TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Stranger Things
tannertan36
almost home
occasionally subtle
PR's Tumblrdome
NASA
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
AnasAbdin
if i look back, i am lost
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Love Begins
Three Goblin Art
styofa doing anything
ojovivo
izzy's playlists!
Peter Solarz
#extradirty
seen from Germany
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seen from United States
seen from Honduras
@memoryserved
if anyone doesn’t know already i’ve been dipping back in for a chill time @mzone and writing kennedy a little there! i don’t plan on deleting this blog or anything but yeah. on a personal note i have an essay in a book being published in a couple months! i am out there writing and stuff. that’s very cool very neat. so yeah @mzone is buzzing if you like-a the writing ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Golshifteh Farahani in Les Deux Amis (2015) dir. Louis Garrel
keyhop:
Richard knows every important person there is to know: he has shaken hands with them, taken their money, their conditions, their conniving speeches.
This person doesn’t have the face of any of those people, so who the hell are they to talk at him like this. He glowers at them.
Then wrestles his face muscles into a more casual, neutral expression because he really wants to know:
“Who are you?”
“Why?”
They don’t say it snappily, and only deliver the question after a pause to consider their answer. No, they don’t feel keen on giving their personal details to the strange man with a phallic bent, but it is curious that he’d want to ask at all. He mustn’t be used to this response. He wants to catalogue it. So it’s a simple enough question, with the implicit aftermath: what would you do if I told you?
Faye Wong in Chungking Express (1994) dir. Wong Kar-wai
keyhop:
He makes a face.
That face. Right at them. For them. To them. There’s no way he’d be acting like this if his conscience weren’t stuffed away in his pants pocket right now (he keeps the earpiece on in low-stakes situations such as these; he likes the idea of his conscience hearing him but not being able to stop him).
Apropos the ‘bad attitude’ comment:
“Thank you.”
He does not give a fuck about that guy. What he does give a fuck about (half offended, half accusitive):
“Do I look like the kind of guy who needs to walk around in a trench coat to get people to look at his dick?”
There’s nothing to like about the man, not one thing. It’s a rare honesty. Not admirable by any means, but fascinating, like the ugliest bugs are. He’s somehow even lost a base level of handsomeness from sheer mean spirit -- incredible, Ken has time to realize in a blinking flinch from his dick comment, that ordinary people can change their appearance in an instant too.
Their eyes flick over him head to toe, taking in how quick a man can turn repugnant. Faster than fruit. They shake their head. “You certainly don’t act like the kind of guy who can get people to look at it willingly. Or for free.”
Virginie Ledoyen in Fin août, début septembre (Olivier Assayas, 1998)
shiba inspired by this post
karen kahn in village of the damned (1995)
perfcell:
❛ it’s not like you could have kept me company… ❜ he shrugs, his wings jump as well. the next sentence he offers is full of pauses as if the words had to be forcefully yanked from him: ❛ i will always be… begrudgingly grateful… to you… for helping me in my… most vulnerable state. but i’m a BIG BUG now… and i do not require protection anymore. ❜
It’s music to their ears. You can cut the begrudging right out of that statement: all they’re hearing is gratitude, long overdue. “Anyone would have done the same,” they lie. Most people would have picked up a baseball bat or called animal control, but Kennedy’s trying to stay humble. “You know it’s a life debt though, and now you’ll have to mind me when I’m old and weak.”
"which made what happened a lot harder to live with, i can tell you."
the foxman ( accepting )
“I find it difficult to believe you’ve ever found anything hard to live with.” It just doesn’t gel with their image of Wonka, which is, at its core, remorseless. It’s not a word they’d readily associate with the chocolatier, but at the end of the day, it’s such an apt descriptor that they feel physically satisfied to have coined it. Or maybe that’s just the after effects of some experimental candy he gave them. They must stop taking those without question. “Especially,” Kennedy adds with delayed specificity, “When it comes to reprimanding spoiled children for their upbringing. I read their accounts in the papers you know, they all said you just stood there and watched.“
---you’re still here.
the foxman ( accepting )
“I’m only looking for a book I think I left here, then I’m done.” Emphatically, Ken rises from their searching behind the sofa to pat a small, but reasonably well-packed box on the seat cushion. Various knick-knacks and things they’ve loaned to various Avengers, or just left behind while visiting. This looks like the end of a thorough search. Kennedy is cleaning themself out of these headquarters for good.
A little breathless, Ken walks around the front and collapses onto the sofa, nodding for Brandon to take a seat if he likes, if he doesn’t have a world to go save right now. It’s amazing this building is ever quiet, when it houses so many goings-on. They can’t even enjoy the silence with the knowledge that it could be interrupted at any minute, and that’s exactly why Kennedy is functionally breaking up with the Avengers. “I knew way more people here than I realized,” they mumble. Even they aren’t sure if that was aimed at Brandon. They toy with the wrist of a sweater hanging out the edge of their moving box. “I’ll miss coming around, I guess.”
"there was no way to tell it was going to happen the way it happened, no way to stop it, really, even if i’d known it was coming." - johnny m!!!!!!!!
the foxman ( accepting )
They feel sorry for Heidi McCourt. More than John, by a long shot. It’s taken him good time to open up about why he’s… the way he is, you know, and they had to assume someone was gonna get a bullet in the head sooner or later in this story. That doesn’t make it any easier to finally hear how it happened. The sound of it bursts in their head the moment he says through the eye – Ken winces, shies their face, like they were personally staring down the barrel of a gun.
Still turned away, they shake their head in silence, combing a hand through their hair as loose strands come undone from their bun. And she was how old? A girl, he said, not that it means much. People throw the word around like it’s nothing. What would it matter if she was a child or an old woman anyway, she still died for no good reason, and no matter her age John would still sit be sitting here with his hat in his hands and his heart sunk through the floor.
They don’t feel so bad for him; in their silent, most spiteful place, they’re glad he saw something that’s got him this shook up years later. He shouldn’t have gotten away guilt free. Even if he’s good now, for penance, he should be haunted by Heidi. Not just the image of her erupting skull, but how helpless he was to stop it. But dead is dead, and so is Heidi. And it won’t get them anywhere to save their sympathy for someone who’ll never need it.
“That’s sad, John.” they murmur, voice croaking and dry after a period of silence. “Suppose I wish you hadn’t been with that kind of a man, but I guess he always would have found someone to take on that ferry. Better it was someone who’d know to regret it after. Better it was you.”
"kind of cut my arm. a little." 👀
the foxman ( accepting )
Kennedy’s arms are still soapy and wet from the elbow down when they come to see what’s the matter with Joey, and she’s lucky they have just enough composure not to put their dishwashing hands all over her cut. On the way back inside they call over their shoulder “God, I thought I was giving you an easy job with putting up the trellis!”, running their mouth just to keep busy while they fish antibiotics from a cabinet and paper towels from the kitchen counter. There are no bandages in the house yet; the boxes are still unpacked, and it didn’t seem like something you’d need so soon after moving in.
Presently they have her sleeve rolled up, elaborately raising and lowering Joey’s arm so they can wrap sellotape around it, affixing paper towels to her cut. “The nails and screws on that thing are all new, so you shouldn’t get tetanus, I think,” they conclude, slumping back in a garden chair the two of them built in the early afternoon. The garden is minuscule, but it’s room enough to rest in. "Looks good,” Ken nods to the trellis.
They smile at Joey and reach over to squeeze her at the undamaged shoulder. They did good work today. Doesn’t matter that the trellis isn’t all the way up, or that they had to cut things short to dress Joey’s war wounds, or that the lunch Ken made them earlier was a little burnt while they’re getting used to the stove. They got more done together than Kennedy might have done in a week. “Thanks for coming around,” they grin. “Really, you’re a star.”
"you’ll spend the night."
the foxman ( accepting )
It’s been a long day, there are never short ones with Willy here, and there’s not a bone left in their body willing to protest. The room seems filled with warm setting sunlight even if they can’t spot a window above, the chocolate stream churns idly by at the foot of a small green hill, and Kennedy is taking their time savouring a kind of peppermint they thought went out of production in the sixties. Why be modest, or caustic, or funny, or lie at all? They would like to spend the night. Perhaps even longer. But they can decide in the morning how dangerous that thought is. For now, they’ll allow one practical notion to bookend the day’s magic:
“Are there beds in this place?”
what time is it?
the foxman ( accepting )
By polite instinct, Kennedy steps back to allow a little space between them and gets halfway through reading the time off their phone before they register who asked. Their double take is comical, something double takes in the movies are modeled on.
They’ll never shake that first instinct of it couldn’t be when Marty shows up, because most of the time, it really can’t be. But if they’re both in the right place at the right time – they grab him to be sure, in the tightest bear hug advisable before anybody’s bones start to strain. “Christ! Look at you! You’re so – grown up! I don’t know how long it’s been for you, with all your, your messing around and what have you, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in –”
Context catches up to them, and Kennedy supplements: “It’s – I’m Kennedy, by the way! Are you here on purpose? Is this a coincidence? Is this a really good coincidence? How are – how old are you, Marty?”
"i figured you’d need a colorful picture to look at – cheer you up. " from johnny m
the foxman ( accepting )
The painting must be of a field out East, someplace like Kennedy has seen before. They can’t figure where it is, nor when they were there, but the painted waves of green dotted in red flowers stir something fond and warm in Ken’s stomach. It rises up their spine nicely, like someone had run a finger over their back, up between the shoulderblades.
“I’ll admit I haven’t gotten around to decorating,” they smile, almost hugging the picture to their chest, “So this is a welcome addition.” The room is bare enough. They’ve only owned it a week and god knows how long they’ll hang onto the lease. As long as the old pharmacist below will give them work, and he already had his doubts about hiring a woman.Hard times, and evidently John knows it. Should they retort? They could go the day without making a crack about John’s uncouth mouth, and just be honest – they needed cheering up. “Thank you,” Kennedy says, propping the picture on their commode and turning back to kiss both his cheeks like they do in Europe. “D’you want to come on a walk to Coot’s Chapel? Dr. Gallagher has certain preconceptions of me, and he might get ideas about me being alone with a man in my room.”
