#And I had an essay that I was wrapping up for English so forgive me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dcbutinamrev · 3 years ago

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Twelve, anger, for Lams

Hehehe. Angsty lams. My favorite-

Modern au for this one but with their historical apperances of course.

Not as angsty as I had hoped it to be, but at least it's still something-

***

Seventeen-year-old Alexander Hamilton huffs out a breath as he leans back against his chair at his desk in his dorm, running a hand through his tangled auburn hair, massaging his brow as he lets out a yawn, checking the time on the bottom right corner of his laptop.

12:45 AM.

He groans again and flops his head down on the desk, letting his arms completely drop at his sides and bangs his head over and over again and whimpers. He's been sitting in this same exact chair, staring at this computer for more than he should, working on an essay for Mr. Washington, not only his English teacher at King's High School but also his foster father. Yet, despite his powerful way with the English language and its words, Hamilton could not somehow come up with words. For once, he's actually speechless.

Hamilton groans as he tips his head up, resting his chin on top of his desk as he stares back at the screen, grimacing at the bright light despite the dimness of the lamp on his desk. He wants to stop. He wants to take a break. But he knows that if he does so, he will never have the inspiration or motivation to pick back up where he left off.

He sighs heavily sitting back up, cracking his knuckles and craning his neck side to side, quaffing down his cup of coffee in one gulp and cracks his knuckles before continue typing once more, soft music blaring in his ears to help him concentrate.

"Oh my God, George," Hamilton grumbles as he types away, his fingers jittery. "Why do you do this to me?" A scoff, which sounded more like a laugh. "Your own son!"

Hamitlon huffs again and continues nonetheless. After roughly ten more minutes of work, Hamilton smiles to himself as he hears the bed creak from behind him and the bedsheets ruffle. He glances over his shoulder and he feels all his burdens wash away when he sees his beautiful Laurens asleep on their bed, his legs curled up to his chest, the bedsheets up to his chin as he snores, his face buried into his pillow, his golden honey hair flowing around him like a halo.

Hamilton's angel: John Laurens, his boyfriend and a military man.

Hamilton sighs and saves his document before finally decides to call it a night, turning off the lamp and straightening his workspace before finally being able to get into comfy pajamas before clmbing into thier bed. He lets out a long sigh, followed by a deep yawn as he tries to cover it with the back of his hand. But fails.

Hamilton smiles softly as he gazes up at his dashing soldier. Tucking wisps of blonde hair out of his eye, cradling his hand against Laurens's jaw, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. Hamilton pulls back slightly and frowns when he hears a soft ding. He furrows his brows, shifting slightly so he could see Laurens's phone on the bedside table, wondering who on Earth could be texting him this late at night.

After a few seconds, Hamitlon crawls back down, brushing it off. He curls himself agaisnt Laurens's arms, his head just beneath Laurens's chin and closes his eyes.

It's about forty-five minutes later, does Hamilton hear the ding again. More digging coming through. He groans irritably and snaps his eyes open, his back agaisnt Laurens's chest now as his arms are around Hamilton's waist, his cheek against Hamilton's shoulder. Hamilton grunts and shifts around as he crawls over Laurens to figure out just who the hell is texting his dear Jack at nearly 2:00 in the morning.

Which is a mistake.

Manning: I am your girlfriend, Jack. I am and will always be.

Hamilton's heart stops, his breath catching in his throat as he reads the name "Manning" and the word "girlfriend." He glances down at the sleeping blonde before back at his phone in Hamilton's hand.

He never recalled Laurens having a girlfriend during the time they've known each other.

Manning: I am to be engaged to you. As your wife by the end of the school year.

Hamilton gasps, nearly dropping Laurens's phone but catches it. He flops back down onto his side of the bed, watching the screen, his eyes blinking fast and chest squeezing.

Manning: Your father arranged me to be your wife, John. In hopes it would cure you. And in all honesty, I hope so too. As you were truly made for me. Not him.

Hamilton doesn't know what to think. Doesn't know what to believe. He glances at Laurens and then back at the phone in his hands before back at his Laurens and then back at the phone again. He had never been in a realtionship with anyone beisdes Laurens. He had never had sex with anyone but Laurens. In the school's eyes, Hamilton is truly the most kind and trusting person.

But to this...this...Manning?

To Laurens?

"Is all of this real?" Hamilton whispers to himself.

"Is all of what real?" a deep rumble coming from beside him.

Hamilton yelps, Laurens's phone flopping onto the bed, hiding under the covers. He glacnes down to find Laurens smiling softly, his cheek in his palm and his strong, muscular arm around his waist. Hamilton swallows and pulls Laurens's arm off before rolling over onto his side, his back facing Laurens.

This catches Laurens by surprise. "Alex...?"

Hamilton doesn't respond. Just stares blinking at the window above his desk across from him. He grimaces and hisses when he feels Laurens's hand on his bicep.

"Alexander...? What's wrong?" Laurens asks, his voice pleading.

"Who the hell is Manning?" Hamilton grumbles through clenched teeth, his voice tight and flat.

Laurens stiffens, wanting to explain himself for not telling Hamilton about his arranged girlfriend in which his father gave him in hopes it would "cure" him but news flash, it didn't. But in all honesty, Laurens was a coward. He was afraid for if he did tell Hamilton, he would lose him.

"Alex..." Laurens begines but Hamilton cuts him off.

"No. Don't 'Alex' me," Hamilton hisses, rolling over onto his side to face Laurens. "Just get to the fucking point. Who the hell is she?"

Laurens doesn't reply.

Hamilton only shakes his head, sitting himself up. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me about her?"

Laurens ducks his chin, avoiding Hamilton's eyes.

"John..." Hamilton tries, his voice calmer.

Laurens sighs as he turns back to face him.

"Was anything you said real?!" Hamilton snaps. His chest starts to heave as he fumbles over his words, tears blurrying his eyes as he tries to understand, tries to comprehed. "The future you invisioned us having? Us, graduating high school and college together, you proposing to me and marrying me and becoming your husband. Us raising a family...is...is...is all of that...was any of that real?"

"Alex..." Laurens huffs, trying to reach for Hamilton's hands but Hamilton yanks them back towards his chest and glances over his shoulder, sniffing. He feels somethig wet trickle down his cheek. Laurens sighs and clears his thraot. "I don't love her."

"Bullshit," Hamilton scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Laurens shakes his head. "No. I'm serious. I don't."

"Then...then why--" Hamilton slowly cranes his neck over his shoulder, his vision blurried.

"It was arranged," Laurens admits. "My father...well...my father thought it'd be best to get me a wife in hopes it would cure me of this...of us..." He gestures with his hands at the both of them. Laurens ducks his chin towards his chest once more. "I was a fool. A coward for not telling you about Martha. I was...I was afraid..."

Hamilton sniffs and crawls closer towards him. "Afraid?"

Laurens nods sheepishly and glances over his shoulder. "After Kinlcoh...Francis...my ex...I also thought it would help, in all honesty. But you. You showed up."

Hamilton smiles sheepishly to himself, his cheeks flushing with color. Laurens grins slightly and presses his lips to Hamilton's forehead.

"And you changed my life," Laurens continues, leaning against the pillows as he wraps his arm around Hamilton, Hamilton resting his head on Laurens's shoulder as he listens to his voice. "You changed my whole life, Alexander. I love you." Hamilton looks up at this. "I love you so much. And only you. I should have told you sooner, but...I was a coward...all I can do now is hope that you wil forgive me. Though I don't fully expect you to forgive me instantly, in fact I understand if you need more time--"

Hamilton cuts Laurens off with a kiss, pressing his lips firm to Laurens.

Hamilton pulls away slowly and strokes Laurens's cheekbone. And chuckles. "John...you ramble."

"My apologies," Laurens laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck before turning to Hamilton, his expression softening and his smile fadiing. "I truly am sorry, my dear boy. You know I never intended to hurt you. I'd never. I'd give you my life."

Hamilton feels his lips turning upward as he nods in agreement, grasping Laurens's hands in his. "And I'll give you mine."

"My dear boy," Laurens huffs which sounds like a laugh as he lays back against the pillows, pressing his cheek against Hamilton's head, kissing his temple. Hamilton curls up beside him.

"I'm yours forever, Jack."

#asks #ask liz #tracyn!#modern au #historical lams #alexander hamilton #john laurens #martha manning #short post #read more #it's not as angsty as i wanted it but it's still something #fluff #slight angst

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padfootagain · 4 years ago

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A Very Rose Mistake (V)

Part 5 : How Jealousy Gets Denied

Here we go with a new chapter! I am back, people! Sorry for the long pause, but depression is kicking my arse these days, so writing is a little hard at times. Plus, this turned out longer than I thought it would be.

No warning to be applied here, except for a little bit of jealousy **demonical laughter**

Troubles are starting. It's coming folks!

I hope you like this part! Please, tell me what you think about it!

Also, if you want to explore more the area where the hike described in this chapter takes place in the Trossachs, here is a very nice website where you have a view from Ben A'an!

Word count: 4686

Holmes Chapel

2008

Harry was late.

Again.

Third time in a week, and it was beginning to seriously get on your nerves. You repeatedly tapped your pen on your desk, while looking outside your window towards Harry's in the house next to yours. His curtains were closed, you hesitated to use the red piece of glass to signal him that you needed him, but neither of you had used it in a long time. So, you didn't really dare to reach for the drawer of your desk.

You didn't want to seem childish in front of him these days. And maybe it was because of his girlfriend. Maybe it was because he had a girlfriend when you had never had a boyfriend yourself. And maybe you were also getting more and more pissed because Harry was ignoring you these days.

You didn't want to be that friend, the one who called on him and acted clingy and asked for time to be spent with. You understood that Harry was infatuated. You understood that he liked his girlfriend and wanted to spend time with her, and it was normal. But that didn't mean that he had the right to simply cancel all your plans. You were okay with the fact that you couldn't just drop by to his house anymore unannounced, in case Felicia would be there with him. But you had planned this evening to work on your essay for your English class. You had checked with him if he was free, and he had promised to come by 5 pm. It was almost 6 now.

You checked your cellphone one more time, but once again, were met with no text messages or missed calls. He hadn't even warned you that he'd be late, which he used to do before Felicia got into the picture.

You didn't want to be that kind of friend who acted almost possessive, and couldn't manage to accept the arrival of his girlfriend in your inner circle of friends. But on the other hand, you reckoned that Harry was being that kind of friend too. The kind who abandoned his friends to spend all his time with his girlfriend. The kind who got so engulfed in his relationship that he simply dropped everything else the second she asked for him. It was excessive, you reckoned, but then, you weren't altogether surprised. Harry was passionate, and loyal to a fault. He was forgiving and too kind for his own good sometimes. You didn't doubt that in a relationship, he would be a huge romantic. Maybe he had an idea of love that was a little too idealistic, a little too naïve, with too many rainbows and unicorns involved and not enough heartbreak, but you couldn't really hold it against him. You could, however, hold against him that it was the third time in five days that he wasn't meeting you when you planned to spend a couple of hours working together, and it was driving you crazy.

It was a strange mixture of feelings that you experienced, between anger and aching and something a little cold that you couldn't really describe. It felt painful, that was for sure, but more than sad, it was painted red with annoyance and fear. A little voice in your head that screamed 'danger'. You weren't sure of what the feeling meant, but you knew for certain that you didn't like it all the same.

Lost in your thought, you jumped as your mother's voice rang through the house, calling for you.

"Y/N! Harry's here!"

You barely had the time to turn to your door before Harry was stumbling in the room, clearly out of breath.

"Hi, Y/N!" he grinned, staggering in the room and throwing his backpack on your bed.

"Hi," you tried to give him a smile, but it was hard to brush the irritating feeling away as it lingered despite Harry's presence.

"Okay, so… what do we start with?"

You tried to answer his question, you really did. But you were too angry at him for behaving like this for weeks now. So, instead, you answered his question with one of your own.

"Where were you?"

"What?" he asked back with a perplexed frown.

"I've been waiting for you for more than an hour. Where were you?"

He heaved a sigh, letting himself fall onto your bed.

"I know, I'm sorry I'm late. Felicia wanted to hang out a little after my shift at the bakery."

You stared at him for a moment, before standing up to go close the door. Harry watched you with an eyebrow raised in surprise, but he didn't speak nor did he try to interrupt you.

You heaved a sigh, nervously twisting your hands together.

"Harry… You've got to stop doing that," you told him, your voice slow yet he could hear in the way it trembled that you were angry and were trying to keep your voice down. "You can't just… tell me you're gonna study with me and then disappear to go snog your girlfriend instead."

"Y/N…"

"No, let me finish! You're not being fair! I haven't seen you outside of school in weeks. You're either late or you don't show at all."

"What do you want me to do? She's my girlfriend…"

"And I'm your best friend."

"I've got to make time for her."

"I get that. I'm not blaming you for seeing her."

"That's exactly what you're doing though."

Your expression saddened, the crease between your brows fading to reveal a fragility that wasn't there before instead.

"I get it that you want to spend time with her, but we had planned to study together. You can't just cancel everything for her either, you need a balance between the two. It can't be all about her. I get it that you want to spend time with her, and that's alright. But when we agree on a time to spend with each other, you can't bail out."

"I'm not making it all about her."

"You are though."

"If you had a boyfriend, you'd understand."

You cringed at that, wincing and glowering at him. You weren't good either at hiding how his words hurt you.

"What? I'm right," he shrugged.

"You're being a dick."

"You're overreacting."

"If I promised you that I would do something for you, and I didn't do it to spend some time with my boyfriend, wouldn't you be mad at me?"

Harry tried to deny your statement, but he would have been lying. And he didn't want to lie to you. So, instead, he heaved a sigh, and it was his time to wince.

"I guess…"

"Well, that's what you've been doing ever since you started being with her!"

You were starting to raise your voice, and Harry hated it. Not only was he annoyed, but he also simply hated seeing you upset, no matter the reason behind your emotion.

He felt his own anger rising, a mere reflex to hearing your acidic tone. But he knew that it wouldn't do anything good, and he didn't mean to upset you even more. He couldn’t deny either that you were right. He had been neglecting your friendship lately, and he could see now that it was hurting you. So, he heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled under his breath, pushing the words out reluctantly. "I guess you're right."

He reached in his backpack, grabbing a bag of pastries he had gotten from the bakery he worked at.

"I bought these for you, by the way."

You cautiously took the bag he was handing you, as if it were a trick of his. You peered inside to reveal a couple of chocolate muffins.

"These are my favourite," you breathed, hating the way your anger simply melted away.

He always had this effect on you. Harry always managed to do something so kind, no matter how big the gesture, that you couldn't stay mad at him.

Because you had never asked him for these cakes. He just saw them and thought of you.

For a moment, you were envious, almost, of his girlfriend. Because it had to be wonderful to be with someone who truly paid attention to people and wanted to make them happy as a reflex.

You knew that he hadn't bought the cakes for any particular reason. That he hadn't thought of anything besides the fact that you liked this flavour and it would make you happy to munch on these as you studied with him.

Your heart was beating faster, and you weren't sure why. You knew though that, as you thought of Harry's girlfriend again, you were bitter, and not only because how annoyed you were at Harry for being late.

"I know," he answered with the ghost of a smile, as if you had said the dumbest and most obvious thing.

You heaved a sigh, sitting by his side on your bed.

"Thanks."

"I'll make sure not to be late next time."

"Thank you."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his embrace.

"Are we good?"

"Yeah… we're good," you nodded, relaxing in his arms.

"Good, cause you need to help me with this history thing. It's so boring!"

"History is not boring! You're boring," you replied, your voice shushed by his jumper as you pressed your face in his shoulder.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the hallway by your door, but you didn't pay much attention to them, way too comfortable in your best friend's arms to be bothered.

Until your door was swung opened, making both you and Harry jump and break away in a hurry. Your father appeared, seeming infuriated, and when he spoke, his voice was shaking with wrath.

"I told both of you to always keep this door open!"

Loch Lomond

2020

For the first day with the entire family in Loch Lomond, Cassie and Amy took a day without any planning and proposed to go explore the shores and the wilderness around the lodge. Some members of your family were eager for a quiet day along the shores, but you wanted to go explore other parts of the region, which was why you were now sitting around the breakfast table with a guide book and your phone set on your laps, focused on finding the perfect spot for a hike.

"You've spent half an hour looking at maps, darling… just… choose a path and go there," your mother sighed, annoyed.

"What do you care? You're gonna stay here all day anyway. I want a nice spot. I want to climb and have a nice view, but I also want some forest."

Your mother rolled her eyes at you again, but chose to not say a word this time.

"I think I'm gonna go to the Trossachs and try to go to… Ben A'an. It has a nice spot, it should give us a nice view," you mumbled under your breath, talking more to yourself than to anyone else in particular. "But it's not too high so it shouldn't be too hard."

By your side, Harry was finishing to eat his pancake and drinking his cup of coffee, reading the newspaper. If he was attending your cousin's wedding, he also took this week as a well-deserved holiday. He had been particularly busy these past few months, and would enjoy to spend a calmer week. And if he usually never refused a hike or any activity outdoor, he longed for a good nap. So, when asked, he had chosen to stay around the loch for the day. Amy's grandfather was organizing an expedition to go fishing, and Harry was most likely going to join the activity. Cassie was up for the hike and was on her way to convincing Amy to join her (after all, a lot of kisses always go a long way and are hard to resist), so you wouldn't be going on your own, he could sit this one out and just enjoy a lazy day.

He was sitting next to you around the long table. He had been eyeing your hand for the past ten minutes, but hadn't dared to reach for it. Giving his usually affectionate way to display friendship, it shouldn't have been a worry for him to add a sprinkle of touches here and there for your family to better buy your dating alibi.

But the thing was, it was you. And things were different with you. And touching your hand wasn't the same as reaching for any other of his friends' or acquaintances'. He couldn't say why, didn't dare to, but it wasn't the same, so he read for the third time in a row the same line of his article while he silently weighed the pros and the cons of reaching out and taking your hand in his.

Meanwhile, Patrick was listening to your conversation while munching on his eggs.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, studying the picture on the guide book of the spot you had found from across the table, craning his neck a little to see the picture better. "It really does look like it has an incredible view."

"Sure!" you answered with an enthusiastic smile. "The more the merrier!"

You didn't notice the frown that settled on Harry's brow. You didn't notice his gaze abandoning the article to settle on you.

"Great! That sounds like a lot of fun. I love hiking. It's soothing, to be closer to nature."

"Yeah, me too. I try to go out as much as I can to take long walks or go hiking around L.A."

"I've joined a group actually last year. We organize hikes almost every weekend. It's nice to have people to walk with."

"Oh, that's so nice! Where do you go hiking?"

Harry studied the way you leaned towards Patrick, and the way he reciprocated your gesture, the open conversation closing around only the two of you. And he wished you were leaning towards him instead.

He shook himself out of this thought, though. What was wrong with him? You were just talking about hiking…

"Just around Glasgow, but I don't think we've been to this spot yet, I'd really like to try this trail."

"Well, then, you're welcome to join us!"

You reached across the table to take a piece of bread, and Patrick accidentally did the same thing as you at the same time, your hands meeting across the table.

You pulled away in a hurry, shying away and mumbling an apology under your breath. And Harry didn't miss a bit of the interaction. He didn't miss the way you wiggled on your chair, and the way you looked away, and the way your fingers struggled a little to wrap around your cup of tea.

And he didn't miss the way Patrick struggled to hide a smile, and the way he stared at you too intensely, and the way his eyes stopped on your lips for a moment before settling on his plate again.

Harry rolled his eyes in response, annoyed. He didn't sign up to play third wheel…

"Who else is supposed to come?" Patrick asked, bringing the conversation back to life.

"Cassie and Amy! I reckon that everybody else is having a lazy day today."

"Your boyfriend isn't coming either?" he asked, turning to Harry, who was still mostly hidden behind his newspaper.

"No, he said he'd go fishing…"

"Actually, I think I've changed my mind," your fake boyfriend jumped into the conversation, folding his newspaper to place it on the table next to his plate. "A hike sounds great!"

"You're sure? You said you were tired," you asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Breakfast gave me a boost, actually. I'd love to go hiking."

This time, he didn't hesitate, and he did reach for your hand that rested on the white tablecloth, wrapping his long fingers around yours and giving them a gentle squeeze. You gave him a grin.

"Great! Then, it'll be just the five of us! It's gonna be amazing!"

You turned towards your food to hurry to finish so you could get ready. Meanwhile, Harry and Patrick's gazes met, and if no words were exchanged, the way that Patrick looked down at his plate after only a handful of seconds spoke volumes all the same.

"Okay, you said it would not be too hard…"

You couldn't answer to Cassie through your panting. You had barely started and you were already out of breath, a sharp jolt of pain stinging your side. The path was steep, making your muscles ache already and your breath catch in your throat. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all…

"Well, it didn't seem so hard on the internet…" you replied, stopping to catch your breath.

The sky was clear and blue, with only a handful of lazy clouds drifting before the sun once in a while. Bosquets around the path clothed the high grass on each sides, while evergreen pine trees mingled their green foliage with the orange, red and yellow ones of deciduous trees. It created a strange and yet beautiful mix of colours that painted the slopes of the mountains, forming a forest across the lower parts of the rocky sides. The path in itself was clear and there was no fear of getting lost, and for as long as you were careful to not twist your ankle on a random piece of rock, you reckoned that the road was quite safe. Except for its slope, that was much steeper than what you had anticipated. You expected an easy hike, and were met with a pretty difficult one instead so far.

By your side, Harry was panting as well, and you were suddenly worried about his asthma.

"You alright?" you asked him with concern painted all over your features.

But Harry gave you a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. Not ever trusting… you again with… planning a hike… but… besides that… I'm fine," he answered, his words cut by deep breaths he was forced to take in an attempt to calm his burning lungs.

"It'll get easier soon, look," you reassured him, nodding towards the path that stretched before you, and seemed to be less steep further on.

Patrick seemed to struggle less than the rest of your party, and he turned to you as he visibly held back on his speed to stay with the group instead of going further on his own.

"I'll take your bag if you want," he offered you, nodding at your little backpack where you had your bottle of water and some cookies that would be your prize for when you would reach the top.

But you shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? It's no bother. I'm used to hiking in this kind of terrain, it's easier for me."

Harry rolled his eyes at the comment, but remained silent, merely trying to catch his breath himself.

Despite having some steep moments, the path was pleasant and the fresh air was doing wonders on your moral. For once, you were able to forget about the stress of your PhD, and spending some time with your friends put an unwavering smile on your lips.

The wind of autumn was chilly and on the less protected spots of the trail, it bit down on your cheeks, but it was vivifying too, in a way that gave you energy to go on and continue further up the path. Without your parents around, both you and Harry were more relaxed, and you fell back into your usual banter, acting more like friends than fake lovers again. And it was comfortable. A known territory you had been exploring for decades, familiar and safe. You were in a comfort zone that the two of you had built along the years, and it felt reassuring to fall back in this old safe area of your relationship for a few hours.

As you finally reached the top after more than an hour of climbing up the rocky path, your breath was taken away not only by the physical effort you had been through, but by the sight before your eyes. The top of Ben A'an offered almost a 360°C sight over the loch and the mountains all around, a perfect mix of peaceful water, blue sky, rocky mountains and slopes painted in green, orange, yellow and red by trees in fall. A couple of ravens croaked a few meters away, perched on mossy rocks and breaking the quiet of the place. The wind, strong and howling, seemed to punch your cheeks with each ghast of air. Facing you, Ben Venue stood taller, its sloops colourful, as if the work of a painter more than of nature. Loch Katrine stretched as a long patch of water, glimmering under the vivid sun, on your right. On the other side of a forest, laid the calm waters of Loch Achray, situated on your left. You rested your back against one of the rocks behind you as you took in the view, your feet safely set against the pebbles and dirt on the ground, the grassy area, punctuated with bushes, only starting close to the edge of the slope. The top of Ben A'an, that you had now reached, was rather levelled, and all over a perfect spot for a break.

"It's gorgeous," you breathed.

"Yeah," Harry nodded by your side, still out of breath after the last push that had been needed to reach the top.

You turned a worried face towards him.

"Are you sure you're alright? You're breathing funny."

He coughed a couple of times, but rolled his eyes at you.

"I'm fine, mum. Just out of breath because I've finished climbing up a mountain just now, you know?"

It was your time to roll your eyes at him.

"Well, sorry to get worried about your malfunctioning lungs."

"They're not malfunctioning!"

"You're asthmatic! They are malfunctioning."

"You're out of breath too."

"I don't sound like I'm about to die."

"I don't either. You've clearly never heard someone dying. That's not how it sounds."

You exchanged a playful smile, while he joined you, resting his back against the rock and enjoying the view.

"In all seriousness though," he went on, still struggling to ease out his breathing. "I might let you choose another hike after this one. It's a very nice view."

"Ha! I knew it!" you cheered, giggling.

Cassie and Amy were admiring the view over the loch as well, holding onto each other. Patrick was drinking some water a couple of steps away from you. But as you felt your body cooling down, you decided to use the last remnants of adrenaline of your long walk to climb on top of the rock you were resting upon, thus reaching the true top of the mountain. There would truly be nothing above you then but the blue sky and the occasional crows flying by. It wasn't a very elegant endeavour, as you struggled to climb up the rock. Harry hurried to grab your waist to steady you, scolding you as you slipped.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a deep frown, worry oozing from his deep voice.

"Climbing!"

"Y/N, it's not a good idea, it's slippery."

"Shut up and help me up!"

He rolled his eyes but helped you anyway. Because he could never say no to you anyway. Never had been able to since you were five years old and you asked to play with his favourite toy. So, he secured his hold on your waist, helping your movements to secure your climb, ready to catch you if you were to fall. But you didn't fall, instead reaching the top of the last rock to climb. You took a couple of steps on the top, to reach the highest part, now enjoying a view of both sides of the mountain, water and forests and steep sloops of mountains seeming to lay at your feet just for you. The wind was even more violent at the top, almost deafening, but you didn't mind. You felt so confident for some reason, your usual problems seeming millions of miles away. Standing there, at the top of Ben A'an, it felt like you had reached the top of the world itself. You let out a laugh as you opened your arms wide, letting the wind blow against you with all its strength, turning your face up towards the sun to let its warmth bloom across your cheeks.

And down the rock, still on the path, Harry was looking up at you, listening to your laugh carried across the sky by the strong wind. He took in your dishevelled looks after your climb, and the way the wind caught in your jacket, blowing it away from your body. The way the sun got caught on your skin, and the way your lips split in a glowing smile. A thin layer of sweat glistened on your face, illuminated by the sun. And your carefree stance made you look absolutely unreal.

There was a deep rumble in his heart. A bright, luminous kind of aching that he had been trying hard to forget for years. And he had succeeded. After years of trying, he had made the feeling go away.

So why did he feel like this again now?

Looking at you with arms spread, embracing the world, it seemed, with a happy and free expression written on your features, he just couldn't stop the feeling from settling in his heart once more.

You were beautiful. Radiant. Something about you made him unable to look away. And he hated it. He hated the fact that he felt like this about you. But he couldn't help it. So, he stared at you as you laughed away in the wind, an uncontrollable yet fond smile on his face.

Sometimes he wondered how you could even be real.

And for a moment, he was so entranced in you that he didn't notice that Patrick was staring at you as well.

Harry helped you climb back down, a safe hold securing your movements, and you held onto his shoulders too for leverage. Landing in his arms, so close to him, made him fiercely blush, but he reckoned that if anyone noticed, he could always blame the wind.

But then he was your fake boyfriend for this week. Which meant that he was allowed to be this close to you. He was allowed to hold you for a moment longer than what was needed, and he could always claim that it was to keep up appearances, instead of him simply longing to have you close. And if he repeated this excuse enough times in his head, maybe, just maybe, he might believe in it himself too.

As your gazes met though, it was impossible for him to pretend, and reflexes came rushing back as Harry stepped away from you, an embarrassed blush blooming all the way up to the tip of his ears. You were distracted from his reaction though as Patrick handed you a bottle of water.

This time though, Harry didn't miss the way Patrick looked at you as you thanked him, accepting the water bottle. He didn't miss the way his gaze lingered for too long on your fingers wrapping around the plastic, nor the way he glimpsed at your lips as you brought the bottle to your lips.

When he felt his blood boiling in his veins, Harry attributed the symptom to mere annoyance. Because he hadn't travelled all the way from LA to Scotland for a week, lied to your parents, gotten dragged in all that mess, taken the risk to face his own mother's judgement about the whole ordeal too as your parents were close friends… to end up playing third wheel for you and Patrick. And that was all there was to it.

Maybe the way his heart stomped in his chest was a bit too violent for mere annoyance, but it wasn't a safe choice to call the feeling jealousy, after all.

**********************************************************************

Taglist : @emcchi @fishstick-knows @eldahae @just-damn-bored�� @retrouvailessx @marvelstudies2020 @boxofteenageideas@ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla @mariaenchanted

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing prompt #event #4700 followers

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zeppelin-and-unicorns · 4 years ago

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A Donna Pinciotti character study (and how I write her on my stories)

I'm apologizing in advance, this is too big, I talk a lot.

Someone sent me an ask a week ago asking why I write Donna as a nice character, and that inspired me to make a specific post about my thoughts on the characters and how I choose to write them on my published stories, more specifically, in Rock You Like a Hurricane and When The Levee Breaks. So here we go.

I love all the main 6 characters, not equally, everyone has a favorite, but in the end, they all have a very special place in my heart.

Out of the six characters, Jackie and Eric are my favorites. I have trouble writing Eric, but I really love him, I don’t get why he gets so much hate, he’s such a good person. They are followed very closely by Hyde, I relate to Hyde a lot, and honestly I love writing him. I think Hyde and Jackie are deep characters, with lots and lots of layers, and I love exploring them.

They are all complex characters with distinct personalities, each one has their specific storyline, and they all have their little quirks. They are not perfect, they have defects and qualities just like any other human being.

This post is about Donna, but I plan on making separate posts for each character later. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts.

Let's start off, shall we?

Donna was my favorite character, until I started season 4. One of the things that bothered me the most on the show was how much Donna's character regressed after her first break up with Eric.

Donna is a very likeable character in the earlier seasons, she's independent, determined, passionate about the things she loves, cares deeply about her friends, among other things. What I particularly loved the most about Donna, was how progressive she was for a teenage girl living in the 70s.

She and Eric were a sweet couple, and their love was pure. Their break up at the end of season 3 was heartbreaking, but it was very in character for me. Donna always wanted to be a strong, independent woman, and Eric was trying to tie her down. And while I could understand Eric's reasons, Donna also had a pretty strong point. I do believe things could have been solved with proper communication, but they were teenagers and these things happen.

After their breakup, both Donna and Eric acted immature, but after Donna's mom left, she... well, she's changed. And not for better. There's this one episode from season 4 that really upsets me. Right after Midge left, Donna slept with Eric, and Eric was really happy afterwards, he thought they were back together, but Donna had absolutely no intention of getting back together with him, in fact, she said "she would've done it with anyone". She used Eric in that episode, she should’ve been clear to him about her intentions, I get that her mom left and that she was sad, but that was kind of cruel of her and I felt really bad for Eric.

That's one of Donna's flaws: whenever she's going through something, she becomes this selfish person, too wrapped up in herself to focus on anyone else's problems. She refuses help and she acts up, showing really self-destructive behaviors (like purposely failing school, smoking cigarettes, dating Casey Kelso, etc). Donna’s kind of a hypocrite, she doesn’t like when people tell her she’s wrong about something. She also doesn't care about anyone other than herself when she's angry or sad, a clear example of that was running away to California with her best friend's boyfriend, because she was feeling humiliated about being rejected by Eric. That was a pretty shitty thing to do, Jackie did not deserve that.

In fact, Jackie did not deserve many of the things Donna did to her, but to me, Donna’s worst offence was to side up with Kelso during all the times he was an asshole to Jackie (yes, that includes when Jackie started to date Hyde).

As a self-proclaimed feminist, Donna should’ve been more empathetic towards Jackie. She should’ve told Jackie about Kelso and Laurie, she should have discouraged Jackie to get back together with Kelso on season 3 (everyone knew how toxic they were, even Hyde tried to stop them from getting together again in his own way - by breaking that egg - but Donna actually encouraged Kelso and seemed rather amused with the situation), she shouldn’t have shown her boobs to her best friend’s boyfriend on episode 4x20, she shouldn’t have ran away with her best friend’s boyfriend without even thinking about Jackie’s feelings, she should’ve supported Hyde and Jackie’s relationship from the beginning, she should’ve called Kelso out on his hypocrisy towards Jackie and Hyde on season 5, she should’ve been there for Jackie - without judging her - when her mother came back. She should have been a better friend to Jackie in general, Jackie was bitchy and kind of annoying, but she was a good person, and she was always there for Donna when she needed it.

Jackie was supposed to be the bitchy one with a huge ego, but Donna slowly took her crown. To me, in later seasons, Donna was worse than Jackie from season one - season one Jackie was a bitch, but she was also innocent, and she didn't know better, Donna did, and she loved calling Jackie out on her behavior. I'll elaborate more on that when I write Jackie’s essay.

And (I’m afraid people are going to judge me for this one) Donna should’ve been a better girlfriend to Eric. People always say that Donna was too good for Eric, and well... I disagree.

In the first three seasons, Donna and Eric’s relationship was healthy, they were cute together, and you could see how much they loved each other. But they got back together in California and didn't even talk about why they broke up in the first place. They just ignored it and pretended it never happened. Like, wtf? And then out of nowhere Eric proposes and she says yes? She hadn't accepted his promise ring less than a year before, and now she accepted an engagement ring? I’m sorry, but that was very OOC to me. The reason why they broke up was that she didn’t want to make such a big promise because they were sill young, and then they just get engaged when they’re still in high school? That’s bad writing to me.

Their relationship in season 5 was okay, their engagement didn’t make any sense, but overall, they treated each other well and were in love.

Then Red had his heart attack and Donna decided to postpone college so she could be with Eric. Another thing that didn’t make sense to me. Donna basically threw away her whole future in order to be with Eric in season 6 and 7, and they broke up in season 3 because she didn't want that for herself. It’s just… well, shitty writing.

After she stayed for Eric, their relationship changed, at least from what I could tell. And then all the episodes had the same storyline for Eric and Donna: Eric does something stupid, Donna overreacts, Eric spends the day kissing her ass to make up for it, in the end she forgives him and it’s always the same thing “Donna, I’m a dumbass, you’re too good for me, I’m sorry” and bla bla bla. It’s a freaking cycle, and it only gets worse after Eric leaves her at the altar.

Eric was a good person and a good boyfriend, he had his flaws, but overall, he was a decent guy, he shouldn’t feel inferior to Donna. She mocked him for liking the things he did (Star Wars, Styx, roller disco), and often acted like she was too good for him, a good girlfriend is supposed to support her boyfriend in whatever makes him happy, not force him to quit something because she thought it was too girly.

(For example, when Hyde was going to work at the muffler shop with Red, Jackie didn’t like that idea, but she supported him anyways, she said “If it makes you happy then, I’m happy”. Donna wasn’t very supportive of Eric’s choices, the roller disco thing is a great example, I mean, yeah, it was girly, but he liked it, so she should’ve supported him).

In my opinion, Donna and Eric’s relationship on seasons 6 and 7 wasn’t a healthy one.

I’m not even going to mention Donna’s actions on season 8. To me, they were unforgivable, that’s why I totally understand why people write her like a bitch on post season 8 stories. But hey, everyone was acting OOC in season 8, that’s why I tend to ignore its existence most of the time.

In Donna’s defense though... That was mainly bad writing. I believe that the real Donna would’ve been more empathetic towards Jackie, she would’ve called Kelso on his crap, and she would’ve actually talked to Eric about their problems. She also would have gone to college, she and Eric could make distance work.

Up until season 4 we could see that the writers were actually developing a storyline for Donna. She was bitchy in season 4, but her parents had just got divorced, she and Eric had broken up, her mom left... Her life changed a lot, it’s understandable why she acted out, the writers knew what they were doing then, at least in the character development part, but then season 5 started and Donna was a whole different person.

I don’t know if I’m making any sense in this essay, I have trouble expressing myself sometimes because english is not my first language, but basically, to me, the writers stopped caring about Donna’s character development by season 5 and I’ll always be bitter about that.

A clear example of character development is Jackie, Kelso and Hyde. They grew and matured over the seasons, Donna didn’t, not really, if compared to them. It's incredibly sad to see most of the characters growing and genuinely being better people, while Donna was just… being there.

Donna had her good moments, as I’ve mentioned before, Donna has qualities, plenty of them by the way. She’s passionate about the things she loves, she wants the best for her friends, she’s determined, she has a kind heart.

One of my favorite scenes from the show is when Jackie asked Donna to help her not to fall into Kelso’s “charm” again, when he was trying to grow a beard. Donna was an amazing friend in that episode, it really made me smile. Donna had some really good moments with Jackie. I wish she valued them more, but I blame that on the writers and their need to put women against each other for “comedy”.

The Donna I write on my stories is based on the Donna from the earlier seasons, it’s a Donna who still has her flaws, but she pushes her pride aside when she recognizes she's wrong and apologizes, she doesn't see Jackie as her competition, she sees her as a friend who she loves very much, and wants the best for her.

When The Levee Breaks Donna is the real Donna, at least how I think the real Donna actually is. After Eric sent her that letter, she recognized that she gave up too much for him during their relationship, and that she wasn't being herself by doing so, so she decided to no longer wait for him and be her own woman, that's why she moved to Chicago. No one is worth giving up her dreams for, not even the love of her life.

She loves Jackie and wants the best for her, that's why she encourages Jackie to move to Chicago with her, and she also wants to make up for the times she wasn't the friend she deserved. Donna recognized how wrong she was by siding with Kelso, and admitted that she took Jackie's friendship for granted.

This Donna lost all the respect she had for Hyde when he came back from Vegas, to her, that wasn't the same Hyde she grew up with (she wasn't wrong), and she wasn't going to stay quiet and let him destroy himself (and Jackie). She stepped up, and tried to shove some sense into Hyde's head before leaving with Jackie, but Hyde can really be an ass when he wants to, so she gave up and punched him, that was the last time she saw him until he got his head out of his ass and went to visit them at Chicago after New Years.

Donna was heartbroken, but she refused to dwell on it and tried her best to move on with her life. She's at the top of her class at college, she's trying to be there for Jackie (who wasn't doing so good when they first moved in) and she tried to date someone else.

Turns out that you can't really date someone if you're still in love with your ex, so that didn't work out very well for her, but it helped her realize that what she felt for Eric was real, and that it wasn't going away anytime soon.

In Chicago, Donna and Jackie formed a strong bond, they were friends before, but Chicago kind of made them sisters. During those 6 months they've spent living together, Donna developed very strong protective instincts towards Jackie, especially after Jackie opened up about her childhood with her mother. She saw Jackie struggling every day, she saw how often Jackie cried over the things that happened in Point Place, and she started to understand her friend better.

Donna's protective instincts kicked in when Hyde and Eric showed up in Chicago, but they softened after she talked to Hyde and realized that he was being genuine. She was still pissed at him, but she could see that he was suffering a lot, so in the end, she just wanted to see Jackie and Hyde being happy again.

Her feelings with Eric were conflicting, she loved him very much, and she was aware of that, she got tired of denying to herself, but that didn't erase the hurt of their past. After a long talk, she and Eric agree to start things again, but she makes it very clear that she's not giving up her future for him anymore.

One of my favorite Donna quotes on my story is:

"Eric, I don't need you in my life. But I want you in my life, I really, really do."

So basically, that's how I write Donna in WTLB, she still has her flaws, but she's overall a good person and a good friend.

Rock You Like a Hurricane Donna is not so different from WTLB Donna, she's still protective of Jackie, but not for the reasons WTLB Donna is.

Donna and Jackie grew up together in RYLH, no Eric, no Hyde, no Kelso, just the two of them, and I believe that had a significant impact on both of their personalities.

Donna and Jackie first met in school, and became best friends after Donna beat up a kid who was trying to bully Jackie. Donna and Jackie both had no friends - Jackie was new in school, and Donna was new in town - so they started to play together and basically became glued by the hip.

The fact that she didn't grow up as "one of the boys'' changed Donna's personality a bit. Not too much, we still love a lumberjacky Donna thank you very much, but her behavior around Eric and the rest of the boys is sheepish if compared to her behavior around the entire gang on the show.

That changes after a while, she starts to get comfortable around everyone after a few months.

Growing up with Jackie had an impact on her, not a bad one. Donna's way less judgemental, and she's not a hypocrite, at least not like she was portrayed on the show. Jackie calls Donna out on her bullshit, and Donna does the same for her, they make each other better and they would kill for each other.

Donna's also not afraid of showing her girly side every once in a while, and she and Jackie support each other on their interests. As shown in some chapters, Donna sometimes even watches Jackie's cheerleading practices, and she's always there to support her in the games.

Jackie encourages Donna to write on a daily basis. She always loved reading Donna's short stories, she claims that if Donna ever writes a book, she has to write a character based on her, preferably, a princess.

They have a healthy friendship in both of my stories, it's how it should've been on the show.

That’s all, I guess. If you actually read this, please feel free to give me your opinion about Donna too, I would love to hear it!

I’m posting Jackie’s character study sometime soon. Thanks for reading my ramblings.

#that '70s show #that 70s show #rock you like a hurricane #donna pinciotti #character study #when the levee breaks

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helaintoloki · 5 years ago

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Hey! Can you write something about Sodapop Curtis..where he leaves you for sandy but later regrets it and tries to get you back? Thank you!!

a/n: hope you don’t mind but I’m going to do this as an angsty hc because if I do write it it’ll be longer than any essay I’ve ever written for AP English whoo

You didn’t understand. Things had been going fine. Just last week he had told you he loved you

But there he stood in front of you, Sandy’s newest letter clutched tightly in his hand and his eyes pleading for you to understand the situation

“I’m real sorry, y/n. I am. But you know how important this is to me,” Soda explains, and his heart breaks inside at the sight of your quivering lip and teary eyes.”

“You said you loved me,” you whisper, eyes never meeting his own. “You did.”

“I do love you,” Soda replies, “but I love Sandy more.”

He leaves right before you burst into tears, he wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing it. He didn’t want to hurt you, honest. But Sandy wanted him back, and Sodapop jumped at the opportunity to have his girl back

You didn’t speak to Soda for two weeks after that, and you didn’t dare go out either. You didn’t want to risk running into him and Sandy or any of the gang for that matter

You felt pathetic and heartbroken. How could he have left you so fast for someone who had never really loved him in the first place?

Ponyboy had called a few times to check in. He was the only one you really could open up to, but it was a tad bit embarrassing venting about your heartbreak to Soda’s kid brother. He was just as upset as you were about Soda getting back with Sandy, but what could either of you do?

You were in the middle of watching an episode of I Love Lucy and enjoying a much needed pint of ice cream when the doorbell rang

At your doorstep stood a disheveled Sodapop, eyes tired and lips in a permanent frown

“I messed up.”

“Boy, no kidding,” you snap, but you can’t force yourself to slam the door on his face like you so desperately want to.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Soda starts, eyes welling up with tears, “I wasn’t thinking. Running back to Sandy, that was crazy of me!”

“You tossed me aside like a piece of trash,” you say, “like I was nothing.”

“You aren’t nothing. Baby, you’re my whole world! Please, you have to take me back!”

“And why should I?! Huh?! Just so you can crawl back to Sandy the next time she writes you? I won’t put up with it!” You yell then falter when Soda begins to cry.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve you. But please, y/n, nothing makes any sense without you,” he bawls. He’s on his knees now before you, wraps wrapped around your lower half and face pressed into your stomach as he cries.

“Sodapop,” you sigh, combing your fingers through his hair, “Soda stop crying. I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups.

“Listen,” you soothe, “I don’t forgive you. Not one bit. And I don’t know if we can go back to the way things were.”

“Y/N-“

“But maybe we can start over. Start fresh, does that sound good?”

“Real good,” Soda sniffles. You help him stand and wipe away the remaining tears on his cheeks

“But just know that if you ever do this again I’m going to skin ya, understand?” You warn, partly joking and partly serious. Soda lets out a small laugh and gives you an earnest nod in return

“Yes, ma’am.”

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop imagine #sodapop headcanon #ponyboy curtis #the outsiders x reader #request

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hozier-mp3 · 4 years ago

Note

For fic prompts: Hurt/comfort. Dean has a nightmare while Cas is watching over him. You take it from there, oh writer one.

Hey Anon! I enjoyed writing this immensely and I hope you enjoy it just as much! I’m sorry if I took a little longer than you wanted, I was kinda sorta writing an essay. Forgive me, but I couldn’t not write it post 15x18. Anyways, enjoy!

Whimpers gently course through the room, and the blankets rustle and thrash.

Castiel could already feel it, before he saw and heard it, but now he knows it’s true.

Dean Winchester is having another nightmare.

Sam had said that Dean had them every night when Cas was gone. That screams of Cas’ name would echo throughout the bunker. That they would soon be followed by pops of bear cans or the pouring of whiskey.

Castiel hadn’t witnessed one since he’d been back. In fact, when Dean was in Castiel’s arms at night those first few weeks after he returned, Dean seemed the most content that Cas had ever seen him. Now, of course, Cas didn’t need sleep. He spent nights in a chair by Dean’s bed, occasionally reading a book or watching Netflix on Dean’s phone (he mostly never left Dean’s side since he came back, so at this point it was really more “their” phone, as Cas’ was left uncharged). Mostly, though, he watched over Dean.

He’s seen Dean’s nightmares before, but this one seems... worse, somehow. His face twists up and he wraps his arms around himself, before letting out a scream and sitting up in his bed. Tears stream down his face in an endless pour, and much quicker than any eye can perceive, Castiel is by Dean’s side. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean doesn’t react to it other than a slight tension leaving his body.

Castiel can’t help but think.

Here is this man that didn’t show his emotions to anyone. Who, at his worst, would only let his brother see a single tear fall.

Dean is now leaning into Castiel. Collapsing into him, sobbing into his shirt and clutching desperately at him.

Here is this man, who, at his worst, would only let anyone see a single tear fall. And he is sobbing into Castiel’s chest, digging his fingers into his back and gasping out his name at a once a minute rate.

“Dean…” Castiel whispers, and he gently pulls Dean up into him, allowing him to rest his head on his chest. From there, Castiel begins to whisper sweet nothings, occasionally switching from english to enochian, and back again. Whatever fits best. Whatever he feels Dean needs to hear. His hand runs up and down Dean’s bare back, rubbing in gentle circles every time he hits the lowest and the highest spot. He presses his lips into Dean’s scalp and continues his gentle words, with a soft backdrop of gentle humming.

Dean’s sobs eventually quiet. They soften, before they lead into shaky breaths and a gentle, grateful kiss at the first place he could find, hollow of Cas’ neck.

“That’s good,” Cas whispered, before gently placing a hand on Dean’s chest. “Breathe with me?”

Dean nodded, beginning to follow Cas as best as he could, following his rhythmic tune until it was somewhat effortless to him.

“I love you too.” Dean whispered, looking up at Cas.

Cas smiled, very slightly, returning the gaze and running his fingers through Dean’s hair, before kissing his forehead. “I know.”

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sope-and-shine · 5 years ago

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Christmas Special: Day 3

-> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader -> Roommate!AU // Best Friend!AU // Fluff // Non-Existent Angst ->Word Count: 2.3k ->Summary: Bedding, Blizzards, and Namtiddies? Oh my! -> Warning(s): None???

A/N: I guess now is a good time to mention that all of these were randomly generated and randomly put into order. There was too much planning and effort that went into this for me to not mention any Namtiddies.

When you agreed to stay home with your roommate and life-long best friend this Christmas and spend Christmas together, it was more of a bonding thing you were going for. You still expected to wrap yourself up in your blankets, sit by your window with a cup of hot chocolate in your hands, and watch the city below you get covered in snow. You agreed to binge watch every crummy Christmas movie you could find and make shitty cookies from the package together in your very tiny kitchen. You agreed to wake up early - but not too early - on Christmas morning to open the presents family and friends had been sending to your apartment together.

What you did not agree to was your best friend dumping his stupid science project all over your bed and forcing you to clean your only bedding, quite possibly staining it and the clothes you were wearing. Why was he in your room? Well, he had a question. Why did he have his nasty science project in his hands? Well, that’s a great question he hasn’t answered yet. Why did he dump it on your bed?

He got a cold chill and lost his grip on it.

Were you angry? Absolutely. You weren’t just mad. You were big mad. Of all the clumsy things this man has done, this had to take the cake. And that’s saying something considering he literally wore Jin’s birthday cake when you celebrated the other week. Yeah, he was never bringing the cake out ever again. Nor would he be allowed in a three legged race again either, but that’s for another time.

The only thing you could focus on right now, was the loss of you favorite and only bedding. The sounds of your mother nagging you about taking more than one set of bedding with you was clouding you thoughts, “You should take it with you. Don’t come crying back to me when you realize that one set of bedding won’t work! Your sister regretted it and so will you.”

Oh, how right she was. And you should’ve known better with a roommate like Namjoon. He was nicknamed the god of destruction back in middle school when he tripped over a chair and broke an entire desk. Of course at the time it was the funniest thing in the world, but being on the other side of the destruction felt like karma for all the times you watched him demolish something and enjoyed it.

You were so mad that Namjoon didn’t just see it. He was feeling it. He felt it the minute his liquidated project landed on top of your plush sheets. The look you gave him as you sat up covered in green and purple slime - at least you hoped it was just slime - as well as the silence that followed you, screamed how much trouble he was in. Now, you’re not an angry person, and you very rarely hold grudges, but you had your moods just like any other person and this definitely pushed your buttons to the limit. It pushed you enough to go through with the one punishment you always promise to give him.

The silent treatment.

Another thing about you: You’re not exactly the shy type. Not with him anyways. You act like he’s barely even there sometimes, allowing yourself to be embarrassing or to sit right next to him on the couch and cling onto him. You were just a tiny koala that demanded food for compensation and he gave it to you every time you asked, and he’s felt your rage plenty of times. But you never went through with your promise of not speaking to him. Until now that is. But Namjoon is a determined guy. He won’t back down from a fight, especially not with you. He’d get you to talk one way or another.

Sitting on the couch with his laptop resting on his lap, glasses slightly low on his nose from working on his paper and looking up to you, he can’t help but be amused. You were trying to make a show of your anger with him, and he could tell instantly. You would walk by him every 5 minutes, make noise in the kitchen, sigh heavily as you say by the window with no comfy blanket. You deserved an Oscar for most dramatic at this point, staring out at the blizzard raging outside with your arms and legs crossed like a child.

“They say the storm is only going to get worse. We could be seeing power outages across town.” Namjoon says, typing away at his essay. You don’t move, continuing your little game of ignoring his entire existence. He shakes his head, “We should watch The Polar Express now in case ours goes out later tonight.”

You don't exactly respond to him, but The Polar Express is your favorite movie, and it was almost impossible for you to ignore his offer to watch it. You hesitate at first, but you do eventually slide off the windowsill of your apartment window and shuffle across the wood floors in your fluffy green socks to the shelf that holds all of your movies and games. Namjoon has to do everything he can to not laugh at you, pretending to be mad even though he can see you bouncing in excitement. If he was right, then you’d be yourself again in no time.

Unfortunately, Namjoon wasn’t aware of how determined you actually were. As soon as you put the movie in, you were sitting on the opposite side of the couch from him with your knees pulled into your chest, acting like his existence meant nothing to you. It caught him off guard, but it didn't totally convince him. You’ve always turned into a child the minute this movie turned on, and there was no way you’d be able to hold out through the whole film. He’d play your game, but he wouldn't lose. You - on the other hand - were having a very hard time. You were still mad with Namjoon, you didn't want to forgive him yet. Everything this week had gone wrong for you, and his accident was just the icing on the cake. But at the same time, you know it was an accident, and he apologized for the first 30 minutes until he realized you really weren't going to say anything. A part of you felt bad knowing deep down that he didn’t deserve this, but a part of you just needed to let it out.

Or keep it in, in this case.

You both sit quietly on the couch watching the movie, Namjoon tapping away on his keyboard in between dialogue. He’d add in his own thoughts about the movie in between to get you to talk, sometimes asking about your family or even trying to talk about the weather outside. But just like you, it only seemed to rage on.

“C’mon, (Y/n)! I know you’re not talking, but you can’t keep quiet when you know this song slaps! Could you imagine if there was a rap?!” He faces you on the couch and starts bouncing on the couch to a new rhythm, “Hot!Hot! Hey! Break it down now. I know the chocolate is hot, but you’ll like it a lot! Never sip, never drip, never set it down like-“ As much fun as he seemed to be having in his own little world, you were not as amused as he was. He could tell by the look on your face that he only had one option in this situation, “Yeah, I didn’t think it was that great either.”

He let the movie continue on without interruption for a while longer, letting you enjoy the movie playing. It was nice and comforting to enjoy it, at least until you hear a loud popping noise followed by the room going almost completely dark besides Namjoon’s laptop. His prediction of the power going out came a lot sooner than you both expected.

“Well, it looks like the power finally went out.” He says, trying to lighten the mood. Your lack of response wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for though. He sets his laptop aside on the couch and stands up, “We should probably check how much water and food we have so we can decide where we may need to go tomorrow, if at all.”

You follow behind Namjoon quietly, not ready to speak but not yet ready to be alone. Your apartment is an older one, so the darkness wasn’t as inviting as it would be in other houses - but darkness isn’t all that inviting anyways so-

“Did your bedding finish drying?” Your eyes go wide, the realization hitting you. You just put your bedding into the dryer for the first time run before the movie, and it always took at least three for it to actually be nice and fluffy for bedtime. But knowing how well your dryer worked, there was no way it wouldn’t be a sopping mess when you pulled it out.

“Damnit...” You sigh.

“Ah, so you’re back to talking to me now?” He asks, his knowing smirk being hidden away in the darkness.

“Yeah, well I can’t glare at the darkness and get the same reaction, now can I?” You scoff. He was right in the end just like always, only now it was more unpleasant with the cold weather seeping into your older apartment, “It’s already cold in here, Joonie.”

“Hey, don’t worry. Go put on some extra layers and I’ll figure everything else out.” No matter what situation, Namjoon always knew how to keep you calm and feel a little better - even if you were ignoring him harder than the plague. He remained level-headed even if you were at your worst.

A few minutes later, after much shuffling around with only your phone light, you managed to pull on some sweatpants and a sweater. Not the best options, but they were the best you could do at the moment with your really warm clothes being tucked in the dryer with your sopping wet blankets. You meet Namjoon back in the living room only to find him sitting on the couch with his laptop wearing a hoodie instead of his NASA shirt from earlier.

You approach him from behind the couch and rest your chin on top of his head, taking a peak at the screen with his English essay on it, “Did you figure something out?”

“Yeah, you can sleep on my bed for the night and I’ll just wing it on the couch tonight.” He says, continuing to type away like that wasn’t what he’d been doing all night anyways. You weren’t as unbothered as he was though. “Namjoon I-” “Don’t start with me, (Y/n). It’s my fault that you don’t have any bedding, so I get to suffer the consequences.” His typing slowly fills the room again as you stand behind him in silence. You were annoyed with him, but making him sleep on the couch with no blankets when it was only getting colder? Not happening.

You hesitantly wrap your arms over his shoulders, tucking your head into his neck, “But I don’t want you to suffer. What if I wake up to a Namjoon-Pop? I can’t count on anyone buying you in this weather.”

“Wow, you’re really heartbroken over this.” He says with his voice laced in sarcasm.

“Can we just share the bed?” You ask. You lift your head and press the side of your face into the side his, rubbing very softly against it like a cat, “It’s already below freezing outside right now, and it’s only supposed to get colder. I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t freezing...and if I could steal your body heat.”

He shoves you away, “You, Vixen. You just want me for my body.”

“Body heat, there’s a difference.” You say.

“So, you don’t want my cuddles?” He asks, turning his head ever so slightly to look at you. Thinking about it, he wasn’t that far off. His cuddles were the best, and you really can’t help but to agree with him, “Okay, so maybe I do want your body. Who could resist those Namtiddies?”

“Forget it, you can sleep on the couch.” He returns to his laptop, not fond of the name you’d given to his pectorals after he started showing results from hitting the gym.

Eventually - after convincing him you’re not going to speak of the ‘Namtiddies’ for the rest of the night - you both end up lying in his bed, facing his desk chair where he’d placed his laptop with The Polar Express running. His chest is pressed into your back, his warm covers that smell like his Old Spice: Original body products tucked all the way up under your chin. His arms wrap around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible, and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. It’s intimate, but it’s nothing that’s really new for either one of you. Cuddling like this really wasn’t new, and it actually felt natural for you to be wrapped in his arms. You felt safe with him, and it just made you feel even worse for treating him the way you had today.

“Hey, Joonie?” You ask quietly, unsure if he had fallen asleep yet. He grunts in response with a slight tug to pull you closer, a small ‘hm?’ leaving him. You shrink back into his warmth and grab onto his hand laying in front of your face to play with his fingers out of nervousness, “I’m really sorry for acting like a kid earlier and ignoring you. Even though I was really angry and I’m still not really over it, you didn’t deserve that.”

“(Y/n), you and I both know that you weren’t and still aren’t mad at me.” He mumbles, grasping onto your hand to keep it still and nuzzling his face into your neck to get more comfortable.

“Okay, but that wasn’t my point.”

He lets out a sigh and pulls at your waist to get you to turn, pulling you into his chest as soon as you turn over enough. He fixes the blanket covering the both of you and holds you against him in hopes to get you to settle into sleep instead of your thoughts. “You forgive me. I forgive you. Can you just listen to The Polar Express so we can go to sleep before it gets colder?”

And that’s how you fall asleep, your head resting on Namjoon’s chest wrapped up in blankets and his comforting scent. No snow to look at, no hot chocolate in your hands, but at least you have his heartbeat drumming next to your ear to keep you at peace.

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justlightlysedated · 6 years ago

Text

there’s a hole inside of me the shape of you

for @bisexualalienblast and @fraudulentzodiacs, for being lovely in general 💖💜💙

***

Michael only gets detention when he's tardy three or more times a week. He tries really hard to be on time, but sometimes he can't help but be late.

Mr. Gutierrez always has an old thousand piece puzzle set that he leaves out for Michael to kill time if he doesn't have any school work to finish.

Michael spends two hours finishing up the entire puzzle, only for it to be missing a piece.

He searches the entire room and asks Mr. Gutierrez, but he shrugs and tells him that it probably fell somewhere.

Michael frowns at the puzzle for a full five minutes, feeling a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

A knock on the door startles him to look away from the empty space to the door to see Alex Manes.

He walks to Mr. Gutierrez and hands him a stack of papers before he looks up and over to where Michael is still staring at him like an idiot.

Alex's eyes dart away as soon as he makes contact, looking to the puzzle and furrowing his brow.

Mr. Gutierrez thanks him and Alex nods his head before he walks towards Michael.

Michael holds his breath, but Alex doesn't even look at him as he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls something out too small for Michael to see.

He leans forward over the puzzle reaching out with his hand and then he pulls back and smiles at Michael.

"Looks like I had your missing puzzle piece."

Michael’s eyes fall from Alex to the puzzle to see that he’d placed the puzzle piece in place, a red splotch of flowers that literally draws your eye directly to it.

When Michael looks back up to thank him, Alex is gone.

Michael looks back at the puzzle and tries not think that it’s significant somehow.

Michael fails miserably in that aspect, but he tried really hard.

The universe really just seems to be conspiring against him.

Forming any type of anything with Alex Manes has bad idea written all over with starting with how very much he doesn’t want to fly under the radar with the way he dresses and his inability to back down from a fight and ending with the fact that he belongs to an Airforce Legacy family.

And yet-

And yet.

Michael is searching frantically for his notebook, the one that has all of the schematics for the spaceship, and all of the information grid by grid to every section of the crash he’s already checked and what he’s found.

Even if anyone finds it, it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to decipher it. But there is always the possibility that someone will find it who’ll know exactly what it is.

He’s about to empty his locker all over again when someone clears their throat behind him.

He turns and freezes when he sees Alex.

Alex smiles sheepishly at him, and waves his notebook in the air.

“Looking for this?” he asks, and just tightens his fingers on the book when Michael just continues to watch him. “I found it in my bag. I must’ve taken it by accident during English.”

And Michael remembers then that they’d been sharing his AP Literature textbook this morning since Alex had forgotten his at home.

AP English was his first class of the morning, and Michael was more often than not half asleep during it.

Michael turns completely, and reaches for the notebook.

Alex hands it over easily and stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans rocking back on his heels.

“Thanks,” Michael says grabbing his bag and stuffing the notebook inside.

Alex just smiles, that same smile from before, eyes bright and lips just slightly curled at the edges.

It feels like it’s just for Michael, and it’s thoughts like that that Michael should be avoiding.

“Anytime.”

Alex leaves with a wave of his hand and Michael watches him go.

Michael considers maybe that he’s the one responsible for this, without meaning to.

He doesn’t know how else to explain it.

Over the next couple of days, Alex appears with his book bag the exact second he realized that he’d lost it, saying that he found it in the bathroom, hands Michael a bandaid casually, during English when he gets a papercut looking through the notes Ms. Johnson left on his essay, pulls Michael’s spare AP Chemistry textbook out of his own bag, saying that he found it on top of the table at the library, and he drops Michael’s favorite hoodie on top of his head when he starts shuddering while they’re watching a documentary in AP History, a hoodie that Michael had thought he’d lost months ago.

The final straw comes when Michael is brooding into his lunch because he lost his lucky guitar pick and he was positive it meant he was going to fail his Chemistry and Anatomy finals and lose his scholarship, and Isobel is doing a really bad job attempting to cheer him up.

“Hey,” Alex says, interrupting Isobel mid sentence. She makes an affronted noise, but Michael’s attention is completely caught by Alex who ignores Isobel to smile at Michael.

“I’m positive that this is yours,” he says and drops something from his hand to the table.

Michael’s lucky guitar pick bounces slightly on top of the table.

It’s black and cracked at the tip and has the faded neon green imprint of an alien, but Michael has never failed a test while he’s had it stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, and the overwhelming relief that he feels at seeing it is nothing compared to the feeling that sweeps up from the pit of his stomach and makes his heart beat fast in his chest, and the air catch in his lungs as he looks back up at Alex.

Alex freezes, eyes going a little wide at the look on Michael’s face, and he licks his lips and looks to the side blinking rapidly.

Michael swallows hard and grabs the guitar pick.

“Thanks,” he says voice hoarse and low.

“Anytime,” Alex says, voice equally low as he walks away.

Michael clenches his fingers tightly around the pick and he waits all of five seconds before he turns and sees Alex walking out through the cafeteria doors.

“You’re an idiot,” Isobel says when he just continues to stare even after the doors close.

Michael turns to look at her, furrowing his brow in confusion.

She just rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything else. When he looks at Max, Max gives him the same confused look back.

Michael stuffs the guitar pick into the front pocket of his jeans and he wonders if he takes something from Alex, if Alex will come find him to look for it, or will he wait for Michael to magically appear with what he’s looking for.

It’s only when Michael’s fingers wrap around the cassette tape as he’s searching for his wallet on the floor of the truck that Michael remembers how he’d woken up that morning feeling a little bit nostalgic and wanting to listen to one of the old mixtapes that Alex always left lying around the music room.

He pulls wraps his fingers around the case and pulls it out and he knows he should feel surprised to see Alex’s familiar handwriting, but he’s not, not really.

He laughs when he realizes that it’s the same mixtape that he’d been thinking about that morning.

He sets the mixtape down on the passenger’s side and keeps looking for his wallet.

The envelope is taped the door of the Airstream when Michael walks out.

He’s a little pissed and a lot late because he’d been searching for his car keys and wasn’t able to find them, and even though he technically didn’t need keys to get wherever he wanted, Isobel was going to kill him if he’d lost the spare key to her apartment again.

He stops and stares at the envelope feeling all of his anger seeping out of him.

For one crystal clear second, he thinks that maybe Alex is dead, and the thought makes his stomach clench, and he feels dizzy and nauseous for a second before he remembers that even if Alex was dead, Michael would be the last person to know.

He inhales deeply and then grabs the envelope, ripping it open like pulling off a band aid.

His car keys fall to the floor in a clatter, and Michael’s laughter startles him into even more laughter as he leans down and grabs the keys.

He looks at them, and passes his finger over the shiny new keychain, shaped like a dog tag, Alex’s name stamped across the front.

Michael stuffs the keys in his pocket and ignores the warm feeling that threatens to fill him up, dousing it with the cold feeling that spreads through him at the thought that Alex was in Roswell, and he hadn’t come to see him.

Isobel is getting married and Michael’s tux was apparently shipped to the wrong address.

Michael walks out of the tuxedo place and takes deep breaths so that he doesn’t accidentally explode some windows with his frustration.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Isobel that he doesn’t have a suit to wear when she’d paid a lot of money for the tux that was on its way to Albuquerque.

Especially when her wedding was in less than eight hours.

Michael drives to the ranch needing at least a few hours to himself before he has to break the news to her.

He doesn’t know why it surprises him when he jumps out of the truck to find the black bag with his tuxedo hanging from the door of the Airstream.

There is a note taped to the front of it addressed to him in Alex’s familiar handwriting, and Michael thinks that six years should be more than enough time for him to have gotten used to this.

But he doubts he’s ever going to get used to this.

He flips open the folded note and snorts at the message.

Tell Isobel I’ll never forgive her if she doesn’t get at least a dozen pictures of you in this.

At the bottom in small print, rushed, like Alex had written it as an afterthought, anytime.

Michael crumples the note in his fist and grabs the tux.

Well at least he won’t be ruining Isobel’s day after all.

“What part of I don’t even have an ID, did you not understand?” Michael asks as Isobel stands in front of his door looking at her watch and giving him an impatient look.

“The part where you can easily go track down one of your unsavory...buddies and as them to make you a fake one?”

Michael gives Isobel an incredulous look, but before he can say anything else he realizes that there is an envelope taped to the driver’s side window of his truck.

“Did you do that?” he asks, pointing at it.

Isobel shakes her head at him.

“It’s Airforce, though,” she says and jumps out of the way when he charges past her towards the truck. “I figured it would be a warning because you were caught trespassing, again.”

Michael ignores her, and tugs the envelope away from the window.

He shakes it, and hears the sound as the plastic edges of an ID slide around the inside of it.

Michael sighs and tears open the envelope and sure enough it’s an ID.

One that looks really real, and even has Michael’s name and address and birthday, and current weight and height right.

He bites down on his lip hard so that he doesn’t smile and gives Isobel a look.

“Looks like we’re doing this after all, just give me a few to make myself presentable.”

“Just don’t wear anything that has holes in it and you’ll be fine,” she calls after him as he closes the door behind himself.

Michael tosses the empty envelope aside where it lands on top of a pile of others like it.

Michael is freezing.

His lips feel like two icicles and he knows he’s probably going to have frostbite if he doesn’t get in soon, but he needs to finish mending the fence for Mr. Pratchett or else he can look for another place to spend the rest of one of the coldest winters they’ve had in a while.

He drops the materials he came back to town for into the back of the truck with a clatter, wanting to get into his truck even if the heater sucks, and stops short at the scarf wrapped around the side mirror.

It looked thick and warm, and familiar.

Michael thinks he had one that looked just like it back in high school.

He debates whether or not he should grab the scarf when a strong gust of wind blows and his mouth feels like it’s tearing apart.

He grabs the scarf and wraps it around his neck and covers his mouth and nose, and inhales deeply, surprised at the smell, something piney and smokey and warm.

He thinks about Alex, and closes his eyes for a few minutes before he gets into the truck and heads back out to the ranch.

Seeing Alex after ten years of nothing but random items appearing whenever Michael needed them was a shock to his system.

Michael spends the rest of the day feeling like he took a misstep somewhere this morning and ended up in an alternate universe where Alex is actually close enough that Michael can touch him, but still so far away.

Still, he’s not planning on going to the reunion until he gets into his car after buying his dinner at the Crashdown and sees the thin silver chain hanging from around the rearview mirror and feels his gut clenching.

Thinking about Alex inevitably leaves him thinking about things he’s lost and found, and he remembers vividly the last time he saw this necklace, wrapped around Alex’s neck as Alex’s father dragged him out of the tool shed.

It was Michael’s necklace, one that he never took off, but that Alex had slipped from his neck and around his own saying that he’ll give it back when Michael decides that this thing between them is over.

Michael had been thinking about it since he’d seen Alex that morning. Not about getting it back, but about how Alex had looked wearing nothing but that.

He carefully moves it from around the mirror to his neck and wonders how he can give it back to Alex without Alex being able to give it back to him.

Michael hadn’t really been expecting Alex to be there when he woke up. But it still stung when he opened his eyes to find that Alex had disappeared during the night.

Michael spends a few minutes looking up at the ceiling of the Airstream, settling into the soreness he can feel in his hips and thighs and sighs before he pulls the sheets off himself and heads for the bathroom.

He’s toweling his hair dry, looking over the equations on his desk and written on the wall, when he spots a piece of paper pinned towards the end of the equation.

It’s a napkin with the Wild Pony logo on it.

Michael vaguely remembers a burst of inspiration that he’d lost immediately a few months ago, but he hadn’t remembered seeing Alex around.

He looks at the numbers and feels the same jolt of inspiration he’d had that night, he pulls the paper away from the wall and rushes out of the Airstream and to his truck.

He needs to get to his lab, now.

Michael thinks he might be going out of his mind.

He misses Isobel so much, and he thinks that maybe it’s frying his brain.

She’s always been about fifty percent of his impulse control, and he doesn’t know how to act like a normal person when she’s not around.

He’d been searching through her office for a picture that he thought maybe he’d given to her for the reunion, but it wasn’t in the box of pictures she had pinned together with the names of who she got them from.

He's heading to his truck, and stops short when he spots the envelope tucked beneath his windshield wipers.

He looks around, but there was no one, not even a car passing through, or parked suspiciously.

He already knows what he's going to find when he opens the envelope, and he doesn't know why he thought that whatever this thing was would disappear once Alex had in an official capacity broken up with him.

But no.

No.

He tears the envelope open and there are two pictures tucked inside.

The one he was looking for.

The first picture he'd ever taken with Isobel and Max. They had their arms wrapped around each other, smiling widely at the camera.

They looked so young.

The second picture makes him freeze, eyes wide open in shock as he stares at it.

He can vaguely remember the first field trip he took here in Roswell.

He'd just forgotten that Alex had been his buddy the whole time since his two best friends where buddies with each other and Max and Isobel had partnered up immediately.

The picture is of them sitting side by side on the bus seat. He has his arm wrapped around Alex's shoulder, leaning into him and smiling widely as he looks at the camera, and Alex is laughing with his head thrown back.

Written in the back of the picture in Isobel's curly handwriting is, Michael's First Friend in Roswell.

Michael swallows hard and wonders what exactly Alex is trying to tell him when he hasn't spoken to Michael in weeks.

Michael is thinking of a way that he could open up the bottles with his powers when today was supposed to be an Anything Alien Related Free get together, when he notices the alien head shaped bottle opener resting on top of the tailgate of his truck, anchoring a piece of paper down.

Alex's name pounds through his head like a heartbeat and he already knows that he's not going to be able to keep his promise of no alien stuff.

He grabs the opener and tucks it in between his fingers holding the two beer bottles and unfolds the note one handed.

Alex signs off on the bottom of the the official looking statement of arrest with his name all over it, Come find me as soon as you can so we can go over your options.

Michael stuffs the letter into his pocket and goes back to the others.

He doesn't look at Maria as he makes his excuses, and hands the beers to Max giving him a significant look.

Max inclines his head and distracts Liz and Rosa as Maria purses her mouth and gives him a look.

He just smiles and tells her that he'll be back, something just came up that he needs to take care off, promising that it's definitely not alien related.

She doesn't look like she believes him, and he's only getting into his truck when he hears Rosa say, "Hey, isn't that Alex's bottle opener?"

He starts the car and drives away before he can hear what anyone else says in response.

The toolbox that Michael has been searching for all morning is sitting on top of the bar of the Wild Pony when he walks in to have lunch with Maria.

For one second, he thinks that maybe, Maria found it, a small part of him hoping that maybe whatever makes Alex find whatever he needs somehow transferred to Maria, but then he sees Alex walking out of the bathroom.

"Make sure that Michael doesn't know I found it okay? I don't want him to kno-"

He stops when he finds Michael standing right in the middle of the bar.

He hadn't even known that Maria and Alex were talking again, much less having conversations about him.

"Too late," Maria says sounding half amused and just a little bit worried, like she always does when the fact that Michael and Alex used to date is made crystal clear.

Michael swallows hard and puts his hand on top of the toolbox, “Thanks,” he says glad that his voice doesn’t come out hoarse.

“Anytime,” Alex says automatically, and then looks at Maria and then back at Michael and then up at the ceiling. “Okay, I’m going.”

He leaves before either Maria or Michael can say anything, and Michael looks down to the floor so that he doesn’t watch him go.

Michael walks out of the floral shop and feels the anxiety that’s been eating at him all day ease up a little.

Just because he lost the gift that he was planning on giving to Maria for her birthday didn’t mean that all hope was lost.

He heaves the giant sunflowers over to the side to fit them into the front of his truck and freezes when he sees the small pink gift bag resting in the passenger seat.

Michael swallows hard, and feels his stomach clench.

He drops the flowers into the seat, and closes the door a little too hard.

When he gets to the Wild Pony, he leaves the gift in the front seat of his truck, along with the flowers.

What he needs is a drink. He’ll figure out the gift thing later.

Michael isn’t exactly sure what it is that he needs, but alcohol isn’t cutting it, and drinking enough acetone to numb himself to sleep isn’t an option, and falling into a sex coma is out of the question when Maria has other things to do that don’t involve staying in bed with Michael all day.

It’s not until Michael can’t even drown himself in work, that he’s thinking about heading down the bunker to see if he can do anything there to kill his restless energy that he spots the vase of flowers set right in front of the Airstream, that it hits him with the force of a thousand bricks.

The explosion in Caulfield happened one year ago today.

And Michael didn’t even remember the date, probably because he’s been too busy trying not to remember it.

If he thinks about it he can trace the restless feeling back to a few weeks ago, when it started getting cold again.

And the thunderstorm last night gave him nightmares full of fire and pain that he vaguely remembered.

The arrangement is beautiful and expensive looking, roses and lilies and chrysanthemums and tulips.

Michael picks it up carefully, and the note sticking to the front of it has address written in Alex’s handwriting.

An address that Michael knows without looking it up, will take him to the Roswell Cemetery.

Michael leaves Max’s house with a squeal of tires and tries not to feel betrayed that Max would kick him out because Liz is comforting Maria.

He thinks that what he needs is a drink, and has to stop the car and pull over when he realizes that he can’t go to the Wild Pony anymore, or at least for a while.

He leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath and thinks that it’s been too long since he’s had to steal some liquor from the store, but it should be just like riding a bike.

He laughs a little, self deprecating remembering the last time he’d stolen a bottle from a liquor store.

He looks down to his glove box wondering if he has enough cash in there for at least a small bottle and his eyes drop to the space beneath and his heart leaps to his throat when he spots the two bottles of whiskey and small bottle of acetone wrapped together like a gift waiting for him.

Michael thinks about not reading the note taped to it, wondering if he really needs the second heartbreak today, but he unfolds it anyway.

Anytime, I mean it Guerin.

Michael swallows hard, and when he pulls back onto the street, he takes the road that leads him out of Roswell.

Michael is pleasantly buzzed on whiskey and the fact that he made Maria smile and she didn’t kick him out when he started a fight with the guy who kept hitting on her and wouldn’t take no for an answer when he gets home to find that his Airstream is out of place revealing the manhole down to his lab.

The pleasant feeling gets even warmer at the thought that Alex is here.

For the past couple of weeks they’ve been getting closer, becoming friends, finally, and sliding into something comfortable that Michael thinks is one day going to naturally conclude in him pushing Alex into a stable surface and kiss him until he can’t think about anything else ever again, but right now, he’s enjoying the fact that Alex is always getting into Michael’s space like he owns it, and encourages Michael getting into his space.

He has a brand new key attached to a brand new keychain that had appeared the last time that Michael had lost his keys that opens the door to Alex’s cabin.

He drops down into the bunker, only slightly losing his balance and turns with a wide smile and spots Alex leaning back against his lab table looking at the alien console with a lost look in his eyes.

He doesn’t notice that Michael is in the room with him, until Michael leans against him, bumping their hips together.

Alex jumps a little and gives him a sheepish smile.

“You’re welcome by, anytime,” Michael says before Alex can apologize.

Alex licks his lips nodding his head and looks back to the alien console.

Michael watches him, letting the warm feeling spread, and he frowns when he sees the lost look sink back into Alex’s eyes.

“I’m never going to finish it you know,” Michael says, and gives Alex a half smile when Alex turns to look at him with wide eyes. “I’ve searched the entire crash zone square foot by square foot for years, and all the pieces that I’ve found are right here. So either the government has it and I’m never getting my hands on it, or the pieces are too small to be found, and I’ll never be able to get my hands on it.”

Alex swallows and looks back to the alien console.

Michael pushes from the lab table and puts his hand on the console watching the ripples as they spread.

“I’ve broken it apart and put it back together in so many different ways, but no matter how hard I try or how many times I do it, it’s just never finished.”

He smiles at Alex who is looking at him with wide eyes. “Guess, it just isn’t meant to be.”

Alex still has the lost look on his face, and Michael really doesn’t like it so he does the first thing that pops into his head.

Letting the alcohol ease any of his worries, he steps forward, pressing Alex into the lab table with his hips and kisses the lost look off his face.

As soon as their lips touch, Michael feels it like something vital that he’d been missing just slot into place right in the middle of his soul.

He grins when their lips part, and Alex kisses him again, hard and messy before Michael can say anything.

Two days later when he spots the black bag that Alex never takes off when they go off on their missions, leaning against the table where the alien console is resting, he knows exactly what he’s going to find when he opens the bag.

He leaves it alone and heads out of the bunker and back to the fire pit with the bottle of accelerant that he’d been sent to look for in his hands.

The piece that he’d been missing in the puzzle that was his life was waiting for him by the unlit fire pit, freezing his balls off, and Michael was in no rush to let him go any time soon.

#malex fic #also slightly miluca #okay #so we're being positive and spreading love #and this is how i do it by writing things #so here's my love letter to you both #i love you and i think you're both amazing and awesome and lovely and you make my experience here with the rnm fandom worth it #because let me tell you if it wasn't for the both of you #i might've been turned off the whole fandom for rnm just so you know #and i mean that in the sense that i wouldn't be writing half as much as i am #because i basically write for the both of you especially without prompting #because again you're both amazing and i adore you and i'm just so happy that i met you both #and okay that's enough sappiness from me today #enjoy the fic!!!#all about alex always having whatever it is that michael is missing because you know #he literally has a piece of michael's heart - uh #i mean spaceship console in his possession #and i doubt he's letting it go anytime soon

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missymariee · 7 years ago

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Moving On - Chapter 4

A/N: Well this chapter ended up being longer than I expected! So, I’m going away to London & Ireland next week but I’ll still post chapters for Moving On as well as some other imagines that I’ve been drafting. Hopefully my plan works! Until then, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! The next one will be posted on next Friday x.

Sunday morning rolls around and you get ready to go for a walk. It was a beautiful day outside and you wanted to take advantage of the sunny weather. Your boyfriend Ben was still sound asleep in your bed after spending the night. You decide not to wake him up, knowing how annoyed he would get if you did. You quietly put your shoes on then grab your keys and walk out of your place. Glad to not have woken up the boy in your bed, you happily stroll down the street with your headphones on. You choose to go to a nearby park where a lot of people walk their dogs. Seeing all the pups running around always made you happy.

You get to the park and start to leisurely walk around the large open space. Your mind goes to Tom and your conversation with him from yesterday. Replying what he said and how his expression changed when you told him that you have a boyfriend. For second you had been flirting a bit, at least that’s what it seemed like, and it felt good. Feeling guilty you decide to think about else. Before you could do that, a dog came running towards you and before you could blink the dog jumped on you.

“Oof” you stumble to the ground as the blue staffy starts to nudge and lick you while her tail wags excitedly.

“Tessa!” You hear someone shout in the distance.

“Hi cutie” You sit up to pet the sweet pup and she barks happily. You giggle as she continues to give your face kisses.

“Tessa, not again.” You hear someone sigh and Tessa barks. You look up only to see a familiar blue-eyed boy standing above you. “I’m so sorry, she just gets excited very easily.”

“It’s no problem! She’s sweet” you smile at him and he grins not worried anymore about Tessa having jumped on an innocent bystander.

“She really likes you” he points out as you softly pet her. “I’m Harrison by the way, and that’s Tessa.”

“Y/N” You look up at Harrison a bit perplexed. “Isn’t she Tom’s dog?”

“I have her for now.” He cocks his eyebrow. “You a fan of Tom’s?”

“No, well yes but we’re also kinda friends.” Harrison looks confused so you try to clarify. “He lives in the same building as my best friend and we’ve become friendly.”

“Really?” He looks a bit shocked. He didn’t know that Tom had started talking to people since he hadn’t heard from him in months.

“Yep” You give Tessa a few more pets before standing up to face Harrison. “Have you seen him lately?” You ask innocently, not knowing how strained their friendship is.

“No. Haven’t seen him in months.”

“Oh, how come?”

“Has he told you what happened yet?” Harrison asks carefully.

“No, not yet.”

“You should get him to tell you about that night.”

“Why?” You ask, puzzled as to what Harrison could be implying.

“If you’re going to be his friend you need to know what happened.” He says seriously. “It’s not my story to tell but it’s important.”

“I don’t think he’s ready to relive those memories and I’m not going to push him to talk.”

“That’s fair. Well, if he asks about me you can tell him I said hi.”

“Yeah of course. But, I bet he’d prefer to see you.” You offer but Harrison smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“I doubt that.” He leans down and puts Tessa back on her leash. “I have to get going but it was nice meeting you Y/N.”

“Yeah, you too.” You smile and he waves as he walks away with Tessa happily trotting next to him.

Your interaction with Harrison had been interesting. On your way home, you were thinking about why Tom and Harrison hadn’t seen each other in months and what Harrison had meant by ‘you need to know what happened’.

You try to shake those thoughts out of your mind as you continue walking towards your home.

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Wednesday came around pretty quickly and it was obvious that you were in a particular good mood. For once you woke up with a huge smile on your face and you didn’t even need coffee to feel like a normal human being. Your phone buzzed with a text from Ben saying he was waiting for you outside. It was a part of your routine for him to drive you to classes in the morning. If he finished work early enough sometimes he’d pick you up too but usually you went to your best friend Ellie’s apartment or to your part-time job.

“Well someone’s in a good mood.” Ben points out as you practically skipped to his car.

“Today’s going to be a great day” You announce.

“Why’s that?” Ben asks curiously. You pause for a second, contemplating whether or not to tell him about Tom.

“I’m hanging out with Ellie after class”

“Don’t you see her all the time?”

“Yeah, but today is…I don’t know.” You sigh. “I’m just feeling good today; do I really need a reason to be happy?” You ask him, feeling a tad defensive and guilty from not telling him about Tom. Ben raises his eyebrow at your sudden change of tone.

“I was just saying geez, no need to get snippy Y/N.”

“I’m not getting snippy Benjamin.” You retort knowing he hates it when people call him by his full name. His hands tighten around the steering wheel and you knew he was upset. The rest of the car ride was done in complete silence. He stops in front of your school and you get out of the car, slamming the door shut a little harder than you should.

“You’re welcome!” Ben shouts from his car as you walk off, not thanking him for the ride. Your joyful mood from earlier was almost gone, ‘till you checked your phone and saw a text from Tom asking what time you were coming by. You reply with a time and add that you couldn’t stay for too long due to the impending due date of your English essay.

Hoping that class goes by quickly, you settle in your usual spot and open your laptop ready to take notes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, you find yourself standing in front of Tom’s apartment. You knock on the door, a little more confidently this time. One hand was holding your phone and the other had his Midtown High hoodie. You had contemplated lying to him and saying that you lost the hoodie so you could keep it. You obviously decided against that seeing as it wouldn’t be great karma and, it’s not a good idea to start a friendship with a lie.

Tom opens the door with a beaming smile, knowing you were the one at his door. He’d been thinking about you all day and was eager to see you again. A part of him felt like he should be pulling away and not opening up. Partly due to you having a boyfriend but also because getting close to someone again was terrifying for him.

You immediately stretch your arm out to hand him his hoodie.

“Here’s your hoodie, I washed it too.”

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that” He grins and you shrug.

“It felt like the polite thing to do.” You both just stand there staring at each other for a few extra seconds before Tom invites you in. You walk into the familiar space and take a seat on his very comfortable couch. He sits on the other side, leaving a space between the two of you. Your both silent, neither of you knowing exactly what to say to start the conversation. You decide to tell him about your encounter with his supposed best friend.

“So, um I bumped into Harrison at the park on Sunday.” Tom’s head snaps up and he looks a bit shocked.

“Did he say anything?” He asks slowly.

“Just to tell you he says hi.”

“Oh.”

“He was walking Tessa.” You continue. He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“How is she?”

“She seemed happy, but I think she misses you.”

“I miss her too” he replies quietly. “And Haz.”

“You should reach out to him then” you say softly.

“No,” he shakes his head. “He won’t want to see me. I messed everything up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t” he sighs sadly and leans back into the sofa.

“But I did Y/N and I don’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive me.”

“What did you do that was so awful?”

“I just stopped living” he pauses and you give him a look to elaborate. “After Daisy died, I-I couldn’t do anything.”

“I mean that’s not abnormal, you were grieving”

“But, it went on for months after the accident. Harrison and my family tried to get me to get out of bed and eat but I wouldn’t. I pushed them all away.” He sighs. “It got really bad at one point when Haz was away. I didn’t even leave my room to fed Tess and when he came back she was starving,” His eyes start watering and you rub his arm soothingly. “He got really angry, rightfully so, and yelled at me. I just stayed in bed and said nothing. I think that’s when he gave up. Next thing I knew him and Tessa had moved out.”

“Tom…You were in a bad place. I bet they both forgave you a long time ago.”

“I don’t know. Maybe if I’d said something or reached out…” He trails off and wipes the tears from his eyes.

“You can’t change what happened in this past. Just focus on what you can do now, like reaching out to him.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He sniffles a bit and so, you give him a few minutes for him to calm down; before regrettably informing him that it was getting late and you had to head home.

“I’m sorry my emotions ruined our hangout, again.” He says annoyed with himself for being all sad again.

“Don’t be silly. You didn’t ruin anything”

“Feels like I did” He looks down at his feet, feeling like a shitty friend. You felt bad that he thought he’d ruined your afternoon together. Out of habit you wrap your arms around Tom and hug him tight. Whenever your other friends weren’t feeling well you would always give them bear hugs. It didn’t fix anything but it usually made the other person feel a little less like crap.

“I swear you didn’t ruin today. It’s good for you to talk about everything that’s happened.” Tom gives in to your hug and tenderly holds you against him.

“I know,” He whispers into the crook of your neck. “Could we get ice cream or do something fun next time we hang out though?” He asks a little louder. You chuckle and unwrap yourself from his body, standing up from the couch to get ready to leave.

“Of course, we can. How’s Friday?”

“Friday is perfect.” Tom follows you to his front door and opens it for you.

“Great I’ll see you then. Bye Tom” You smile wide and he grins.

“Bye Y/N, see you Friday.” He waves as you walk down the hallway to the elevators.

It wasn’t until you were walking outside on your way to your apartment that you remembered you’d made plans with Ben for Friday. Not sure what to do about your double booking you decide to let it go, hoping it would just resolve itself. But of course, life is never that easy.

Masterlist | Prompt List

(Requests are still open) (Tag list is still open-Click Here)

Tag list: @darlingtom1996 @thefuriousquake @electraheart-3174 @newhappiness430 @meyrapp @bishopl @kristyesteven @jamiemac26 @11-jade-11 @captainmommaoftwogirls @notimeforthemessenger @its-livelovelife

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #tom imagine #moving on #missywrites

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bat-besties · 7 years ago

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On Impossibility - 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

impossible

ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l

adjective

· not able to occur, exist, or be done.

Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.

· very difficult to deal with.

Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.

· (of a person) very unreasonable.

Eg. Roman Prince.

To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

A popular!Logan and loser!Roman high school AU based on @2pointomg ’s idea with eventual Prinxiety.

Edited by the wonderful @alpacasarethegreenestanimal

@barclays-sides, @romanasanders, @cashmeredragon , @entitydark, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace, @immacrazyfangirl , @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @toolazytothinkofcreativename, @nyxwordsmith

Ask me if you want to be tagged and please tell me what you liked and anything I could improve!

Logan hurried backstage after the ordeal was over, needing his best friend. He felt awful – Roman had been out of line but it really was unfair to begin a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. Unarmed was a little harsh, perhaps the actor’s wits could be compared to that blunt wooden sword of his…

Stopping that train of thought, he went over to Virgil, who was sitting in a corner with large purple headphones jammed on. He was the Student President and had acted like a bully, that was the long and short of it, and Roman deserved an apology.

Virgil stood up when he saw Logan and knocked the headphones off his head.

Logan paused, ‘Are you good, Virgil?’

‘What the hell, man.’

Logan frowned, ‘I assure you, I was not involved in giving you the T-shirt gun. I was wondering what happened actually –’

‘I was talking about what you did to Roman.’

‘I was going to apologise, I did feel bad – ‘

Virgil slammed his hands on his head, ‘You felt bad? You felt bad, huh?’ his voice went dangerously calm. ‘You acted like a fucking dick. No! No, don’t even try to deny it. I don’t want to hear your shitty debate team response. I told you, I told you that it wasn’t your decision to cut drama, that every other Student President restrained their decision-making to putting salad bars in the cafeteria and fund-raising for new laptops. But you didn’t listen. You’re always running ideas by me, and plans, and speeches, and the one time I said no to one of your student body enrichment schemes you didn’t even listen. I told you I knew the guy, that it would kill him. I told you that before I met you he was always my group project partner in English because his friends weren’t in that class, and I didn’t have any friends at all. I told you – you didn’t listen!’

Logan broke in, scared by the anger in his friend’s voice. ‘Look, I don’t know what that has got to do with this situation. It’s pure coincidence that it was Roman you hit, and if any other person in the school had spoken like that to you I would have done the same thing. Besides - you backed my decision when I explained the numbers to you. It was the –’

‘Logical decision?’ Virgil laughed humourlessly. ‘I didn’t back your position, I backed you. I trusted you. You’re my friend. We did all these great things together, taking on the man. You made people listen when I wanted to save energy in the school. We put together that anti-bullying project with Elise, made the school stop using sex ed for scaremongering, even this,’ he gestured at the rainbow flag still hung proudly on the podium, ‘would have been impossible before you came.’

Logan scanned Virgil’s face for clues desperately when he paused, trying to work out what exactly his friend was saying.

‘The point is,’ Virgil sighed, ‘now that’s changed. You stopped Roman from doing what he loved, and then made him a laughing stock from a position of power. Logan – you’re the man.’

Virgil quickly swiped at his eye makeup, smudging it. He took a deep breath before looking Logan in the eyes. ‘I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Me – I fight the man.’

Logan stood in silence as his only friend walked away.

He did what had needed to be done.

Virgil was just prejudiced against the athletes Logan had helped because – because what, Logan? Because they used to laugh at him in PE? Because half of them thought Chad was hilarious in the recycling bin incident?

He had worked tirelessly to improve the school for two years, and the one time he was saddled with a difficult decision his friend was blinded with – empathy?

Logan didn’t need Virgil. He had his debate team, and the people he worked with in Student Council, and everyone in the school thought he was great. Virgil didn’t understand the way that Roman didn’t understand – he didn’t understand that utilitarianism and democracy were the policies Logan had to follow, not whimsy and pandering to the individual. It had been his place to make the decision, because he had a school to run and did not shirk his duty.

Logan had lost his best friend, and he didn’t run after him and beg for forgiveness, or write passive-aggressive messages on social media, or hide in a bathroom crying. Instead, he aced his trig exam, learnt a new debate technique and finished two essays in the library at lunch.

4:00pm. Logan put on his backpack aggressively normally and kept his eyes on the linoleum as he walked through the hallways. Every time the tan squares began to blur together he would pinch the skin between his thumb and forefinger and they would come back into focus. He stopped outside the auditorium door, hearing the booming voice of Roman mid-soliloquy. He’d prepared a short but sincere apology after he finished his exam early. I don’t want to do this. He had to do this. Go home. He was the Student President. I want to go home. He placed a hand on the doorknob, wrapping his fingers securely around the metal. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I want to go home. I want to go home. The back doors of the school swung open.

Logan struggled home as though through wet concrete, his view a modern art piece of suburbia underwater. His breaths scraped like sandpaper through his mouth as he picked up speed and the air in his nose felt acidic. As he collapsed in the door he tugged off his tie (a gift from Virgil) and ripped open his collar (are you hiding vampire bite marks there?). He ran his hands through the hallway carpet, trying to calm his breath (4,7,8, Virgil, 4,7,8, breathe with me). Head in hands, he screamed silently, shaking. No-one was home so he screamed aloud. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!’ A shaky breath. ‘AAAAAAAHHHHHH!’ He pounded up the stairs. Pulling out his phone, he scanned the texts they had exchanged the previous night, all full of nothing: Maths homework, the assembly, Virgil’s Geography presentation, a flat earth meme, nothing to preclude the fight. How long? How long had his best friend been losing his trust in him?

The boy flopped onto his bed, knocking over a funfair black-and-purple bear. Recoiling as though it were a spider, he couldn’t look the stupid toy in the face as he hid it in his wardrobe behind a stack of identical black polo shirts.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #ts fic #prinxiety

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evangeline-perry · 7 years ago

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Neil Perry x reader: an ordinary Poem? No!

masterlist

‘Now in accordance to your essays, I’d like you all to compose a poem of your own, an original work. Make it interesting, sing it, say it in code or another language. Just don’t let your poems be ordinary.’ Mr Keating instructed as he started to walk out of the classroom. ‘Good luck gentlemen... and lady’

You laughed, because 1) he remembered you, a girl, were sitting there too and 2) he knew full well that you spoke another language no one else did. As an 8-year-old you had moved here from Belgium, so dutch/Flemish was your first language.

Later that evening you had declined Neil’s offer to go to study group with him because you wanted to work on your poem of your own room. ‘Ow’, if you hadn’t mistaken his expression, he had looked a little disappointed, ‘alright. I’m curious about your poem, guess I’ll hear it tomorrow. Night (y/n)’

‘Night, Neil’ he kissed you on the cheek. Even though he had done that since the day you guys met and it’s something natural now, it still made you blush furiously.

You sat on your desk grabbing a pen and paper. At first, your mind was blank, no words forming. But then the thought of a certain boy filled your mind and it felt like the pen moved all on it’s own.

Only one hour later later the poem had been ready, you’d put it in your bag and started doing your homework. You’d tried to keep the boy out of your mind but without success, he was there and he was staying.

The next day we were back in our usual spots in English class. ‘(Y/n) step up, time to put you out of your misery.’

You stepped onto the little step in front of the class with your poem in hand. Were you nervous, yes. Would anyone understand what you were saying? Of course not! Would it be funny to watch them struggle to understand it? Duh!’

‘ Hij

Is het mooiste wat me ooit is overkomen

Speelt de hoofdrol in mijn allermooiste dromen

Heeft geen weet van zijn betekenis voor mij

Hij is Hij

En vallen mijn gedachten door mijn twijfels in het slot

Heeft him alleen de sleutel

In mijn wereld is him God’

When you were done you looked up from your paper, the first thing you noticed was Charlie in the back of the class with an expression of ‘I see what you did there’, which made you laugh. The class started to applaud, also Mr Keating did. When you sat back down, the boys started asking about the translation of your poem especially Neil, you just smiled and shrugged, ‘guess’ you answered.

Neil pov

‘Guess’, she answered. She knows saying things like that only made me more curious. ‘Okay, everyone’, the captain snapped me out of my thoughts, ‘pass your poems to me, I have some decoding to do.’ The class laughed, I only got an idea.

I waited for everyone to leave before I moved up to Mr Keating who was sitting at his desk. ‘Captain, can I ask you something?’

‘I know what you are going to ask Neil, I can’t give you (y/n)’s Poem, it would be unfair and unprofessional for me to do so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to go to.’ He gathered his paper and smiled at me before ‘subtly’ dropping one of his papers. ‘You know it doesn’t happen often that I forget my papers, of it does happen, just know that you can give it to me the next day.’ Before moving out of the door he peeked his head back in, ‘good luck Mr Perry.’ He winked and then disappeared.

that man... is amazing I laughed at myself.

I walked into the library, not wanting anyone, especially (y/n), to find out I am doing this. I don't know but I feel like this Poem, even though i didn’t understand it, was directed towards me.

I guess I’ll need a dictionary…

(A/n: if you never learned dutch and have to translate a damn song or poem it would be more than a little difficult, I can imagine)

Your pov

I wonder where Neil is, at this time of the day, he usually drops by to hang out a bit…

Neil pov

'He

Is the best to ever happen to me

Plays the main part in my fantasy

Doesn’t know about his meaning to me

He is He

And when my thoughts fall through doubts in a lock,

He alone holds the key

In my world he is God'

This is it, the poem that inspired my curiosity, it was a love poem. And... could it be, that it was... for me?

I have to go to her, she is probably going to he angry with me for stealing her poem that was meant to be unreadable for anyone but her, but I hope she’ll forgive me for it.

I walk through the hallways with the paper with her poem in hand. I stand in front of her closed door, I’m nervous, I closed my eyes and breathed in and out before entering.

Your pov

You were reading a book while laying on your bed, your back was towards the door so you couldn’t see who just entered your room. You turned your head, you saw Neil.

‘Ow hey! I was wondering where you were.’ I smiled at him. He smiled slightly at me but I noticed something was bothing him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘And when my thoughts fall through doubts in a lock, He alone holds the key...’ he said.

I shot up: ‘who told you that?!’

Neil pov

‘Who told you that?!’ She averted her gaze from mine, her expression, not angry, but hurt.

‘I’m sorry,... (y/n), I didn’t mean to stick my nose in your business but I just got so curious about what the words meant.’ I tried to apologize.

‘well the whole point was that you all didn’t know, especially not you..’ she turned around and sat back on her bed, with her back towards me.

so... it WAS about me?

I carefully sat beside her on the edge of her bed, trying not to make her jump away from me.

Still turned away from me, she mumbled in an almost broken voice: ‘so you found out, are you just here to make fun of me?’

‘No, of course not, I’d never do that. Why would you think that?’

She turned back at me with an expression as if I just turned into a rabbit. ‘because I love you and I didn’t want you to know how nervous i get around you sometimes, just talking to you or even looking into your eyes is difficult for me without blushing and...’ she rambled on and on. I couldn’t help myself, I put both of my hands on her cheeks and crashed her lips on mine. At first she didn’t kiss back, but after a few moment I felt her starting to kiss me back. Which I was happy about, I smiled into the kiss and so did she. She slowly wrapped her arms around my neck and I wrapped mine around her waist, we pulled each other closer.

Much to my disappointment, we both had to pull away for air. But our foreheads still touched. ‘there was something else I picked up while reading’, I told her.

‘and that is?’ She breathed, looking into my eyes with a small smile.

‘Ik hou van jou’

I love you

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lifeflowingon · 4 years ago

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| QUICKSILVER | 4 |

• SUMMARY: After a student is gruesomely murdered on campus, Baek Haeju finds herself trying to extract information from the only person who might know the truth. But is secretive English major Min Yoongi just a witness? Or is he the culprit?

• WARNINGS: Death, murders, sex.

• WORDS: 3704.

"I comb the crowd and pick you out, my mouth moves too fast for you to figure it out.

It starts: eyes closed to fingers crossed to 'I swear, I say".

XO | Fall Out Boy

"It's okay."

"No, Haeju... I crossed the line."

Jungkook is standing behind Haeju as she makes some toast for herself before heading out to work, trying not to look at her best friend. Jungkook left her a dozen voicemails and showed up at her apartment this morning, asking for forgiveness.

Haeju can't say no to his smile. She knows that she always forgives him too easily, but it's Jungkook.

"Seriously, Jungkook, that's fine," sighs Haeju, turning around. She lets out a little gasp as she realizes how close Jungkook is. He seems truly sorry, and his eyes look red and tired.

"I just don't want you to think that I used that information to deliberately hurt you," he says, placing a finger under Haeju's chin. "The first thing I saw was your purity ring and I just... I'm so sorry."

"It was a fake fight," says Haeju, reaching out for Jungkook's hand and removing it off her chin. "That's fine."

"And he believed it, right?" asks Jungkook excitedly.

"I... yeah. He did." Haeju feels uneasy, because she can't stop thinking about Yoongi and how he tried to be nice to her after the "fight" with Jungkook. He seems to be a decent guy after all, even if he's a little arrogant, but Haeju always seems to be attracted to those guys.

Not that she's attracted to Min Yoongi, because she's not. He has only been nice to her for a day after all, and the fact that they're meeting after her shift doesn't make her feel nervous at all.

No, not at all.

"You look pensive," chuckles Jungkook.

"Oh, yeah," blushes Haeju, pushing Yoongi's eyes out of her mind. "Um... so I forgot to tell you something."

"Yeah?" grins Jungkook, grazing Haeju's cheek with his hand. Why is he being like this? Haeju doesn't understand, Jungkook has never been this... physically affectionate with her. Sure, a couple hugs and kisses on the cheek, but not this.

"Yoongi has a tattoo," blurts Haeju. "A silver circle, just like the one on the papers you got. And two of his friends do too."

"Holy shit," says Jungkook breathlessly, dropping his hand. "I mean, really? Wow! But... Haeju, this is great!"

"Sorry I didn't tell you before, it just came to mind," blushes Haeju, and Jungkook gives her a hug.

"You haven't even been friends with the dude for a day and you're already a jackpot of information," says Jungkook, holding her tightly. "You're the best. The best!"

"I know," teases Haeju, and Jungkook gently lets go of her.

"Now... I know you guys are hanging out today, for your project or whatever," says Jungkook calmly. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, as long as you get more info on him. Now I'm convinced this society exists."

Haeju remains silent as Jungkook stares at the ceiling in concentration. Then he looks at her again and smiles widely at her. "You're so amazing. Did you know that?"

"You've said that several times, yes," giggles Haeju, and all of a sudden, Jungkook grabs her hand.

"I feel like apologizing again," he says, and Haeju shudders as their fingers intertwine. "I feel like such a jerk. I really didn't want to hurt you, and I want to make sure you know that."

He's stepping closer, and Haeju looks into his eyes, wondering what's going on. "And if I've been a coward when it comes to us..." he says, and the words make Haeju's heart explode. "It's not because of your vow. It's because I'm an idiot, that's all."

"Us?" echoes Haeju.

"Unless I've been misreading you for the last year... you like me, don't you?" asks Jungkook as he leans in. "There's all this tension between us, and I can't ignore it anymore. Neither can you."

Jungkook kisses her, and warmth engulfs her. His lips move slowly on hers, and it's just like she imagined it. This is better than her first kiss with K.C. This isn't a dream, it's really happening, and she feels Jungkook's arms wrap around her.

"I like you," Jungkook mutters against Haeju's lips. "Sorry for being such an ass. I was afraid of ruining our friendship. Sorry for not kissing you that night, I wanted to. I really did."

Haeju smiles, happiness all over her face, and she's about to kiss Jungkook again when Chaerin enters the kitchen, letting out a loud squeal. "You guys! Oh my gosh! You were totally... Finally!"

Chaerin runs over to them and hugs them, still squealing. Jungkook looks embarrassed but he's still grinning, and Haeju knows that her face probably resembles the color of a tomato.

"Chaerin, we need to keep this quiet," says Jungkook, and Haeju's heart sinks a little. He looks at Haeju and mouths "Yoongi" to her, making some of the uneasiness go away.

"Why?" asks Chaerin, suddenly irritated.

"Haeju is working on a special project for the paper," says Jungkook. "And I don't want my editor to find out that we're... um. You know."

Jungkook puts an arm around Haeju's shoulder, and Chaerin gives them a knowing smile. "Okay, fine," she chuckles. "This totally makes up for the crappy day I had yesterday."

"Oh, sorry to hear that," says Haeju, remembering how Chaerin seemed miserable the morning before.

"If you see Jung Chaeku walking around with a black eye, it wasn't me," winks Chaerin, stealing Haeju's toast and walking out of the kitchen.

"Whoa, a black eye?" calls Jungkook after her.

"Yes!" calls Chaerin from the living room. "So you better be a good boyfriend to Haeju!"

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at Haeju, who starts laughing uncontrollably. Jungkook just shrugs and gives her another peck on the lips, and the butterflies in Haeju's stomach are out of control.

"I could get used to this," he smiles.

Haeju tries not to sigh, not to squeal and scream with joy, but she can't help a nervous giggle. She thinks of her sister, Jihye, who always said that Jungkook and Haeju would end up together, even when they were in their early teens. Haeju should email her soon.

"Yeah... same here."

xxxx

Haeju stares into space dreamily; still thinking about the kiss she shared with Jungkook. She still can't believe it happened and she looks around for signs of the apocalypse, but everything seems all right.

"Haeju, you have a customer," calls Peter from the back, and Haeju blushes as she rings up some books for a tired looking guy.

"Books are so unnecessary," yawns the guy. "But my teachers keep telling me, 'Namjoon, you need to buy them. Namjoon, you need to pass this class.' Isn't showing up good enough to get a degree?"

Haeju laughs at Namjoon's comments, and he pulls his wallet out of his pocket, staring at the myriad of credit cards in it. He finally decides on a shiny black one, and he smiles coquettishly at Haeju.

"Your eyes are beautiful," he says. "What are you doing working behind a counter?"

"This pays my rent," smiles Haeju.

"Ah, rent," says Namjoon as Haeju hands him his receipt. "The struggles of the college student! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll make enough money to forget about rent someday. What's your major?"

"Public relations," says Haeju.

"If I ever need a PR lady, I will call you," says Namjoon, cocking his head to the side. A pretty boy approaches him, and he runs his hand through his hair impatiently.

" Namjoon, hurry up," he snaps, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, and Haeju stares.

"See something you like?" the guy retorts and Haeju looks away shyly, earning a dry laugh from Namjoon.

"Now, now, Seokjin, calm down," says Namjoon pompously. "Let's go. "See you later, Haeju."

Namjoon looks around before leaving and his eyes focus on something in the back of the store, but Haeju is too embarrassed to follow his gaze. Namjoon nods and he and Seokjin leave the bookstore, and Haeju clutches her name badge anxiously.

Seokjin had a tattoo. He had a silver tattoo on the back of his ear; Haeju saw it when the guy was fixing his hair. This is getting intricate, and Haeju regrets not asking them more, and she also wonders if Namjoon has a tattoo as well. Yeah, the secret society definitely exists. She just wishes she knew what the circle means.

Killing freshmen? No, that can't be it. Yangmi was a first, and nobody had any motives to kill her. She was just an outgoing student with a basketball scholarship, no known enemies. So why?

"Hey."

Haeju looks up and Yoongi is smirking at her, his hair a little messy. Haeju's feels a foreign sensation inside of her, and her trademark blush betrays her. She didn't even see Yoongi walk in.

"Buying something?" she asks politely.

"This," says Yoongi, placing a chocolate bar on the counter. Haeju looks at Yoongi's hands, at the rings on his fingers, at the black fingernails. She looks up again and they both smile at each other awkwardly as Haeju scans the bar.

"Any ideas for our essay?" asks Yoongi as he hands Haeju some money. "I've been thinking about us all day - Our essay. Our essay, yeah."

"Um, I don't know what to write about," says Haeju, giving Yoongi his change. "My shift ends in about fifteen minutes. Think you can wait?"

Yoongi pockets the money and winks at her as he starts unwrapping the chocolate. "I'll wait for you outside, Baek." He gives Haeju a long, calculating look before walking away, and two girls in line stare after him in awe. One of them has long, brown hair, and the other one has short spiky hair.

"He's so mysterious," giggles one of them as Haeju is about to check them out.

"I would totally do him," says the other one, and both start giggling and squealing.

"Did you find everything okay?" asks Haeju coldly, scanning some books. These girls are kind of annoying, really. And what's up with those short skirts?

"Yeah," says the brown-haired girl, who then turns to look at her friend. "I'm in the same class as Kim Taehyung, you know, the drama major?"

"Oh, the odd one with the weird outfits?" says the redhead.

"That one. I kind of want to be friends with him; he's always hanging out with Yoongi. Ugh, Min Yoongi is so freaking hot!"

"60.95," mutters Haeju, feeling more and more upset.

"And all those rumors about him... fuck, he's just so yummy," giggles the redhead, and Haeju loses her patience.

"Do you mind paying? Or do I have to wait?" says Haeju acidly, and the girls scoff at her.

"Ladies, I'm so glad you found your books," says Wonjae out of nowhere. "Let me give you your change..."

Wonjae gently pushes Haeju away from the register, taking money out of the till. Haeju looks at the manager, Jihye's ex-boyfriend who was kind enough to give her a job, and she feels ashamed about her behavior. Wonjae gives Haeju a side glare, shaking his head in disappointment, and the girls leave. Haeju is still seething, irritated by the shallow girls, but Wonjae seems genuinely upset and Haeju decides that she has more important matters to take care of.

"You've been kind of off today," says Wonjae. "You just channeled Jihye right there with that snappy attitude." Wonjae smiles sadly, and Haeju knows that he's still pining over her sister.

"Just a lot going on," mumbles Haeju.

"Hey, guys!" says Kiwoo, putting his name badge around his neck.

"I'll sort out the receipts," says Wonjae, placing a hand on Haeju's shoulder. "Go home and relax or something, just make sure you come back with a better attitude."

"Sorry," says Haeju, and she means it.

"We all have bad days," smiles Wonjae, and starts pushing her away. "Go, baby Baek, go."

Haeju takes off her name badge and walks away, feeling guilty. Sure, she was distracted all day, thinking of Jungkook's kiss. But her reaction to the girls was something that she didn't expect. Why did she feel so angry with them? Yoongi is attractive, that's true, so the girls weren't doing anything wrong. Haeju goes to her locker and retrieves her purse, scolding herself for being a bad employee. She can't afford to lose her temper like that again, especially not in front of Wonjae.

She waves at Kiwoo and Wonjae before leaving the store, and an odd sense of fury corrodes her when she steps outside and she sees the girls talking to Yoongi. He looks bored and his smile seems a little forced, and his hands are in his pockets.

"Yoongi!" calls Haeju and Yoongi looks over at her, a grateful smile appearing on his lips. He doesn't even say goodbye to the girls, he just walks away, looking relieved.

"I was this close to pulling out my rape whistle," says Yoongi, his expression pained.

"That bad, huh?" mocks Haeju.

"You have no idea," says Yoongi. "So, library? We could pick up some books there and then just go outside and read. The weather is so nice today."

Haeju looks at the cloudy sky and then back at Yoongi, and of course he would say it's nice weather. He seems like the kind of guy who loves a cloudy day.

"Sounds great," says Haeju, and they start walking towards the library.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks tentatively as they walk.

"About what?" asks Haeju.

"Jungkook."

Haeju doesn't look at him, afraid that her eyes will give it away. Of course she's feeling better about Jungkook, they kissed this morning. She's feeling nothing but bliss, and everything is perfect in the world.

"Yes," nods Haeju. "Glad to have him out of my life."

"That's... good," shrugs Yoongi. "You shouldn't be around people like that."

"You mean like you?" asks Haeju, sticking out her tongue.

"Hey! I was only mean to you because I thought you had something with Jungkook," says Yoongi defensively.

"Jealous?" teases Haeju.

"No, I meant something like a conspiracy against me," sneers Yoongi. "Jealous? You wish, Baek!"

"I'm too good for you anyway," huffs Haeju proudly as she starts to walk faster.

"Walking fast won't me make want to be your friend!" calls Yoongi after her, and Haeju starts laughing as she turns around to face him.

"Who says that I want to be your friend?" says Haeju loudly.

"Do you hear that?" says Yoongi, placing his hand behind his ear. "That's my heart breaking."

"You have one?" retorts Haeju playfully.

"Yeah, right here." Yoongi grabs Haeju's hand and places it on his chest, and he's smiling tauntingly at her. Yoongi's hand on hers makes her shiver a little, and she just looks into his eyes, seeing how warmly he's looking at her.

"It's beating," notes Haeju.

"It is, isn't it?" says Yoongi, letting go of Haeju's hand. "Told you I had a heart. I never lie."

But thoughts of the tattoos come rushing into Haeju's mind, and she doesn't know what to believe.

xxxx

Yoongi is still writing on his journal, and Haeju waits patiently as she rests her head on her hands. She glances around the garden, watching other students who are reading or just hanging out. She also looks at some of the people leaving the library and smirks when she sees Chaeku walking out with a curly-haired girl. Yes, he has a black eye. Chaerin can act really crazy sometimes.

"So... rain."

Yoongi's voice is mocking and full of sarcasm, and Haeju decides to play along.

"Yeah... rain."

Yoongi and Haeju glance at each other and they start laughing, realizing how ridiculous their assignment sounds.

"We're in college, for fuck's sake," groans Yoongi. "Sorry about the blasphemy."

"No need to apologize," says Haeju, touching the cross around her neck. "I'm not a stuck-up Christian."

"Hmm," says Yoongi, jotting down some notes on his journal. "Still, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You already did that a few days ago," mocks Haeju, but Yoongi doesn't say anything, he just continues to write. They sit in silence for a while, the cool breeze making everything feel pleasant, and Haeju flips through the pages of the book that Yoongi picked at the library.

"I want to figure you out," says Yoongi, breaking the silence.

"Excuse me?" asks Haeju, looking up from the book.

"I can't figure you out, not yet," muses Yoongi. "It's kind of killing me. I usually read people easily, but I feel like you're hiding something."

"You're paranoid," blushes Haeju as she looks away. Of course she's hiding something, she's spying on him, she's probably going to be the end of him. Haeju heart aches a little at the thought.

"I probably am," smirks Yoongi. "I just don't trust people, it's my nature."

Haeju looks at him and she can almost see how Yoongi's defenses are floating in front of him, teasing her. He's never going to open up to her, she will never find out anything about Yangmi. And somehow, that thought is a little comforting.

"Why?" asks Haeju curiously.

"Why what?" responds Yoongi, stretching his arms.

"You said you don't trust people... why?" Haeju tries to sound understanding and warm, hoping that Yoongi will open up at least a little. But there is darkness in his eyes, and his nostrils flare with distrust as his hands clutch his notebook tightly. He's a different person now in Haeju's eyes, a person who looks dangerous and secretive, a person who is capable of the utmost evil. Haeju's shaking, and she hopes that Yoongi doesn't notice. But then Yoongi smiles and all bad thoughts disappear, and Haeju wonders if she just imagined everything.

Yoongi chuckles softly and his lips part to answer Haeju's question.

"I don't trust myself."

"That's a pretty strong statement," says Haeju, trying to keep things light.

"I have nothing to hide, that's why I'm telling you," says Yoongi simply.

"Nothing to hide, hmm," muses Haeju. "Does that mean that I can ask you anything?"

Yoongi considers her for a moment and then slides his journal down his back pocket. "It depends."

"Ah, so you do have stuff to hide," says Haeju.

"No, it's not that," says Yoongi coolly. "I just don't know you that well."

"What do you want to know?" asks Haeju, knowing that she might regret saying that.

"Are you single?" asks Yoongi bluntly.

Haeju hesitates for a second, but she knows that she has to lie. "I... yeah. Yes."

"Hmm." Yoongi stares at his own hands and seems to be examining his fingernails with infinite detail, and then looks at her shrewdly.

"Why do you want to know?" insists Haeju.

"I was just curious," says Yoongi. "And... Well, you heard Tae. I've seen you around before."

"Are you a stalker?" says Haeju, trying to sound mocking but just coming across as nervous. Yoongi is not hitting on her, is he? This is the most inconvenient time. Not because she's with Jungkook now, but because she has no feelings for Yoongi whatsoever. None.

"You're hard to miss, Haeju," says Yoongi, sounding sincere. "And we had a class together during your first year, I think. You just seemed like the kind of girl who would never talk to me."

"What makes you say that?" asks Haeju, now feeling a little remorseful.

"You're a nice girl, that's all."

"But Tae is a nice boy, and he talks to you," points out Haeju.

"Tae has been my friend for years," says Yoongi dismissively. "Tae and Hoseok are my best friends, they kind of have to talk to me."

Yoongi says this in such a pragmatic way, as if his friends really have no choice. Haeju realizes that he seems lonely and terribly sad; there is a hint of despair in his eyes when he speaks.

"Well, I would be your friend, but you don't want me to," says Haeju.

"Why should I let you in?" asks Yoongi, scratching his cheek. "What makes you different from other girls?"

"I..." Haeju has a loss for words. "I don't know."

"There you go," says Yoongi, running his hand over the grass. "Fuck, this conversation is depressing."

"You made it depressing!" exclaims Haeju.

Yoongi laughs and nods as he lies down on the grass. "Sorry, I tend to do that. Wanna lay down with me?"

"I should... go home," says Haeju, mildly tempted to follow Yoongi's suggestion.

"Do you live nearby? Do you want me to give you a ride?" asks Yoongi, sitting up.

"No, I can walk, but thanks," says Haeju in a flustered tone. "We didn't get anything done."

"We have time, we have a semester," says Yoongi as they both start getting on their feet. They're very close to each other as they stand up and Haeju's eyes trail down to Yoongi's neck, and then to the exposed part of his collarbone. She can see half of the tattoo right there, mocking her, taunting her. But then their eyes meet, and it's a whole different sensation.

Haeju's fingertips feel warm, and Yoongi looks like he's about to lean in, but this isn't right.

She looks away and she swears she can hear Yoongi's disappointment, and she's surprised by the regret that starts sinking in her heart.

"See you later, okay?" says Haeju wretchedly, her emotions confusing her like never before.

"Sure, whatever," says Yoongi, walking away from her. She turns around and starts walking quickly, as if that will make her forget about what just happened. She tries to think of her kiss with Jungkook, anything to make her forget about what Yoongi is making her feel. She's supposed to hate Yoongi, she's supposed to use him for information. That's all she needs from him.

And nice girls don't feel like this, they don't feel confusion like this. Good girls like one guy, and one guy only, and they stay with that guy forever.

She shouldn't feel like this. But she does.

She likes Yoongi.

| masterlist |

#bts #bts au #au #min yoongi

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iamasweetcreature · 7 years ago

Text

HARRY STYLES: This hug was what I needed

Imagine: how would you react if you met your idol? That person whose voice made you smile, cry and scream even if you could listen to him just through a pair of headphones?

Notes: this is my first imagine, so I’m not very good at writing this kind of stuff. Then, how I said, English is not my first language so I’m pretty sure there will be a lot of mistakes, forgive me. I’d really appreciate if you could tell me what you liked and what you didn’t like of this imagine (if you’ll finish read it, of course!).The picture is not mine. Okay, I stop here. Hope you’ll like it!

“What am I missing? I went to the supermarket, to the pharmacy and to the bakery. What else were I supposed to do?” You had arrived in London just three days earlier so you still had a lot of things to do. Talking to yourself became a habit lately, because you felt like you had to speak a little bit in Italian to keep you sane: actually not because you missed your country, just because you have spoken in English from the moment you left the airport and this was driving you crazy. Of course you will have to deal with this “problem” since you’ll live and work in London for at least a year.

You were walking through one of the streets of London checking your list where you had written all your errands for that day.

“Oh yeah, I have to stop at the library.”

Turning around and checking the map on your mobile phone, you think about the books that you need for your job.

You moved as soon as your new boss called you in a Friday afternoon. You worked as a clerk of a clothes shop, but you didn’t like your job and, in your opinion, it wasn’t right for you: after have spent the most of your life studying three different foreign languages, you wish you had something more ambitious. So one evening, come home after a long day, you picked up your laptop and started looking for any job that might have suited you. A couple of offers drew your attention and the following morning you called who proposed those jobs.

Finally, a week later, you were on the front door with your parents who insisted on take you at the airport. There, your mum asked at least a million times if you were sure about this choice and you, after have reminded her that you were almost twenty years old, promised that you’d be all alright.

And now, here you are, with three books on your hands on your way home. Well, you didn’t live alone, but with a really nice girl you shared rent with.

You were impatient to be at home to start writing an essay you would have delivered the following morning: yes, your new job consisted on writing and correcting essays and the fact that you could work both at home and at your new desk in the office, made you anxious to begin.

Out of the library, you were trying to put at least one of the books inside your bag in order not to carry all of them by your arms, when you crashed into someone.

“Oh, I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to-” You apologize.

But those emerald green eyes and those arms that supported you in order not to knock you off didn’t let you finishing talking.

“Are you okay?” A familiar voice asks, with a note of concern.

It was like you were able to talk no more, no words came out of your mouth.

“Maybe you should sit down.” He says, catching a book from the ground that fell down during that little incident.

“Oh no no, I’m okay.” You respond immediately and thank him grabbing the book.

“Are you sure?” He looked really worried.

“Yeah, no problem, really. It was my fault, I’m sorry.” You apologize again.

“Stop apologizing! Actually I wasn’t paying attention where I was going so please, forgive me.”

“Well, neither did I…”

“So we are both guilty.” He gives you a smile so you can see his dimples.

“Yes, that’s right!” You agreed.

You both burst out laughing, with a little bit of embarrassment.

“So…what’s your name?”

“Y/n. I already know yours, however.”

He looked at you saying nothing, surprised at what you said.

“Well, I’m not going to scream, if you were worried. And I didn’t mean to run at you, in case you were wondering…” You quickly continue.

“I wasn’t. I just thought you didn’t recognise me.”

“Are you serious, Harry?” You snap. Then, blushing, you keep talking.

“I have had a crush on you since I was fourteen, I know all the lyrics of your songs by heart and I think I have something like a hundred photos of you on my mobile phone…oh no, don’t think badly!”

Harry can’t resist to laugh: you didn’t even breath during your touching speech.

“I won’t, I promise. But can I ask you why didn’t you say this before? You know, generally people started talking without stopping, screaming nonsense.” He says gently.

“I guess I like stand out from the crowd.” You say sarcastically shrugging. Again, he laughs.

“So, can I hug you? I know, it’s ridiculous but…”

He doesn’t let you finish and wraps his arms around your body. Immediately his perfume overwhelms you and you close your arms more powerful until all you could hear was his heart beating inside of his chest. You wanted to stay into his arms like that for the rest of the day and you didn’t care about your books and your back that now were on the ground. You just wanted to stop the time. Harry holds you tight until you break hug first, immediately regretting doing that. Tears wanted to come out from your eyes, you could fell it and you were trying to hold them back blinking fast.

“Y/n, don’t cry! You don’t want me to take a picture with your watery eyes, do you?” Harry tries to pick your spirits up.

“No, of course not.”

“So come on, have you got your mobile phone, right?”

“Yeah, here it is.” You grab your phone and offer it to him, so he may to make a photo.

You dry your eyes one last time and smile for the picture, with Harry’s arm around your waist.

“Thank you, Harry.” You say, hugging him one more time.

“Thank you, y/n.”

“I love you.” You grab your books and walk towards home, thinking about the best minutes of your life.

#harry styles #harry #harry styles imagine #imagine #hug

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paxvictoriana · 7 years ago

Text

The Incredible, Radical Jessica James

• • • [spoilers below] • • •

In the middle of a blind date she doesn’t particularly want to be on, The Incredible Jessica James’ eponymous heroine squares off with her equally uncomfortable, male dinner friend/potential boyf/adversary.

They volley back and forth several brutally, “completely honest” questions.

After a few, he asks her, “How do you pay your rent?”

“I… work at a non-profit, in Hell’s Kitchen.” (Pride in her voice, though a somewhat knowing tone: yeah, I know. Very Brooklyn answer.) “I teach public school kids how to write and produce their own plays.”

“So… how do you pay your rent?”

She laughs.

Already – my Netflix ticker says this is barely 13:50 into the entire movie – the two biggest threads of the film come together: (1) an endearing, realistic romantic comedy starring Jessica Williams (that Dope Queen off The Daily Show who now does other stuff – namely, this) and rom-com’s staple dorky everyman Chris O’Dowd (because the thinking, even semi-straight woman[**] needs an IT guy); and (2) the female Bildungsroman.

If you’ve taken an English class any time since approx. 1980, you’ve probably had to learn and use “Bildungsroman” in an essay. It’s the coming-of-age novel, the story of growing up, an arc from innocence to experience. Except, as a pivotal cohort of feminist critics in the 1980s argued, the female Bildungsroman means “growing down,” a story of women being taught by society: Lower Your Expectations! Conform! Settle! The debate around what even is a Bildungsroman has wrestled with how gender-specific a story about maturing and (in essence) #adulting can be, given that women in Western society since the inception of the novel itself haven’t really had the options to leave home, discover themselves as autonomous, free, independent selves. The male Bildungsroman, in other words, is about the boy who grows up to be a man, and gets a job; the female Bildungsroman is about the girl who becomes a lady, and finds the right husband. Sure, there’s status and some freedom attached to that – class status and thus economic freedom, as the bourgieness of the novel excels at rewarding. But by and large, no matter how failed the male career, no matter how much the woman takes on a new career of domestic labor, the novels usually emphasize along these lines. Men achieve professional success; women aren’t left to be spinsters.

(A professor in my department, Jesse Rosenthal, pointed out how pervasive this narrative still is within even the most indie, “unconventional” of tales. His case study? (500) Days of Summer. As he recounted to a class on the 19th-cen. British novel, here’s a movie putatively about the romantic maturation of the male subject – a rom-com trajectory usually reserved for women [i.e.. He’s Just Not That Into You could never be She’s Just Not That Into You]. But Joseph Gordon Levitt’s problematic-nice-guy fairy tale, complete with problematic-indie-dream-girl Zooey Deschanel, isn’t his acceptance of a limited role in his next relationship. It’s a successful job interview. [roll credits])

So the fact that The Incredible Jessica James coupled, in several senses, these two plots wasn’t surprising to me. Less than 15 minutes in, and yeah, obviously, Chris O’Dowd is gonna get the girl, and Jessica is gonna get over her ex by realizing that she “deserves” this more mature guy. Her work is great and all, the story goes, but obviously what we want is Bridesmaids with a lady of color. Comedy + late capitalism’s precarity (Jessica, how do you pay your rent? Are you going to have to go live with your parents like Kristin Wiig had to after the cupcake biz tanked?) = love story. And bonus points for being about Instagram, and having a WOC lead where a white actress would have been five or ten years ago (slash even now): kudos, my friends. Kudos.

But… that’s not what happened. And here’s where this movie is radical.

Because The Incredible Jessica James is a female Bildungsroman [or Bildungs-Film] that subtly, cannily, definitively breaks the mold.

It isn’t a story about a woman realizing how wrong she is to be hung up on the wrong, bad boy, and thus the return to the family, to society’s right side of the tracks, to *herself* that is made whole again by giving up her rebellious adolescent wandering and waffling. Instead, TIJJ presents a heroine who goes through a series of rejections not of lovers, but of jobs [displayed on her wall: see first screencap]. It tracks her indefatigable efforts to make what she loves (theater) into a career, even a somewhat uncertain one. It’s about her slow realization – not the sudden “awakening” narrative that critics have ascribed to female/feminist Bildungsroman of old – that what she’s doing, working every day with kids, continuing to send out her resume, writing and reading and connecting with the public circles of her aspiring field – all that, is a career.

Take, for example, a crucial marker of James’s acceptance of herself, and of her status, as grown-up, matured, sufficiently adult that she’s no longer faking it til she makes it: she’s Made It. The blueish-purple jumpsuit spotted in a Brooklyn consignment shop, the kind that is explicitly labeled as male by the sewn patch of its previous owner, “Randolph,” tall enough for even the pretty tall JJ.

Working-class, second hand, male-identified uniform; natural hair in box braids; red lipstick and bright eyeliner. This is how Jessica meets her parents. But the music slides to an uncomfortable stop as Jessica gets off the Arrivals moving walkway: her parents are bourgie, sweet, stable, and utterly unlike her in spirit. This is the American middle-class dream – as authors from Frantz Fanon to Paul Gilroy to Ta Nehisi-Coates have written – that preys on Black people specifically, the double-consciousness of passing as it works in all its formulaic vapidity. Jessica’s younger sister, too, has bought into this dream: she takes one look at Jessica.

“You look like an auto-mechanic,” Jerusa (her sister) points out in a tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s cool, though, right?” Jessica beams.

“Yeah…” her sister nods, meaning the opposite. “I mean, you’re not going to wear it to the party?” [Her very normative, unironic, and uncritical baby shower.]

“… Nope,” Jessica deflates. Pretending this has been her plan all along.

Because this family isn’t ever going to be the place where Jessica can be anything other than stifled. The prim-and-proper group sits in the suburban family room late that night, merrily gooey-eyed over a romantic drama they’re watching on TV, whose dialogue (that’s all we overhear) is so utterly, sickeningly banal that Jessica doesn’t even enter the room. She hangs back, in the darkness. The entire setting – with all its race and class implications (and the sincere and moving subplot about the James family’s struggles with making their own rent, and how this continues to the present with Jessica’s public school kid whose divorced parents are fighting over custody, intertwines class and race throughout) – requires, in sum, the painful subjugation of Jessica’s self. A “growing down,” a compromise, as its definition of “growing up.”

Women of traditional Bildungsromane, Abel, Hirsch and Langland posit, “are not free to explore; more frequently, they merely exchange one domestic sphere for another. While the young hero roams through the city, the young heroine strolls down the country lane” (8).

Jessica James, by contrast, goes back to New York.

And back, at least superficially, to the romantic sphere of this rom-com. Where her jumpsuit is acceptable; where people like her appreciate thoughtful, empowering arts (instead of, like her mom’s Very White Book Club Lady friend wants, Cats). Where her lesbian best friend (that actress from Master of None) is the elective community James wants, not the family she’s contractually obliged to recognize in her blood. Where Chris O’Dowd is; where her career is.

So how does the movie wrap up the romantic plot without making this about Jessica’s successful “deserving” of the Right Man™?

(It’s worth noting, before we spoil the ending, that the Boone – aka O’Dowd – subplot of the movie focuses on his not being able to get over the right girl. He stalks his ex-wife, amusingly because it’s Chris O’Dowd, but I think the movie implies cringe-worthily and creepily too: the dude side of rom-coms, it seems, is bleak; not somewhere the film is especially interested in lingering, and neither really are we. He’s eventually ashamed of himself, and this humility is deliberately more endearing than his Every Breath You Take enactment was. Admittedly, we could get into the politics of who says they’re sorry at various points in the film, who asks for and who gives forgiveness, and the ways in which being placed in a position of forgiving is, in a way, simultaneously powerful and powerless. But Nietzsche and feminism is a debate for another time.)

What I’m especially struck by – and I’ve watched this movie myself and with my sister, and then thought about it again after it was praised by another woman I love who watched it an ocean away – is that TIJJ ends with Jessica.

The final two scenes are crucial here. The penultimate brings together the two guys; formally, the two choices of a Bildungsroman: forward, or back? Jessica’s ex, Damon, finds her backstage after the kids’ theater night concludes, and opens with how he “know[s] how much this means to” her. For a split second, I panicked: OH GOD, fuck, this is why we can’t have nice things. They’re gonna have this guy realize how great she is – because obviously the only way a guy can appreciate a woman is for him to be in competition with another man. She deserves better! I shouted internally. Don’t take him back: sure, you realized you were as responsible for the break-up as he was. So what! You can do better.

But they hug, they sigh, and he leaves. (At which point I breathed a sigh of relief.)

Enter Chris O’Dowd. (At which point I was back to, fuck conventionality. What a missed opportunity.)

Turns out, though, the movie saw me – and the Bildungsroman – coming a mile off.

Because Jessica – unlike Rachel – gets on the damn plane.

Jessica, after all, has been offered a huge job opportunity in the most novelistic of cities: London. But things are just getting back on track with Right Guy; but going is her dream, is her big break; but he, like Damon, just realized how great she is – he read her entire corpus of theatrical writing, and declared – #honesty – that he’s still coming to grips with her complexity, on the page and off; but; but; but…

But… she forgot to tell him about London. And in a sense, this is where swelling crescendos of orchestral joy began filling my head, because if this had been a rom-com like the others, if this had been a female coming-of-age story like the others, she would never forgotten about him. Ever. Not once. He would have been her one phone call; her best friend-par-excellence; her Person. Instead, that honor goes to Tasha, the semi-parodic self-involved best friend who always, though, has Jessica’s back.

And so when the clearly wealthy – loaded, because of an app that is explicitly about the formal gesture afforded by technology of Family, without the actual emotional or affective labor of having to talk to those totally different people who somehow raised you! – Boone mentions “frequent flyer miles,” we can anticipate an airplane that Jessica (by now we can say, of course) will be on.

“Just if you wanted to… bring someone with you… to show you around the town,” he hedges, just before the cut.

“How does that work? [...] Frequent flyer miles?”

Cut to Jessica – in the god. damn. JUMPSUIT. Pleased as punch, sitting in – oh yes, we can have nice things – not even economy seats. The nice seats.

At which point, the truly INCREDIBLE part of this movie becomes clear:

Tasha: Dude, I can't believe your boyfriend bought us tickets to London.

Jessica: Okay, who said anything about him being my boyfriend?

T: Wait. What are you talking about? This is like, the most romantic gesture I have ever seen.

JJ: Yeah, it's dope. But it takes more than a couple of roundtrip tickets to London for somebody to be my boyf.

T: That is so boss.

Shandra – the elementary school girl whose divorced parents prompted Jessica’s own reflection on her parents/childhood – returning to her seat: What is so boss?

T: Uh, Jessica.

S: Oh, yeah. Duh.[… I]t was really cool of your boyfriend to get me a ticket, too.

T: Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. Sister. Just because a guy buys a lady a couple of roundtrip tickets to London does not make him her boyfriend.…

[a beat]

S: You know, I like your jumpsuit.

JJ: Thank you. Yeah, it's pretty bad-ass, right?

S: Hm. Yeah, it is.

They all exchange smiles, the camera zooms in for one final-close up of Jessica’s excited anticipation of landing for the beginning of – not her romance, but – her career.

COME ON! You’re telling me the final scene of this movie is a new affinity, a new definition of family, in which the white, straight, married couple form is reshaped into the female solidarity of friendship, while the child of that hetero dyad of yore is now the dark-skinned girl who herself is a budding author, having been mentored by Jessica, who is – onscreen – mentored by another strong, Black female playwright??? You’re telling me that throw-away moment in the corridor backstage with Chris O’Dowd that seems like the lead-in to a kiss is in fact his last appearance onscreen??? You’re telling me the movie, moreover, goes out of its way to stress – TWICE -- that whatever erotic/romantic relationship they’re in, Jessica didn’t accept this trip as the quid pro quo of settling down??? YOU’RE TELLING ME THIS NEW COLLECTIVE IS SO AWARE OF ITS MEMBERS’ QUIRKS AND FOIBLES AND SELF-AUTHORSHIP/FASHIONING THAT THE FINAL LINES OF THE MOVIE UNDERSCORE THAT JESSICA CAN, IN FACT, DRESS HOWEVER THE FUCK SHE WANTS, AND THAT SOME PEOPLE WILL LOVE HER FOR IT, AND FEEL THE SAME ABOUT THE THINGS SHE LOVES???

Get out of my face, TIJJ. You have *EXPLODED* the female Bildungsroman, and maybe the Bildungsroman full-stop. There is no return to the original society, no compromise, no settling. Jessica isn’t the one forced to the margins of the story by choosing either independence or submission: the family is.

For that matter, romance sort of is. Jessica has no “boyf”; Tasha has no (onscreen, stable, couple-form) gf, but neither is she a hypersexualized lerb. She masturbates on/off-screen, but it’s one of her quirks! She and Jessica go to a lesbian bar, where Tasha chats with several recognizably-styled queer ladies: but she is neither reduced to her own romance plot, nor denied any sexuality at all. She and Jessica, however queerly you read their relationship (and I don’t especially, but I see how one could), are the empowering couple of the film, supporting each other not just in romance but in their mutually-reinforcing careers.

This is a rom-com about aiming high, about finding a career not in, because of, or in spite of a guy, but because it’s the one through-line of the entire story. Jessica begins and ends loving her work, and the slow build of that love rewards her by the end. She has Made It. The fact that she probably goes home to an attractive dude who boosts but is not himself responsible for her career – sure, he gets her upgraded tickets, but her confidence, “forthright[ness],” and drive suggest she would have made it to London without him, no question, by whatever means necessary – is icing on the cake. Yes, there was a maturation narrative within the romantic plot (she learned to leap in her relationships; she also learned, as Boone did, to have realistic expectations of where both partners are at any given moment in a relationship). But this, the movie stresses, is not the end of the story. It’s a subplot within her story.

[gif from x]

I don’t think it’s unimportant, either, that Jessica Williams – a fine actress in this movie, entirely winning the screen – plays the heroine. By which I mean, I think it’s all the more radical that to play the romantic interest to gaze adoringly at rom-com’s Irish nerdboy Chris O’Dowd, the director/producers/writers picked a woman whose best-known appearances are in scathing condemnations of male privilege, white supremacy, and American patriarchal, racist, and just terrible norms in general. That such a woman is the new face – but I didn’t even get to talk about the fact that in a few scenes, Jessica J/W’s complexion is a little spotty, which made me (with a long history of struggling with the medical and psychological reality of being a teenager and then adult woman with terrible acne) want to cry with gratitude: this is what a heroine looks like?

Sure, Wonder Woman is fab, but damn I needed this representation so much – maybe more – than the superheroic, impervious demi-goddess from Themyscira. I needed a strong, self-loving, no-nonsense, tall, Black, not-quite-starving artist in Brooklyn, jamming with headphones in the concrete stairwell of her building, who proudly declares, “I’m freakin’ DOPE.”

I needed a new female coming-of-age story – especially in 2017 –, and, somewhat subtly but unquestionably, The Incredible Jessica James delivered.

***

{** I use “women,” “men,” “male,” and “female” throughout this piece to refer mostly to the historical categories of those identities/concepts. I also want to be clear that I’m not trying to gloss over this film’s missteps; rather, I’m trying to celebrate its major, but possibly missable, wins. Lastly, I know that in German Bildungsroman means *novel* of development/maturation, not *film*. Don’t @ me.

Thanks to Jesse Rosenthal (JHU) for getting me thinking about the basic understanding of the Bildungsroman in such concise, formal terms. For the debate about male vs./and female Bildungsromane, see – to name just some –, Abel, Hirsch and Langland (eds.), The Voyage In: Fictions of Female Development (1983); Lorna Ellis, Appearing to Diminish: Female Development and the British Bildungsroman, 1750-1850 (1999); Rita Felski, Beyond Feminist Aesthetics: Feminist Literature and Social Change (1989); Franco Moretti, The Way of the World: The Bildungsroman in European Culture (1987); and Susan Fraiman, Unbecoming Women: British Women Writers and the Novel of Development (1993).

The Incredible Jessica James (2017), dir. and writer Jim Strouse; produced by Beachside Films/Netflix. S/o to casting, Kate Geller and Jessica Kelly. Thanks also to Springfield! Springfield! movie scripts for their transcription, which saved me time. }

#The Incredible Jessica James #Bildungsroman #women #coming of age #work #race #class #feminism #Jessica Williams #novel of development #narrative #films #movies #2017 #mine #long read #female bildungsroman #heroine

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chargrowsref · 6 years ago

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LETTERS BETWEEN ONE.

12th October 2018

Dear Vera,

I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was wondering how you are? It’s been so long that you’re starting to feel like a mere fictional fabrication festering in my mind. Writing you a letter feels right; it feels special enough for you to physically feel my appreciation for you, but also distant enough that you feel I could still leave you.

The written word feels permanent unlike sending an e-mail, or a text. The physical movement and process of letter writing has an impact on me as the writer, the same as the action of guiding a paintbrush across a canvas or moulding clay with your hands. Letter-writing has a long and important place in history. I hope you to experience the pure exhilaration that letter-writing provides me with. I’ve been thinking a lot about where letter-writing sits within my life, our relationship, and my artistic practice. I’ve been looking to others to try and gain an understanding of the art within contemporary society and I'm hoping you can offer some kind of perspective on this. I’ll start by suggesting you read a book titled, I Love Dick (1997) by Chris Kraus, it's opened up new ideas for me on how letter-writing can be used to bring people together and tear people apart. The book follows a woman called Chris Kraus, her husband Sylvere, and Dick who Chris falls in love with. The first chapter titled ‘Scenes from a marriage’ we see Chris and Sylvere obsessing and re-writing letters to Dick, who the couple had dinner with one evening. In an interview the author Chris Kraus stated that the ‘character’ “writes him a letter because she's too shy to call” Kraus(2018)and I relate to that, I’m too shy to call you in the fear you wouldn’t pick up, or you would and I wouldn’t know what to say to you.

Letter-writing in this book becomes a game for Chris and Sylvere, an art project, this is something that resonated with me and our relationship, Vera.I hope that us exchanging letters will, unlike Chris and Sylvere, bring us closer together and something beautiful will come of it. The blurred lines between auto-biography and fiction is what makes this book all-consuming, you become wrapped in the complex narratives of these seemingly average people. The idea of someone or something being ‘average’ or ‘mundane’ is what excites me as a reader or viewer, the small chance of something being a possibility in my own life. I too could become infatuated with you and like Chris start tirelessly writing you letters. This style of writing feels loose, like a playground of language, I feel I could piece together any words and it would be okay. I do hope you reply, and we can begin to discuss with each other not only what letter-writing may mean to others but what it could mean to us.

I look forward to hearing from you.

All the best,

Charlotte.

28th October 2018

Dear Charlotte,

I’m well, although I am slightly baffled as to why you think sending me a letter is going to make me forgive your neglect of me. I will forgive you, but I will not allow your gesture to move me like I think you thought it would. I think it’s a rather selfish gesture. Your desire to be in touch with the words in which you write, and to really feel the words you piece together, is the real reason you like to write letters. Not to make someone feel special, not to create a beautiful object for someone else because if you wanted to create beautiful objects for someone else why not send someone a painting or a sculpture? You claim to be an artist but you’re giving me a letter - my bank sends me letters too. I think your romanticism of letter writing is dated and somewhat naïve. You also forget to acknowledge that Chris and Sylvere actually “pass the laptop between them” which means not even these characters, or people, you are fantasising about are experiencing the process of physically writing a letter. I think you’re disregarding the use of e-mail as a contemporary form of letter writing, the contents of an email can be just as emotive as a letter and have just as much potential to move the receiver. Take Sophie Calle’s Take Care of Yourself (2007) for example, Calle received a break up email from an ex-lover; The words are emotive and the message is one of sadness. The email ended with the words “Prenez soon de vous” which translates to “Take care of yourself”, Calle did just that by asking 107 women to respond, critique and extract notions from the email. Thus involving other people in the reaction to the letter (similar to Kraus only reversed).

Uniting professional women in a joint effort to simply get over the break-up, allowing them to respond in their own personal way. Even the women who were involved in this process would have felt something from that email (letter), so not only is it drawing a emotion and feelings from Calle (its recipient) but also the other women involved and the audience visiting the exhibitions that it eventually became. I feel like I need to do such a thing with you. Never reply to your next letter and get everyone I know to send you their own reply. The email was meant to be private but Calle took that from the sender and allowed other people to become involved in this supposedly intimate exchange, theres something unsettling about the level of intrusiveness which is relevant to Sophie Calle as an artist but this time she is encouraging other women to be just as critical, observational and intrusive as herself. So why shouldn’t I do that to you? I don”t think you deserve the privacy of keeping these letters to myself, I shall leave it out on my kitchen table in the hope some will be interested enough in my life to read every word you pieced together for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Vera.

P.s Please find attached a picture of Sophie Calle, Take care of yourself (2007), The French pavilion at the Venice Biennale.

2nd November 2018

Dear Vera,

I understand and respect that an email can contain emotive content and be meaningful to someone, but imagine if the email that Sophie Calle received was a letter? The physicality of her partner would have been felt. The paper that he had touched would have been touched by her as she read the words that he had physically written. The envelope that his saliva sealed would have been opened with her hand - He would have been felt. I think a letter is the next best thing to physically being stood in front of someone. Do you not feel my presence when you receive a letter from me? It's also proven that there are psychological advantages to hand-writing your message. I was reading an online article published on Psychology Today written by Diana Raab Ph.D(2017) and she explained that ‘Neuroscience has proven that when you write something down, it requires deep thought, building more than 10,000 new neural pathways in your brain in one sitting; whereas writing on a computer appears to build only 600 new pathways’(Raab Ph.D,2017). Its genuinely scientifically proven that theres psychological benefits to writing letters. How can this not change your opinion on my argument? Science is proving the benefits. If I cannot begin to change your mind with this small but huge piece of information I may have to give up. I don’t know why I’m acting shocked by your narrow-mindedness. You claim I’m being naive but maybe my naivety is the very thing that is bringing me back to you?

I wouldn’t mind someone reading the letters I send you, go ahead and leave it out.

All the best,

Charlotte.

22nd November 2018

Dear Charlotte,

That’s interesting, it makes you wonder why students aren’t forced to hand write essays if it has positive effects on the brain, But that would be long winded and waste a lot of time which is somewhat my point. People just do not have the time to write correspondences. You’re not considering the convenience of sending a digital message. Also you argument about ‘Presence’ which I assume you mean ‘a person or thing that exists or is present in a place but is not seen’ (Oxford English dictionary ,2018) I feel the presence of you through the words that I read but only because its a message from you, I do however feel the presence of the postman that posted the letter through the door.

If you’re concerned about the process of letter writing I think you’re forgetting the process in which you have no control over; once you put that letter through the letter box or hand it over at the post office, it's out of your control. I could argue that you are merely just one artist in a long line of creatives who work to get the letter where it needs to go, almost like an interlinking performance piece. In the research of this idea I have come across an artist who explores this process, Walead Beshty uses the worldwide known postal service, FedEx, to post glass sculptures made to it the measurements of FedEx boxes all over the world. Rather than taking the measures to protect the work Beshty ships his work to galleries like any other ordinary parcel in the hope that they will shatter. The shatters and broken glass are physical scars of the process that the materials have gone through to get to their destination. Much like you were saying in your previous letter about letters having a physical presence of the sender with the saliva having sealed the envelope the journey that these sculptures have been on are shown through their materials. You could argue that the sculptures sit within the boundaries of Involuntary sculpture which allows the material to take on its own form with the help of human interaction. I want you to think about the process that our letters go though to get to each other.

In retrospect I think we’re both focusing too much on the romantic symbolism of letters, we’re not in a romantic relationship but we’re sending each other letters. As I’m smoking my cigarette watching the world go by my window I have a sudden feeling of panic - are you in love with me?

Again, please find a picture attached.

Vera.

24th November 2018

Dear Vera,

I will not consider Walead Beshty's work in this argument because his practice isn't about language or human narratives/relationships represented through letter-writing which fundamentally all of our previous discussions have been about. I do appreciate your argument and will take it into consideration for further research. As for the postman being a part of the process, I’ll think about your argument while listening to ‘Please Mr.Postman’ by The Marvelettes(1961).

Also how dare you be so big headed. I do not love you. You fester in my mind and anyone or anything that festers cannot be loved too.

Festering thoughts,

Charlotte.

1st December 2018

Dear Vera,

In response to your previous letter and your fear of me being in love with you, I have decided I want to discuss the book Here and Now (2008-11) by Paul Auster and J.M Coetzee. Auster and Coetzee have published their personal letters to each other which offers an intimate portrait of two two men, their lives and their friendship. Much like if we were to publish our letters. Through the very medium they’re known for we are handed a portrait of them, to hold, to touch, to take on the bus, to read and read again. I cannot carry a portrait of Bacon around with me, I cannot sit on the bus pouring through his ideas of friendship or details of his interest in watching sport.

Unlike both Kraus and Calle, the contents of letters between Auster and Coetzee are mundane to the reader. The whole book I feel as if I’m eavesdropping on a long conversation between the two. Stuck somewhere between being bored and interested, I think the intrusiveness I felt as the reader is what made me

continue reading in the hope either one of them would reveal something shocking or out of the ordinary. I think this hope came from the pure exhilaration of reading Kraus’s work. In comparison to the previous work we’ve discussed the letters between friends isn’t as exciting as a love letter, Which makes me wonder if anyone would every want to read our letters? The possibility of one day someone could be sat at home, on the bus, or even in a library reading our letters excites me. Reading our correspondence, trying to figure out what our relationship is. Let me know your thoughts. Hope to hear from you soon.

Charlotte

5th December 2018

Dear Charlotte,

I’m yet to read Here and Now (2008-2011) but I look forward to reading it. I think its interesting that something can be incredibly mundane and somewhat boring but can still keep you hooked, it’s the connection to your own life and our natural desire to know ‘inside knowledge’. By what you’re suggesting about the book it seems it will help us being to understand our own relationship with letter-writing. Although I do find letter writing dated and a bit of a chore I do enjoy our conversations and want to continue this further. I wonder how a three way letter communication could work? Another opinion and perspective.

Let me know what you think.

Vera

Bibliography

Artwork:

Beshty, W. (2008) FedEx Boxes [Installation]. Signs of the Time, The Whitney Museum of American Art (2008).

Calle, S. (2007) Take care of yourself [Installation]. The French Pavilion at the 52nd French Biennale, 2007.

Articles:

Chrisafis, A. (2007). 'He Loves Me Not', The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2007/jun/16/artnews.art (Accessed: 20th December 2018)

Raab Ph.D, D.(2017) Letter writing: A sexy way to reconnect. Psychology Today. Available at:https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/the-empowerment-diary/201712/letter-writing-sexy-way-connect.(Date accessed:3rd January 2019)

Take Care of Yourself (2016) Available at:http://www.slow-words.com/take-care-of-yourself/ (Accessed: 30th December 2018).

Audio and Visual:

Louisiana Chanel (2018) Chris Kraus Interview: Changing Lives. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pa-pG9UCTyI&t=34s (Downloaded: 3rd January 2019).

The Marvelettes (1961) Please Mr.Postman. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=425GpjTSlS4 (Downloaded: 4th January 2019).

Books

Auster,P and Coetzee, J.M.(2008-2011)Here and Now. London: Faber and Faber Ltd.

Kraus,C.(2016) I Love Dick. First British edition, London: Serpent’s Tail.

Images:

Klienefenn,F.(2007) Take care of yourself [Installation view] Available at: https://www.arter.net/en/projets/take-care-of-yourself/ (Downloaded: 3rd January 2019)

Arts on 5.(2008) FedEx Boxes [Installation view] Available at:https://www.thisiscolossal.com/2017/01/fedex-works-walead-beshty/ (Downloaded: 28th December 2018)

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