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anika-ann · 4 years

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Attached: The One Word

The Three Times Steve Didn’t Get to Hear the One Word He Wanted and the One Time He Did

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7700 👀

Summary: In which Steve really, really wants to ask you the question, but the odds are always against him – absurdly so. Maybe it’s fate and he shouldn’t ask. Or maybe the universe just hates him and punishes him for tainting a girl like you and wanting you all for himself officially.

Warnings: lots of swearing, crack-ish, briefest smut so 18+ only please, sickness and fluff

A/N: I say this to you, my friends – I do not at all envy men in a heterosexual relationship for being expected to pop the question. I would chicken out every time, I’m sure of it. Enjoy!

Story masterlist

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Steve liked to think important things through. He liked planning. He liked to have all the facts and view things from different angles before making a decision.

Therefore, wanting to marry you was something he was perfectly certain of and two months after he received your mother’s blessings – two months of slowly reducing costs, preparing to lower incomes, not that they had ever been glorious ever –, Steve had a feeling that the time was finally right and that he was ready to pop the question. He was.

The only problem was that the universe started plotting against him.

Big time.

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Palmeri was a relatively new restaurant, but quickly gaining reputation. Steve had heard Carol talking about taking her girlfriend there for the fun of trying a new spot and getting a taste of fancy Italian. Clearly that had a good time; the moment he learned, he started considering it. Two days later, he had to make a reservation for a week later, because the word of the delicious food travelled fast.

That was fine with him, even if he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin before the date finally arrived. Still, he advertised the fact to you that he would like to celebrate your early wrapped up exams already foreshadowing that you would obviously slayed the one you were supposed to have a day prior Friday.

When you heard the name of the restaurant, your eyes twinkled like fairy lights, a squeal of delight escaping your lips before they swiftly found his to kiss him crazy. Steve’s heart thundered in his chest as you ran off back to your books with newly-found motivation, his nerves mingling with the satisfaction that you appreciated his idea – even if you couldn’t have no clue about what he was about to do.

He could only hope that you’d be as delighted at him sinking to one knee.

But he would have to get out of this fucking interfaculty meeting FIRST!

“Seeing as the satisfaction of the students apparently took a nose dive according to the university poll last month…” Fury continued rambling, his serious and mildly snarky voice carrying through the conference room, as if mocking Steve who anxiously eyed the clock, again.

The reservation was for seven thirty.

It was five to seven.

Half an hour ago, Steve hated the idea of not taking a shower and looking his absolute best while proposing to you.

Now? Every option looked better than this. He would arrive to the restaurant all sweaty and catching his breath if he took off right this moment. And even that seemed impossible; president Fury, that son of a bitch, was nowhere close to ending the meeting.

51 weeks. 51 Fridays Fury could have called the meeting.

Nope, that bastard picked this one, the one Friday Steve was planning on sweeping you off your feet and asking you to be his for the rest of your lives.

Fucking asshole.

“Got anything to add, Professor Rogers?” a gruff voice asked him and Steve jumped in his chair and nearly dropped the phone he was pulling out of his pocket to text you with his deepest regrets – but he had to, otherwise you’d already be on your way.

Best if he saved you the embarrassment; best if you stayed home at least, all dolled up and pretty and smiling for him to show off.

Goddammit fuck.

Steve’s eyes snapped to Fury, meeting a glare that seemed even sterner with only one functioning eye.

Steve gritted his teeth and determinedly gripping his phone.

“No,” he shot back, biting his cheek when Fury’s eyebrow rose at his snappy tone. “I mean… I need to make a phone call. If you’d excuse me, it will be just a minute.”

Likely story. He would have to be apologizing for at least three minutes straight and then crawl on his knees when he finally got back home; not because you’d be so unforgiving and angry, but because it would be the right thing to do after disappointing your precious heart.

He was about to make you sad. He fucking hated making you sad.

“Make it three tops,” the president grumbled, but luckily didn’t pry what was so important for him to leave the room.

“Stevie!” your bright voice greeted him from the speaker and Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his fist automatically clenching in anger. He was about to crush you because of a dumb-ass useless meeting. He brought the fist to his mouth to stop himself from greeting you equally delighted way and fleeting the university grounds. “I’m just about to take off! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Did Fury give you a hard time? … Steve?”

Steve, much to his horror, found his eyes prickling with tears of frustration as his name on your lips sounded suddenly unsure.

Fuck. This.

“Hey babygirl,” he said finally and the roughness of his voice must have been everything you needed to hear to understand.

“You can’t make it.”

Steve wanted to tear his hair out at the defeat in your voice. Talk about a nose dive of your mood. He was gonna fucking scream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered instead, the apology so pathetic in comparison to what he wanted to say.

But that was the irony – you couldn’t even begin to guess how much it sucked for the two of you to not being able to go to the damn Palmeri. You didn’t know the main tragedy, only a part of it. You didn’t know he had been about to propose.

Silence stretched between the two of you and Steve tilted his head back, blinking against the sting in his eyes, his stomach sinking to his feet.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed eventually, sounding as if you were trying to convince him as much as yourself.

Steve could imagine precisely the disappointment on your face, the fall of your expression, pretty features no doubt having been accented by make-up just the right amount twisting. He could see clearly how your lips made for smiles turned downward, lower lip maybe even trembling a bit.

Steve was gonna murder Fury.

“But it is. I’m so sorry, I know how excited you were and so was I and— I’m just really sorry.”

“I know, Steve,” you breathed out weakly and he could hear the attempt of a smile in your next words. “Come home soon, yeah? I’ll wait for you.”

Steve’s heart grew in size so rapidly it actually hurt.

“I love you, sweetheart. I know--- I know you might not wanna hear it now and that it doesn’t mean much, but I really do,” he creaked.

“It does. Bye, Steve.”

Steve’s fingers clutched at the phone, eyes falling shut in defeat.

You were nice about it, sure, but the fact that you didn’t say I love you back didn’t escape him as didn’t the switch from Stevie to Steve; the subtle hints sat heavily in his gut as he returned to the room.

He met Bucky’s compassionate gaze – of course Buck knew about why Steve was distracted during the assembly – and quickly looked away, once again excusing himself for the interruption even if there was nothing sincere about his words.

His chest ached for the rest of the meeting – and would for the rest of the night.

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He did not come home soon – in fact, it was nearing eleven when he finally opened the door, trying to make no sound when he found the apartment plunged into dark. He grimaced, jaw clenching; you were already asleep.

A fresh surge of anger shot into his veins; the university hated him, he was certain of it – and the other way around. He had missed his shot because of a meeting that was literally about nothing. Fuck his life.

He grumbled, the only sound he allowed himself to make when moving around the apartment, switching the dimmest light he could as not to wake you – because disappointing you was enough, the least he could do was not to disturb your sleep.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, he tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. He was starving and even though he was exhausted and craved nothing but to wrap his arms around you and sink into the cushions, he knew hunger would wake him up a few hours later if he went to bed with an empty stomach.

Upon opening the fridge, a surprise welcomed him; a ham & cheese sandwich ready on a plate, a small Tupperware box with pieces of tomatoes and cucumber on side, a sticky note simply reading ‘Stevie’.

His breath got stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his ribcage – that was how moved he was by your gesture. He knew that you must have been as upset as you had been excited to have the fancy dinner with him, but here you were, pushing your sorrows and anger aside and preparing him food, a possible olive branch.

The sandwich was nothing fancy by any means; but God, Steve loved you just a little bit more at that moment for he didn’t have to move a finger to eat so late and you even took care to set his vegetables aside, because you knew how much he hated when the bread got squishy with the juice.

Gratefully biting into his late-night meal, Steve swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life spoiling you rotten.

When he finally got to cautiously cuddle you from behind – eyeing the absolutely stunning dress you were supposed to wear hanging outside the closet as if there to mock him – you stirred at the dip of the mattress.

Lazily blinking your eyes open, you welcomed him with a raspy hey and he had a half mind to just take the ring from the safety of its velvet box and slip it on your finger right there.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, tentatively wrapping his arm around your midsection, unsure if he wasn’t in disgrace after all. You just hummed and rolled over to face him, burying your face in his chest, heavy limbs wrapping around him as if you were an octopus – the most adorable, precious, beautiful and perfect octopus in the world. His octopus. “I love you so much. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Uh-huh. Looking forward to it. Now sleep,” you mumbled to Steve’s sleepshirt, half-grumpy half-sounding as if not caring for what he was saying at all, causing him to feel warm all over.

Oh he was so going to show you just how he could make it up to you. He would marry the shit out of you.

Just you wait.

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Because of a water incident, Palmeri closed three days after Steve’s first failed attempt – and assumptions were that it would remain so for a month, because they needed to redecorate.

That meant a new plan for Steve, because he could not wait that long. Out of question. He needed to hear you say yes as soon as possible. Yesterday had been too late.

So, he asked Sam for a recommendation – casually, he believed – and somehow ended up with the man looking at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on his face.

“Oooooh, I see how it is! Need something real nice, huh?” Sam whistled, a teasing grin on his face as he patted Steve’s shoulder for support. “Relax, I gotcha, man. All you need; cosy atmosphere, but classy, white table cloths and everything. The right place to take her to in order to butter her up and make her all putty.”

Steve didn’t manage to quite hide his embarrassment at being so obvious, but he knew that Sam was a friend and all his shit-talking was good-natured, always knowing where the boundaries were; he wasn’t a counsellor for nothing.

And Steve had to give it to him – the place he recommended was just what he promised it would be and exactly what Steve needed.

You were all smiles and some giggles, little tipsy on the second glass of the wine, eyes shining in the dim lights, somehow lighting up more whenever you caught him staring at you. It was the perfect display of all the good things you were, ones he adored about you, the light of his life and gazing at him as if he was yours too.

Downing some of the liquid courage himself and with you so gorgeously giddy, Steve felt his confidence building up during the night and was just about ready to get on one knee once you finished your shared dessert.

“This is good!” you gushed, digging the fork if into the cake to get another bite and Steve grinned, unable to help himself as he agreed.

“Uh-huh, sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

You stopped mid-chew, eyes meeting his and he felt his face burn hot with embarrassment at such cheesy comment.

You swallowed, gaze still fixed on him as he busied himself with the sweet treat, and then you chuckled, causing his face to turn entirely red.

“You, Steve Rogers, are so corny sometimes,” you mocked him lightly, but when he looked up, sheepish and with his confidence bruised, he found you all starry-eyed still, watching him adoringly as if he hung the moon – and he would, for you – and Steve felt himself settle again. “But I still love you. Maybe even more for that.”

It was a wonderful opening, things really going his way – but he hesitated a second too long, like an idiot, and the next thing he knew, a string quartet, a damn string quartet, walked straight to the elderly couple two tables over, one of the group congratulating them to their thirtieth anniversary and at that moment…

Well. At that moment, Steve really fucking hated them.

Who fucking cared they were a sweet elderly couple?! Steve could only dream about you two becoming them one day as of now, because they ruined just another of his fucking shots!

He couldn’t believe that he missed his window again.

And what more, you cooed under your breath, a silent aww falling from your lips and Steve knew that anything less than a string quartet accompanying a marriage proposal when delivered in a restaurant was a no-go.

So scratch that one off the list.

All guests clapped their hands, more of awws coming from different directions and you proceeded to take his hand, gentle fingers stroking over his knuckles and Steve knew one thing with absolute certainty; he needed to propose tonight otherwise he might burst.

At home then, he would ask you at home. Who even wanted something as cliché and public as he had planned? Lame. You were a private pair, some people still judged you upon seeing you together; a little intimate proposal in your home after a fancy sweet dinner would be just the thing.

Steve just had to figure how exactly and at what moment to ask. He’d be fine. You’d say yes. Right?

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and plans that he barely noticed you growing skittish during the taxi ride, but he certainly noticed when you started practically jumping by his side as he was unlocking the door to your apartment, confused by your antics.

The second Steve opened it and stepped inside, he found himself being shoved back-first towards a wall, your hands on his chest, sliding up and down his coat and blindly undoing the buttons as your mouth assaulted his, a soft mewl vibrating against his lips, wandering hands appreciative when they slipped under the lapels of his coat and jacket.

Steve’s head spun at the display of desire, a sudden pleasant dizziness overtaking his body, all rational thoughts vaporizing as you rocked against his crotch, his cock twitching in excitement at the friction and at the way his tongue had to fight against yours. His brain grew foggy at the faint taste of wine and the cake you had shared, his hands automatically grabbing your waist to keep you close, fingers squeezing your hips and ass to urge you closer when he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting needy moans from your lips-

You withdrew for just a second to catch your breath, lips skimming over his jaw, revelling at the feel of his beard on your skin he knew you loved, hasty words whispered into his flesh.

“Dammit, Steve, you look so fucking hot in this suit--- oh Stevie,” you whimpered when his hands slipped under your backside to tease your clothed weeping core, the sensation setting his blood on fire, the delicious friction and your dirty mouth everything that mattered in the world. “Let me suck you off-“

Steve nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing that, almost losing his balance with his legs turning into jelly and all his blood rushing into his dick.

Yeah, Steve might be a professor but he was a simple guy.

When his girl, in those stunning hot as hell dress begged him to let her get on her knees to blow his dick and his mind, he really couldn’t find himself refusing, the coil in his belly searing hot by the time you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, so pretty, doe-eyed, lips kiss-swollen and willing and so fucking devilish as you freed his cock and licked the drop of precum already forming there.

“Fuck, babygirl, what’s gotten into you-“ was all he managed to ask before all he could think off was the velvety heat of your mouth, taking him all in and making him see stars, the jewellery box in the pocket of his coat long forgotten.

And fuck was also his first coherent thought in the morning, when he realized that once again, the proposal attempt ended up being an utter failure.

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Steve had established after his two and half failed proposals that he wouldn’t make any reservations in some dumb restaurant. Just no. Privacy it would be; something personal, accompanied with a simple and yet big enough gesture, him doing something just for you, following with words of you being his world or something.

Yeah.

And for once, it seemed that the universe that had seemed to hate him, finally started playing in his favour.

The weather was going crazy, sun and spring in a middle of February and Steve had a revelation – he was going to take you out for a picnic. It was going to be perfect; he’d take you outside the city, find a quiet corner, just you and him, nothing in your way and more importantly, in his way to pop the question.

Steve was certain that you’d prefer this to anything else anyway, loving when he made an effort to create something for you. He still remembered when you first discovered he enjoyed drawing and you practically melted into a puddle when you found drawings of yourself too, allegedly displaying you prettier than you were – as if.

So, picnic it was.

Except on Friday, the day before THE DAY, Steve woke up with a splitting headache, his whole body hurting, nose full and lungs as if stuffed with cotton wool. He blamed the crazy weather, but it didn’t really matter where this sickness came from – he felt like shit.

He groaned and downright punched the alarm on his phone, startling you awake.

With bleary gaze, he registered you rolling over in his arms, squirming at him sleepily as he let his eyelids slip shut again.

“Steve, hun, are you okay?” you asked him softly, voice husky as he loved to hear it when you woke up, too adorable for him to keep his hands off you.

He sure as fuck wasn’t thinking about sweet and filthy morning loving now; he would have coughed out his lungs if he tried to move too much and some parts of him might fall off judging by how much everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he rasped, throat scratchy at the single word and as if from a distance, he heard a noise of sympathy, your palm instantly finding his forehead, gentle touch soothing against his burning skin.

“You’re absolutely not okay. Stevie, you’re burning up,” you whispered compassionately and Steve blinked his eyes open, the little light in the room causing him to snap them close again immediately. Ouch.

“Fuck my liiiiife,” he groaned, prolonging the last syllable, which proved to be a wrong thing to do, sending him into a couching fit due to his scratchy throat.

Your hands roamed his shoulders and back as he rolled over to his side from you, hoping to suck in some air to continue coughing.

“Oh Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some medicine when I’m back from school, yeah? And I’ll make some soup,” you assured him kindly, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before your pleasant warmth disappeared, leaving him too cold and hot at the same time.

Seriously. FUCK HIS LIFE.

Grunting, he fell to his back, exhausted by one stupid coughing fit, whole body heavy; and he must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing he knew, soft lips were touching his forehead, tender fingers brushing messy strands of hair away. He stirred, forcing his eyes open to be greeted by a sight of that angelic face of yours, complete with a halo of light around you.

“I already called Bucky. He’ll sort out your classes today, alright? There’s a tea on your nightstand along with some last Tylenol we have.”

Steve squinted in the direction of the piece of furniture you mentioned and sure enough, there it was, everything you said it would.

What a pretty dutiful nurse you were. God, he loved you.

As he eyed you then, deep sense of longing settled in his swimming stomach, more so as he didn’t miss the gorgeous thermo leggings and long sweater hugging your figure, reaching your mid-thighs.

All Steve wanted was to pull you back to him so he had a human furnace in bed with him, the soothing smell of your shampoo to comfort him – even though he probably wouldn’t be able to smell it. But his hands would still be able to explore your delicious body, grope and hold it close to his and you could maybe ramble about everything and anything, lulling him to sleep.

But no, you were leaving to school, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Just him, himself and his fucking flu.

He eyed you wistfully, lips pursed at your concerned expression.

“When you’ll be back?”

The wrinkle between your brows smoothened, a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

“I have class until eleven. I see what I can do. I’m gonna have to hit the pharmacy and make some shopping,” you explained patiently, casing Steve to groan. Too long. So so long… Your smile widened, another kiss landing on his temple this time. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest, Professor Rogers.”

Your teasing tone made him growl, the action effectively sending him into another coughing fit and through glassy eyes, he saw you disappear from the room with one last glance over your shoulder.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in deeply – oh, the delicious air – and then buried himself in the covers, praying that a decent sleep would make him feel better.

It didn’t, not quite. What did make him feel much better was the Tylenol and the sirup you brought along.

The absolute best was when you were there for him to cuddle you to sleep in the evening; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was being a giant baby and was being utterly ridiculous, but God help him, this was all he needed the whole day.

He sighed blissfully as he hugged your midsection while you were sitting propped on the back-rest, soft light from the nightlamp illuminating the pages of the book you were reading. You were warmth, the gentle kind and Steve felt you seeping into him, fingers of one hand raking through his hair; he felt himself getting high on your loving care and cough sirup.

“I love having you here,” he muttered into the fabric of your pyjama, feeling you shift in your position a little, probably as you looked at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, sounding as if you were smiling, maybe even laughing at him; but he couldn’t care less, already drifting off to sleep, just content to have you.

“You’re warm and nice… and the prettiest nurse. And I love you. You’re my everything.”

“Oh Stevie,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the crown of his head and he preened at the sensation, smiling lazily. “I love you too.”

His heart skipped a beat as he nuzzled into your flesh and heard you gently toss the book away, your other hand now caressing his cheek.

“Yeah? Will you always be here? I want you to always be with me,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing a soft giggle and earning a kiss on his forehead.

“God, you’re adorable like this…”

Steve grunted, discontent with your reaction. “Not an answer.”

“I’ll always be here if you want me to, Stevie,” you answered dutifully, causing warmth fill his chest even if your body was shaking with hushed laughter; he felt it, but didn’t care. For your words however, he did; phew, as if he ever wanted something else, as if you had the right to question that!

He really needed to propose soon… just not tomorrow. You’d probably say no if he asked you, blaming his request on the fever. Naively.

“I wanna,” he mumbled, trying to squeeze you tighter. “Mine. My pretty girl. My babygirl. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” you noted, smile once again lacing your voice, along with an emotion, oh so soft one, he didn’t have the capacity to identify anymore. “But that’s what it’ll be if that’s what you want.”

Finally satisfied and with determination in the back of his mind, Steve let your love bridge him over to the dreamland, distantly aware of your fingers still playing with his hair.

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Steve’s mother used to say his that flu lasted a week under a doctor’s care; and seven days without it. Of course, when he was younger with many health issues, it was more complicated than that, but he got the message.

Under your care, he felt considerably better after five days, only a mild case of a runny nose remaining. On a Thursday morning, he even found himself awake before you did, before your alarm went off.

Contemplating whether he should stay in bed with you or get shit done, he lazily scooped away a bit and propped himself on his elbow to feast his eyes on his pretty nurse.

Your hair was a messy halo around your head, your brows were lightly crooked as if you were having an unpleasant dream, your lips parted just a fraction, the softest snort escaping you.

Steve felt himself grin, a love-sick lift of the corners of his lips.

You were so freaking cute.

And seeing you, relaxed, but clearly catching up with sleep to beat your exhaustion to which he abundantly contributed, he knew he couldn’t stay in bed; in fact, he had to make you breakfast to bed, for all the troubles he put you through and for the attentive care you lavished him with.

Sure, when he was getting overly needy and whiny or cranky, you weren’t shy to call him out on his shit – which only made him love you more – but otherwise you were admirably patient.

As if he hadn’t already known that you were a keeper before that; this only solidified his conviction. If everything about you didn’t scream put a ring on it, then he wasn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

Hell, he had a half-mind to propose you just at that moment, all domestic atmosphere and sweet gesture like breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t look like the past few days were what pushed him over the edge. That would only be a half-truth--- quarter-truth?

Shaking his head at his own dumb thoughts, he gathered the pancakes, yogurt, various pieces of fruit and obviously, a coffee, laying it on a tray he had nearly forgotten he owned and tiptoed to the bedroom, honestly surprised that you hadn’t woken up yet with him fumbling around.

He stopped dead in his tracks when you sighed and stirred, rolling over and stretching out a hand as if in a search for him, only to find the space empty. Something between a hum and a damn meowl fell from your lips and Steve had to remind himself what it was he wanted to do besides trying his best to find out how exactly he could make you repeat that sound.

So precious. Absolutely adorable. Beautiful. Tempting.

You clutched the empty sheets, but didn’t wake and Steve crossed the distance to the bed, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand as he went to sit on the bed next to your waist, a dopy smile on his face.

Laying a hand on your thigh, he squeezed a little, attempting to wake you gently; he knew you got jumpy when something tickled your face, so this was the safer option.

You stirred once again, but didn’t wake, your eyes only fluttering open when he called your name a few times, alternating with your favourite term of endearment.

You squinted at him, appearing confused and groaning. Steve grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” he hummed, finally allowing himself to run the pads of his fingers from your forehead to your cheek and jaw, leaning into drop a kiss to your lips.

He froze, his brain on alert as he registered how hot your face felt.

The faint snoring. Squinting against light. Not waking up sooner than him. Your face pretty much burning to touch.

Oh no.

“Babygirl… are you feeling sick?” Steve whispered hesitantly, met with a bleary gaze and a pout.

“Wasn’t feeling great even yesterday evening…” you said, voice hoarse – whether from sleep or the flu Steve had managed to infect you with, he couldn’t tell.

But he certainly felt guilty, even if it was inevitable, really; with all you sweet care and constant proximity, it was only a matter of time. Not that it made him feel any better.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“

“Not your fault-“

“Kinda is-“

“Steve dammit!” you hissed, your eyes flying open fully and Steve knew what was coming; still, he grimaced as you coughed. “Shit. I hate flu.”

“Tell me about it. You think you can eat something?” he fussed, snapping into his nurse mode right away, ready for your roles to reverse.

You hummed and tried to sit, your gaze falling on the nightstand for the first time. Your expression, having been twisted in a grimace, softened instantly. As you turned to him, he suddenly felt sheepish. Was he acting like a love-sick fool?

“You made me breakfast to bed?” you cooed, snuggling into the covers before gesturing for him to help you sit up. “You’re the best.”

“I’ll be better if I make you some tea to go with it… and bring cough sirup… and stuff, yeah?”

You smiled like a loon – well, you tried, the result kinda faint, a testimony to your exhaustion – and Steve quickly rose to his feet.

“You’re the best.”

“Nope, that’s you. Eat your breakfast, babygirl.”

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Steve could tell you still didn’t feel exactly alright and the idea of eating wasn’t thrilling to you, but the pleaser you were, you tried your best for him to see that you appreciated his effort to make breakfast. When he brought you the tea, the medicine and water to down it, you were hallway through the pancakes, even though you seemed to force yourself into every bite.

“You don’t have to make yourself sicker just because you feel like you have to eat this, you know,” he hummed nonchalantly, causing you to grimace and take another two bites before sighing and pushing the tray away.

“It’s really yummy though… I think,” you stated, a wry smile playing in one corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

And you sounded so honestly grateful, clearly attempting for the smile to look real even with your eyes blazed and your features undeniably displaying tiredness, that Steve had to chuckle as he handed you the pills.

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart.”

You went to drop a careful kiss to his cheek when a coughing fit took you by surprise, starling him and resulting in you clutching both your chest and head, wide hurt eyes looking up at him as he smiled, tight-lipped and compassionate; he knew exactly how you felt.

And you were still kinda adorable, pouting a bit, looking at Steve as if he could save you from the evil flu monster.

“I hate flu… but I really like you. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said sincerely, emphasizing your point with an obviously unplanned sneeze.

Steve lips twitched, but so did his heart. His hands went to caress your hair, earning a pleased hum.

“Just returning the favour.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think I was that nice.”

“You were,” he assured you, feeling need to add a little piece of important information, just to show how much he meant it. “Just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Sweet-talker. I bet that’s all gone now, seeing me about to go through a box of tissues a day,” you chuckled weakly, nearly sinking into the cushions.

Steve wasn’t sure what was it he was suddenly overcome with; how or in which exact moment it sneaked into his conscience, a crazy insane thought and the untameable feeling in his gut that nudged him to do it.

To do it right now. To tell you, truly and from the depth of his heart, how much you meant to him. How much he was sure you always would.

“No, it’s not. I want to take care of you,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a hold of your slightly clammy hands and gently squeezing. You reciprocated the action, even if weakly.

“I want to take care of you and I want you to take care of me. I want to have you by my side every day, in our home, in our bed,” he continued, for once not talking only about different ways of making you moan his name when mentioning a bed. “I want to kiss you stupid whenever I get the chance, I want to laugh with you when you’re happy and hold you when you feel like crap. I want us to fight the whole world if they tell us that our love is wrong, because I know there’s nothing more right than me loving you and you loving me.”

The words spilled from his lips without much thinking, just one following other, somehow making sense, he hoped.

The strange buzz of nerves in his ears was so loud that he barely registered you breathed out his name.

“Steve-“

His eyes never left your face, watching it crumble under the weight of his declaration, already glassy eyes turning wetter, breathing ragged almost as much as his was from the rapid fire of words. Your lips parted in beautiful awe, that beautiful awe he had seen before, whenever you seemed to be shocked by how deep his need for you ran.

There was no questioning what should come next. Only half-aware of doing so, Steve had already prepared the ground.

“Stay right here,” he blurted out, giving your hands another quick squeeze before straightening rapidly and nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed towards his desk, opening the third drawer. Your voice, laced with both confusion and overwhelming emotion, followed him.

“I- I’m not going anywhere. What’s-“

“Sh-shh,” Steve hissed distractedly and took a deep breath as his fingers finally met with the box, gripping it tightly and his palm covering it as he stalked back to the bed, heart hammering in his ribcage.

This was the right moment, right? It seemed ridiculous, but god, so so right.

“You’re lucid, right?” he asked just to make sure, wavering only for a bit; you might be sick, even have a headache maybe, but you certainly appeared lucid enough a moment ago. But maybe that would be the reason you’d say no?

Shit, he felt like teenager about to ask his first crush to sit with him at lunch.

“I—I think? I’m just hella confused…“ you stuttered, causing his already wild heart to skip a beat upon hearing the nerves in your voice.

Your eyes, wide with confusion and yet slightly narrow because light hurt, watched Steve carefully as he dropped to his knees by your bedside and he didn’t think he ever saw you looking more endearing.

Steve had never been more certain of the fact that he wanted you to be his wife; and yet, and maybe precisely because of that, a lump formed in his throat. He took a deep calming breath, bracing himself.

“I love you. I love your mind, your body, your soul and everything that’s you and I—I think you’re the most wonderful woman I have ever met and had the luck to fall for. So I…”

With another heartskip, loud pounding in his head and maybe a tiny bit of a shake to his hands, he rose to only one knee, not missing your expression turning into a picture perfect of shock when he held out the box he had been thinking about for too long.

“Oh my god, Steve-“

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly because while you seemed absolutely stunned, you didn’t look angry or horrified, so he sensed a chance.

“I’m running a fever, my nose is running too and I’m--- ew all over-“ you protested weakly, a tear actually running down your cheek, but then you chuckled, a hand flying up to cover your mouth and Steve felt his confidence rise.

“You’re not, and even if you were I wouldn’t care. You’re my everything and wish nothing more than to make you mine officially.” Unable to wait any longer under you attentive and entirely adoring gaze, he opened the box and said your full name, nearly choking on it under the overwhelming joy of the moment – because he already knew. He knew what you were gonna say; you had it written all over you face. “Will you marry me?”

Steve knew. He was so sure that he knew--- and yet. Yet. As the silence prolonged, lasting seconds, minutes even – hours, it must have been – Steve felt the nervous coil in his gut twist painfully.

He watched you with torturous anticipation as you were; semi-sat up on a bed, hurting, probably beginning to sweat through your pyjama and drinking chamomile tea to get rid of the bug you had caught from him, and here he was, proposing.

In sickness and health indeed; and in some absurd way, this all made perfect sense to him… well, it had, a minute ago.

You looked like a million thoughts were racing through your head, and Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. What if you truly were thinking he was crazy-

“Yes,” you said at last and Steve released the breath he was holding, endlessly relieved, the heaviness weighting a ton finally falling from his shoulders. Oh Chirst, thank fuck—he really had been getting worried- “Yes, I-“

Relief blended into delight as he heard you speak the beautiful word again.

Yes. Yes, you wanted to be his wife.

Yes, you wanted to marry him!!

An incredulous chuckle spilled from his lips and he tossed the box on the bed, swiftly moving up and grabbing your face to kiss you stupid as he wanted and had said that he always would.

You made a startled noise, but you giggled too, grasping onto his shoulders and his nape and kissing back with all you got—and then you were pulling away, fighting for breath, because flu, duh, he needed to be careful with you, but-

You agreed to marry him!

Keeping you as close as possible while allowing you to breathe, his eyes happily roamed your face, so pretty and adorable and the knowledge of him being able waking up next to that face for the rest of his life sent his heart into frenzy, sparkles of pure joy filling his chest.

“I love you! Thank you, babygirl,” he exclaimed, kissing you once more, a short but intense encounter of lips that caused you to giggle again—but he didn’t give a shit if he was being ridiculous. Your eyes, even if tired, seemed to glow now, happy twinkles dancing in your irises, telling him you were just as excited and delighted as he was. “Thank you-“

“You’re so crazy-“ you mumbled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as you still shook with laughter and Steve simply climbed on the bed fully, wrapping you in his arms tightly.

He could sing at how you fit into his arms.

“I am. For you.”

“I can’t believe you proposed to me while I’m lying sick on a bed,” you mumbled over his shoulder, sounding as if you were complaining a little.

“In sickness and health?” he offered nervously, holding you tighter just in case you were going to back out now. Which was not an option.

He had to physically put the ring on your finger. Right now. Then you wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

In the back of his brain, an annoying voice told him that this was not how it worked, that there was no guarantee. But Steve shushed that voice and withdrew only enough to reach for the box and with a grin so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt from the strain, he took a hold of your left hand, slipping the ring on.

He didn’t miss the way your breath caught and he didn’t think the flu was to blame for that; the ring looked lovely on your hand. And Steve was a smidge proud of how he managed to make it fit perfectly.

“Steve… the ring-”

“You don’t like it?” he worried in an instant as he detected a new emotion in your voice.

You went to lightly slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes – an action you apparently regretted by the silent groan that followed; just another reminded of your sickness.

“Shush, you dummy. It’s--- breath-taking, but-“ you bit down on your lower lip, clearly hesitant to speak your mind and Steve didn’t find it at all comforting that you said you did like then ring. Not with the but. You sounded almost guilty, which was… strange. “But must have been so expensive and we still haven’t really-“

Oh. Oh.

Steve felt his lips spread back into a smile.

His sweet, sweet girl, responsible and perfect. He hated the reminder of your father’s behaviour, of the fact that you were ashamed on his behalf and felt guilty.

Steve didn’t want that.

“If I tell you it wasn’t, will you be mad?” he offered, watching carefully for your reaction, and your thoughtful expression turned into a confused one.

“Wasn’t?“

“I just had it cleaned and re-sized.”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, and tilted your head in bewilderment—melting into a brief panic and Steve realized what must have crossed your mind.

His stomach clenched in horror at you even considering it. You might have thought it was meant for another woman from his life.

Which it was, but not the way you thought!

“It was my ma’s!” he blurted out in panic, causing you to flinch a bit in fright of his suddenly louder voice. Steve shook his head – he was so messing this whole proposal thing up – clearing his throat, he observed your face, now full of emotion he couldn’t read. “…is that okay?”

There were tears prickling in your eyes, no words leaving your mouth as he had managed to render you speechless and he could punch himself for making you feel whatever you were feeling.

He had to fix this, fast.

“We can absolutely pick up something else if you don’t like the idea!” he was quick to offer, his heart speeding up when you still didn’t say a word. But you didn’t seem… that mad. What was happening in your head though, that was a mystery to him. “It’s just… she always told me that it was the second most precious thing she had left after dad, right after me, and that she wants me to give it to-- please don’t cry.”

Yes, he made the tears spill. There were a few rolling down your cheeks and Steve… he was starting to recognize the emotions playing in your expression, but he couldn’t entirely put his finger on it.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether you were so touched by the whole inherited ring gesture or if you were hating him with your very being for ruining some picture-perfect proposal you had been dreaming about since you were five; angry and disappointed that he didn’t even have the decency to buy you your own ring.

Probably a bit of both.

“Steve, you romantic idiot, come here,” you choked out, by a miracle not coughing for once and before he could even react and let the relief sink in, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled hard.

You had a surprisingly a lot of strength for someone coming down with a flu – actually, being down with a flu.

He landed on you, barely catching himself before he could crush you, a surprised laugh spilling from his lips, delight once again lighting up his world.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pecking his lips, fingers sinking to his hair and that moment, Steve was in heaven. “So much.”

He grinned wide, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as tight as he could, feeling both his own heartbeat and yours, tumbling happily and together.

“And I love you… future Mrs. Rogers.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tied to you (next in timeline)

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Not gonna lie. Thought of posting this in four parts of maybe at least two (3 and +1), but then I thought, screw it, let’s post 7,7k words at once. I hope you made it through all of them.

What’s coming next? I have no idea... maybe it’s who’s ‘coming’ next 👀

Thank you for reading!

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king-maven-calore · 3 years

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This is literally so stressful why do I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders after the adaptation announcement I’m genuinely so terrified especially w Elizabeth banks directing didn’t her last movie flop

Listen buddy, let's take a deep breath and remember a series would be a separate piece to the books we all know and love😌 it would in no way, no matter how bad, taint the books meaning in our hearts.

Having said that, I am a "fan" of Banks' work because she is amazing at casting and chemistry between characters. And in general, the problem her Charlie's Angels encountered with the North American audience (it did better overseas, box office wise) was that it was too female gaze-y, women oriented, and too "cheesy" (I have a lot to say about that criticism but let's leave it at that) which is why the audience reception on platforms like Tumblr was super positive but horrible on Rotten Tomatoes, to mention an example. I think the streaming format will allow it to reach the right audience, for the sort of content Banks tends to produce, and the genre Red Queen belongs to.

#Tl dr let's chill and hope for the best #RQ adaptation #Ask #Anon

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vietnamidol · 3 years

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Top những bộ phim xuất sắc làm nên tên tuổi Brad Pitt

Phim "Thelma & Louise"

Vẻ đẹp của Brad Pitt trong phim “Thelma & Louise”. Nguồn: Movieclips

"Thelma & Louise" xoay quanh câu chuyện về hai người bạn thân: Thelma và Louise. Louise (Susan Sarandon) là người phụ nữ độc lập và có cá tính mạnh luôn tỏ ra chững chạc và từng trải. Trái ngược lại với cô, Thelma (Geena Davis) lúc nào cũng phải dựa dẫm vào chồng và thường không thể làm chủ được chính mình.

Thelma luôn phải hỏi một ai khác trước khi quyết định chuyện gì và dễ dàng sa ngã bởi cô không biết lúc nào nên ngừng lại. Để trốn chạy khỏi cuộc sống gia đình nhàm chán hàng ngày, họ quyết định rong ruổi trên chiếc xe T–Bird 1966 thực hiện một cuộc hành trình để tìm trải nghiệm mới. Chuyến phiêu lưu định mệnh của họ sau đó đã gặp tai ương và bất đắc dĩ trở thành cuộc trốn chạy pháp luật sau khi họ gây tội ác để tự vệ...

"Thelma & Louise" của đạo diễn Ridley Scott vẫn có sức hút với khán giả đại chúng hiện nay. Ảnh: TL

"Thelma & Louise" là đứa con tinh thần của nhà biên kịch Callie Khouri, người đã mơ ước tạo tiền đề trên đường đi làm về.

Bộ phim đánh dấu vai diễn đột phá của Brad Pitt khi đóng vai JD, một cựu tù nhân lang thang trong bộ phim với bộ tuxedo Canada và giọng nói run rẩy nhưng vẫn lọt vào mắt xanh của Thelma.

Phim "Thelma & Louise"

Đạo diễn: Ridley Scott

Phát hành: 1991

Thời lượng: 129 phút

Diễn viên: Brad Pitt, Susan Sarandon, Geena Davis...

Mặc dù Brad Pitt chắc chắn trở thành một diễn viên giỏi hơn, nhưng phần lớn sức hấp dẫn của Pitt có thể được tìm thấy trong những khoảnh khắc ngắn anh ấy xuất hiện trong "Thelma & Louise". Brad Pitt rất đẹp trai (đặc biệt là khi cởi áo) và chính sự quyến rũ, lôi cuốn pha trộn với sự tinh nghịch đã khiến Pitt trở thành một siêu sao trên màn ảnh.

Phim "Se7en"

“Se7en” được giới phê bình ca ngợi nồng nhiệt. Ảnh: TL

"Se7en" kể về cuộc hành trình theo dấu một kẻ giết người hàng loạt (Kevin Spacey thủ vai), hai thám tử, một Mills (Pitt) trẻ tuổi, ngây thơ và một Somerset (Morgan Freeman) rệu rã, mệt mỏi, dần tiến sâu vào địa ngục do kẻ sát nhân dựng lên từ 7 tội lỗi trong kinh thánh, lồng trong khung cảnh những tòa nhà chọc trời u buồn, cô đơn ở một thành phố không tên.

Kịch bản "Se7en" được Andrew Kevin Walker lấy cảm hứng từ thời gian anh chật vật mưu sinh để vào nghề biên kịch ở New York . Tác phẩm gây sốt với giới chuyên môn. Theo Rotten Tomatoes, 80% trong tổng số hơn 60 bài phê bình đánh giá phim tích cực. Giới phân tích đồng thuận: "Se7en gây ngỡ ngàng với các cảnh bạo lực u tối, diễn xuất nhập tâm, hiệu ứng hình ảnh ma mị và đặc biệt có cái kết sốc, gây ám ảnh".

Đạo diễn: David Fincher

Phát hành: 1995

Thời lượng: 128 phút

Diễn viên:Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman, Kevin Spacey...

Đây là một trong những phim xuất sắc của Brad Pitt. Cảnh tài tử vừa đau khổ cùng quẫn, vừa căm hận tột bậc trong phim khiến người xem bị ám ảnh. Will Robinson nhận xét về cái kết: "Kết phim thông minh khiến nhân vật phản diện chết mà vẫn không rơi vào tình thế thỏa hiệp như các phim thông thường. Tác phẩm cũng gây sốc khi nhân vật chính diện - điều tra viên cuối cùng lại bất đắc dĩ phải thủ ác. Màn kết bất ngờ này khiến tác phẩm không còn là phim điều tra thông thường mà trở thành vở kịch về đạo đức".

Phim "Mr. & Mrs. Smith"

Bộ phim hành động đầy chất thơ tình của đạo diễn Doug Liman. Ảnh: TL

"Mr. & Mrs. Smith" là một bộ phim tình cảm hành động không kém phần lãng mạn kể về chuyện tình của cặp đôi sát thủ bí ẩn do Angelina Jolie và Brad Pitt thể hiện. Trong phim khi hai người làm nhiệm vụ vô tình trúng tiếng sét ái tình của đối phương và kết hôn. Cuộc hôn nhân với vỏ bọc hoàn hảo trôi qua êm đềm đến khi tổ chức của cả hai đưa ra yêu cầu thủ tiêu cùng một đối tượng. Cuộc chạm trán khi xử lí cùng mục tiêu đã khiến cả hai biết thân phận nhau. Từ những hiểu lầm hai bên lên kế hoạch giết đối phương nhưng sau cùng nhận ra tình yêu dành cho nhau. Vì vậy hai người kề vai sát cánh chiến đấu và lật mở những bí mật và giải quyết hiểu lầm.

Đạo diễn: Doug Liman

Phát hành: 2005

Thời lượng: 120 phútDiễn viên: Brad Pitt, Angelina, Jolie, Adam Brody...

Ngập tràn trong phim là những lời thoại, cử chỉ, lời nói và cả danh sách các ca khúc sử dụng làm nhạc phim – tất cả đều giống như một tiểu thuyết ngôn tình xen chút bạo lực thú vị. Có thể kể đến các bản tình ca đã được sử dụng trong phim như: "Love Stinks" (The J. Geils Band), "Tainted Love" (Soft Cell), "I Melt with You" (Nouvelle Vague) hay "You Are My Sunshine" (Stine J.)... Tất cả được nhà làm phim hòa quyện đầy tính nghệ thuật trong các cảnh phim lãng mạn thể hiện mối quan hệ "tình trong như đã mặt ngoài còn e" của cặp diễn viên Brad Pitt và Angelina Jolie.

Phim "Burn After Reading"

“Burn After Reading” được đạo diễn: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen. Ảnh: TL

Phim theo chân một cựu điệp viên quyết định thu hồi ký vào đĩa dữ liệu nhưng rồi bỏ quên mất ở phòng gym. Một anh chàng nhân viên nhặt được, quyết định tống tiền ông ta, và dẫn cả hai đến những kết cục không ai ngờ tới. "Burn After Reading" tập hợp dàn diễn viên hạng A gồm: Brad Pitt , Frances McDormand, George Clooney, John Malkovich… dưới tài dẫn dắt của anh em nhà Coens. Phim mang đến cả những tiếng cười và sự cay đắng, nhưng trên hết, là sự châm biếm sâu cay về bản chất thật của con người.

Đạo diễn: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen

Phát hành: 2008

Thời lượng: 96 phút

Diễn viên: Brad Pitt, George Clooney...

Bộ phim hài hước do Brad Pitt thủ vai. Năm 2008, "Burn After Reading" đã chiếm vị trí đầu bảng những bộ phim chiếu rạp, với doanh thu 19,4 triệu đô la ngay sau khi ra rạp. Sự có mặt của dàn diễn viên nổi tiếng như: Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Frances McDormand và Tilda Swinton khiến "Burn After Reading" trở thành cái tiêu đề phim được mọi người chú ý và lựa chọn. Với sự thành công này, anh em nhà Coen lại ghi tên mình vào danh sách những đạo diễn thành công nhất với phim màn ảnh rộng.

Phim "Moneyball"

"Moneyball" được thực hiện bởi đạo diễn Bennett Miller, người từng được đề cử Oscar cho Đạo diễn xuất sắc với phim Capote vào năm 2005. Ảnh: TL

"Moneyball" dựa trên cuốn sách Moneyball: Nghệ thuật để chiến thắng trong một trò chơi không công bằng của nhà văn Michael Lewis xuất bản năm 2003. Phim xoay quanh Billy Beane, giám đốc điều hành câu lạc bộ Oakland Athletics, trong công cuộc chèo lái đội bóng của mình để cạnh tranh chức vô địch giải bóng chày nhà nghề Mỹ (MLB). Đây là một câu chuyện có thật về nỗ lực giải cứu Oakland A's thoát khỏi khủng hoảng sau khi các trụ cột lần lượt rời bỏ đội bóng để theo tiếng gọi của những bản hợp đồng béo bở từ các đối thủ khác...

Đạo diễn: Bennett Miller

Phát hành: 2011

Thời lượng: 133 phút

Diễn viên: Bradd Pitt, Kerris Dorsey...

Câu chuyện bao trùm được ghi lại trong phim chắc chắn rất hấp dẫn và từng khoảnh khắc mang lại nhiều giá trị giải trí - ngay cả đối với những người hâm mộ không phải là bóng chày. Kỹ xảo điện ảnh rất sắc nét, tận dụng tối đa các hành lang phía sau hậu trường chật hẹp của (vào thời điểm đó) Network Associates Coliseum - cũng như sự mở rộng của sân bóng. Không giống như các bộ phim thể thao ngoài đời thực khác.

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thejayranicverses · 4 years

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The Staircase

I always feel like a bit of a true crime heretic when The Staircase comes up just because it seems so universally acclaimed. The Guardian calls it “the godfather of the true crime documentary”. (Um, Forensic Files has entered the chat). The New York Times called it “genre defining”. Rotten Tomatoes gives it a 94% approval rating. Meanwhile I’m over here in the corner going, “ok well it’s definitely interesting and thought-provoking, but the editing leaves much to be desired and the pacing can get really slow. Is it bad, no. Am I jumping out of my chair shrieking that everyone must watch this right this minute, also no”

Basically, The Staircase is a series of 8 45-minute episodes exploring the conviction of Michael Peterson for the December 2001 death of his wife Kathleen. According to Michael, they were both chilling out at the swimming pool at their Forest Hills, North Carolina mansion. Close to midnight, Kathleen went up to the house, whereas Michael stayed out there until about 2am. He then says that he went into the house to find Kathleen unconscious at the bottom of the staircase, whereupon he then called for an ambulance. She died shortly after that and Michael has always maintained his innocence.

However, in 2003 he ended up being convicted of her murder and sent to prison. A medical examiner’s report stated that Kathleen’s cause of death was homicide. The prosecution painted a picture of Kathleen discovering Michael’s affairs with other men, followed by an argument that ended with Michael beating Kathleen to death with a blow poke (that mysteriously went missing after Kathleen died.)

The Staircase follows how Michael’s defense team prepares for his trial by putting together evidence indicative of Kathleen’s death being from an accidental fall. I think the thing about The Staircase is that you really need to be invested in the case to stay interested in the series – and the early episodes alone may or may not get you invested into the case. The Staircase isn’t just about Kathleen’s death – it’s also about how much trust Americans can place in their justice system, about what makes a fair trial, about what can and cannot be counted as court-admissible evidence and about how the defense team should go about addressing the more controversial aspects of Michael’s life and past. So there’s a lot of substance, a lot of high-level long-form investigative reporting going on here – but this substance is undermined by the heavy bias. It’s also notable that such as the focus is in this direction, Kathleen Peterson herself conspicuously disappears from centre stage. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with how little focus there was on the person she was, especially while the line “They built a new family out of the strands of their prior families” is repeated no less than five times in episode 4. (Okay maybe four times? BUT STILL)

What’s right with it?

You get a view of the preparations for the court case that’s uniquely intimate and revealing without ever becoming voyeuristic. It’s especially interesting how the defense team debate the best way to handle those issues peripheral to the case – the elements that don’t in and of themselves have a bearing on Michael’s guilt or innocence, but certainly cast a suspicious light onto him. These issues – Michael’s affairs, the eerily similar death of his flatmate Elizabeth Ratliff sixteen years earlier – are the subject of intense debate. Elizabeth’s death, originally ruled as from an aneurysm, is later ruled a homicide following her body’s exhumation. The defence team were passionately opposed to the exhumation, then during the 2008 appeal, it was argued that the submission of both Michael’s bisexuality and Elizabeth’s newly-contested death in the original trial made the trial unfair. It raises the question – is this “tainted” evidence, or just, well, evidence? (I’d call it “relevant context”)

All of this means that The Staircase can provoke some really interesting discussions when watched with other people. There’s a lot of dialogue and subjectivity featured in the show, which tends to be mirrored in the discussions you have with whoever you’re watching it with. Something like Forensic Files tends to be a more linear progression to an uncontested conclusion, but there’s also something very intellectually rewarding about The Staircase being more open-ended.

What’s wrong with it?

One thing we need to get out of the way here is that the bias is real. The Staircase is selling the audience a narrative that casts Michael as the bereaved husband victimised again by the justice system and unjustly punished as a murderer. But his guilt/innocence is still a matter of intense debate. The Staircase isn’t saying “let’s explore if he’s guilty or innocent” – it’s more “he is innocent”. It omits a lot of the evidence that points towards Michael’s guilt. In fact, the more you read about the evidence presented during the trial, the more you notice how egregiously edited the courtroom footage is. Watching the trial as presented in The Staircase, I was thinking “hey wait a minute here, they have not presented an incriminating case for murder”. But there was a lot of major blood evidence left out of the trial footage:

· A Luminol test of the scene indicated that there had been an attempt to clean up blood at some point before the arrival of paramedics

· The blood spatter pattern on Michael’s shorts was in, well, a spatter, indicating that the blood actively sprayed upwards towards him – contradicting his claim to have found Kathleen unconscious at the scene

This is never adequately addressed by the defense at any point in The Staircase

The Staircase would benefit from tighter editing and structuring. Michael and especially his lawyer David Rudolf seem to be driving the direction of each episode – in many places it seems like they’ve been given too much leeway to run with, and neither of them are particularly given to levity. So what ends up happening is…basically a fair amount of filler. A lot of details aren’t given the context for the audience to really interpret them with clarity. The first episode covers the night Kathleen died, but the important points of evidence come in dribs and drabs. You watch it thinking “ok, so he’s calling for an ambulance while she’s still breathing, that’s rather innocent-seeming of him!” – but the time of death isn’t ever solidly established. (The coroner’s report gives ?2:40. Literally that’s what it says). Several scenes later, one of the lawyers mentions that by the time the paramedics arrived (which would have been around 2:40), the blood at the scene was already dry, suggesting Kathleen would have already been dead for some time.

Here, there’s a need to establish:

-how long does it take blood to dry in these conditions?

-what was the time of paramedic arrival?

-what was the coroner/medical examiner able to establish about when Kathleen died? Were they able to say “ok it could not have been any earlier than x or later than y, with a likely range of a-z”?

Without bringing basic facts of the case into focus like this, the editing on The Staircase can come across as sloppy. The pacing can never be described as efficient but it becomes particularly slow after the first four episodes

Overall: 6.3/10, would recommend watching if:

· You can watch with someone else and discuss the case.

· You also look at other sources on the case

· You can watch it without ad breaks! The first time I tried to watch this was on TV where there were ad breaks and I was like “hmph what are all these glowing reviews going on about”. Ad breaks made the slow-paced patches so much worse.

#the staircase #netflix #true crime #michael peterson #kathleen peterson

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ptw30 · 5 years

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I would *like* to think there's some kind of logjam/power struggle going on behind the scenes at DreamWorks between old-school and modern understandings of media, and that's why we haven't heard anything about anything out of them since VLD imploded. There isn't a shred of evidence for it, afaik; but it's currently the only way my brain can justify holding out hope for a reboot.

Unless you know someone in DreamWorks, it’s hard to say what’s actually happening behind the scenes. Bob Koplar said back in December in the Let’s Voltron Podcast that WEP and DreamWorks were in talks to continue Voltron - which at the time seemed insane to me. DreamWorks’ most-watched show…doesn’t already have a sequel in the works? Say what?

But I’m thinking now the massive drop-off between Season 2 and Season 5 stalled any sequel potential, and the backlash from Season 7 and 8 only further urged DreamWorks to put the brakes on a sequel.

However, I think the major issue - how would DreamWorks’ continue the show? Not that they can’t so far as what’s the storyline going to be? Like you said, it could be a battle in the back-end, but…also, tapping into my day job now, the customer experience actually means a lot to companies.

Today, customers don’t depend upon advertising/marketing as their main source of information. In today’s digital landscape, most viewers depend upon other social media and other fans’ recommendations. Rotten Tomatoes, IMDb, even Tumblr, which has created a community of like-minded individuals - they serve as a potential viewer’s first stop before ever turning on a show - and potential return viewers first stop, too, where they seek the advice/recs of influencers.

And what will potential new/returning viewers see when they google “DreamWorks Voltron Legendary Defender”?

If you’re like me and like to see how a show ends, to make sure it’s worth it, what will you see?

Okay, y’know what, though? Maybe you didn’t decide to check ratings since you have a different favorite channel for interaction. So instead, you googled “Voltron.” What do you see?

Uh…not good. Hey, wait. Let me check Twitter.

First tweet that shows up is an awesome cosplay of Allura and Lotor (who don’t end up together, so now I’m tainted going in thinking they will be) - but the very second tweet -

…so in every single channel where new/returning viewers can interact with each other and get information about VLD has a negative message right at the top. Even the VLD Wikipedia page discusses the terrible treatment of queer, women, disabled and non-white characters.

Before DreamWorks can announce a new sequel to VLD, they need to clean up this mess first - either by addressing the issues or creating a sequel that will address the issues. And considering how DreamWorks has been operating - She-Ra had finished four, 13-episode seasons before it premiered and wrapped up production in May. Fast and the Furious has only shown a 10-second clip, and Mitch Iverson seems to indicate he’s moving on already from writing. So…there’s a chance F&F might finish production quickly after premiering, too.

When did Voltron finish production? Three months before its final season premiere.

Sounds like even if VLD does have a sequel in the works - it might be awhile before we hear anything. If it follows a similar tactic to She-Ra and F&F - and Bob was actually on the level about working with DreamWorks last December - then we’re a year, year-and-a-out from a premiere and at least six-months away from an announcement.

At least.

Watch them announce something tomorrow.

#voltron #gvf #seque #iskaen #answered #it's a marketing thing #it's a business thing

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mwolf0epsilon · 5 years

Note

Sickfic! Sickfic! Sickfic! This time do Markus please!

Software bugs always hits Markus hard.

---

[[MORE]]

It was no secret that adaptability and change came naturally the the perplexing mystery that was Markus, the one and only RK200 (Not to be confused by the female household RK200.v2 that Cyberlife had launched to spite Elijah Kamski, those were not at all affiliated with Markus at all and were more akin to upgraded AX400s).

Markus was an enigma. A chameleonic android that adapted to environmental changes and unexpected situations at the snap of a finger.

He had an arsenal of specialized programming and an accumulation of knowledge at his full disposal, and his strength and durability were both impressive and, quite honestly, intimidating in the face of other domestic types.

Despite all this, there was one big issue that came with a constantly mutating code: Viruses tended to hit Markus particularly hard when they fully set in.

---

It started with an "itchiness" in his borrowed parts. A most peculiar tingling in his legs, a stinging in the back of his ocular biocomponent, a buzz in his auditory receptor, a dull ache in his thirium pump regulator. When he'd taken them from the mass grave that was the Android Junkyard he hadn't had the time to scan them for malware.

Latent viruses were an absolute nightmare to deal with, especially Trojans, and Markus soon came to regret not taking the time to sit back and run a few scans in between meetings with Congress and conference calls with President Warren.

Like parasites straight from hell, the viruses in the spare parts began to eat away at his defenses. Injecting their venom into his veins. Opening up several doors to unwanted guests.

He never noticed the extra exposure to the maladies of the internet until one moment he was up, and the next he was on the floor suffering a full blown seizure. His body on fire and his mind scrambling with useless looping data.

The scariest part wasn't even being so utterly defenceless and in pain. The truly scary part was Carl finding him twitching on the floor making horrid screeching noises, and then seeing his father's face contort into one of confused panic and then full blown terror as he called out for help.

Josh carried him all the way to his room while North contacted the technicians at the tower, and Simon and Matthew comforted the elderly artist over Leo's confused shouts.

Markus felt ashamed for causing them distress. He felt even more ashamed for purging all over Josh's nice new jacket and button-up shirt.

---

When the technician's arrive (Rupert who, like Simon, still offered his services at New Jericho tower, and a human acquaintance of Leo's that had been applying for a position in the repair ward) they quickly determine the root of the issue.

"These parts... They are second-hand, yes?" Artyum questioned as he brought a flashlight to Markus's right eye, noting how it didn't react at the same rate to the change of lighting, while Rupert ran external scans.

"Y-yezsh..." Markus winced at the static tainting his voice. He sounded inhuman almost. Foreign to himself.

"Ah." The Russian clucked his tongue and shook his head "It is odd. Viruses not uncommon. Small Trojan files with very little impact besides stuffy voicebox and twitchy parts. Should not cause so much trouble."

"Yeah, but uh... Man this is weird." Rupert tapped the screen displaying Markus's vitals. His essence, his software, was not reading normally. "It's like the code isn't trying to fight it off. The firewalls just... Disabled themselves."

"Is that dangerous?" Leo inquired as he peeked over Rupert's shoulder. The small gathering in Markus's room all seemed a little alarmed. "Is the uh, is the firewall busted? Does he need a new one?"

"No!" Markus gulped, choking back a cough and trying to keep his voice clear while everyone turned to look at him "I... Is that not, is that not normal?"

"No." Simon replied with a grimace "That's not normal at all. When we get viruses our firewalls don't just disable themselves."

"Do... Yours do that?" Josh questioned.

"I... Yeah? They always have." Markus frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his covers as a mixture of awe, concern and fear seemed to wash over all of the androids and technicians in the room.

It was Artyum who broke the silence.

"I'm going to make quick call. Need answers to know how to proceed with... This case." He scratched his scraggly beard and moved out of the way, muttering under his breath as he looked for his cellphone in his pockets. "Keep updated on physical changes."

"Well, sure Art. Here's one! His skin's fucking going..."

"Leo!"

"Are you blind dad?! Look!"

"Be more tactful! Christ!"

Markus pulled the sheets over his head and whined. He could feel at least two hands reach down and patting him comfortingly on the leg and on the shoulder.

He hated getting sick.

"RA9... Just, wow. Look at the screen." Rupert whispered.

"Holy shit..." Josh sounded a little distressed "Markus's code is stripping the virus... That's..." Markus twitched uncomfortably and began to shake.

"Josh, shut up."

Markus let out a distressed sob from within his blanket cacoon. The hands over the covers and squeezed gently in reply.

"I... Damn I..." Josh sighed "I'm sorry Markus."

He didn't reply, instead reaching out for his friends. Three hands held his own bare one in kind.

Markus doesn't take it personally when North and Josh flinch from the heat. He's more concerned with Simon's lack of a reaction to the scorching pain.

---

"To put it simply, Markus is processing the viruses he caught."

"Elijah... I need to know if this will hurt Markus." Carl frowned at the screen, feeling his patience drain as the younger man smiled that obnoxious smile he put on for the cameras. The million dollar smile that got him through interviews with shallow careless people, not the one he reserved for a friend. Carl hated that smile.

"It'll put him through some pain and discomfort, but it'll ensure he's never affected by them again." Kamski dismissed over the call. "He might even be able to spread an anti-virus file specifically designed by his firewall to irradicate it. Our Markus is very efficient after all..."

"Elijah... We need to talk about this in person."

"Why, there is hardly any need for that old friend."

"Oh...There is." Carl's tone took on a slight edge, one that made Kamski's smile falter with unease "My son is terrified of himself. He has been for a while now... This has only worsened his doubts. You either come by and explain to me what you truly intended when you made Markus, or you'll explain why your health seems to have taken quite the turn for the better since 2028."

Kamski looked away from the camera. Check-mate.

"Did you think I didn't notice?"

"I'll be seeing you soon then. Expect Chloe and myself at a close date..."

"Thank you."

"Don't... The word of advice is don't thank me. You'll regret that quicker than you could say Rook."

---

Leo and Carl made an effort to check in on him. They shouldn't, when they had more pressing things to worry about with their own health, but empathy was a strong trait of theirs when they weren't too depressed or inclined to focus on self-loathing.

Markus loved that about them. Smiled and marveled as he discovered that it was a family thing and a commonality between his father and brother. In this case however, he hated it.

"You're not ugly you know."

"It... Its stupid." His voice doesn't crackle anymore but his voicebox hurts, which is weirder than his bizarre insecurities. "Millions saw me without my skin... But I... It feels, weird, not having it on around... Around you and Carl..."

"Simon told me you take it off for like... Intimacy and shit. Probably feels weird being uh, sexy naked for your family." Leo offered as Markus peeked from under the covers.

"Sexy naked-- When is being naked not sexy?" If he had eyebrows right now, one would be raised up incredulously.

"Three words. Naked drunk grandma." Leo grimaced "That old hag ruined my poor innocent mind..."

"That sounds even more absurd than your last statement."

"Naked grandma?"

"That you ever had an innocent mind."

Leo grimaced while Markus gave him a tired smile.

"You're lucky you're sick, Freckles the clown, cuzz otherwise you'd get a rotten tomato for your troubles..."

"Love you..."

"Yeah yeah... Love you too baldy." Leo rolled his eyes "Younger siblings, I swear to God..."

Well, fine, he didn't hate their visits after all. They were a comfort actually.

Even if his lack of skin did kind of bother him. He wasn't entirely sure why but it probably had less to do with intimacy and more with feeling like he didn't belong.

Like he wasn't a Manfred.

Carl would probably tear him a new one for thinking like that. Sick or not.

---

"Hm, vitals looking good. Traces of virus very minute. Code has processed everything and produced new file to add to firewall, all biocomponents should be returning to maximum efficiency in couple of days." Artyum stated as he and Rupert went through the final checkup scans. Markus's skin had returned in patches and his temperature had decreased back to the usual levels. "Outstanding programming. Remarkable... But very hard to work with."

"I'd say. But those anti-virus files are pretty sweet. We could probably make copies to use for the update patches next month... If uh, if that's ok with you Markus?" Rupert stammered as he looked through the firewall archive.

"I guess I might as well make use of them. Some of these viruses are crippling to older models, so a quick patch should help improve their systems..." Useful or not, being some sort of guinea pig that generated cures for his people was bordering the worrisome godlike status a lot of androids wanted to attribute to him. Markus didn't want to be a deity of some fanatic religion. He especially didn't want to be associated with miracle workers and mystic healers...

"Will go ahead and credit anonymous programmer." Artyum commented as he took out a flashdrive and handed it over to Markus "Extra attention is... Bad, yes?"

"I... Yeah."

"Know that feeling well..."

With the files safely copied into the flashdrive and the technicians off to make a difference at his expense, Markus sighed contentedly as he kicked back and picked up his book from the bedside table.

In a couple of hours it'd all go back to normal. His skin would come back fully, his voicebox wouldn't be strained, he wouldn't collapse suddenly into a heap and moan in agony, and he'd go back to dreading the next political events.

He hated getting sick.

He especially hated how abnormal his code kept proving to be.

But Simon, North and Josh looking at him with a little bit of worry?

That kind of hurt. That kind of hurt a lot.

He hated being sick...

#Eps Writes:#detroit: become human #detroit become human #fanfic #dbh markus #sickfic

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croc117 · 6 years

Text

Another Drop in Ratings

So Volttron Season 8 has dropped another Percent on Rotten Tomatoes

The AfterBuzz interview I’m going to say helped that happen and how Lotor was treated

This is absolutely disastrous, and it’s only getting worse.

The relatively high rating from “Critics” is based on so few reviews that honestly, compared to the fan reaction, it doesn’t even matter that six critics liked it.

The Powers that be, whoever made the changes to final season, have turned one of the most loved animated shows in recent memory, into a an absolute disaster. This has to of tainted everyone involved in the shows production.

Those six critics aren’t going generate revenue DreamWorks, it’s the massive fan base you’ve pissed off.

The whole AfterBuzz interview was...such a tremendously bad move I can’t even put it into words.

Normally interviews and so on are meant to mitigate damage and calm fans, and it had the opposite affect. Good job on that.

Who would of thought saying offensive things, with unlikable hosts, to a fanbase that’s clearly smarter than you think they are would be a bad thing?

#Voltron #Voltron legendary defender #voltron season 8 #Lotor #Prince Lotor #vld lotor #dreamworks

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msclaritea · 5 months

Text

Martin Freeman Says Backlash Over Age Gap in Ortega Movie Wasn't Fair

Eve Crosbie Apr 27, 2024, 8:36 AM ET

Lionsgate

Martin Freeman addressed the controversy around his latest film, "Miller's Girl."

Freeman, 52, plays a teacher who has a relationship with his student, played by 21-year-old Ortega.

He said the movie isn't endorsing age gap romances any more than Holocaust movies endorse genocide.

Martin Freeman addressed the controversy caused by his latest film, "Miller's Girl," in which he stars opposite Jenna Ortega, who is 31 years younger than him.

The movie, which landed on Netflix on April 25, follows a high school student, played by Ortega, who begins a sexual relationship with her English teacher, played by Freeman.

Audiences were quick to criticize the film due to the age gap between the two actors — Ortega is 21, while Freeman is 52. Some said the film romanticizes the relationship between minors and those in positions of power.

Speaking with The Times of London for an interview published Saturday, Freeman defended "Miller's Girl" as "grown-up and nuanced."

"It's not saying, 'Isn't this great,'" he said of the film's dynamic between his character and Ortega's.

Freeman said the film had been "tainted by association" with a difficult subject.

He said that derision wasn't distributed equally, though — saying that people seemed to understand the level of distance involved in stories depicting Nazism.

"Are we gonna have a go at Liam Neeson for being in a film about the Holocaust?" he asked, referring to Neeson's starring role in Steven Spielberg's 1993 film "Schindler's List."

Martin Freeman and Jenna Ortega in "Miller's Girl."

Martin Freeman and Jenna Ortega in "Miller's Girl." Lionsgate

Although the controversial relationship at the center of "Miller's Girls" prompted a lot of comment, the film wasn't a hit.

It premiered at the Palm Springs Film Festival to underwhelming box office numbers.

The R-rated film was given a small theatrical release in the US, showing at just 350 screens for just one week domestically, earning $321,000 in ticket sales, according to box office tracker The Numbers.

It took an additional $568,522 at the international box office, bringing its total gross to $889,522 — less than a quarter of its $4 million production budget.

On review aggregator site Rotten Tomatoes, the film earned a critic score of 29% based on 58 reviews. Its audience score is 42% based on 50-plus verified ratings.

This could, of course, change now that "Miller's Girl" has been on one of the most popular streaming platforms."

(Disclosure: Mathias Döpfner, CEO of Business Insider's parent company, Axel Springer, is a Netflix board member.)

Dear GOD. Did he just... Martin, I know you're not this stupid, so seeing you being put up to behave like this, is just...gross. Your co-star had just come off of an Antisemitic publicity stunt with Tom Cruise, she's a one note actress, and we all know how films that are supposed to be cautionary tales, usually get turned into the opposite. Wall Street kicked off the age of Greed. The Fight Club inspired real underground fight clubs. If a film is not clear about its moral stance, then it WILL be misinterpreted. I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm going to pray for you, Martin. You need it. Especially working for Lionsgate.

#Martin Freeman #Jenna Ortega #Miller's Girl #Disclosure: Mathias Döpfner #CEO of Business Insider's parent company #Axel Springer #is a Netflix board member.

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definegodliness · 6 years

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Pitiful, the self torturer, living in the presumption that solely suffering births art. Loathsome poet, painter, musician, what good have you done to the world around you during your active quests for torment? No, life may never be reduced to this self-centered crusade for agony and pain. What lives have you tainted and ruined other than your own? What lights have you left fading? For the bile you spew. For the misguided and cowardly attempts to preserve your self-proclaimed martyrdom. How can you cling on to such delusions, when you know that life will distribute its fair share of suffering to all that seek to rise above the crowds, let alone above themselves. To those dismantling themselves, till even the accumulation of their atoms bursts, and their stardust disperses all the way into nothingness. It is there, outside the ego, outside the self, that we look upon the all with a bird's eye view, and mesmerized, euphoric, try to bring back and reveal a sliver of eternity to those we have left behind for a moment. To lift them up. To bring them wonder. To bring them what at times may seem unobtainable. That is the role of the artist. Not this crawling and crumpling inside yourself, which only reveals the darkness of spleen and stomach. What use is this focal point upon the self, self-tortured? What does it bring to those and all creation outside the impenetrable shell of self pity? Nothing but a slip-shod sketch of yourself on a pedestal. And you can throw rotten eggs or rotten tomatoes at it all you want, but that will not change the fact that you were the one who initially drew it. To be admired. Not for your art, but for the lengths in which you have experienced your self-torture.

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #prose #sw:thoughts

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superwolfiestar · 6 years

Text

Satisfied (one shot)

"Okay okay! Everyone! Attention please!" Drake Marshall chirped, raising his champagne glass in the air. The loud clunk when the spoon hit the transparent glass echoed. Wide smile; everyone smiled back to him, listening with anticipation.

With a mic he was handed from the DJ he said out loud, atmosphere light with a hint of excitement, "Please welcome! The groomsmen! Panchito Pistoles and Jose Carioca!"

Everyone clapped and whistled when the Panchito and Jose walk to the empty dance floor. With both soft smiles Panchito accepted the mic from Drake with a glass of wine in their hands.

Panchito inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of cookies and delicious cake hit his beak, “A toast to the groom," Panchito said, raising the empty transparent glass that glistened. Donald gave him the iconic bunny smile; cheek reddened, he shyly nodded when all the guests looked to him.

Looking handsome with the black tux and a beautiful flower attached to his left pocket. Panchito never sees a man as handsome as he is tonight.

Jose let out a deep breath, he forced out a smile; he thanked himself for being a good actor at the time like this from College. His jaw flexed but changed before anyone can notice his uncomfortable expression.

"To the bride," Jose smile at Daisy as she given him a boxy grin, laughing happily and bowed politely to the guest of her wedding. She didn't mind the way Jose addressed him, the groom and the bride turned into tomatoes for a moment.

"From your best friends," ah, Panchito's fond gaze. Donald was his best friends, no one can replace him in their life. Both Jose and Panchito felt sick, they hate themself.

"Who is always by your side," Panchito kept looking at him like he was a god. The friend that always protect them that always provide them with a shelter. A perfect figure, just if Panchito know what's going inside his head. The rotten soul of his, the trust that will remain untold forever no matter what.

"To your union and the hope that you provide," Jose sang, his chest hurt like crazy. He was going insane, the pain was stabbing his heart. A pang inside his heart, he felt cold in the warm day. Even the sweetest wine will never cure the sourness inside him.

"May you always," They held their breath, they was going to say it, "Be satisfied."

The image suddenly flashed before their eyes, the image they wanted to erase from their memories. The scene they adores and despised so much. It rewinding by itself, out of two Caballeros control.

They remembered that night, they just might.

They remembered that night, the night they will regret for the rest of their days. The black spot that tainted their souls and creating a huge hole they can't cover up.

The night when those ladies came and tripping to get praises from them.

The dreamlike candle lights, the chandeliers, and a dream you can't quite place. The dazzling pictures of perfection, a night they will never forget.

They will never forget they both have a crush on Donald.

They has never been the same.

Intelligent eyes face full of hunger for something new.

Pure curiosity with a target to be the number one.

Passion clearly portrayed, eyes you wouldn't find in your everyday life.

When Donald said "Hi" they forgot their freakin' names.

The boy with an adorable duck smile, he set his fellow friend Caballeros heart aflame, he lights every corner of their heart. The fire that will never die, no amount of water can help their burning heart.

This wasn't a game. The two Caballeros knew they were head over the heels for the duck.

'Strike us, as a man who will never be satisfied' they said, Donald frowned. How arrogant the boy to talked impolitely to him; Donald wasn’t just a normal person in a huge luxury party.

He gave a murderous glare to them, hands clenched his wine glass, 'I'm sure you don't know what you mean, you forget yourself,' he blurted out coldly, smile so bitter like a glass of vodka.

The two Caballeros shook his head, chuckling softly, 'you're like us, Donald. we’ve never been satisfied,' for a moment, two Caballeros left Donald speechless. Nobody ever knows what's happening inside their mind. How the people around him always disappointing him, how he always yearning for something new and extraordinary. He alway have his bad luck in his way. He was greedy and he wanted more.

Satisfaction was something Donald never know, something unimaginable.

The duck swallowed, throat dry, he licked his plump lips before he said, 'Is that right?' his voice wavered, laced with excitement he never know existed. Thinking that his friends were just drunk or whatever. His lips trembled, he smiled too wide to the boy who grinned back to him.

Walking closer, two Caballeros was slightly taller than Donald. Even when they were taller, the Duck didn't flinch back; he was totally okay with Panchito and Jose intimidating aura. The duck gazed back at them with a firm face and shining eyes. Confident and full of determination.

'We have never been satisfied.'

Stepped back from them, his twin sister suddenly drag him with her, 'just you wait, just you wait!' They said as Donald was out of their sight.

Heart skipped a beat, their eyes sparkled. They covered their mouth to hold back a happy shout. This was what it felt to match wits.

The feeling of freedom, when someone is at your level! When someone understands what you want the most; when someone knows what you desire.

The urgency, the boat sailed together.

The urge to tell him more, to share what inside your soul and mind.

The conversation last three or maybe four minutes, Panchito and Jose wanted more of Donald Duck. They already missed the boy’s presence.

The way Donald averted his eyes and bit his own bottom lips, they found it to be adorable.

Panchito wanted to take that handsome boy to somewhere far away from this place. With no one but them, they was ready to do it actually. The pictures where them and Donald talk for hours, sharing their thoughts. Drinking while joking, performing the unbreakable relationship.

He was so ready until Jose suddenly grab him by the arm, Panchito look at him. Jose look seem to be heartbroken as he pointed his finger at something. Panchito look confused as he turned around and saw their Donald and he is-

Helpless.

And they knew he was-

Helpless.

And, his eyes were just-

Helpless.

Suddenly they realized that Donald was in love with a female duck, three fundamental truths at the exact same time. His eyes went blank, face stoic like a statue, everything turned grey. The world lost its color and Donald chuckled dryly.

Number one, He was a Duck in a world which his only job was to marry love, to bring happiness to him.

To build and keep his goal as strong as possible.

Keeping his dream at the bay, holding them together in this messy universe.

He was the youngest twin brother of Della Duck, the one who has a huge responsibility to take care of his sister. To keep her safe, to provide her with a comfortable shelter in McDuck Manor. A safe place from the cruel world, a replacement of their deceased parents.

He was the social Duck, the one that can steal people heart with just a simple smile. He was the one that can pull up his family and climb the dangerous cliff of social status.

Donald was penniless, he can't runaway from his responsibility and ditch everything so he can waste his precious time with them.

But that didn't mean they wants Donald any less.

Number two, the young girl was after him because he was a nephew of Scrooge McDuck. She needed Donald to get a high social status, she will use him to survive in the middle of the chaotic world. Donald’s name will boost up his status, the girl was too naive to put that aside. How stupid to be blinded by a simple smile.

Maybe that was why these two decided to introduce Daisy Duck to their dear friend, Donald.

Maybe that was why they walked calmly, searched for the face of Donald first love; the love of his life. Grabbed Daisy's hand easily, leading her across the room to Donald's place.

'Where are you taking me?'

'We’re about to change your life.'

'Then by all means, lead the way boys.'

They were smiling like a good friends. Didn't forget to give a teasing wink to them when they left both of them, they smiled proudly even when their heart shattered into pieces. Jose gave Donald a wave to assured the young man that he was doing great. Donald introduced himself, playing with his sailor hat while Daisy smile at him; they locked their gaze. Donald lost himself.

Now their precious crush is sitting beside his beloved wife.

Nice going, Panchito and Jose.

He was right.

Jose was right.

Donald will never be satisfied.

Number three, they knew their best friend like they knows their own mind. He knew everything about Donald like the back of his palm, he took care of the lovely duck throughout their adventure. He knew how Donald always play with his sailor hat if he is nervous or when he stutters in front of strangers.

He knew when a duck laughs; the young man's eyes always turn into a beautiful moon. You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind like Donald. Donald is the rare person, the type of person that will jump and risk his own life for his family and friend, and a total stranger. The person who always find good inside every mammals being.

If they tells Daisy that they loved Donald, she was sure that she will silently resign. She will leave Panchito and Jose with Donald and the image where three of them kissing will come true but that's also mean the future where Daisy cries alone heartbroken will also come true. They will never forgive themselves if that happens.

Daisy is a nice woman but she will suffer and they don’t like seeing people suffer.

Daisy will say ' I'm fine ' with her kind smile, but Jose will notice the way Daisy hand clenched into a fist; how her eyes twitch because she is holding back the tears; She'd be lying.

When they fantasize at night, it's always Donald's eyes. The playful glint, full of passion and kindness at the same time. They drowned with the bitter-sweet memories while their beloved crush and Daisy cuddled on the couch or living room. Jose cried while the couple had a nice candlelight dinner. Panchito bit his lips until it bleed when they exchanged sweet kisses.

As they romanticized what would happen if they hadn't sized Donald up so quickly. They were glad they took Daisy to Donald because they never sees Donald so happy like that.

At least his dear Donald is his first love's husband.

At least they keep their eyes in their life.

Once again, Panchito and Jose were back to the reality. All guests were waiting for them to finish their short speech.

Huey raised his eyebrow, Dewey and Louie on the corner while Scrooge put down his wine glass.

Ah, they can hear their own heart breaking into pieces again even when it's already so broken to the point he believes it will stop working soon. He cleared his throat, looked down to his expensive shoes for a second and suddenly raised his face with a really wide grin on his face.

"A toast to the groom!" Jose shouted, gripping the mic as tightly as possible. All guests raised their glass together with them.

"To the bride!" Panchito announced, all of the wedding guest followed them and cheered for Donald and Daisy.

They left the empty dance floor, given the mic back to the DJ and let the waiter took his champagne glass. They took several long strides to the couple’s table.

With warm tears on the corner of their eyes, Donald cupped Panchito wet cheek.

"From your best friends,” Panchito said, eyes brimmed with tears; nobody knows the true meaning from those tears, thinking it was just a tears of joys. Even Donald himself wasn't sure.

"Who is always by your side," the way they voice cracked, his crooked fingers wiped Jose's sweet tears. He kissed the Donald forehead softly, he let out a shaky breath. Why all of this tasted so fucking bitter, his aching heart wanted to scream and shout out his pain.

"To your union and the hope that you provide," he opened his arms, welcoming Donald’s figure that trembled with happiness and Daisy for having a great friend and her utopia as his wife. Panchito can feel Jose’s hugged his waist, he hugged back as tightly.

"May you always," he whispered to the duck ear.

"To be satisfied."

They left the reception as Jose suddenly embraced Panchito, when his beloved friend cried against his broad shoulder; when he hiccuped and Panchito closed his eyes softly; drowning with his Jose sobs and the clapping sound was heard.

[“And I know.”]

[“He will be happy as her groom.”]

[“And we know he will never be satisfied.”]

It was their eyes that they saw the newlywed couple smiling to each other and kissing to each other.

["We will never be satisfied."]

#ducktales 2017 #donald duck #panchito pistoles #jose carioca #daisy duck #satisfied fanfic #fanfic #one shot fanfic #song fanfic #angst fanfic

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joegranatoiv · 3 years

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The Dark Tower, with spoilers

*Anachronistic post archived from the legacied FB Notes*

THE CINEMASOCHIST: 2017 Summer Blockbuster Review #5: The Dark Tower

THE EXPECTATION:

Again, I have to cheat a bit on this one. I have already seen the film, and have to lay out my expectation after already having watched it, which violates the concept of the Cinemasochist review protocol that I tried to establish this summer. However, I suppose the reason actually plays in a bit to the review. So I think it’s fair to have a moment of recollection of my expectations, and I’ll try not to allow the viewing taint this articulation.

The reason that I didn’t lay out my expectations ahead of time is I had no idea when (or if) I was going to see this in the theater. The reason I didn’t know when I would see it in the theater is because no one would go with me to see it. The reason no one would go with me to see it is because of its abysmal reviews.

To date, I think the worst reviewed film I’ve pontificated about was Independence Day: Resurgence, which sits just around 30% on Rotten Tomatoes. My wife still (very begrudgingly) went with me to see that one in the theater as part of my summer blockbuster cinema-masochism. The Dark Tower sits at a feeble 16%. To suck it up and attend this one is not cinema-masochism. It’s cinema-suicide. So maybe I should change my moniker to Cinemacidal for this one.

But let’s give proper context for this one. Growing up, there were two literary intellectual properties that I always wanted to see realized as cinematic experiences. The first was Lord of the Rings. The second was The Dark Tower series. There is a thread of irony in that, seeing as King was directly inspired by Tolkien’s work. In many of the books’ forward, he suggested that his career-spanning, universe lynchpin, magnum opus was his Lord of the Rings. There are 8 books that make the official Dark Tower series, but it weaves in to some of his most formative non-Dark Tower work such as The Stand, Hearts in Atlantis, Salems Lot, Insomnia, It, Desperation, The Eyes of the Dragon, The Shining...and arguably several other novels and shorts. The Dark Tower is Kings primer. In the novels, the tower is some cosmic center point that supernaturally tethers to *more worlds*. I’d argue that in reality, The Dark Tower mythos is the center point that literarily tethers to King’s entire body of work.

I was first exposed to The Dark Tower when I was around ten or eleven. At the time, I had buddying aspirations of being a writer. I’d grown out of my Christopher Pike phase and had started exploring more science fiction and fantasy. I’d even begun to craft my own base mythos for a literary universe (before I even knew what that was). It revolved around a desert-like physical and psychic wasteland called The Doldrums. At the time, it was a lot of random regurgitation of everything I’d watched or read, but simultaneously was the seed of something that would evolve into my unique creative offering. The new Stephen King book (I had just started to make the jump to his worlds) had just come out. It was called “The Wastelands”. I distinctly remember being in the supermarket and asking my mother if she would buy it for me. It called to me like a strange talisman. Something about the cover iconography and the synopsis and even the name was eerily reminiscent of the silly little sketches of ideas that my brain had been hatching.

At 11, I didn’t make it far into the book. It was the third book in the series, and I had no appreciation for the characters or knowledge of the stories that came before. I had been drawn by *the wasteland* concept and its overlap with the thing I had in my own head. In the first few chapters, the ka-tet (what the hell is that, I thought to myself...) rolled through a magical forest fighting a giant cybernetic bear. It lost me almost immediately and it ended up unread, nothing more than a paperback space filler on my bedroom bookshelf, which is where it reamined throughout all of middle school and most of high school.

I say this to give a quantitative understanding as to my personal relationship with the source material...it goes back about 26 years...more than a quarter of a century. I was invested into that universe for longer than my entire scholastic career, k-college. I was invested into that universe since around the time when M.C. Hammer was all the rage. I was introducing myself to The Dark Tower before my voice changed, before my first date, before the Nintendo Entertainment System had become irrelevant...honestly, my relationship with the Dark Tower series is about as long as the relationship I have with my best friend growing up, who I really became good friends with right around that same time. It’s rather inextricable from my past and growth as an aspiring writer and general creative.

And maybe it’s simply coincidence due to the volume of time I devoted to reading that particular series, but I have so many memories of bizarre, almost supernatural environments where I’d find myself actually reading the books that made the universe continue to have that mystical property of a talisman I discovered on the shelf at Shop And Save. I remember reading my favorite part of the series, the flashback section in Wizard and Glass that sees our hero’s coming of age story, to candlelight during a power outage during a whistling hurricane. I remember while touring with a rock band, sitting in the passenger seat of a beat up Chevy Suburban with my bare feet crossed and out the window, barreling through the deadpan of the southwest US’s deserts as I read about the epic travels of the group through Song of Susannah. I remember sneaking away from my day job to experience the climax of the series fantasy during the very real “summer of cicadas”; while the 11 year and 13 year (is that right?) bugs emerged at the same time to create a fantasy landscape all their own of an oppressive, communal, alien hum and veracious consumption of all foliage, I was reading of Roland’s final trials.

At times, I found myself reading the oddities of the crossing words while experiencing extraordinary circumstances as the reader. It felt as if I had a paranormal communion with the books of the sort that may have ironically been found in the books. Incidentally, even in writing this review, I’m sitting in anticipation of an actual solar eclipse. It’s not hard to understand why I was always curious to see what a cinematic imagining of this mythos would look like.

And in those decades of pondering what a Dark Tower adaptation might look like, a lot of things have changed in favor of that possibility. Peter Jackson managed to give Lord of the Rings a treatment that preserved the source materials gravitas, inviting those not likely to engage with fantasy worlds into the fold of nerds. Marvel launched a successful interconnected web of stories, crossing the TV / Film divide, and demonstrating the endurance of a devoted fanbase. Star Wars now defines pop culture. ComicCon went from an insular haven for geeks to a universally celebrated party.

And storytelling changed in ways that would service the telling of a sprawling tale like Dark Tower as well. Multi-installment serial films are the rule rather than the exception now. Television became a more viable storytelling medium with long running shows of massive scope and budget; from Lost (incidentally, Lost was massively inspired by much of King’s work) to the current staples like The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones. Netflix has joined the storytelling fight, investing in original material, and even paying homage to King’s body of work in the critically acclaimed and wildly successful Stranger Things. Binge watching is no longer an abstract concept, but a regular practice as a way to consume complex or long form narratives.

So if there is ever going to be the perfect time for The Dark Tower, it’s now. For those that don’t have any experience with Roland, his Ka-Tet, and their adventures through Mid-World, imagine this. Take the post apocalyptic desperation of the Walking Dead, draw it against the cinematic fantasy scope of Game of Thrones, and inject the iconography of Westworld...you have something that very closely approximates The Dark Tower. Being that these shows are fascinating, complex, well received by audiences, critically acclaimed, and incredibly popular, it seems the Dark Tower is more congruent to our sensibilities as an audience that it ever has been before. So the burning question is...how do you fuck this up?....

Let’s add one or two layers of insurance that this couldn’t possibly be bad. First, this is the intellectual property that King was once adamant he’d never allow to be adapted for the screen. It wasn’t that he considered it unflimable, but he considered it to be best envisioned by the readers’ imagination and perception rather than solidifying it into definite shape. This was his baby. He was very protective over it. He even turned down an offer by Frank Darabont, who had expertly helmed Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and The Mist (ironically, also the first season of The Walking Dead).

In 2007, he had a change of heart. Remember 2007? Remember when Lost was in the middle of its run, and the expert character studies propped against the mysteries of a strange-fiction backdrop kept us tuning in week after week (about three years before we realized it was all a directionless mess with a lot of smoke and mirrors...)? It was unlike anything else on television, and Abrams was more or less regarded as something of a television visionary. Stephen King was a big fan, too. Abrams had been vocal about drawing inspiration from the Dark Tower for his crazy TV show. And upon a symbolic offer of $19 (the number 19 having huge and endless significance throughout the Dark Tower mythology), King optioned the rights to Abrams to finally see this all come to life on the big screen.

King wanted to see this as a series, comparable to Lord of the Rings, or potentially even a television show with the right treatment. Abrams seemed to be the perfect person, and in the perfect situation, to help with making that a reality.

But soonafter, Abrams left the project (presumably to invest fully into *rebooting* Star Trek).

Then Ron Howard picked up the reigns as potential director. A strange fit, but...ok. Howard is certainly a competent director. He has demonstrated range, and I had full faith he wouldn’t take on the project unless he was passionate about it. He had the perfect plan to capitalize on the newfound success of long form television storytelling and punctuate a serial tv show with blockbuster films. It was the perfect plan. Apparently, no one was willing to take the chance on the IP.

And then...Howard also exited as director. Nikolaj Arcel was hired. Akiva Goldsman came on to write the adaptation. If Goldsman’s name is not familiar to you, it should be...but not for positive reasons. He wrote Batman Forever, one of the Divergent movies, The Fifth Wave, iRobot, and some other cinematic tragedies. To his credit, he also wrote A Beautiful Mind, but looking at his full resume, the safe bet would not be in anticipating a quality script. In fact, his recent repertoire mostly consists of forgettable, post apocalyptic young adult adaptations.

To be clear, the magnum opus of King’s catalog could have been helmed by Darabont, was successfully optioned by the Lost team, and inevitably fell to the writer of Divergent and Transformers: The Last Knight.

Ouch.

With a 16% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, I went in knowing that all of my fears were justified.

THE REVIEW:

I’m just going to say it. The film was bad. However, I’d like to take the time to point out a problem with treating Rotten Tomatoes consensus as a grade. I think that critics almost unanimously found this movie to be a failure on a pass/fail scale, however, I don’t think a 16% would be a fair grade if it were being graded numerically on merit. There have been worse films that have received higher Rotten Tomato scores, for sure. It did at least a few things right. But so much was so mishandled that no one is likely to remember any of these positive things.

Let’s talk about what went wrong.

First of all, they adapted the Dark Tower as if it had been young adult literature akin to The Hunger Games or Divergent. This isn’t surprising when considering Goldman’s recent film history. They centered the film around young Jake Chambers rather than around Roland, the protagonist in the books. From a studio standpoint, wrapping a complex fantasy plot around an average young kid makes a bit of sense; he becomes the audience proxy. He becomes the lens of familiarity through which we can experience all these new and fantastic things. But in this case, it completely neutered the story’s main protagonist and all of his character complexity and his relationship to the world around him, which is what would aptly make this a Dark Tower film.

Adding to the problems with the adaptation, rather than tell a cohesive story it seems they drew a strange alchemy from multiple books in the series. The script created something that dabbed a finger into a lot of plot points and iconography without really exploring the relevance of any of it. It was sort of like tiny nods to fans with none of the fun that fan service nods usually provide. This led to probably the biggest sin of the film. There was absolutely no gravity to anything. The inherent complexity of the characters and their motivations doesn’t exist. Instead, we get trite expositional dialogue that may as well be delivered straight to the audience.

In the book of The Gunslinger, we are introduced to Roland and his strange yet tangential reality. The entire book generates the foundation for further world building. But in the film, we don’t even truly appreciate the role of the Gunslingers. Think of the first Star Wars movie, when Obi Wan waxes poetic about the Jedi, keepers of peace in the republic, before the dark times. In its context, it suggests so much about this fantasy world that the characters inhabit, and it does so through subtle dialog and expert delivery set against unfolding events. Here, in Dark Tower, we get nothing like that. We get “You’re a gunslinger” and “There’s a tower” and “There are monsters and darkness” and “what happens in one world affects the other” and “one more time round the wheel” and the like. All of these little relevant nuggets we’re given are consistent with the reality we experienced organically over tens of thousands of pages of the books, but as single lines of dialog, they all feel clunky and tacked on, as if someone was taking a completely different script and forcing in pieces in order to market it as a Dark Tower story (think: A Good Day to Die Hard).

For instance, in one scene McConaughey explains to no one in particular that Roland’s guns were created out of what folks on “Keystone Earth” might refer to as Excalibur. It’s a way to wedge in a major part of the multiverse lore in one awkward sentence. This either needed a lot more explanation, or to be omitted completely. As it stood, it felt like villain dialog from a trite story that a C-average middle school kid might write.

I’ve seen reviews that herald the actors as the only saving grace of the film. I didn’t think so at all. Both McConaughey and Elba donned these strange accents and speaking cadences that felt silly and unnatural. It didn’t convey an otherworldliness. It was just distracting. While Elba had the strong, commanding, stoic presence of Roland, he became more of a plot vehicle than complex, morally flexible knight. Meanwhile, McConaughey, an actor I think is very talented, was miserable as the Man In Black. He played it too straight to have the sort of manic theatricality of the Walter from the books, but played it too silly to ever feel like anything more than a one-dimensional foil. It’s ok to have the man in black’s motivations be guarded and cryptic, but then you can’t have him running around spouting gratuitous plot points. In contrast, it’s ok to have him be over the top and some idealized embodiment of evil (though it’s less interesting), but then you have to give him more to do to stand out as more than the average forgettable movie villain.

And then there was the dumb blockbuster silliness. Nothing that Jake experiences over the course of the story gives credibility to him growing as a character. Nothing he learns suggests he’ll to be able to tap his newfound abilities to save the day in the end. The whole “this boy is special” thing played right into the young adult storytelling sensibilities in the laziest and cheesiest way. The climatic moment is horrendous. Roland ricochets a bullet to strike another bullet in air and send it off its predictable course to strike its target? Fantasy physics are one thing, but this defies any sense created by the world itself. It wasn’t exciting. It was meaningless, because even in the film’s own fantastic reality, it was senseless.

Where were the glorious flyovers of the deadpan desert? Where were the demonstrations of Roland’s moral complexity like the showdown in a misguided Tull or the sacrifice of Jake in order to achieve his revenge? Where was the flashback of Roland’s worldview being shaped by the experience of a traitor hanging in his youth? Where were the evocative icons of Mid-World that drew us as readers in, like the demon’s jawbone or the decaying man that Walter raised from the dead? Where was the moment where Roland hypnotizes Jake to reveal a priest had pushed him into traffic to cause his death? Where was the eerie palaver with the man in black that led to Roland’s ten year slumber, only to awaken to his arch enemy’s bones? Like...where was anything that made our first foray into this universe compelling? None of it was there. What’s funny is, I think the actual story of The Gunslinger would’ve been less expensive to film and yet a million times more compelling.

The things that survived: There was a tower, there was a magician that wanted it to fall, there was a gunslinger named Roland that wanted to kill the magician, many words connected. It was just enough to warrant slapping the familiar “The Dark Tower” moniker on as a title.

Every other thing in the film was a out of context icon jammed to prop up a young adult action movie plot that ultimately is about how special the 11 year old kid protagonist is. Honestly, they should’ve changed the names and called this something other than The Dark Tower, because aside from the icons, it in no way resembled the Dark Tower that many of us came to love.

The worst part is, the negative reviews and poor attendance will demonstrate to studio heads that there is no interest in this as a property. As a result, we may never get a true Dark Tower film. This had all the markings of a bad fan film from someone who jettisoned what made the material engaging in favor of his own insignificant and dramatically inferior take on the material.

Maybe in some other world, we all got to see Darabont’s vision for the Dark Tower. I’d glady hop on Blaine the Mono for a chance to see it.

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