchen to grab a beer out of his fridge without waiting for him to offer, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. 

Steve headed into the living room, depositing the thee boxes on the coffee table before he sank onto the couch and reached straight in for one of the pepperoni slices. A few moments later Katie flopped down next to him, handing him a beer.

“What we ticking off the list tonight?” she asked.

“A Few Good Men.” he said, nodding at the TV where he had queued the movie up ready.

“Wait, did you manage to navigate that Android box all by yourself?” She looked at him and he sighed. 

“I’m not completely useless ya know.”

“Jury’s out.” she teased, curling her legs up onto the sofa next to her.

They watched the movie. Steve got most of the references within it. He chuckled in the right places, and laughed out loud when Katie was unable to stop herself uttering the immortal line You can’t handle the truth. When the credits began to roll,  Katie unfolded herself from where she had been sat and they launched into Steve’s favourite part of Movie Nights- the post film analysis.

“Who was the guy who played the colonel, Jessup?” he looked at her.

“Jack Nicholson. Amazing actor. He’s in a few on your list.”

“He was good. And I know he was supposed to be the good guy so to speak but Kaffee annoyed me a little. He was so arrogant.”

“He reminds me of Tony” Katie sniggered.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything” Steve gave a little smirk and Katie shrugged.

“I get what you mean though. He is an ass, and it pisses me off a little the romance angle they take with him and Galloway. I mean, she’s portrayed as this strong woman, in the male dominated military woman and they still have to go there.”

“It does seem to be a tried and tested format.” Steve nodded, leaning back against the cushions on his couch “Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy wins girl over…even the movies I saw back in before I took a sub-zero nap were the same.”

“I suppose it appeals to the hopeless romantic in all of us.” Katie shrugged.

They continued to chat for a bit longer until Katie glanced at her watch, and seeing the time, decided to call it a night. Steve walked her down to her car, he always did without fail, another thing she had given up chiding him for and when he came back upstairs and got in the shower, he found himself straying back to the first time he had seen her, the minute she had stepped into the light in the boxing gym and he’d found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

The more he stood there in the stream of hot water, thinking about her, the more he started to feel something…well…different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it that he found her attractive? Well of course he did. To be honest, he reckoned you’d have to be blind not to. And if he was totally honest, since he’d seen her the first time in that little boxing gym in New York he had noticed how pretty she was. She had the figure of the stars of his time. Hour glass waist, brunette hair, shapely ass and legs and quite large breasts considering she was so slim. But what did it for him were her eyes. Deep, sparkling emeralds that he could lose himself in quite happily. And that smile, that fucking smile that could make him stop in his tracks when she flashed it.

But it was more than just that, she was…well…just Katie.

It was strange, really, she reminded him so much of Peggy in some ways, but in others she was so different. Both were vivacious, smart, strong willed and beautiful. But where Peggy had been harsh, after a military upbringing, Katie had a softer edge to her. She was still ferocious at times, but she was a people person, and somehow knew exactly how to explain and understand what he was trying to say even when he struggled to himself. She made him feel at ease. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising they had grown so close. He could trust her and knew that she would do anything for him because she was a good person. And she made it so easy to be around, he didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness around her. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself a friend he could be as honest and open with again, one he would happily lay his life on the line for, not just out of a sense of duty but out of a sense of love and friendship.

Who you trying to kid, Rogers? 

He knew his feelings went deeper than that. All those times he’d felt irritation at other men looking at her or touching her, all those times he’d looked at her and just wanted to smile because she was just her… the fear he had felt when he had known she was off chasing the Mandarin and he wasn’t able to help…none of that was anything to do with mere friendship. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiles of the shower cubicle and groaned. He was crushing on his best friend.

He was so fucked. *******

Katie’s desk arrest didn’t last much longer. Two weeks later she was catapulted back into the field, on what was supposed to be a simple op, simple by SHIELD standards, anyway. They had a request from the Cuban government – all very hush, hush, of course –to take down a drug lord who ran a cartel SHIELD had tangled with last year.

Katie, in her role as Mission Analyst, read the files and all the intel, pulled together a briefing and delivered it, answering questions that came her way from the team and then handed over to Steve when it was his turn to take the floor. He started issuing out his orders, and informed everyone that the three newest recruits would be joining them as it would be a fairly straight forward op to ease them into.

And it had been, for the most part, until one of those new recruits, Jack Adams, had frozen mid fire fight and as a consequence he’d taken three bullets to the chest. Which shouldn’t have been an issue given the armour they all wore. But when the man failed to get up, Katie knew there was something very, very wrong.

“Adams is down!” she loudly spoke into her radio as she took aim at the hostile responsible. As soon as she was sure the round she had let off had hit her target, she broke cover to get to Adams, as she was closest to him. She skidded to the floor, pressing her hand to his chest and her other reached to his face, turning it to look at her.

“I got you, Adams, look at me.” she urged gently, her hand warm, wet and slick with the young man’s blood. Steve dropped besides her and she turned to face him.

“Armour piercing rounds.” She shook her head. “Steve, I can’t stop the bleeding.” Her tone left the Captain in no doubt as to how worried she was and he looked around frantically for help.

“Medic, NOW! We need emergency evac…”

“Stay with us, Jack.” Katie reached into her belt and retrieved a tab of morphine as he young man’s hand gripped her other whilst she administered the pain relief.

“Son, you’re gonna be fine.” Steve spoke and Adams’ horrified eyes turned to Steve. The soldier swallowed, fighting to keep his face calm. He’d seen that expression so many times on the battle field, the one that told him the man who lay injured knew he was injured beyond repair, that there was nothing to be done for him. But this was now seventy years into the future, medical science had worked so many wonders since then, they had to be able to do something, right?

“RUMLOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT MEDIC?” Katie screamed, her tone frantic.

“Still got hostiles on us!” Rumlow replied over the coms. “Evans has taken four down but they’re approaching from the right! We need to cover the medics in and now you’re down there…”

Steve instantly looked round before he looked back at Katie “We’ll have to take him ourselves”

She bit her lip, looking at the young man, then up to Steve again. Everything in their training told them not to move casualties, but Steve knew if they stayed here he was going to bleed out. Katie seemed to come to the same conclusion and she nodded.

“Alright. Brock, we’re coming to you. Have the medics prep the bay on the jet.. Evans, we need top cover.”

“Roger, Cap…”

“Jack, we’re gonna move you now.” Katie looked at him, her voice calm and level as besides her, Steve moved to take the injured man into a lift over his shoulder. Once he had him positioned, he gave a small jerk of his head and Katie picked up his shield in one hand, and her pistol in the other as they broke cover, sprinting across the front of the industrial yard towards the jet. In the corner of his eye, Steve spotted two hostiles moving but before he could shout a warning, Katie had fired off two shots, the thumps and lack of returning fire meaning each bullet had hit its target. Soon they were joined by Rumlow and Rollins who flanked them up the ramp where Katie dropped Steve’s shield to the floor with a clang and offered her hand back to Adams as Steve placed him gently on the stretcher.

“It’s gonna be ok.” Katie soothed him as the medics bustled around, her eyes glancing up every so often to watch what they were doing.

“Can you tell my mom I love her and, and my dad.” Adams was mumbling now and Katie shook her head.

“You can tell them yourself.” She told him fiercely. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re locked down outside, local authorities are handling it now.” Rumlow informed Steve who had stepped back from where Katie was knelt by the injured man. “How is he?”

Steve turned to Rumlow, shaking his head sadly. “Not good. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that point Katie suddenly drew back slightly, looking at the hand held in hers, before she glanced at the medic who was sadly shaking his head. Katie’s shoulders slumped as her eyes closed, face screwing up into a pained expression and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger as he realised that the young man had lost his final fight.

“Shit.” Rumlow muttered.

“Radio base” Steve turned to Rumlow his voice soft “Let’s get him home.”

*******

Writing mission reports wasn’t Katie’s favourite thing to do, but this one was awful. So she’d treated it like ripping off a band aid, and after a horrific night’s sleep, she’d been at the Triskelion early to get it done. As a result it was little after ten am, she was done for the day and was about to head home until she heard a familiar voice.

“Eat me…eat me…” The voice was accompanied by a bag from her favourite bakery, which was hovering in the space between the door to the office and the frame, before Clint Barton’s head poked round the side, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey!” She beamed at her friend as he dropped a cup holder containing two coffees and the bag onto her desk before taking a seat, scooting the wheeled chair over the floor towards her.

“Heard you had a rough time of it yesterday so I brought donuts and almond croissants. And coffee.”

“Hawkeye, you are a godsend.” Katie smiled, taking a large drink and leaning back, closing her eyes.

“That the first time you’ve lost a man on a mission?” Clint asked.

“Other than Coulson.” she shrugged. “Shit, Adams was twenty-three Clint. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

Clint watched as she rubbed at her temple before reaching into the bag and pulling out an almond croissant. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, it must have at least been before the mission.

“How’s Cap taken it?”

“On the outside he seems okay, but I know he blames himself. Keeps saying he shouldn’t have taken him.” Katie shrugged “He’s gone with Fury to see Adams’ parents. Rather him than me.”

“This job is hard.” Clint said after a moment or two pause. “We fight to keep everyone safe, but y’know, sometimes not everyone makes it. Thing is, if we can’t find a way to deal with that, then maybe next time no one gets saved at all.”

“You mean like Collateral damage?” she snorted, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that everyone one of us that are out in the field know the risks Nova, hell last year 7 of us took on a horde of Aliens in New York. For hours we fought them, and did any of us give a second thought to our own safety? No, because that’s what we do.”

His words made sense. She knew they did, but that didn’t stop the feeling in her stomach that if she had done her research more, maybe she could have spotted something that would have told them about the armour piercing rounds.

*******

Adams’ parents already knew he was dead. Fury had the local authorities call ahead, common practice now, but still, Steve found himself sat on their couch, talking, informing them all about their son’s last moments. They hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed or blamed him. Instead, they’d thanked him for what he had done and for bringing him back so they could hold a proper burial.

By the time he got back to base, he was exhausted.

“Here.” Fury handed him a glass of scotch from the bottle he had pulled out of his desk. Steve took it, dropping onto one of the sofas at the side of the large office, Fury settling into the other. Steve knew the drink couldn’t get him drunk, but he liked the momentary buzz he got that lasted all of sixty seconds post sip, and the comforting burn it gave when he swallowed.

The pair of them sat in silence for a few moments before Fury sat forward, his eye fixed on Steve.

“Ever done that before, a death message?” he asked.

“Can’t say I have. Wasn’t really my job back in the day.” Steve shrugged, undoing his tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt.

“Worst part of the job. Doesn’t matter how many times you do it, never gets any easier.” Fury ran his hand over his face, and it struck Steve how tired his boss actually looked.

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly up there with my favourite thing to do.” Steve rolled his tie up and shoved it into the pocket of his old Army uniform pants.

“How’s Nova?” Fury asked.

“She’s upset.” Steve sighed “But she’s strong, she’ll be okay. I’m gonna head over and see how she is later.”

“You two spend a lot of time together outside of work.” Fury commented, innocently enough but there was something in his tone, something that was almost good natured accusation.

“Not a problem is it, Sir?” Steve asked, keeping his face straight.

“No, not at all.” Fury said “Why do you think I partnered you up in the first place? She’s a people person…”

“She’s a good friend.” Steve nodded “We get on.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fury nodded. There was another moment’s pause before he spoke again. “There’s going to be a debrief with the Secretary of Defense tomorrow.”

Steve sighed “If they’re looking to blame someone, the buck stops with me. I should never have taken the kid.”

“Bullshit.” Fury said simply “I’ve read the reports. From what they say, he just froze.”

“He wasn’t experienced enough.”

“Taking risks is part of this job. It’s a dangerous gig.” Fury held his gaze. “It was a straight forward in and out job Captain. What happened was an accident. A tragic one, but an accident none the less. From the reports, neither you nor Stark could have done any more to save his life.”

Steve shrugged, the words were kind but didn’t help him feel any better.

Three glasses of scotch later, Steve shook the director’s hand and left the office, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to appear like he was checking up on Katie, so he pinged her a text, dressing it up like it was him who needed to see her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He did. He was craving the normality she gave him.

Can I come over? I could do with seeing a friendly face

He read it a few times, before deciding it was casual enough before he sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.

My door is always open for you. And I made Mac and Cheese. Plenty left.

He couldn’t help but smile. One of the best things about this new life was the food, and her Mac and Cheese was frankly his favourite thing to eat on the planet.

He changed into a pair of sweats and a hoody, hastily making his way to Katie’s penthouse and the smile she gave him when he walked into her place instantly made him feel at ease.

“Hey.” she crossed the space towards him and gave him a hug which he happily melted into, a hug they both needed.

“How did it go?” she asked, pulling away.

“As well as can be expected.” He sighed as he followed her into the kitchen, dropping into the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “His mom broke down but they didn’t shout or yell.”

Katie flipped the lid off a beer and handed it to him. He took it, with a nod of thanks and pulled a large swig before he rest his hands on the counter, staring at the bottle.

He was brooding and blaming himself, Katie could tell, so she gently lay her hand on his, reaching over the counter.

“It wasn’t your fault Steve.” she spoke softly and he looked at her.

God, she did that all the time, knew what he was thinking. It gave him the unnerving impression that sometimes she could read his mind.

“I should have spotted that shooter.” he shook his head.

“I’m the fucking mission analyst.” she sighed. “I knew from last time those guys were packing, if I’d done more research, maybe I would have found out about the armour piercing rounds.”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself?” Steve’s frowned.

“Why not?” she shrugged sadly. She’d been over it a million times in her head that day and had come to the same conclusion every time. She should have spotted something, dug further. “I didn’t do my job.”

“Yes, you did.” he implored, his eyes locking onto hers “Your report clearly set out the layout, the learning from previous missions…Adams was just too inexperienced, I should never have taken him.”

There was a pause as the microwave pinged and Katie turned to look at it.

“You know, Clint made a good point before.” she reached in for the plate and the smell of the food made his stomach grumble again as she continued “This job, it’s hard. We fight to keep people safe but not everyone makes it back all the time…and if we can’t learn to live with that then maybe next time no one gets saved.”

“It feels like trading lives.” He took a deep breath as she placed the plate down in front of him “It’s just wrong.”

“I know.” She said, handing him some cutlery and sat down next to him.

“You eaten?” he asked, looking at her, suddenly aware she didn’t have a plate. She nodded.

“Couldn’t have waited until now, I’d have starved to death.” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly.” he replied, mouth full, instantly realising he had said the wrong thing as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that a fat joke?” she asked, making him roll his eyes as he swallowed. That hadn’t been it at all, he was referring to the fact that she never actually stopped eating, despite her tiny frame she gave him a run for his money.

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re tiny.” he said, almost choking on his food through his protests.

“So now you’re making short jokes?” She shot back. Steve looked at her, dismayed she thought he was being mean to her but then he spotted the look in her eyes and rolled his own.

“Punk.”

“Jerk” she shot back. 

It was the perfect way to escape the trauma and stress of the last few days. Once they had finished eating the two of them flopped down on her large L shape sofa, Steve’s legs extended along one side of the L shape, her legs tucked underneath her as she leaned against his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of her shampoo…apple, he thought, along with her perfume. Her proximity was making his head buzz but he wasn’t about to move her, the contact was comforting. And it clearly was for her too as about an hour or so into the film- the first in the Lord of The Rings trilogy- he felt her head growing heavy. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed and, as he watched, her head slipped slightly. He shifted so that he could catch her gently, and grabbed a cushion from behind him, placing it against his leg. He manoeuvred her head so that she was lay down, gently brushing her hair off her face. She stirred slightly, snuggling down further into the cushion as he absentmindedly rubbed between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew gentle and even.

Steve stayed like that, engrossed in the film right to the end, surprisingly. He had enjoyed it. Katie hadn’t woken up, and he looked down debating whether or not to wake her or simply carry her through to her bedroom. In the end he decided to do neither, instead he reached for the remote as he sifted through to find something else to watch. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he was too comfy and too at ease. Picking one of his favourites, Casablanca, he settled down, getting himself comfy as he immersed himself in the familiar world of Rick’s Café Americain. At one point he felt his eyes growing heavy and he lay his head back, deciding to rest them for just a little while…

**** Katie was jolted awake, quite violently, and as she jerked into an upright position she saw exactly why. Steve was thrashing in his sleep, his face contorted in horror, small murmurs and whimpers slipping from his plump lips. She placed both her hands on his shoulder and shook him. Softly at first, then a bit stronger, trying to rouse him.

“Steve…” she gave him a harsher shake and his eyes flew open, wide in panic and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Her soft voice filled Steve’s senses and, as he realised where he was and whose eyes were looking at him, he took a shaky breath and lay his head back.

Damned it, he’d fallen asleep and had a nightmare. On her sofa.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice croaky, “I err…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” Katie shook her head gently “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Whilst she was gone he leaned forward, swinging his legs off the couch so his feet touched the floor, wiping his clammy head with his hands, the memory still flashing through his dream.

Cold air was blasting his hair back…there was a hole in the side of the train…then a flash of light and Bucky flew straight through the hole. “BUCKY…” he yelled, grabbing onto the side of the train, the bar in one hand as he stretched to reach his friend with the other.

“Steve…” The voice was louder, but not loud enough. No, he had to get to Bucky…

But he was gone, Steve was grasping at nothing but air.

Just a dream, Katie had said. It was anything but…

She appeared back in the room with a glass of water and he thanked her as she passed it to him. He took a large gulp, swallowing and was relieved when his breathing began returning to normal.

“You ok?” she asked, kindly as her hand gently knotted into his, her concern evident.

“Yeah, just a nightmare.” he nodded softly “I’ve not had one for a while.”

“Understandable with what’s happened. Wanna tell me what it was about?”

“It was Bucky.” he swallowed thickly “I was replaying the moment he fell. The moment he plummeted to his death from that Hydra train and I didn’t save him.”

Katie stayed silent for a moment before her hand curled round Steve’s shoulder and she pulled him to her, causing him to lay his head on her shoulder. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more” The guilt ate Steve up every day, that he had survived. Why had he deserved that any more than Bucky?

“How?” she said again. “How could you have done anymore?”

"I should have gone after him.” he said quietly.

“What would’ve changed if you had?” Katie asked. “There’s no way he could have survived that fall.”

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.“ He replied, "I should have gone after him, brought him home, done something.”

Katie remained quiet, her hand gently running through his hair which was nice, far too nice. He took a deep breath and sat up moving away from her touch.

"What time is it?”

“Nearly six in the morning” Katie glanced at her watch.

“You’re kidding?” Steve snorted.

“Nope. You want some coffee?” she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

“Yeah if that’s ok.” he replied, following her to the kitchen. From her body language he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if she wasn’t facing him.

“I don’t know if your Ma ever told you, but it’s rude to run out on a girl after you spend the night with her.”

“And as you know, I’m useless with women.” he sat down at the barstool on the breakfast bar. He watched her, but he didn’t say anything as she bustled about, throwing some bread in the toaster and then went to the fridge for the butter, marmalade and jam, sliding them onto the island. At that point Steve held his hands up.

“You don’t have to-” he started to say, but she silenced him with a glare, similar to the ones Peggy used to give him, the look that could stop him in his tracks it was that stern.

“Shut up.” she poured them both a cup of the coffee before adding milk and a spoon of sugar to each, passing one to him. The bread popped up from the toaster, and she put it on a plate before sliding it over to him and adding more bread to the machine.

His stomach rumbled and he gave in, smearing butter over his toast. He eyed the jam curiously. He’d had marmalade before but…

He looked at Katie and she nodded. “It’s good.”

So he added some, and after a bite he concluded she was right, and nodded in agreement. Once the next round of toast was done she sat next to him.

“So, when did I fall asleep.” she asked, swallowing her food.

“About an hour into the film.”

She shook her head “What an ass…”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He replied honestly as he took a bite of his breakfast. “To be honest I enjoyed it.”

“What, me drooling on your leg?”

He swallowed, his eyes wide “I meant the film.”

“I know.” she smirked.

***** Chapter 2

**Original Posting**

[youngnari]

Thicker Than Water // Ten

—Notes : t had been a long while since I started writing anything (pardon if this sucks), and I have a lot of things in my drafts right now that I have to continue. Uni had been overwhelming and recently my internship ended, hopefully I can write more before my next term starts. Overall, enjoy this short scenario I made and have a nice day ahead :)

—Wc : 7831 words

—Warning : honestly, none... I just wanted to write about Ten cause I love Ten, well we all love Ten.

—Pairing : childhood best-friend!Ten x female!reader 

—Genre : a cup of fluff + a few dashes of angst

—Summary : Two childhood best-friends found it hard to confront their feelings for one another, until they grew apart;

When distance grew and time spent apart, love became stronger. After all, it is thicker than water.

“I love you, Ten”

Love is thicker than water. Your feelings wouldn’t easily be dissolved even after a few years of not seeing him.

And that’s when you knew, love is true.

Life decisions often come knocking on your door when you least expect them to. They are often buried in the form of steps, growth, and changes.

The life decisions you chose rarely caused any big changes in your life, although you were partially to blame for often wanting to play it too safe. Your life always revolved around the same people, all located in a similar environment. Your so-called childhood best-friend who lived just around the corner of your block, a brief five-minute walk. He played a big role in your life, similarly to your parents. You had known him since you were three, possibly longer; from bathing and swimming together naked in his kiddy pool his parents had set up in his backyard during summer time when you guys were four, to him freaking out when he noticed blood stains on your pajamas pants that you discarded into the laundry basket when you first hit puberty thinking you were dying due to some chronic disease, to the so-called first love and first heartbreak you ever received when you were in high school. The same person was always by your side.

Yes, you had chosen to fall in love with your childhood best-friend. And that was the first time you realized: sometimes the safest choice, isn’t so safe after all.

Cue – Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, more commonly known as Ten.

You have seen Ten when he was doing his best, while Ten has seen you when you are doing your absolute worst. He often got straight A’s, a few A-‘s for Chemistry and Physics, and he was chosen as the lead dancer of the school’s dance team – mastering traditional and modern styles so goddamn well, yet you still thought he was the dumbest kid alive. Ten may be seen by many as the epitome of how every Asian kid should be, molded by their parent since young to be nothing but perfect. Ten was often envied by other parents, they hid it well in the form of praises thrown towards his parents, but they shrugged it off saying Ten always tried to do his best.

They weren’t wrong. You had seen Ten studying until late at night for mid-terms and finals, often resulting in the consumption of an unhealthy amount of energy drinks and coffee as he reached a certain limit. He usually started his homework and projects early to enable freedom in the last few days before the due date, giving him the leisure to not cram things up the night before, but late-night video games. He was simply organized, well prepared, and perfect.

You had known Ten for your entire life, and it didn’t seem like the end of high school would be the end of your friendship. Until one night when he came barging into your room straight from the graduation party his friend Kun had thrown, celebrating freedom as they broke the chain of education by graduating from high school.

You still remembered how your heart skipped a beat when he came in, his lean figure stood elegantly in your door frame. Ten looked at your figure buried under your blanket, your nightstand occupied with snacks and water, laptop on your lap, the screen the main source of light in the dimly lit room. He caught the sound of the actors speaking from your laptop, heavy Spanish and gunshots ringing heavily from the speakers. He smiled knowing you probably rejected Kun’s invitation to settle down at home and binge watch Netflix instead, once again hiding yourself from socializing with people.

He let himself in as his hand closed the door slowly, striding over across the room in large step, he took his seat beside you before snuggling into the blankets to watch the show with you. You swore you felt hot, trying your best to fight the blush creeping across your cheeks. It seemed okay at first, knowing the room was quite dark and the only source of light was from the changing scenes of La Casa de Papel that was playing in your laptop. You thought he might hear your loud heartbeat, yet the sound of gunshots and screaming thankfully covered the sound of the erotic thumps of your heart.

He let out a sigh.

You could smell his musky cologne mixed with a little of his sweat, the stench of alcohol from his breath, the smell of cigarettes from his clothes filling your room. You hummed a little, catching his attention in the process.

“Can you believe we graduated?” He began to speak, giving you a question that similarly went along the line of what now.

You smiled a little and nodded.

“It’s only high school, Ten. We still have a long way to go.” You said.

“No, you still have a long way to go.” He said, his eyes glinting, proud of your achievements in life.

Ten remembered the talk both of you had, the plans you hoped to complete once both of you graduated from high school. You had told him you wanted to pursue studying in engineering or food science, while him – Ten wanted to be an artist, a singer or performer on stage.

He noticed your eyes dim a little and he sighed. His arms circled around your shoulders, bringing your figure closer towards him. You felt his warmth almost immediately, suddenly craving for more and you found yourself scooching towards him. Ten didn’t mind; you had curled up next to each other every movie night since you were young. He felt your head leaning towards him, smelling the hint of vanilla and mint from the shampoo and conditioner you always used. He smiled.

“Are you still not going to tell me who’s the guy you fell for?” He asked you again.

Ten felt your body tense up for a while before slowly loosening up again. You swallowed a lump in your throat as your eyes shook despite trying your best to focus on your laptop screen.

You had told Ten regarding your discovery of love after he kept pestering you to start finding a match, to the point he asked his handful of friends to introduce new people for you and set you up on a blind date. You had yelled at him in frustration, revealing that the reason you didn’t want to find a guy to date was due to you having feelings for someone already. Never once did you explicitly tell him who the person was, in fear that an outcome you didn’t want may occur.

Ten believed in you and respected your privacy, opting to stay silent most of the time. That didn’t keep him from pestering you with questions about the so-called crush, although he didn’t expect you to answer.

“You’re still on about it?” You snapped back. He gave you that annoying grin of his and nodded.

“Are you still in love with that crush of yours then?” He persisted. This time, you smiled knowing he wasn’t going to back down.

“I am, since forever probably.” You answered.

One of the fears you had since you were young was the fear of being rejected; you were sure everyone had a similar fear like yours, deep down inside of them. You weren’t necessarily scared of the rejection; you were more scared of the aftermath from the rejection. You knew Ten liked you, but you weren’t so sure if he wanted you like you wanted him. your refusal to confess stemmed from one of two possible outcomes if you did; one – he accepts you and you start dating, which meant the best of both worlds. Two – you are rejected, resulting both of you drifting apart and becoming strangers despite having a friendship almost reaching two decades.

Ten, your best-friend who recently broke up with his ex-lover. Confessing to him this early would only be a suicidal move. His past lover, whom he broke up a few weeks before graduation. The reasoning behind it was quite simple, none of his lovers liked seeing him with you.

The way he looked at you dotingly, laughed at every dumb joke you gave, the way he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear, and dropping everything that he was doing to be around you. You were confident to say that you were his number one, and you withstood the pain that came with every one of his relationships.

Because you knew that Ten would always come back to you, back into your arms.

But you are still scared of confessing to him, unaware of what exactly is going on in his mind. You didn’t want to lose Ten just like that, you fear of not having him in your life when you were already so used to seeing him around you, being with him 24/7.

Other than that, you were confused with Ten. He was unpredictable at times: most of the time. You didn’t know if he was giving you hints regarding his approach towards you. Because many told you that he treated you differently from how he treated others, you could see that.

Ten wasn’t so touchy around people he considered friends or close friends, but when it came to you, things from linking arms around one another, hugging in public, cuddling during movie nights, and him giving you a peck on the cheek at random moments. All obvious signs he favored you more compared to others. You carried it like a medal, knowing probably no one could ever replace your spot next to Ten.

But the other thing that bothered you so dearly was that he was your first kiss. Yes, Ten was your first kiss.

Enter: prom night, 3 days after graduation.

Ten ‘proposed’ to you a month before prom, getting you a bouquet of a single sunflower and peperoni pizza with extra cheese from your favorite pizzeria downtown during one of your Netflix marathons. You were surprised by his grand entrance, nevertheless you ignored it due to his unexpected behavior at times. You accepted the flower thinking it was nothing but a gift for your mother and eagerly took the warm pizza from his hands before going into your room. Just as you opened the pizza box, excited to reveal the greasy cheesy goodness from heaven above – you were left in shock, with your eyebrows shooting upwards, eyes widened, and mouth forming an big ‘O’ as you read the note plastered on the lid.

P R O M?

Others may think it was stupid or too cheesy to be considered a good plan; to you it was stupidly cheesy and you loved it. Even though the note was speckled with grease, you kept it to this day. You turned around to give your response, only to be faced with ten kneeling on one knee holding a sunflower corsage sitting comfortably in a clear plastic box surrounded by white baby’s breath, all tied with a black bow on top, his signature wrapping.

You stood there frozen, not knowing how to react to his sudden act. He grinned madly and laughed at your reaction, snapping you out from your trace.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, hopeful.

You laughed and nodded at him, knowing you would rather go to prom alone if it wasn’t with Ten.

“Great, I was scared you had a date with your crush.” Ten joked.

You thought about your answer for a while. You didn’t necessarily have anyone in mind to ask out as your prom date, as the only person who always came to mind was none other than Ten himself. You rejected a few people who came and asked you out, stating you had someone in mind as you looked at them sadly.

Ten on the other hand was the same, he didn’t have anyone in mind but you. Thinking to himself it was better to spend prom with someone who truly meant something to him rather than a random person he didn’t even know.

Hence, the proposal for prom.

“I think my crush has a date already, so it’s fine.” You shrugged off coolly. Ten smiled at you and nodded, relieved by the answer before he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aren’t you sad that another person is their partner for prom?” He asked again, this time curious.

“A little, but I feel like I don’t stand a chance with him.” You said, smiling sheepishly at the end.

“Then, we’ll show him what he’s missing out on then.” Ten stated proudly as he sent a wink towards you.

You smiled softly at him and nodded. He’s not going to miss out on much, you thought, losing your train of thought as Ten buried himself under your blanket, urging you to hurry up.

Prom rolled out faster than you expected it to. One morning you woke up in your old t-shirt and oversized loose cotton pants, lazing out in your bed till late afternoon. The next, you were up, showered and off to do your hair, pick up your prom dress, and pamper yourself for the whole day.

The once loose old t-shirt and oversized long cotton pants changed to an elegant long black dress which hugged your curves and showed off your figure. Your once messy hair was styled and smelled amazing, a simple long gold necklace draped across your collar bones, and the most dreaded part: the heels.

At 8PM sharp you heard the doorbell ring, signaling Ten’s arrival.

He came in looking like a prince. Ten was dressed in a black dress shirt, paired with formal pants that enhanced his long legs, his neck constricted with a black tie, it seemed like he was glowing under the dark fabric. You held your breath, noticing him grow more charming the more you laid your eyes at him.

Ten smiled when he saw your figure from the top of the stairs, reaching out a hand for you to take. Slowly you went down like the girls you often see in the cliché romcom series, taking his hand that was fully extended towards you.

Instantly you felt the rush of electricity, the warm skin embracing your cold hands. It felt right.

“You look amazing.” He said, smiling giddily like a child.

“And so do you.” You said back.

He slowly took out the corsage, slipping it on your wrist. You stared in awe at the contrast of the bright yellow flora wrapped around your wrist with a black ribbon between the black clothing you wore. You did the same for him, taking his part of the corsage and pinning it on the pocket near his chest, giving a bigger contrast against his pale skin and his black formal.

It seemed surreal but that night, you thought both of you were meant to be.

“Ready?” he asked.

You smiled, linking your arm with his as you hug his figure close to yours, wanting nothing but to savor the moment between the both of you.

That night, it was the first time you felt fairytales could be translated into real life.

It took you approximately two hours for your feet to completely die on you. You sat down on the row of empty chairs beside the long table filled with glorious food, a red cup of artificially flavored punch in your hand. You played around with it, occasionally your head bopped around to the music being played.

When the lights suddenly dimmed, you raised your head upwards to meet Ten’s. His forehead gleamed with sweat, hair disheveled, yet he ginned wider like nothing mattered.

“One last dance?” He asked, his hand extending for an invite, encouraging you to take it.

You knew your feet were dead, pierced under the heels. Yet you still smiled like it was nothing, nodding and taking his hand. He pulled you further into the crowd, taking your figure into his embrace. He turned around when he found a space, instinctively his hands circled around your waist. You could feel the warmth that radiated from his hand, the blast of the AC was nothing compared to his touch. You returned his grin with a smile, your hand circling around his neck.

That was enough for Ten to know you were comfortable, pulling you closer to him, closing the gap in between. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart beating rapidly, seemingly wanting to break free from your ribcages and attack Ten. You smiled to yourself, fairytales can be real.

“I’ll get you Shake Shack if you let me in that head of yours.” You snapped your eyes open, looking at Ten’s gleaming ones.

“My thoughts are worth more than Shake Shack.” You snapped at him, he laughed.

“You’re thinking about that crush of yours?” He asked, tone soft as he gazed at you sadly.

“No.” you said without much thought.

“No?”

“My crush isn’t here” You lied. Ten hummed, nodding at your answer.

“Are you sad that your crush isn’t here?” He asked again. You shook your head, giving him a smile.

Ten leaned closer towards you. Your heart drummed to the point you could barely hear the music booming on the speakers, or the crowd chattering to oblivion. You closed your eyes, anticipating what he might do after. He placed a delicate kiss on your forehead, sighing silently at the end. You never knew what the meaning behind that sigh was, whether it was good or bad.

When he pulled away, Ten seemed fine. There weren’t any hidden emotions being spilled, there was only a wide goofy grin plastered on his feature. You had your hope in him confessing, but it seemed unlikely knowing Ten probably saw you as nothing but a dear friend.

It didn’t take him too long to snap out of his own world, pulling you away from the crowd towards the cool midnight air.

“Where are we going?” You blurted out.

Ten turned his head to face you, feet still pacing towards his parked car. His eyes squinted at yours, eyebrows furrowed. You knew he was silently judging you, especially since Ten was never a master in concealing his expressions.

“Midnight drive.”

You remembered the silence of the road during that ungodly late hour. No traffic jams, smooth ride, it went well. The night was dark, the only given light from the moon. You often found yourself glancing at Ten, amazed by his features.

You felt the car halt during a red light, its man-made neon lights flashing across his face, sculpting his features. You gazed in admiration at the result, thinking that he could be an exhibit displayed in an art museum.

“Stop staring or I’ll poke your eyes out.” He said. You turned away instantly, acted as if you weren’t ogling him.

Ten laughed at your behavior, he said nothing and proceeded to drive. He made a turn, and you found yourself in the drive-thru of McDonalds. It was still Prom and having McDonalds with a flashy tux and a bedazzled dress was a perfect way to end it.

Then Ten parked his car alongside the river, letting you eat whilst staring at the breathtaking view; you couldn’t ask for more. He rolled down the window and turned off the engine. You could feel the harsh rumble slowed down to nothing, allowing the soft rippling of the waves to replace it. Ten rummaged through the paper bag, taking out the food. He passed you your order and you quickly munched on one of the fries. Ten opened his mouth, making some random sounds to get your attention. You took one of the fries and put it in his gaping mouth. He hummed in satisfaction.

“I want the Mcflurry!” You demanded

Ten rolled his eyes at you but still he complied, giving you the dessert. You smiled at the melting dessert, taking a fry and dipping it inside the cup. You moaned at the taste; how you loved the contrasting taste of salty with the sweetness.

“Give me one!” Ten stated. You nodded, scooping some of the sweet flurry on the fry. Passing it to Ten, you could only hope it didn’t spill anywhere. You felt a little of it drip on your hand, yet you paid no attention towards it. Ten bit down and chewed.

You were about to pull your hand away and wipe the spilled ice cream, but Ten held you in place. Taking your hand in his, he latched his lips on your hand. You could feel him giving little kitten licks, cleaning the marked area. You felt yourself grow hot, blushing at the sudden intimacy from him. When Ten raised his head, he noticed the color of your face turning a few shades of pink and smiled to himself.

“Are you flustered?” He asked

You wanted to slap him. Before you could do much, you felt his grip on your wrist tighten. Ten pulled you closer towards him, the impact enough to send you toppling towards him. You yelped in surprised, Ten smiling at your confused state.

Both of your faces were inches from one another, just one nudge was enough to send your lips flying towards his. You felt your face grow hotter; his smirk prominent on his face. You knew Ten was doing nothing but tease, but a small part of you did hope he would lean forward. You saw the glint of mischief glimmer in his pupils, his hot breaths hitting your cheeks, but he was still as composed as ever.

“Did you expect anything?” He asked with a smirk on his face.

“Screw you, Ten.” You hissed out, stumbling on your words.

He let out a small chuckle, amused by your choice of comeback. Ten leaned forwards, finally closing the gap in between. You felt your heart leap when his lips touched yours, delicate at first before it became more needy. You sighed a little into the kiss, it was enough for Ten to continue. He pressed himself towards you, deepening the kiss. When he pulled away, he stared at you in awe. Your hazy eyes and your flustered face, accompanied by your whole body gasping for air, he thought you looked breathtaking.

He licked his lips, tasting the artificial cherry lip gloss you wore. He hummed in content, bliss even.

The next thing happened in a snap. The words that you always kept to yourself, never once slipping out. They were always deep inside, locked in a chest, key thrown into oblivion. In a snap, everything stumbled out without your control.

“I love you, Ten” And his eyes widen by your confession.

***

That happened 2 years ago.

You had always been safe in your life choices, in hope to ensure the safest outcome in the future. You tried your best to succeed in school, got into a decent college, and managed to find an average part time job as a librarian on your campus ground. You had thought if you choose your path wisely, it was easier for you to survive in life.

Ten proved you wrong.

You had always thought falling for Ten would eventually lead you to another stage in life, to finally settle down. You envisioned him not only as your life-long best friend, but also had the hope to be a potential lover.

You loved Ten, truly. But he made you realize that sometimes the safest decisions weren’t so safe after all.

After Prom, he drove you back home without a second thought. He walked you to the door, let you settle in the house before leaving. You had thoughts that Ten might leave you after the whole kiss situation, but he didn’t.

The next morning, he texted you again, to check up if you were feeling okay or up for another day out. You remembered declining, stating you were too tired from coming back so late – which was true. It was still fine, perfect.

You had always thought Ten would realize how head over heels you were for him. It seemed impossible for anyone to be that dense, moreover he was always there around you. You remembered smiling rigidly when you noticed his expression.

His eyes widened; mouth slightly agape like a fish on the surface. You felt his hands shake a little, you felt it on your skin. Ten stuttered out his words, stumbling here and there not being able to fully form a complete sentence.

You had never seen him like that.

Ten called you the next morning, and you still had your hopes for your feelings to be reciprocated. Instead, he only replied you with—

“I am sorry, for everything. It was the heat of the moment, I got carried away”

You didn’t know what hurt more. A rejection; it was cruel, and it hurt, but you knew Ten wouldn’t lie to you even if his life depended on it. Or the fact he disappeared straight after; Ten wasn’t there the next time you tried to contact him, no calls, no texts, nothing.

You knew Ten’s dreams; he spoke about them countless time during your high school days. He wanted to perform in front of thousands, to show his passion and love for his art. You supported him; you knew his potential.

You had seen him practicing, dancing and singing till late at night. Often mad at him for not taking care of himself, being that friend who helped him to pass all his subjects, to a mother who always brought him meds and food to ensure he was eating well.

You cared for Ten, too much sometimes.

The moment he told you he didn’t want to go to university, you didn’t know how to react. Ten brushed your expression off and stated that going to university together or not, he would still be the same Ten you know and grew up with.

He didn’t keep his promise.

You cried a few times, feeling lost for the sudden loss in your life. You heard from your parents that you would meet people like Ten once you entered university; you wanted to believe them. They meant no harm, not wanting to see you cry. But you knew you couldn’t possibly believe every word they said.

Ten was one of a kind, and you still loved him.

Each day dragged on longer than before. You had never felt the overwhelming emptiness, the lack of notifications from him. It felt empty.

You had never felt the loss and emptiness, until you felt him slip out of your life.

He left no traces. His room still the same, sheets still tucked neatly. But his scent was weak, it wasn’t him. It took you quite a while before you could finally accept his absence in your life, Ten had his own life now.

Yet, even after all of that—you were still in love with him.

It was another typical day for you. Finishing classes on campus you ran to the library to start your shift. You went to check your attendance on the board and proceeded to the main desk to settle down. You sighed a little, calming down your racing heart from the small sprint you did.

You took one of the books on the desk, looking at the books to be returned and due for the day. You hummed in acknowledgement before placing it back down. Taking your laptop and papers from earlier lectures, you started doing your own work. It was a few hours of silence in the library. People came and went, coming up to ask for books, information, or just to return and borrow books for the remaining days. It wasn’t a hassle, as in only took you a short while to complete each task, then you were back doing your work once again.

It was a few minutes to closing time. You started packing up your things, putting each chair back in its original position, checking the remaining books that had been returned for the day or for any remaining people who were still roaming around the area. You were about to switch off the power and call it a day until the door opened, calling for your attention. You lifted your head to confront the new incomer, slightly annoyed to see people still dared to come in despite it was already closing time.

“I’m sorry, the library is closed for the—” You halted. It was as if the words stopped forming, your voice stopped functioning.

The familiar figure who had been beside you your entire life. From when he was a literal infant, growing to a rowdy teenager, and now a grown man. He remained the same, only a few changes. His skin was still as pale as ever, a real-life interpretation of Snow White. His dark locks and orbs, the pair of eyes you would let yourself get drawn into. You noticed he was a little skinnier, his eyes a little sunken. But his smile, his smile was still as bright as ever.

“T-Ten” You stuttered his name. Feeling odd by the sudden familiar yet unfamiliar name that had to roll out of your tongue.

“I’m back, love” Your heart swooned.

***

You bit down on the fries, feeling the familiar taste of salt hitting your taste buds. You sighed in bliss, knowing this was all you need after ending your campus and work life.

You turned your head, looking at Ten who was still rummaging through the paper bag for his designated order. He pulled out a burger, unwrapped it, and dug in. You chuckled a little at his hunger, especially when he left out a small moan.

“Did they not feed you?” You laughed.

Ten tried not to talk, chewing faster to swallow and answer your question.

“I had to go through a diet woman, let me enjoy the love of my life.” He said.

You were back at the same place after prom two years ago. In his car, takeout on both of your laps. The only thing that made it different was where the takeout was from. Instead of going through Mcdonalds, Ten got both of you Shake Shack. The promise he made two years ago but was never fulfilled because he was a broke high schooler.

You dipped the fries in one of your milkshakes, munching and groaning in bliss. Ten opened his mouth, whining a little to gain your attention. Like usual, you dipped the salty grease in the sweet dairy, delivering it to his mouth.

“How’s life now?” You asked him. His hand offered out the bitten burger in his hand and you took it, taking bites from it as you waited for him to answer.

“It was hard. But I survived, I’m here.” He said, laughing in the process.

There was a small moment of silence, neither of you spoke. You took small sips from your milkshake while Ten was munching away on his burger. You kept on glancing at Ten, a distant gaze in your eyes. There were a lot of questions in your mind, still spinning and left unanswered. Ten noticed the glances you threw at him, noticed how you gazed upon him with concern and curiosity, but also fear as if he might disintegrate once your eyes leave him.

“Are you staying?” You asked. Ten stopped, ears ringing a little.

You didn’t hear from him for a moment. Nervously, he would divert his attention from his food towards the view. He cleared his throat, looking at you a little before placing his unfinished food back in the paper bag.

“Let’s… go to your place. Netflix like usual?” He said.

You froze, not knowing how to process the whole situation. Lost without much thought, you mindlessly nodded at him. Just like that, he pulled back and drove to your apartment. Ten followed the GPS as it led him further into your neighborhood. You had no idea what was running through his mind, his facial expressions impossible to read, consumed in his deep thoughts.

Ten never realized how two years could change someone so drastically. You were out from your parents’ house, renting a decent apartment near your campus, filling your empty time with part time jobs. He had seen the way you interacted with people, the way you would smile or sometimes joke with them caught him off guard. Especially since he knew how socially awkward and shy you used to be with strangers; he found it amusing.

When you unlocked the door, opening it wide to welcome him into your personal space, Ten silently went in. You rushed to the kitchen and took a glass of water, gulping it down to quench the dryness of your throat. Ten helped himself, taking a new glass and filled it. You directed him towards your room, taking the historical laptop you’ve had since high school, allowing him to start the show as you washed up.

Ten heard the small noise from the closing door. His eyes glued at your retreating figure, sighing when he saw you being swallowed by the other room.

He hadn’t meant to ignore and go missing, he had dreams. Ten would always feel guilty for suddenly disappearing without any context, it was all due to his own contract within his company. Ten had spent the last few years locked up, practicing in order to achieve his dreams of becoming a successful performer. Other than that, Ten’s mind wandered towards you.

He thought about the kiss.

Remembering every single luscious moment of it, playing in his mind like a broken record. He still felt his heart beating like crazy, thinking he lost his chances when you exposed your crush around him but never once telling him who the crush was. He thought it was a stage in life where he was losing you, seeing you slip away between his fingertips. Hence, he restrained. Ten opted to be more cautious around you, fearing his attachment might go wilder.

The growing distance taught him a lot of things. How much more capable you were in life, how you were okay without him in your life. He thought he didn’t have the chance, he lost you during the process.

Ten was in love with his best-friend, with you, since forever.

He had his fair share of stages when he fell in love. The problem was he failed to realize that he had already been in love with you since you were young. Ten was in denial, opting to run away from you. Thinking how impossible it was to fall for his own best-friend, someone who was always there, and someone who was always there to look after him despite how he came back into your life so abruptly.

Ten ran away. He thought if he dated someone else, the feeling would go away. He thought wrong.

Every single person he dated had been nothing but odd. They never gave him the same joy, rush of adrenaline whenever he was around you. Their touch felt foreign on his skin, he found himself wanting to feel your touch on him forever, longing for it every time you pulled away from him. He didn’t feel butterflies from his given nicknames from his past ex-lovers, but the butterflies swarmed him when you called him an idiot or plainly by his name. You had made him crazy, and he wasn’t hating you for it.

Ten was in love, but he was scared to admit it. He opted to run away, thinking the feelings would go away eventually. He thought it was simple, he was only too attached to you, to the point he could only think about you. He went missing, gone without giving any news of his departure towards you.

But the more he ran, the more he felt the longing feelings reaching out towards you. Wanting nothing but to be enveloped in your embrace, dumb conversations late at night, random movie nights till dawn. But he also had the idea of having you as his partner, his lover, his partner in crime, his everything. He wanted you in his life, yet he feared losing you might be easier if it happened.

The growing distance only made him want you more, miss you more. He noticed love wasn’t so simple, it wasn’t easy to get rid of. Unlike water where you can wipe it off without leaving any stain—love, is thicker than water.

“Hey.” He called out when you walked out of the bathroom, hair damp from your shower. You perked up at his voice, snapping your head towards him, fully giving him your attention.

“Let’s hang out after your class, tomorrow.” Ten stated, or more like demanded. You nodded.

A month since you last saw him, Ten started entering your life once again. He made it seem like nothing ever happened, as if the two years was nothing but a short two weeks break.

Ten didn’t show you any sign of awkwardness or hesitation, he straight up jumped right in.

It was becoming more frequent. Meeting him after class or after work, getting dinner together, him accompanying you during tests weeks, bringing you coffee or sending you off to campus in the morning.

Desperation, exhaustion, and longing.

He felt as if he was always there, as if he never had left. But that two-year gap would never be filled. It was an endless void, consuming both of you, testing you, and pushing both of you to see who would break first.

Both of you broke at the same time.

“Was it really the heat of the moment that led you to kiss me?” You started the conversation. He had brought you to the nearest coffee shop in hopes of accompanying you in finishing your assignment. You, on the other hand, had other things in mind than the given project.

It had bugged you the moment Ten came back, the moment he came into your life once again as if he was never away.

You took your eyes away from your laptop, gazing at Ten who was avoiding your gaze. His eyes wandered around the small café, memorizing the minimal interior, enjoying the warm vibe the space portrayed, then he finally rested his eyes on yours.

“No.” He said.

“You lied.” You said. For the first time in his life, Ten lied to you.

Ten smiled sheepishly, shaking his head a little, amused by your unending questions. You waited for his answer, patiently you waited for him to speak first, continuing to type away on your laptop.

“I’m sorry for disappearing.” Ten spoke out. You hummed at his answer, letting him know none of it mattered. You were more than ecstatic seeing him back, those two years was erased or seemed like they ceased to exist.

“Were you afraid of something, Ten?” You asked him again. Ten didn’t voice out his answer, but from the look of shock in his eyes, you knew.

“It’s me.” You said as your eyes gazed at him sadly.

Ten felt his heart hammer, how it plummeted when he noticed the hurt in your eyes. He groaned internally; everything, it was all his fault.

“You were running away from me.” You stated. Ten didn’t answer, he swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling how dry it had gotten.

“You knew, I like you. That I’m in love with you.” You said. He winced at the confession, felt the desperation in your voice as you spoke.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you but I was scared.” He whispered out, soft and only audible towards you.

You abruptly stood up, taking all your belongings into your hand. Hugging all of them desperately, struggling to fit them all in the small space of your arms. You rushed your movements, dashing out of the café, you were sure you probably had made a scene, especially with Ten running out straight after to catch you.

“Listen, please.” He said desperately, heart drumming louder in fear.

You pulled away from him, causing your books and papers to fly out of your hands and land on the ground. You crouched down quickly, stuffing them sloppily into your bag. You knew Ten was still there, crouched to help you gather your stuff. You could feel his gaze run around from the ground to you, most likely with concern and fear.

“I’m sorry.” You snapped your head upwards and look at him.

Ten could feel his heart shatter. The red eyes, puffy and ready to cry, your whole body was already shaking due to the rush of emotions and adrenaline. The mixed-up feelings and longing were consuming you, never had you felt alone in a room filled with people, where all eyes were trained on you and Ten.

“Cut the crap, Ten.” You hissed out, tears streaming down your face, dropping to the ground.

“I should’ve told you—”

“You should’ve stayed! You left me, alone for two years without telling! Two years, Ten!” You snapped, feeling the tears flow down. One then another, it was a continuum by now.

“I was selfish, I didn’t know what was going through my mind. I’m truly sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“Ten.” You choked out, stopping him abruptly.

“Why?” He asked. You looked at him, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you like me?” He asked again. You shook your head a little, a little in disbelief at his pushy behaviour by now.

“Because of you!” You snapped out and ran.

You didn’t care if Ten was tailing you from behind, trying to stop you. All you wanted was to run away from him, be alone for once. Ten didn’t have the right to pry into your life, not knowing how much you had sacrificed for him, and he decided to come back as if nothing even mattered.

His calls and texts were constant, coming into your phone with no end. You were bombarded with his spams, words of concern, plead for forgiveness, everything. You shunned away from Ten, afraid to meet him after the whole incident, fearing you might hate him if you did see him once again.

It took him another month before he showed up, on your front door of your apartment. You had the thought of him barging in, like those scenes from romcom movies where the guy fight for the girls’ love. Instead, Ten had his hands on the spare keys you gave him when he came back, easily slipping in without making any damage. Like the night after graduation, he stood around the doorframe elegantly. Tall and lean figure leaning on the sleek wood, eyes piercing around yours, lips pressed into a thin line as he was unsure of his next act.

“Do you want to get lunch?” He asked. You could hear his voice shake, causing it to come out like a mere whisper.

You wanted to throw him off, lock yourself further into your apartment, you did none of those. Instead you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough for him to pull you out of your own bubble once again.

***

“A rebound.” You said.

Your gaze rested on your food in your hand, playing with it with your utensils as you listened to his blabbering. Ten sighed a little and shook his head softly, both finding it hard to eat. He brought takeout once again, both of you locked in his car facing the Han river once again, but in broad daylight with his AC blasting.

“I didn’t want you to be a rebound, I was confused.” He said.

“I thought it was impossible if I fell in love with my own best-friend, you were there since…everything! And I thought if we did date, things will fell and I will lose you far easily!”

“Have you ever thought what I wanted?” You asked him, turning your body to face his direction. Ten swallowed a lump on his throat, shakes his head a little.

“Ten, I love you. I still do and that night I thought we had something.”

“I was scared, I was a coward. I didn’t realise that I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I chose not to acknowledge it!” He said, frustrated at this point. You stayed silent, listening to him this time.

“I thought liking you wasn’t going to work out, it scared me. And I chose to run away dating these people I don’t even feel much, thinking that my feelings will change. But oh wow, you are so fucking addicting.” He groaned; a hand ran up his face to his hair in frustration.

“You got me crazy, thirsting for you every single time you weren’t there. Everything wasn’t the same without you around me, Y/N. I came to realise that all too late.” You smiled a little.

Ten caught that small grin of yours, not knowing fully if it’s a bad or good reaction. Your smile widens more, breaking into a Cheshire grin and then you proceeded to laugh. At this rate, Ten was either scared or confused, but he waited patiently until you finished.

“I guess that two years long break was enough for us to clear our mind up” You stated.

Ten didn’t say much first, thinking about it for a while. When he caught the small gaze you direct at him, he knew he had to say something.

“Like what people said, distance makes the heart grows fonder. They weren’t wrong, it was odd not having you around me, and it made me realise a lot of things.” He said.

“And what are those things?”

“That no one can replace you, that you will be that only person I’ll truly love and long for.” Ten said, softly gaze upon you.

Two years. As distance grow and both of you grew older, maturing into adults, those were enough to make both of you realise how despite distance can change a lot of things, both still longs for the similar person. The touch they had lingering around, the smile that will light up your day, the voice which rang around your ears, the name that was enough to give you a surge of butterflies.

The growing time and distance weren’t enough to pull both of your feelings away. He kissed you that day, with meaning. Soft and delicate, afraid he might break you if he put more pressure. You could feel his tears running from his eyes, knowing too well he was tired, emotionally drained. You smiled in the kiss, pulled him in for more, wanting more. You loved him, he loved you.

And for the first time, both of you thought the whole world revolves around you. That was enough to make things official.

Two years, as time passed and distance grew.

Both of your feelings still remained the same, after all love is thicker than water.

[ourmiraclealigner]

Perfect to me

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Gif not mine! credit to original owner.

disclaimer: writings are only based off of the actor portrayals in the television series. this is not meant to disrespect the real hero’s of the war

synopsis: Joe comforts reader when she feels insecure

Request: Anon - Would you consider doing an imagine where the reader is plus sized and is feeling bad about herself and Lieb cheers her up? No problem if this isn’t your thing :)

warnings: self depreciation / rudeness and very very very slight smut at the end

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @floydtab @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @peggycarter46 @mavysnavy @ivy-miranda-2390

——————————-

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) wasn’t the ideal body type of the late 1940’s and she knew it. When she waited in line at the grocery store and glanced at the women photographed, she knew she looked nothing like them. When she went to go see the new Rita Hayworth movie with Joe, she knew her body did not resemble the popular movie star of her decade. And with all of that in mind, she loved her body. She was beautiful in her own way and didn’t feel she had to change a thing about her appearance in order to be loved.

She lived a blissful life in California with her boyfriend and 2 cats and worked at the beauty salon that had been in her family for generations. Making others feel beautiful was a huge part of her job, and she loved watching her clients reactions when she turned the chair around. She wanted everyone to feel as beautiful as she did.

But with good days come bad days, and (Y/N) had her share of bad days. (Y/N) was never vocal about her insecurities with Joe, she didn’t want him to feel burdened with her own problems; he had enough on his own. But Joe was a smart man, and he always could tell something was wrong when (Y/N) didn’t greet him at the door after a long day of work.

And one normal fall day had happened to be a bad one. Grey clouds blocked sunlight from shining onto the street as (Y/N) walked the few streets over to work, leaving the buildings quite gloomy. She was running late today; her alarm hadn’t gone off and she had to feed the cats since Joe had forgotten to before work. An umbrella in one hand, a purse in the other as she pushed open the shop door with her back, alerting the other clients and workers of her arrival.

“I’m sorry” She apoligzed quickly and breathlessly to her boss as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the coat rack. “It's been a hectic morning” She explained as she moved to her area, greeting the new client with a smile and an apology before turning her chair around to face the mirror.

After little discussion about what the client wanted and a quick introduction, this new woman's name was Audrey, small talk ensued.

“I couldn’t help but notice your pictures” Audrey motioned to the multiple framed pictures (Y/N) had of Joe and her cats. “Is that by any chance Joe Liebgott?”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she caught the young women's glance in the mirror. Joe was popular in their neighborhood because he would give free rides to drunk men he knew, but usually women wouldn’t ask about him. Taken aback by the sudden and odd question, (Y/N) nodded.. “Yeah, he's my boyfriend. We met a little while after he came back from the war. We’ve been together for a few years now.”

She watched Audrey’s reaction, surprise written all over her features. “Really?” She asked and in one quick movement, her eyes glanced at (Y/N)’s whole body in the mirror. “I dated him in highschool until a few weeks before he went overseas” (Y/N) looked down at the woman's hair and continued her work, trying to avoid her judgemental gaze. “What a small world”

(Y/N) let a small, chuckle escape her lips, trying to be polite. She nodded as she let the comb glide through the strands of Audrey’s long, wet red hair. “It really is.” (Y/N) stated conclusively, hoping the topic of her boyfriends past relationships would come to a close, but Audrey had other plans in mind.

“You know” She continued, her eyes looking up as she feigned a thoughtful, far-away look. “If you lined up all of his ex-girlfriends, we all look the same.” Her eyes fell back on (Y/N) in the mirror. “That's why I was so surprised when you said you were together, I mean, you don’t look like his type at all.” A puff of air left her lips before she spoke again. “When I saw those photos, I thought you were cousins or something.”

At this, (Y/N) said nothing. She resisted the urge to explain to this woman how much Joe loved her and how they had recently moved in together. (Y/N) was a grown woman and knew she didn’t have to justify her relationship to this stranger. But her words still stung, the shape of her slender frame sitting in her chair, and the way her green dress perfectly showcased her figure kept catching (Y/N)’s eye. She didn’t say anything the rest of the appointment.

Of course she knew Joe had had past girlfriends, she was aware he had a life before he met her. But she had never met one, never had to see what Joe found beautiful. And now that she had, she had wished she could have stayed blissfully unaware.

(Y/N) wasn’t one to let others make her feel insecure, other’s opinions didn’t dictate her beauty. But seeing Joe’s ex girlfriend made her question why Joe had chosen her, why he had stayed with her. She was down for the rest of the day, not saying much to her other clients and leaving as soon as her shift was over. When she got home, she fed the cats before going up to her and Joe’s shared room, sitting on the edge of the bed and letting all of her concerns repeat over in her head.

Too lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Joe come in or call for her. He always walked in and greeted the cats, waiting for (Y/N) to come out and tell him what she made for dinner and give him the kiss he had been thinking about all day. He sighed as he went upstairs, glancing into the empty bathroom before finding her in the bedroom.

“Hey honey” He said casually as he lifted his t-shirt over his head, turning his back to her as he dug through the drawers trying to find his cream sweater. “How was your day? Did you make it home before the rain? I was dropping this guy off at a bar when it started and I was worried you had to walk home in it. Stopped by the shop just in case you were still there but was empty.” He rambled, sitting next to her to put clean socks on.

“I met Audrey today.” Her voice was small as she watched his skin disappear under the white fabric.

“Audrey? Who the hell is that?” He asked as he rested his hands on his thighs, turning his head to her. He felt like he was being accused of something.

“Your ex-girlfriend Audrey” (Y/N) clarified as Joe hummed, still unsure of how to react.

“Oh! That Audrey. How’s she doing? I haven’t talked to her in years! Since ‘41 I think.”

(Y/N) clicked her tongue as Joe started rubbing her lower back, trying to be as patient as possible. “Apparently shocked that someone like you would have any interest in being with someone like me, thought we were cousins.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Joe’s harsh tone cut through the air, “I don’t even know what she could mean by that.”

“It means” (Y/N) started slowly, frustrated and upset by Joe’s obliviousness “She doesn’t think I’m pretty enough for you and that you could do much better. And judging by the way she looked, I think I have to agree with her.”

The room fell silent as Joe toyed her words around in his head. “Sweetheart.” He finally spoke softly, turning his body to face hers as he took her hands in his. “Look at me” His voice was strong yet still gentle. “Is that what you really think?”

Her eyes met his, her chest tightening at the hurt look on his face. “Yeah I- she’s not wrong Joe-”

He quickly cut her off, his hands lightly squeezing hers before he brought them up and started pressing light kisses to the soft skin. “But it's not,” He said, his words muffled against her skin as his lips moved up her arm. “You are beautiful” He mumbled in between kisses as he reached her elbow. “You are smart” He continued “Kind, funny, patient.” He paused as his lips lingered on the skin of her neck. “I’m so lucky to have you, every piece of you.” He pulled away to look at her again. “I love you and I’m happy you don’t look like Audrey, if I wanted you to look like her, I would just go back to her.” He chuckled even though he wasn’t joking. “I love your body and your hair and your smile and your eyes, hell, there isn’t one thing I don’t like about you.” His thumb softly brushed her cheek as he placed a kiss to her lips. “I want you to see yourself as I see you.”

She smiled and nodded before bringing him into another kiss, feeling like a heavy weight had been pulled off her chest.

“Let me show you how beautiful I think you are,” He said with a smirk, pushing her down on the bed.

[redantsunderneath]

VAL and BILLIE EILISH: THE WORLD'S A LITTLE BLURRY

I shouldn’t be allowed to watch documentaries. All that any documentary seems to be about (at this point, to me) is the relationship between itself and the truth. I don’t know if it’s 2000's reality TV or that one time I watched Capturing the Friedman’s and Waco: The Rules of Engagement back to back that broke me, but what interests me isn’t the subject matter but standpoint epistemology of the thing. These two docs are very different, diametrically opposed in almost every way, but both are defined by the ways in which the text struggles against reality. Val is about an old man who used cameras (himself) to capture his entire life as he pretended to be someone else on film. He is infirm, occluding his laryngotomy tube to talk, and his handlers try to manage his naps around meet and greets where he sells the shell of the person he once was for the fans who still care. It’s forbears are archeological dead celebrity docs that try to find the elusive star at the center (Robin Williams, Heath Ledger, Amy Winehouse) and those about reclaiming memory (Alzheimer Project, Waltz with Bashir) but it’s just… he’s the cameraman and he’s still shuffling around. Closest comparison (minus the age part) is probably Kid 90, which was being cut at the same time. This doesn’t get at how weird this is, though. He used to make movies with his brother, who drowned during a seizure and haunts the movie (he would put up his brother’s drawings in shots on film sets, the talks about or around the event constantly). He often hands off the camera to people so he can be seen in his world with complex instructions (when I walk off, focus in on that speaker so when I go onstage you will hear my first line) and when the camera hits a mirror he lingers (as in the video of his newborn baby). He seems to always be performing, an aspect of life we are all familiar with by now but less common when this footage was taken. His wife is uncomfortable on camera, usually mugging or hiding, and you get the feeling the distancing from his life is intentional as he focuses on internal transformation away from ego resolution, but he still needs to be seen, his sense of self tied up in an object permanence issue. The movie is structured as someone trying to sort through memories of their life and come to terms with them, although the memories in this case is a small warehouse full of video tapes and film canisters. In his current life he can only communicate with difficulty and tries to convey reaction with meaningful-but-of-what glances and gestures. Effacement by time and looming death drench the whole enterprise - when his brother dies he says his father “lost his charisma” (just contemplate that). His current simulacra of celebrity makes him feel like a ghost, signing “you can be my wingman anytime” multiple times for people who this means something to. So he brings up the footage and tries to reconstruct his life (his credit as cinematographer is both funny, touching, and chilling). This thing is full of interesting moments. He is doing a line reading of Hamlet at Juilliard and Peter Kass stops him to ask where the performance is coming from. He responds that he has never considered killing himself which causes Kass to explode, insisting that no-one in the history of the world has not had that thought. This seems to rob us and him of a potentially revelatory moment as Kilmer seems different, spiritual in an unusual way… maybe the reason why he never thought of that was more interesting than that point. His entreaty to Marlon Brando to tell him what his earliest childhood memory is is responded to by Brando asking for him to rock his hammock with repetition of the question only yielding feedback on the rocking until neonatal-fat Brando’s satisfaction at being rocked seems like an answer. The argument with John Frankenheimer who does not want to be filmed is something else. The major things going on are here are being haunted vs feeling like a ghost and an arrested Lacanian mirror phase that complicates his intersubjective context, with the karmic

self-assessment of who he is trying to chill in the middle. The filmmaking knows this and orients itself as a process of evaluating memory where what is true seems elusive, heavily edited, and hall-of-mirrors-like. The question of what is performance is a subconscious struggle. Conspicuous in their absence are his own feelings on his decline beyond the fact that he “doesn’t believe in death,” real insight into his marriage (and breakup, other than an allusion to his method acting Jim Morrison being a problem) and relationship with his kids (who are around all the time, but seem like Sixth Sense characters), and the fact that he’s a legendary asshole on set. This last is, like, the one thing everyone knows about him. But you can sort of sense this stuff secondarily, right off the edge of the screen and in him relentlessly projecting onto his parents. The real crux is the study of a man who never feels seen, but tries to become so by disappearing into someone else, who needs recording devices so that he can capture himself properly, all controlled performance; someone unaware of his own loneliness brought about by not being very good at making himself available because his “self” is externally resolved and constant inner transformation masks the unformed nature of his ego at rest. The film accomplishes this by allowing him to reveal what is absent by his preoccupations and bearing witness to his deflection mechanisms, so that he is no closer to knowing himself but, by being manipulated in a way we can see the frame of, we kind of get a glimpse. Good experience, wish there was more Christian Scientist material (that seems like an angle of understanding the film wasn’t interested in). Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry is about a young girl who is followed by cameras capturing her entire life as she pretends to be herself on stage. She has a Simone Biles flavored psycho-physical compromise that everyone tries to “handle” while she sells herself as the person she isn’t to fans who care, at least right now. This is in the tradition of Truth or Dare mimics that seem de rigueur for female pop stars. Closest comparison is Miss Americana. This movie feels made by spreadsheet to contain scenes to develop the official narrative of an in-her-brother’s-room, in her suburban parent’s house, sui generis composite genius who is on the edge of mental unfitness trying to be as normal as she can in this crazy merry go round called fame. The obviousness of the put on is diffused by the relative lameness of the pieces. In some respects this is the typical documentary “look for the cracks for insight” play, but it is consciously using that as a tool too and doing it badly - the manufactured insight escape moments largely ring false. This comes off as a Zoom background era counterfeit, a series of YouTube clips where Markeplier or whoever lets the mask slip a little in the most forced bit of unbiddenness possible. There is a boyfriend who feels like a story mandated version of “from Canada.” But the interesting thing is the way it recapitulates the way modern pop is put together, not by writing, not by spontaneous “feel your way,” but by putting bits of ideas together and trying to emulate form. There are a lot of moments in the film that feel like they could have been real, but the non-actors were asked to do another take and can’t quite nail it. It actually has such a boner for produced casual that it is pretty much allergic to authenticity, which is quite a thing for a documentary. The major things going on are here are grappling with whether she brings anything musically to the table (the brother seems like the musical force, she’s afraid her voice is bad, they make a point to show her idea notebooks as work product), her wish to only perform if she can give the fans her best show (possibly her version of just wanting to call in sick, understandable) is at odds with her being the center of a machine that has to move, her as a product of a not entirely with it older parents who gave their kids an open creative runway

and now are instrumental in managing her as a resource that is tricky to work with, the work being her and her brother dicking around and making magic happen, and an attempt to paint her as a Beleiber who now is on the the other side of the fan dichotomy. Development of her style, arguably her #1 thing, is sort of left as her telling a video director “I drew this bleeding eye woman, can we do something like this?” and sort of suggesting through letting her point around that she is a de facto co director. At times, it feels like a try at icon forging that someone wanted to fail, but it is probably just the high school conception-to-production level tat ultimately comes off as a larger indictment of making a movie like you make modern pop music - overdetermined manipulation of flimsy elements without a satisfying ethos, that looks too be an insubstantial assemblage of spliced pieces that live of die by their stickiness. But it begins to feel, more and more, that it’s about how non-exciting pop stars can be as people and that a narrative that people respond to can kind of die if you show that’s it’s just work and somewhat normal people trying to be a piece of an illusion. It’s this partitioning away of the hyperreality and an attempt to show the official story acted by the sausage makers trying to pretend the banality is just crazy man. Where Val is a simulation of an habitual performer considering who they actually are selectively sorting their life and failing to confront the loneliness of age and death (more elusive to them than us), this is obvious hoax unintentionally (?) revealing the fabricated nature of the image-music industry by way of demonstrating the strangely normie creatives, green-yellow ombre or no, can’t be arsed to summon a proper freakout (the whining seems authentic, though). Music videos may lie to you, but the official story is strangely correct - kids living in mom’s house cobble together catchy stuff and pull off pop stardom due to social media age production savvy and a little zeitgeisty imagery, it’s just everyone is well adjusted if stressed and someone’s only donning the costume of the online archetype of a specific kind of girl. Val uses the constructed nature of these narratives as a tool wielded in the open to suggest the inner working of a mind failing to be honest with itself while the other is interesting in its transparency and failure to convince us of the loosely conceived fiction, leaving reality apparent as bong resin. Baudrillard would have liked this one more, probably.

[aion-rsa]

The Good Lord Bird Episode 1 Review: Meet the Lord

https://ift.tt/3leArsW

This The Good Lord Bird review contains spoilers.

Who was John Brown, really? A hero or a madman? A visionary as divinely driven as Moses in the Good Book, or a bloodthirsty zealot who participated in murderous acts of terrorism? It’s a big question that’s pestered American history for centuries, and even Brown’s lifetime. As Showtime’s new series The Good Lord Bird reminds folks in its first episode, before his failed raid on Harper’s Ferry escalated tensions to a fever pitch in the prelude to the Civil War, Brown was one of the most celebrated (or notorious) roustabouts in the Kansas territory during its “bleeding.”

In his lifetime he was seen as a militant leader for the abolitionist cause, and therefore a menace to Pro-Slavery forces in Kansas, Missouri, and the other areas that began practicing their “Border War” well before South Carolinians fired on Fort Sumter in 1861. In death, his legend was the impetus for the original version of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and a mural that still draws criticism in the Kansas State Capitol building, in which Brown’s depicted as holding a Bible in one hand, open at the Book of Revelations, and a rifle in the other. A bloodstained messiah.

The complicated nature of the man’s legacy is likely a key reason Hollywood has relatively steered clear of the figure—that and the Southern Revisionism “Lost Cause” myth America placated during most of the 20th century, which saw Brown as nothing more than a terrorist. Quentin Tarantino at one point mused about making a John Brown movie that would’ve probably been about as nuanced as the last half hour of Django Unchained, but told strictly from the point-of-view of a white savior. I suspect we’re lucky we finally got The Good Lord Bird instead.

Read more

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Ethan Hawke and Paul Schrader Find Spiritualism Onscreen with First Reformed

By David Crow

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Tesla Review: Ethan Hawke’s Spark of Madness

By David Crow

Based on James McBride’s award winning novel, which I admittedly have never read, the new Showtime miniseries charged out of the gate with a sweaty, bug nut premiere that breathes as much fire as Ethan Hawke’s tremendous approximation of Old Man Brown. McBride’s book has been compared to Mark Twain, and even from a fraction of the series it’s easy to see why. While we have yet to truly know Joshua Caleb Johnson’s Henry Shackleford—mistakenly dubbed Henrietta and then Onion by Brown—his perspective on the pistol-wielding abolitionist opens up the series to evaluate Brown in all his paradoxes and hypocrisies, with a wary sense of irony and folksy detachment.

As narrated by Johnson’s voiceover, Onion muses, “Some Black folks love him, they think trouble needed to be stirred. Some Black folks hate him for thinking he was some sort of bullshit white savior.” Framing the question of John Brown in this context is key to the success of the series’ first hour; it’s also the key for getting to know the man’s biggest legacy. For what perhaps matters most today is how he’s perceived by the oft-marginalized Black perspective he claimed to live and die for. And from this vantage, the truth is somewhat more aloof than any single mural can demonstrate.

Through the eyes of Onion, and later another liberated (and conscripted) slave named Bob (Hubert Point-Du Jour), we can view Brown as a figure of righteousness and ridiculousness, a leader and a lunatic. All of this is apparent in how he liberates of Onion with a condescending paternalism that’s as ludicrous as the dress that Onion wears.

Indeed, the opening scene of the series begins with Brown’s face totally obscured. In his mind, this is probably a moment of Robin Hood like deception and adventurism, and the way it’s crafted by Hawke and Mark Richard’s teleplay looks something closer to Clint Eastwood’s “Man with No Name” entrance in a Spaghetti Western. Yet for all of Brown’s braggadocio as he rightly condemns the wickedness of slavery and the atrocities committed by red shirted (Pro-Slavery) radicals in the territory, the scene is mostly filmed from the perspective of young Henry and his father; the latter an enslaved man who gets slaughtered in the crossfire of Brown’s antics. So how does Brown honors the old man’s memory? He frees his son, but with an extreme amount possessiveness. He doesn’t even bother to actually learn the lad’s real name… or that he’s a lad.

Unable to see the smooth lines of Johnson’s face are the countenance of youth—and perhaps not looking too closely at the Black faces he claims to view as his own kin—Brown perceives Henry as a girl, and nothing more, and further renames “her” as Onion. Because her identity or experiences before she met him is inconsequential. She should just be glad she is free to follow his riders through Bleeding Kansas.

“Whatever he believed, he believed. Doesn’t matter whether it was true or not. He was a real white man.” In this way, The Good Lord Bird implements a modern understanding of white privilege on the historic personage of John Brown without betraying the actual history, or at least the legend of the man. Because as the rest of the hour attests, the individual facts of John Brown’s life matter less than an exploration of his legend and why it still matters. The way Onion, at least for now, goes along with Brown’s insistence that he should wear a dress and be treated as a lady, as well as the way Brown forces a long knife in Bob’s hand, lightly touches on the intense entitlement of a self-appointed white savior. Yet the real appeal of The Good Lord Bird as a series is it doesn’t appear interested in evaluating these characters from a strictly modern gaze, or only wishing to dip its toe in the shallow end of the pool when it comes to diving into Brown’s psychology.

“Meet the Lord” is a guns blazing showcase for Hawke as both an actor and co-writer. Straining his voice to the point where it sounds like fingernails being drawn across the inside of his throat, and alternating his glances somewhere between dead-eyed and hellfire, Hawke’s protagonist makes for an immediately bemusing and endearing figure. His cause is just, and the more he rants about it like a broken video game NPC trapped in a dialogue loop, the more his madness flirts with likability.

During the climax of the first episode, the Battle of Black Jack, he is ranting about God protecting them because they have a woman on their side, and yet he also is taking a moment between gunshots to sift through the belongings of a dead ally, stating, “If you don’t make time for God, God will make time for you” as he pockets a gold watch. It’s not that he is a hypocrite; he’s just delightfully oblivious, unconcerned or unaware that as he approaches battle, white followers are quietly ducking out behind him as they ride into the woods.

And yet, this is contradicted by an earlier scene, in which director Albert Hughes’ usually wry direction suddenly becomes as bleakly ominous as a modern horror movie (Jason Blum is also an executive producer on the series). While as far as I’m aware, the real Brown only executed men believed to be slave hunters, such barbarism is depicted here as befalling a man who doesn’t even own slaves… he just wishes he could afford them and votes to make Kansas a slave state. A dim Red Shirt follower, whether this farmer committed any actual violence against a Black body or Free Stater is ambiguous. Even if he participated in raid on Lawrence (which he denies), that technically only led to one Pro-Slavery follower’s death.

Thus suddenly all the demented folksiness that makes Hawke’s performance inviting in other scenes is recast by the long shadows of candlelight, and the lower angled framing of a horror movie villain. And that contradiction is not hand-waved away or even grappled with. Brown is a man who lives and breathes abolition, but has no qualms about decapitating a family man whose culpability may be strictly in his own mind. It is refreshing to see modern television living in the muddy grays of humanity, as opposed to just blacks and whites, which is increasingly becoming the norm.

It’s all aided by Hawke’s performance, which could risk becoming parody if not for the actor’s absolute conviction in every grandiose rambling. In fact, it’s such a big performance the first hour’s one shortcoming is it doesn’t have a lot of room for anyone else to standout. It is only the first hour, so I’ll reserve judgment on how circumspect Onion remains despite being the narrator of the story, but Brown’s sons, and their interpersonal conflicts, felt obligatory despite taking up a fair amount of screen time. So much so that when one of Brown’s allies—a reverend who rode with Free Staters, yet took inexplicably took umbrage at being forced to ride with a Black girl—murders John’s most dim-witted son, the tragedy and significance of the slaying appears muted and papered over.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Prior to his death, Frederick Brown (Duke Davis Roberts) introduces Onion to a Good Lord Bird, saying in so many words that the creature brings you luck. It’s currently unclear if Brown is the good luck Onion needs or if it’s the other way around, but the first hour at least established a serendipitous rapport between these two. While most of Onion’s thoughts on this real white man are kept to himself in the narration, both that voiceover’s cadence and the overall tone of the series is executed with sing-song-y appeal. Likely pulling in large chunks from McBride’s own text, the show enjoys an acuity of dialogue that paints its subject matter vividly, even when he’s pontificating some authentic frontier gibberish. All of which makes this Good Lord Bird soar fairly high in its maiden voyage.

The post The Good Lord Bird Episode 1 Review: Meet the Lord appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[11toe11-blog]

Baal ki Khaal ~ Skin the Hair

Much happened. Well. Happenings were not much in the outer realms but conversations. Wrestles. 

Anger flung and received and flung right back. As valid counter points. 

Anger flung and received and passed on. to plates.

Hair cuts, that had nothing to lose because they were on their way to a shave.

Lets keep quiet for a few days. 

And a newspaper in print. A lock down extension. Resting lazing squirrel, ambling away when a friend visits and the woodpecker taking the couch. The corner of the tree felt like the laze zone or the park bench.

I thought there would be so much to write about yesterday. Nothing much other than the haircuts, and the image of the trees, and sharing measurements with mom with the big Homelite matchbox as the yardstick, planning to start stitching lessons with mom starting thursday, and long conversation with S. And in the long wrestle that spanned weeks many, something of a comprehension of each other however elusive to attempts at articulation.

I catch a glimpse of my own bias and victimhood tape, projecting reprojecting on the other. Of Course and the other’s projection on me. Conversation on mental health. And responsibility. Important conversations, sure. But cannot happen unless we mutually reach a moment in time. Otherwise it's preaching, one to the other. Or pleading.

And like that yesterday went. 40 degree R announces now. 

___

Today starts.

Body. stretches. Observer. 

Mind going on playing in loop the images from films and clips and virtual news and people. Notice the observer. 

Can I watch the watchman? More profound words were never spoken, again and again in different ways. Can one watch the watch-man?

Can one watch the time-man?

Identities. Association. Disassociation.

A dancer stretching out, working on the split, stretches the psoas and pouring out memories. Identities stored in there. (Gesture of the menstruating woman with open stretched crouching core- has much story to tell, i hear)

Two people attempting suicide, with only one slot available at the moment in deadlands, arguing who needs to be successful.

Memories of a blue colour top, a hand me down from a cousin, lasted almost a decade and past a marriage, with me. Marriage far briefer than the blue beautiful top that was distinctly european in its sleeves and neck. The friendship that continued out of the marriage vaguely trails as the memory of a person.

Identities Disassociation. Maybe one of the outcomes of trauma that points an expereincer of trauma onto the path of finding the Source, what is loosely called spiritual, or deep meaning making, is possibly the experience of the observer. In deep pain, one tends to disassociate.  Becomes at some level aware of the presence of the state of observation, ie truth ie deep meaning. And then embarks unknowingly on that journey as if having picked up a bread crumb trail.

Identities. Disassociation. For an actor that is possibly the main part of the skill building / training. Finding the ability to identify with, empathize with , step into the shoes of any character. And at the same time the ability to leave, disassociate with the identity once the role or exploration is over. Where things get very tricky, however is when we take this exercise that requires immense ability of observation and energy, into something casual. Not knowing how the back end of all this programming and deprogramming works.

Any identification can end up sticking, deep. Blurring the line between the self and the archetype evoked by such an identification. And the archetype rides out of the deep seas on the back of that identification, and spilling into life.

Any disassociation can end up in numbing out, a reverse identification. A fear of identifying with anything on account of the pain. Inability to empathise, associate, relate.

Koodu vittu koodu maral vidya. Usually referred to a shaman leaving his body to inhabit the body or form of another person or animal or being. But the very basics of which is what i suppose the actor performs in the mind scape.

Folk. Classical. Such labels for certain stages. Certain natures of mind.

The lotus flower, the petals opening in mudra is an experience. A very personal experience of opening, taking many weeks, or years to discover. As the meridians are stretched and opened and blocks released. In the body and in life. One gesture learnt is such a lived experience. 

Bansi Kaul spoke of the folk performer who could simply and easily improvise and associate with other performers. His trick according to him, as shared with Kaul is, the repertoire of gestures and songs and walks and all that he learnt from his father over time. So he pulls them out when he feels the need for that particular one, instinctively. This is language no? How we use words? Hence we associate and improvise with others in conversation. 

I wondered this morning of the richness of experience offered by each of the gestures. Richness of embodying that gesture, which holds so many layers within in. Whichever stream i am trained in or not. A human body stretching out its fingers in certain angles, creating a certain effect particular to that body and for that bodymind. 

A quote somewhere said - even if we all did the same exercises and training and ate the same things we will all still be different. Like no two mango trees are the same. No two mangoes of the same treee are the same. No two sides of the same mango taste the same. 

 I begin to, just about begin to understand language and meaning making. That too is too much to say at this point. But yea, i am not as unaware of it as i was yesterday. 

Why bother with taking the skin out of the each hair strand ? baal ki khaal? It's not so much about the baal or the khaal as much as it is about the process of understanding how all this works together. If. If one is to make a baal. But baal grows simply, without me having to make anything. And that's true. That's a stumper. Like something Ramana would say. Be still.  I suppose i am not yet still, so while i wait for that i'll fiddle with the baal.

I am pleased that the haircut of earlier threaded into the baal now. BUt exercise and body work long procrastinated waits. Do i want to show up? Yes. I am ready and oiled and bandaged and all that. But the heaviness , the womb of inertia sending up gentle lulls to my eyelids are soothing, suggesting that it's ok.. Just stay here. Keep typing into the screen. Something or the other will come and you will feel satisfied here also. 

How about looking into that suggestion of VV that he was apparently offered by AV who was offered this by RR, the behavioral scientist. To mythify one story.

The idea quite struck me when he suggested it, on hearing my return gift of my journey in response to his story of his theatre journey. It offers a fundamental shift of perspective, otherwise one is constantly trying to fit the present story into the frame of the myth, shove it all into the shoe.

This suggestion is to make a whole new shoe. With the caveat that once you write a line, you will or delete it. Hmm. That doesn't feel too difficult. Very rarely does backspace feature in this workspace except for spelling correstions.

I noticed somewhere today that when a certain emotional palette / archetype is alive, it becomes the basis of identification with whatever comes one's way. I had sensed the envy alive in me. And while watching the movie - the associations where envy was alive among characters or within the makeup of a character, kept playing back in some way. The pervert was particularly disturbing. 

Or while scrolling insta - a person whom one identifieses with, for having a certain similarity of thought or political position or  whatever, is associated with on the basis of envy. Acquiring tones of aspirational. Unconsciously maybe wanting to be where they are, be who they are, emulating their manner, attire, attitude. 

In my case i experienced it when i came across the insta profiles of GM and RK. Women. From kerala. Performers, dancers, film makers taking theri space and living it. Somewhere that's a point of identification for me, i see. And then its from the lens of envy that the rest of it plays out, stemming from this identification - aspiration, motivation ie - action.

I suppose if one has the capacity for action - then there is room for transformation of this envy, if a wider perspective is available. 

But in the event of not enough energy for action - one plummets into self loathing and deeper insecurities and depressions.

Because i see them as separate from me. If i were to place the hypothesis of the Unified self here- I am not separate from the other. So my envy of them, is an envy of my self. 

I am jealous of myself. 

What madness.

I can imagine a scene in which this person afflicted with envy - is envious of her own self in the mirror. Is envious of herself in the future. Is envious of her child self.  Tremenous dramatic potential. Shoe-rpanaka Lands not very far from Karna and Duryodhana.  This is a solid and interesting enough thread to take onto the floor now.

Any reflection of existing reality, in part, is a reflection of insanity. ONly when the reflection and reflector is vast enough to hold the totality, can sanity be reflected. 

I understand R a lil more. 

Can i explore this - with a vasness. Can i at the same time explore this at its depths.

___

 I entered not for power. I entered for insight and wisdom and illumination for myself and the whole. Guide me so that i don't lose my way, with the light and gems you offer so generously. I leave closing the door gently behind me. Holding with me what is not mine alone but belonging to the whole. May I always remember the whole. 

__

Do i need to spell check and autocorrects before posting this? I wonder.

[modernfamlawguidevljf561]

Tell Your Husband You Want To Divorce

If you're the one breaking the information you desire a separation or the one eavesdroping silence when your partner tells you your marriage mores than, it doesn't matter. You remain in misery anyway. When do you convince your companion you want a divorce that doesn't leave you both anymore broken than you are?

Ways to Inform Your Partner You Desired Separation

Take the talk.

No one eagerly anticipates jumping into a discussion that might bring them into a conflict. Couple of individuals love bring problem. Yet even if a conversation would certainly be made complex does not imply you don't need to.

No matter if you're 5 months or half a century married. It matters not what your partner performed in your marriage. Prior to you tell your partner that you desire a divorce, you or your youngsters require to have the talk with your partner, in person.

Simply go out the door eventually and also never ever go back to your marriage or life. Allowing the Constable serve your companion with a summons isn't alright until you also mention words separation. "Inform your companion you desire a divorce.

You desire a divorce-Surprised man offered with Summons

Be secure.

When there's a threat your companion could end up being literally violent, make certain the discussion remains in a public area. And, ensure you have actually got someone else with you damaging the news.

Bring a pre-programmed cellphone to call "911" pressing a switch. When you're alone with your partner, see to it you know where you are and what you're doing.

Prepare to stay with someone else for a minimum of a couple of days. Going house when he/ she is distressed and might transform aggressive is dangerous.

Being simple.

Broach just how you would certainly really feel if anyone provided you trouble. Seek not to obscure why you desire separation when you're in the center of somebody else's dispute.

Strategy when and also exactly how to inform your companion you want divorce. Choose a location to get some anonymity.

Ask your companion straight. Ought to not take the coward's escape as well as either send an email or message or, even worse still, actually vanish without telling your spouse something.

Be Fair and Kind

Be transparent. Beating around the bush about obtaining a separation won't make the talk any kind of much easier, nor does it make the news much less frustrating.

Stop blaming your partner for glitch with your household. Take obligation for your decision, frame your discussion on the demand to move on and your feelings.

Withstand need to beat your companion, or use this discussion to mention all the ways he/ she has harmed you in the past. You do not require to show off any kind of brand-new connection details in your partner's face.

Be Frank.

Do not route your partner. Do not give him any type of false hope. When there's no chance you'll reconcile, claim.

If you undoubtedly assume you want a divorce, then don't grant a "court split" just because it seems easier.

If you have an event, and also your companion tells you, do not exist. (Yes, I recognize this is a challenging one, specifically if you reside in a state where your infidelity will impact whether you get help or just how your residential or commercial property is separated. Yet: a) opportunities are, your partner will at some point find the fact anyhow; and b) note that, at the end of the day, you will always need to cope with yourself.) Take some time.

Do not anticipate to tell your companion you desire a separation ten mins before you (or your husband or wife) go to work. Difficult conversations take time.

You can think of divorce for months (or years!). Yet this is possibly your partner's initial understanding that separating is a true possibility. Perhaps he/ she wish to think of it!

When the talk is short due to the fact that your companion tornados in a mad huff, that's perfect. What counts is that you have the ability to offer this sort of critical talk the moment it should have.

Don't deal with.

Just because separation discussion can be complicated, that does not mean it has to finish in a battle.

Resist the temptation to intentionally inform your partner or press his/ her switches and also begin a debate. Arguing, implicating or insulting your companion can make a tough conversation 100 times worse.

When your partner intends to select a fight or addresses you angrily, don't let yourself go into the battle or respond in anger. Additionally, be prepared to call. Put your talk on hold up until you as well as your partner can return peacefully.

Do not consist of infants.

Your kids shouldn't be around while you and also your companion go over divorce. Ever. Ever before. Time. Time.

And also if among the reasons for divorce includes your youngsters, that does not imply they require to be part of any type of separation conversation.

It's the same if the kids are adults. Only since they may not be kids implies they are no more your kids. They're, and they're constantly, your youngsters. You need to keep in mind that and also be a mama. That means safeguarding your youngsters from divorce.

Plan for an Unfavorable Response.

Despite just how well you think you know your companion, you will never ever know exactly how he/ she will react to your divorce information prior to you tell him/ her you desire a divorce.

Your companion can get angry or dismayed. She or he can disagree or start vocally assaulting you. Or, he/ she might plead or endanger you not to leave. Or, your spouse can take out, say nothing.

While you can't predict your spouse's response, if you have actually prepared yourself at the very least mentally to prepare for the various means your spouse might respond, you'll be much better able to manage your spouse's response when it happens.

" Awesome" separation interactions just happen in flicks. That's because some film writer had weeks to claim best terms. Then some actors practiced those words prior to speaking them.

Although your life isn't the like Hollywood flick (although at times it might feel like a daytime drama!), discovering your way of telling your partner you want a separation beforehand will certainly aid you collaborate your ideas and communicate your message Alameda, CA divorce lawyer in a much more positive and delicate method.

Do Not Study Unnecessary Information

In divorce, as in life, there is such a thing as "excessive details." You may have been thinking about obtaining a separation for a long time. You might have exercised every detail of what you want your new life to resemble. However, when you initially inform your partner you want a divorce, you do NOT require to talk about when you desire him or her to vacate, just how you are going to divide your residential or commercial property, and also who is going to get the youngsters. (And, for paradise's purpose, DON'T give your partner a spreadsheet that information exactly how you would like to divide everything from the retirement accounts to the Tupperware!) If your partner intends to enter into those kinds of details so soon, wonderful! After that you can have those conversations. However most people are going to need time to refine the fact that they are obtaining divorced before they will have the ability to talk about what will certainly take place once the divorce is over.

Include Your Partner in Your Choice, if You Can.

Choosing to separation is intensely individual. Whether you talk to your spouse concerning your decision prior to it is set in stone, is up to you. Yet, blindsiding your partner with the information that you want a divorce is seldom a great concept. Your spouse is much more likely to react terribly if s/he had no suggestion that your marital relationship was in significant trouble. While you may assume that just a full fool might miss out on the fact that your marital relationship is a mess, do not think that your partner sees the same issues that you do. What's more, "hinting" at the problem does not assist. If you are seriously considering divorce, tell your spouse that. Of course, your partner might not think you. Or, s/he might pick to overlook you. You can't control that. However at the very least you will have tried to not to blindside our unaware partner.

Saying "I Desired a Divorce" is Never Easy Regardless of what you do, having "the separation discussion" is never ever very easy. It is uncomfortable, unpleasant, and also can potentially be full of conflict. Yet, the method you begin your separation issues. The means you inform your spouse that you desire a separation matters. If the very first time your partner learns that you desire a divorce is when she reads about it in a press release (yes, it truly occurs), you can not be amazed if your separation promptly develops into a war. Causing pain on your partner causes you discomfort, too. On the other hand, if you approach your partner with kindness, compassion, as well as sensitivity, you will have a much better possibility of making your divorce as calm as feasible.

[ryanmeft]

My Favorite Films of 2018, part 1

Let’s make the introduction quick: these are my favorite films released in 2018. As always, the rules are simple: I don’t say they are the best or that you must agree, simply that I found them the most memorable. They are in completely random order, with no emphasis on one over another. Films released at festivals but not to the public in 2017 are counted as 2018, as are films that were not available in the United States. I apologize for not having the accents on certain people’s named; I don’t know how to reproduce them.  

 Many excellent films didn’t make the cut this year, and it was already difficult to narrow down my shortlist of 26 to 14. I had to stop there, as I could not bring myself to cut anymore. The list is in two parts this year to accommodate the additional length.

 Let’s get rolling.

Sorry To Bother You

While decent-but-ordinary films got lauded with undeserved reputations for being revolutionary, Boots Riley was quietly (okay…maybe not so quietly) sliding this biting, bizarre, hard-edged satire under the radar. Where most films have simple good guys and bad guys, Riley takes furious aim at everyone in sight. Black people are exploited by a white establishment. The hero only cares about his own advancement until he himself is taken advantage of. His girlfriend rails about purity but sells out almost immediately herself. A labor organizer is mostly doing it to get laid. The film is driven by Lakeith Stanfield, whose performance as a black telemarketer who finds tremendous success by kow-towing to his white bosses is a sterling and hilarious take on the classic everyman. Supporting roles from Danny Glover and Armie Hammer, in particular, contribute greatly. Nobody escapes unscathed, leaving the film with only one viewpoint: everybody in the world is a terrible hypocrite to one degree or another. Riley’s outspokenness didn’t help the film at major awards shows, but it likely would have been shafted anyway. Like other huge, overlooked critical hits, from Inside Llewyn Davis to Lucky, it is just too nihilistic to grab people’s attention.

Paddington 2

Iron Men and super spies are nice, but they can’t approach the sheer joy, creativity, adventure, humor and heart of the Paddington series, which started out great and got better with this sequel. All the cast you loved the first time around are back, but just like the Harry Potter franchise, it’s the new faces and what director Paul King and co-writer Simon Farnaby do with them that makes this one special. Most notable is Hugh Grant, who both honors and spoofs his own career reputation by playing a washed-up former celebrity who tries to frame Paddington to restore his lost lustre. Grant devours every one of his scenes, as he skips comically between costumes and disguises. Brendan Gleeson is one of those actors who is never unwelcome, and here he plays a tough-as-nails prison cook with a heart of gold. The movie gets as sweetly silly as turning an entire prison’s uniforms pink and as genuinely thrilling as a final train chase that is the most exciting action sequence of the year. The key to Paddington is that there’s not a cynical thing about him---his movies just consistently and unerringly deliver pure creative joy.

The Sisters Brothers

In recent years the western genre has moved hard towards social commentary. Jacques Audiard’s adaptation of a Patrick DeWitt novel, co-written with Thomas Bidegain, has such unconventional heroes that it takes aim at the traditional western strongman even when it isn’t trying to. John C. Reilly and Joaquin Phoenix play a pair of mercenary brothers who are, respectively, too sensitive and too useless to have ever been stars in westerns of old. Jake Gyllenhaal is an eloquent bounty hunter and Riz Ahmed is the inventor they are all after. The wild west was definitely not a storied land of opportunity for all. The hired hands are out to kill Ahmed’s character because a powerful businessman feels entitled to his invention, and the film ends in greed, tragedy and brokenness rather than success. That’s not to say it has no trappings of the classics, as it may be the most beautiful western ever made; painstaking detail has gone into towns and saloon halls, while a wilderness stream lit up with a phosphorescent gold-finding chemical has a mesmerizing beauty. All these good looks serve to back up a dark comic story, and it is a highly effective contrast.

Capernaum

Nadine Labaki’s film about a 12-year-old boy in prison for striking back at his desperate poverty was criticized, in some circles, for not being bleaker than it is. Labaki and her team of writers, with a mostly non-professional cast, have painted a picture of life in the world’s slums that mostly foregoes easy drama in favor of being unblinkingly, ceaselessly blunt about the sheer offenses against human life that take place there. The focus of the film is Zain, named after the young actor Zain Al Rafeea, whose parents recklessly pop out kids despite barely being able to care for themselves. They enjoy themselves in a bed right next to the floor housing their seven children; in court, they insist that the existence of their kids is a burden on them. Zain ends up temporarily becoming a sort of custodian for a friend’s infant son, and we see three stops on a sad spectrum: the innocent baby unaware of life’s terrors, the broken boy he may become without help, and the adults that are the result of a life lived without hope. That the film’s bad guy, a human trafficker, is eventually foiled is not the catharsis it would be in a more multiplex-oriented movie, because we know there will just be another after him, and another, and another.

First Man

A bio-pic of a quiet man with no political message was never going to do well in the modern movie landscape, and that’s a shame. Ryan Gosling’s taciturn portrayal of Neil Armstrong is the fuel of a film that is not about the glory of space travel but about the risks and tolls it takes, all of which are recreated with bone-rattling immediacy. Damien Chazelle and Josh Singer ignore the political demands of the moment to portray one of our most important national figures exactly as he was: a reserved man more concerned with math than with press conferences, whose taciturn response to what he’d bring with him to the moon was “More fuel”. Yet what really sells the film is the time we spend in the various cockpits with Armstrong. Where Linus Sandgren could have gone for soaring vistas and patriotic imagery, he instead brings home the terror and uncertainly of space travel in a way that makes the stakes feel real and immediate. Chazelle eschews the need to see the past through the lens of the present, and an excellent movie results.

Annihilation

Some science fiction deals in lasers and spaceships. Some deals in thoughts and ideas. Alex Garland’s trippy sci-fi adventure, based on a novel by Jeff VanderMeer, is certainly the latter. A team of women, led by Natalie Portman and Jennifer Jason Leigh, enter a no-go zone where it seems the local scenery is slowly being eaten by alien vegetation. What they find there is up to the viewer to interpret, but Garland wisely decide to really let us think about it by pulling back on the horror and leaving much unexplained. The world inside the “Shimmer” is quiet and haunting, not packed with activity. When monsters do attack, it comes in small-scale, individualistic encounters, rather than wars between armies of CGi. It’s also notable that whereas a very specific kind of woman is often held up as an example of strong female characters, the women here are the opposite: ordinary people, more egghead than warrior, investigating rather than kicking ass; a movie that relegates Oscar Isaac to about 20 minutes of screen time certainly has the courage of its characters.

Roma

Another example of a film whose greatness is achieved specifically because it bucks the need to have a message or to conform to momentary fits of politics, Roma tells a simple story of a middle-class Mexican family in the 70’s and their working class servant. It commits numerous sins of modern cinema: the middle-class family is not seen as oppressors, the servant is not seen as a victim, nothing in the film is a veiled attack on systems of any kind or shape. Therein lies the beauty, captured perfectly by Yalitza Aparicio. She plays Cleo, the servant, and while the film is seen through her eyes---so that we witness only the snatches of family life she does---Alfonso Cuaron has never been given much to preaching, and that’s still true here, despite it being his most personal film. It’s also mournfully beautiful in black and white, with city houses shown as a tangle of balcony stairs and one-car garages, and an especially beautiful shot of woods on fire. The kind of film you think about for years after seeing it once, it’s also Cuaron’s most intimate accomplishment. Part 2: http://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/182988135292/my-favorite-films-of-2018-part-2