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littlemisslipbalm · 5 years ago

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“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips

Taglist: @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone, you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body. “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

Pt.3 🥺

#harry styles #you get me #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #mine #my writing #not my gif #love you h #hope you all enjoy #PART 2!#famous!y/n #famous!reader #my writings

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goalkepa · 6 years ago

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2k followers appreciation post💙

I did the appreciation post when I reached 1k probably a year ago. And I feel like I need to write this again, not only because I keep this as part of the memories but also because I regard it as a chance to show my gratefulness to every single one of you who has become my friends or just simply support me, unconditionally. This post will be pretty long I guess. You can just scroll through as long as you feel annoyed. But if you have time, especially those who I will mention later, I hope you can read it word by word, because you guys really take a big part in my life. Without further ado, let’s get started!

I’d love to mention some *old* friends first:

@thomas-partey :

Probably the one that has been there for me from the beginning of this journey? I always enjoy the time when we have talks, Yerika, about Atleti, about life. You are such a sweet and brave person, who will put all your efforts to reach the goals you set for yourself. That’s what I admire A LOT. Although we didn’t talk that much like we used to, because you’re not online pretty often anymore, just want you to know that I’m still here for you, always. And I feel like I’ll write you a message very soon🙈Thank you for always backing me up. Much love to you.💙

@coolsaul :

Awww Julie my superb French bean out there😍 I still remember when I traveled to Paris, I messaged you about some stupid questions like I was so worried that if I couldn’t find the location of Boutique FFF or if I went there and the store was not open etc. But you were so nice and patient to me at that time, and even now you will still answer ALL the things about Les Bleus and even share your amazing memories (like meeting all those French idiots) with me, which makes me feel so so honored and happy. Oh and not to mention how awesome you are as an Atleti’s fan and how ambitious you are as a beautiful lady. Wish everything goes well there in UK. Much love to you💙

And now here comes some *new blood*. I think I’ve talked to more people after World Cup compared to the time before this tournament. The reason? I don’t know. For me, this needs a lot of courage and I’m extremely glad that I sent the simple “hi” message to some of my mutuals (or few of you sent me first), who are all so freaking nice to me. I wrote the order randomly. In case I forgot to mention some of you, I’m truly sorry. It only means that I’m a dumbass and I honestly don’t know how to put my feelings into words. Anyway, I thank all of you a lot. Here we go:

@niguezsaul :

Needless to say, the funniest Colchoneros I could not ask for. When the game is live and you post your live update, it’s really entertaining. Sometimes it could be hilarious, or just so close to the truth. Your love for Atleti is very valuable and precious. Although I believe you’ve experienced the hardness of supporting this color, you will never give up, right? When the next season comes, you’ll definitely witness our spirit by yourself. Trust me, Karo. You won’t regret for being heartbroken for them over and over again. Much love to you💙

@the-place-to-sparkle :

Let me introduce you a sweet, kind, caring and beautiful lady. Her name is Cami. You’d better write it down. Girl, your love for the things you adore is the purest thing on this planet. Not only football, but also the way you dream of living in your life. On this site, there are too much hatred and negative things. But you are never affected by this. You’re always the one who shares positive stuffs, post some good vibes and reblog all those gentle reminders, which are helpful for those who need, including me. What makes you become such a unique person in my heart, is that you never hide the true side of yourself. This is why all of us love you, Cami. We love the real you and you should never change for anyone. Keep on sparkling✨ my lovely bean. Much love to you💙

@diogodxlot :

Okay so please let me say this again, you are so fucking beautiful ngl (Hector should open his eyes honestly😏) I really really love those locksreens you made, all of them. You have a good taste in aesthetic. I hope I can reach 1% of your level😂 And the thing that you said you cannot choose a single player to print on the jersey? That’s the cutest shit ever, Charvi, really. I hope you get yourself a jersey very very soon. Manchester United owes you one. And good luck to the last exam. You’re gonna SMASH IT. Much love to you💙

@lidah-itsme :

The most gorgeous Italian on this planet goes to…. Teresa🥳 You don’t know how much I love the story behind the name “Lidah”. This is not only such a cool thing but also a meaningful way to represent yourself. I love it. Also your love for Liverpool and Trent amazes me every single day. You’re such a nice fan, only focus on your team in a positive way. That’s what we need on this site✊🏻 By the way, I remember you love Eden Hazard, right? Maybe we should talk about how this happens, privately👀 Much love to you 💙

@draxla :

So, Nathália, my Atleti’s and Chelsea’s mutual. Becoming part of the Blues is not in my plan but here I am. And I’m so glad that there is someone who can experience the pain with me🤣 We haven’t talked too much, but I like you and your point of view. Your thoughts are so close to mine most of the times. I feel grateful for that. At here, there are too many different opinions and finding a person who thinks the way we do is such an awesome thing. I believe you can feel it too. Thank you so much for being my friend. Hope our teams still stop disappointing us for the rest of the season🙏🏻😂Much love to you💙

@erikscn :

Let’s first talk about the Gremi thing, joking😜 But this is probably the reason why we started our conversation. So, I guess, thanks to that😂You’re talented in writing. Your work for my boy Paulo is such a beautiful masterpiece. Promise me that you will never stop showing your talent, alright? What I adore you the most, is your personality. Those stories you told me give me clues about which kinds of person you are. And this IS the Greta I LOVE😌 Don’t ever feel that you’re dumb or not good enough. Being who you truly are is the reason why you’re on this post, and he knows it too! Much love to you💙

@holdmyhopeinyourhands :

First of all, thank you for being my coolest mutual askjsanjkn🙈 I honestly never saw anyone shares their deepest thought of players like you do, Mona. Those post you dedicated to specific players are enjoyable to read💞 And your love for PSG and Roma is the most supportive I’ve ever seen. They are lucky to have a fan like you. Never stop doing what you’re doing, including writing the umbrella academy fanfic. You have the rights to decide how to manage your blog and I’ll support you no matter what✊🏻 Much love to you💙

@avsensio :

Who is the funniest person on this site? Lexi. Whose posts always make me choke? Lexi. Who is the master of using memes? Lexi. I’m not going to give more clues about how awesome this girl is🤷🏻‍♀️ I still remember our first talk. It was an unforgettable night for me. After time goes by, we found out so many mutual points, like we are both March baby, our love for France NT and we both adore Lauv’s music etc… the things we share really cannot describe by words🥰 And remember you told me to not stop what I’m doing, to not affected by others? Your words sill impact me nowadays. And now it’s my turn to tell you, do not fucking change yourself for others. Yea it’s impossible to let everyone like you but you will always have my support. ALWAYS✊🏻Much love to you 💙

@fcsonny :

Nicole💞✨ Can’t believe we met on tumblr when you were at Taiwan. I noticed you because you reblogged my post of the football journal and said you are able to understand the content. My first thought was like “oh shit there are people who can understand what I’m rambling in the journal😱” and then I thought “wait you speak Chinese?!?!?😍” so we talked and this is honestly one of the coolest experience ever, not to mention how nice you are to me. Thank you for that and next time when you visit Taiwan for the fourth time, message me in advance so I can show you around👌🏻 Much love to you💙

@paudybalas :

I’ll never ever forget that you came to my ask box and told me I’m the reason why you decided to create a football blog😭That was definitely one of the warmest compliments ever happened in my life. And you know what? You’re meant to become an awesome football blogger. I may inspire you but you are the only one to make your blog perfect and honestly, I feel like a proud mom🙈Those gifs you made are art. Those personal stories we share with each other will forever be part of the memories in my heart. You inspire me as well, Ellie🥰Thanks a lot. Much love to you 💙

@football-laeli :

Don’t want to sound dramatic but you are absolutely one of the sweetest human beings here🤧 Positive vibes only, always trying to convey some good energy and that’s amazing, Janna. Also, I’m so glad that you decided not to hide your support for you club Ajax anymore💞You changed for your boys, is there anything more powerful than this? I guess none. You’re such a sweet lady, and I wish one day all these good things you give us could all go back to you, because that’s what you deserve😉 Much love to you💙

@disappointment-fc :

So, you are a special person to me. First, you support Real Madrid and you once tried to convince me to love Sergio Ramos😂 This...is honestly quite cool and you are a nice madridista, which surprised me the most najksjnjas🙈 Second, you like Jeremy Lin (right?). Please take care of him🙏🏻Third, you are my kid and I’m your mother. You never go to bed on time, which means I could spend more time talking to you so I’ll try not to ask you to sleep early in the future👀Anyways, you’re one of the few that sent me messages first and have always been nice to me since then, including encouraging me when my team falls down. That’s the kindest gesture I could not ask for more. Thank you, Chloe💞✨Much love to you💙

@theblxefox :

I’ll never stop saying how much I thank you for inviting me join the Chelsea family👀🤧 Without you, my love for Kepa would just remain the original level (now it’s unstoppable😏) I love the way you deal with Chelsea’s disaster, being sarcastic but the love is still strong. Also, on this site, you not only care about football, but also global issues, sometimes even political aspects. You are not afraid of speaking your thoughts. Meanwhile, you stay respectful and let others convey their opinions. We need more people like you, Tommer🙏🏻 You’re that kind of person I dream to become. A kind of person who is beautiful both inside and out. Much love to you 💙

@footballgotmeoncrack :

The only person I already met in real life before having a talk online✨ This is not a coincidence, Angie, I always believe it’s not. The story happened between us is the most unique, ever. I remember you because you were nice to me at the stadium, and you are still nice to me, every second since then. Your love for goalkeepers, like Hugo, Gigi and Iker, is so pure and strong. I could not quite understand why goalies needed to be loved before I also become a fan of a goalkeeper. That’s why I admire you a lot, because you already started to protect the most important and underappreciated role on the pitch✊🏻I’m so glad that you’re able to see your team Spurs this summer. I’ll pray for you to get Hugo’s autograph or even a chance to talk to him🙏🏻You deserve it, my bestie. Also, good luck to your studying in advance. Much love to you 💙

@madtimer :

My beloved Taiwanese mutual here🥳 It’s hard to find a girl who loves football in Taiwan. That’s why I feel grateful to meet one here, not to say how sweet this girl is. Your love for BVB and Milli reminds me of my love for Atelti and Grizi. They are quite the same. Being disappointed but we never give up on them, right Lisa? And all those gifs you made, the way you support your team, is something I want the most from a football fandom (tho I still haven’t download PS because I’m too lazy skajnskj) also you are the one that writes journal related to football, like print some players’ photos and puts some thoughts on it, which makes me so happy because I’m not the only weirdo doing this👀 Anyways, thank you for always being there for me when I need someone to talk in Chinese😜 Much love to you 💙

@hazantowifey :

Potato’s wife, sometimes I really want to punch your face when you said cruel things about football but sadly😂 I can’t, because those are the truths, and you help me accept it. I will never forget that day you commented below my post saying that I’m important to you. Like, I’m shocked because we didn’t really have a lot of conversation but you already regard me as your friend. I still can’t believe it really happened to me😭 You can never make me mad, because you always know how to make my heart go like “aww” by sending me Kepa’s gifs🤦🏻‍♀️ And I HATE you for that. Hope one day we can meet in real life. Maybe go to THE 1975’s concert or a football match, Belgium vs France, so you can wear your Hazard’s jersey and I can wear my Anto’s jersey😜 I’ll look forward to that day to come. Much love to you💙

@leroysanei

My dearest 🐰 , the one that sent me messages first when I need it the most. An important person who always knows how to cheer me up. A person who will send “good morning” to me. A person that truly regards me as a real friend in her life. You take a big part in my heart, 🐰. No one can replace you. Your kindness is the reason why I opened my heart again, to make me believe that there are people I can trust on this site, to make me believe there is someone who will understand my feelings even tho they didn’t know me before🙏🏻 Except for talking about football, I love the time when we share our lives more, oh but maybe also when we are pouring our love for Kepa janskjnskdj🙈wow I really drag you into it I’m 👀 so proud of myself. Your reaction when you said you wanna dance with him in the rain, gosh this is the cutest thought EVER (oops I’m exposing you again 😬). You’re such a clever, independent woman. You’re much more amazing than you expected. Anyways, 🐰, thank you for becoming my best friend in life. Much love to you 💙

For the last one, it will go to my forever soulmate @footballffbarbiex

The one that joined me from the beginning of this journey. The one that has saved me from depression over and over again. We have been through many hard moments and shits together, which others will hardly understand. There are a lot of times when I only sent you a simple sentence, but you got it all. I don’t really have to explain anything you just know me too well. I don’t know why I’m so lucky to meet you in my life, to have you as a friend, a family. Besides being my soulmate, you’re a blessing to this fandom. First, I love your writing, a lot. You have to admit that you’re so talented at this part. That shhhh seires? Masterpiece. That Kepa’s one shot? Masterpiece. I won’t go on for the smut ones because that will expose myself ajsnjnaksjn😜 Second, you have a great interaction with your readers. You listen to their opinions, talk to them and always being so nice. We should all be grateful for those beautiful works you’ve provided to us. Third, you always care about our feelings and always being so respectful to everyone. You deserve love and love only, Amy💞 Words will never be enough to describe my thankfulness. But meanwhile I’ll never stop saying this, thank you, for being one of the most important people in my life. I’ll love you forever and ever💙💙💙

At last, thank you all those who came to my blog and left some sweet, kind messages. Thank you all for liking my stuffs, giving me encouragements or sharing your thoughts with me. It literally means a lot to me🙏🏻

It’s such a pleasure to be on here and I sincerely hope I can bring more joy and positivity to all of you in the future 💙

Love you guys so much,

Steffi

#2k followers appreciation post

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poemsbyjosh-blog · 6 years ago

Text

The Last Bridge Burned

“Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”-Confucius

This dream may come true for some people, but for David Reynolds, it became a nightmare. Reynolds was a chief engineer, designing the Clinton Bridge, spanning across the Mississippi River from former President Bill Clinton’s home state of Arkansas into Tennessee. Arkansas’s nickname was “The Natural State” and this little corner of Arkansan Paradise definitely lived up to its name. Mostly referred to as “hunting land” in the South, this northeast corner was rich with lush, evergreen trees, nursed adequately by the clear flowing waters of the mother of all rivers in America, the grand Mississippi River, a grand spectacle that seemed to be divine in its ability to provide life not only to the rich wildlife of this area but also to the souls of all who witnessed its serenity. Animals were free out here from the dangers of society, as most people never ventured off the newly constructed highway running alongside the hilly terrain of Arkansas. The same paved path that led to America’s great divide which, like the inverted desires of the Panama Canal, needed to be travelled across. David referred to this slice of the South as his personal wonder of the world. And David planned to reveal this splendor to the travelling public.

For 17 years, David Reynolds dedicated his life to creating the mother of all beauty and bridges. A 4-lane walking path of sorts, convex to the water to let the rider peak at the center of this unbelievably wide river, where not only Arkansas and Tennessee were visible, but also Missouri, the Gateway to the West (Reynolds often said that if the explorers would have searched a few miles south, they would have found the passageway to Eden instead). The bridges sides were lined with the surrounding area’s identity, decorated by the habitant rocks of the area. The support beams had been wrapped in the same thick vine growing wild amongst the trees of this area, camouflaging any industrialization of one of nature’s gifts. The bridge stood high above the water, overarching any tree in the area, but the bridge had been erected out of both sides of the landscape with such sophistication that it appeared as natural as the ejection of roots from the dampened soil over a long period of time.

From the point of no return, as David jokingly coined it, the bridge left the actions of the woods and entered the most untroubled waters. Here, at the request of the bridge’s inspiration (fiscal supporter, more like it) Bill Clinton, the bridge becomes a true spectacle. It was his idea that this bridge be covered with the soil of the two adjacent states, creating a linking feel. The bridge was already supported by dense concrete, and the dirt could easily be packed in to give the road this “route 66” vibe. The mandatory street lines, as well as the medians, were carved out of a native, underwater rock, so smooth a hockey team could compete on it. The yellow of the rock gave off the feeling that they were from Dorothy Gale’s illustrious path. On each side of the road lay excess of 50 feet of “camping” area, for visitors who decided to stick with the scene longer than expected. David’s favorite touch was the inner 1000 feet of the railing along the outside of the bridge that had been made of glass so thick that it could withstand a semi at 70 miles per hour. But the best part about this 12 foot tall glass wall was the way it magnified the river in either direction for more miles than any eye should see. As David had so delicately described it “It was a more beautiful image than if Mona Lisa appeared in the Sistine Chapel with Starry Night as her setting.” Every pounding belief of the soul of Thomas Shepard would soon agree.

The way Thomas found David was in the wretched sight of a wretched soul. Some people believe that we are photographed reflections of the environment that surrounds us, but David must have been the negatives. At the time of Thomas’s arrival, chief engineer David Reynolds seemed to be designing his decline.

It was said that Reynolds’s blue eyes cast more motivation than any words ever could. His approach and dedication to the job was unrivaled, even by the skilled staff he had assembled. No matter how difficult the bridge had become, David never compromised the will of the design, but overcame with adversity, intelligence, and improvisation. This bridge was his task, his enemy, his obstacles, his religion, and eventually his life. David Reynolds may have created a bridge, but a bridge created David Reynolds. It was on the underbelly of his addiction on the Arkansas side where Thomas found David, who had long ago sculpted a hut into the bridge, as if it fit naturally. Some say it was because he couldn’t leave the bridge. Others say because he could never accept that it had been completed and his project had ended. The truth is, he killed two birds with one stone.

Thomas had driven down the gravel embankment to park by the water and stare out at it, possibly swim in the Mississippi River, a secret item on his bucket list. Thomas knew at most parts it would be dangerous, but he assumed there would be a shallow area off the bank of this area. He had no timetable to reach his destination, Savannah, Georgia, where Thomas would meet relatives he hardly knew and see the wonders of the Southeast United States, an area he was completely unfamiliar with. He couldn’t find a reason against a brief stop and thought maybe he would witness something majestic here. It was so that he did witness such, a majestic land and a majestic soul.

Thomas Shepard approached David, assuming he was a worker, like a park ranger of some sort. David seemed startled by Thomas’s approach, even angered, for the trespassing on his sacred grounds.

“Are you one of Clinton’s people,” the man said with a stern face, “here to give me another token of appreciation or some bullshit?”

He looked like he was strung out on drugs unknown to the hardest pill poppers of the West Coast. The glazed over anger in his eyes, however, still seemed overcast by this underlying intelligence, easily sensed. Thomas’s first assumption was he had ventured across some mad genius, who had become a hermit due to his attention to his work and lack of connection with other people and that he had lost track of time, as Clinton had left office 20 years ago at the turn of the millennium.

“I’m Thomas Shepard, from California. I was soon to cross this glorious bridge but decided I might prefer some sightseeing first. This is a beautiful area, something I am unaccustomed to back home.” The man’s previously pale face began to glow with what appeared to be enthusiasm. For a moment, subconsciously probably, Thomas feared he was soon to be the victim of rape at the hands of a woodsman of the south. His only exposure to such an area was from the film Deliverance, so he must plead ignorance to the environment.

The man, about the same height as Thomas, stood and dropped the fishing pole he had been holding errantly cast into the water. He dusted off his callused right hand and extended it to him, “David Reynolds, chief engineer of Clinton Memorial Bridge, nice to see such an avid naturalist venture into my abode. Care for a beverage?”

The man invited Thomas into his house, which from the outside looked to be nothing more than a shack, but inside was an elegant layout of sophistication and beauty that would be heralded if its zip code was 90210. Thomas took a seat on the couch across from the giant rocker he assumed was David’s favorite seat, probably carved from a tree indigenous to this land. “I am not the naturalist you have mistaken me for; I’m just a curious tourist from an area of skyscrapers and smog just passing through. I am sure you see many of my kind.”

“The number of tourists these days is staggeringly low” said David, pausing to sip his drink before continuing “and it seems to be decreasing at a constant rate.”

His way of speech was foreign to Thomas. All talk was foreign to Thomas after he left California, but this man’s vernacular was particularly strange. Possibly because he was a loner, dwelling on his own and therefore developing his own variation of the oft-butchered English language. But that still wasn’t it. It was in the way he seemed to calculate his statements, using numbers and statistics so easily, it was no wonder the man attained this position and it began to unravel more about the peculiar situation.

“Did you design this house yourself?” Thomas asked this, testing his own theories of this man he had ventured across. “It looks spectacular.”

“Thank you kind sir,” replied Reynolds, seemingly emotionless to the compliments, “but this is not where my true accomplishments are. They are all pieced together in that bridge you are soon to cross. That’s where my real work went in.”

David told Thomas all about the bridge with excitement and energy that made Thomas think of a 10 year old boy talking about his first home run in little-league baseball or a 13 year old girl going on endlessly about her first kiss. David was now 51 and had began work on the bridge 23 years ago, after 6 years out of college working for the government on designing roadways, specifically within the state of Arkansas. Reynolds gained a reputation as the best of the business, working his way up the engineering ladder rung by rung until he was so high that Mr. William Clinton, president of our great nation, recognized him for his work.

Clinton brought Reynolds to Washington where, over a day’s discussion, worked out the general concepts of the bridge President Clinton envisioned. Clinton, a political man even in the deepest crevices of his heart, planned on using this bridge to attract the conservative hunting faction, a crowd often unattainable in votes by the Democratic Party. They revered the mystic beauty of this prized hunting land, as well as the more liberal naturalists, who often times disputed big business governments, making it hard to attract this crowd to the polls. It was the idea of a genius, but little did he know his pet project was another man’s Frankenstein.

Reynolds shined designing the bridge, working with speed and efficiency that the government, frankly, could not even fathom. His staff worked diligently and continually to not merely erect the bridge, but perfect it. Reynolds began to mirror the likes of Picasso and Da Vinci rather than an engineer. In 17 short years, David Reynolds designed the Golden Gate Bridge of the South, except the Golden Gate was merely money thrown at an idea. Clinton memorial was the blood, sweat, and tears of an artist.

Reynolds took Thomas along the bridge, walking along and showing him each detail, details that any human would have forgotten or just cast away as unnecessary to show. But not David. He was like a robot, powered by the ins and outs of this bridge, and no detail was too small to be exposed. Thomas did not mind though; he was amazed at the true accomplishment that was being revealed before him. He could not believe the talents possessed by David, who appeared to be 75 in the face but as fit as a 30 year old and as sharp as any man at any age. After long attempts at persuasion, Thomas agreed to stay the night on Clinton Memorial, a plead much more easily convinced after Thomas had seen the great wall of glass.

Thomas and David spent the night living only by starlight, discussing life and all of its meaning and other deep conversations that seem to only occur in such a setting. Thomas discovered that David did not differ so greatly from himself. Both were loners by nature obsessed more with the routines of their day, the accomplishments of their talents, and the freedom for expansion within their minds. Thomas was living the same life as Reynolds, only Thomas had been forced to do so in Californian suburbia, an area where peace is the hardest drug to purchase. Here, peace was your truest companion. Thomas admired Reynolds and Reynolds appreciated Thomas, not just for his admiration but his authenticity as a person. Something Reynolds believed was the rarest of human subspecies.

“When I look along the Mississippi’s wave, allowing my eyes to travel so gently with each rolling wave, life becomes an infinite phenomenon.” Reynolds said with a glaze in his eyes almost as scenic as the stars above him or the nature below. “To me, life only appears in brevity within the fast paced lives of urbanization. Personally a ‘New York minute’ isn’t worth an Arkansan second. It is as if time moves slowly here in the woodlands, on my bridge connecting no one to nowhere, and that is just how I like it, years of thoughts can be cleared before the sunset of any day.” Reynolds and Thomas never made eye contact throughout the night. Both were too caught up in the Earth around them.

“That’s very poetic David, did you ever consider becoming a writer instead of an engineer,” Thomas asked expecting David to laugh at the idea.

“I am a writer, don’t you see. I’ve got 15 novels invested in this bridge. I have poems extending from each nook and cranny. Not only that, but I feel I created the perfect pallet, the ultimate empty book to be filled by the words of those who witness this glorious land. Of course I didn’t create such; this is the work of the most advanced gods. I just created a passageway to its invention.”

“I would guarantee that any travelling civilian fortunate enough to venture across this bridge is inspired to write the novels you boast of,” Thomas said, now grinning wide. But David was not grinning. In fact, he appeared to be struck by a harsh reality, stinging enough to create a long face, visible in the starlit sky. Thomas thought to himself I’m guessing this is what is responsible for the aging lines depicted in his face.

“I sit at my humble dock, everyday watching cars roll by and I can assure you that most never slow down enough to realize what they have passed.” Hatred now seemed to be enflaming on Reynolds’s face.

“Isn’t that the story of people’s lives,” Thomas retorted quickly and with a sense of anger, possibly to keep David from feeling alone. Often times, company is all misery needed to subside, in spite of its love for such. “People rush to the destination too quickly to appreciate the journey. We all want to reach the light at the end of the tunnel that we see so clearly with the false lenses of selfishness. If people were to look with their hearts, they would discover that the light they desire is travelling alongside them lighting the path, not the end.”

“Maybe you should be the poet,” said David, now with the lively grin returned to his face.

“I don’t think so, I think someone just opened a book in front of me, temporarily, and I filled it with my thoughts the best way I knew how,” said Thomas. Reynolds was now smiling so brightly he was on the verge of laughter. In the end, he could not prevent the flooding of tears of joy. After all, he designed a bridge, not a dam.

Reynolds and Thomas continued this banter well into the night. By the time they both surrendered to the temptation of sleep, Thomas felt as if he understood David and hoped that David understood him. Neither man had been a social butterfly as it was often called, yet both felt as if fate had drawn them to each other. Never had Thomas been so spiritually awakened as he had by the trees, dirt, and water around him. Reynolds had experienced such spiritual stimulation, but never with another person. Perhaps the Gods, whatever Gods there may be, had used their powers to let this occurrence happen. If there were any area they would inhabit Thomas thought I’m sitting amidst it.

David woke many hours before Thomas, who slept better on the rough soil than on any premium mattress. David did not mind waiting however, as he had nothing better to do and could not have been more at ease than he had been that night with Thomas. David sat, thinking the world over one good time as he had so many times before, until Thomas finally woke from his deep trance.

Once Thomas was up, they returned to David’s fishing area where Thomas had parked his car what seemed like months before. Time was a relative measurement, Thomas stated in an emphatic thought, and the last day has proven so. David helped Thomas be on his way, looking more out of touch with reality than ever before. Thomas believed this to be due to his departure and never gave it a second thought, although it did make the final moments tense.

The first few thousand feet of Thomas’s trip were sweeter than the few thousand miles he would travel otherwise. He went less than 25 miles per hour part of the way and enjoyed everything around him. The view was much more magnificent under the beaming sun of a midsummer Tennessee Day, as Thomas had crossed the halfway point of the bridge by the time such a thought came to mind. Every detail was cast with precise amount of sunlight to make it glow but not glare. And the river seemed to carry the sun’s reflection south with its waves, as if even light could not escape its magnificence. Many times, Thomas caught himself veering from side to side on the road. It did not matter though, because no on else was travelling along Clinton Memorial, “The Bridge for No One to Nowhere” as David had coined it. And what a beautiful bridge it was thought Thomas, this time actually scraping the stone median before becoming aware of the daydreamesque awe that had overcome him in his stare into David’s bridge.

Part- no, most of Thomas had wished the collision had been much more serious, and had stranded him alongside David for awhile, an excuse to avoid his pompous family in Georgia and remain in paradise, but he could not make himself wreck, nor could he avoid his previous arrangements as it was never in Thomas Shepard’s nature to break a promise. But as Thomas moved farther along his transnational trail, he felt more and more like he should return to David.

This feeling was not one commonly associated with missing the companionship of a close friend. It was more of a calling, as if the gods were telling Thomas which way he should be travelling, and that the path he was travelling along was incorrect. But the only way Mr. Shepard would turn around would be if the North Star up and moved East, pointing him towards Clinton Memorial Bridge and his friend David.

Thomas arrived in Savannah, Georgia towards the end of that day. Savannah was a beautiful town, as advertised, rich with tradition, heritage, and pride. But the beauties of this place thought Thomas smugly are like pebbles compared to the rubies and diamonds of Clinton Memorial. Thomas witnessed all of the scenic landmarks of this town and eventually found a hotel to sleep in for the night before meeting his family the next day. Thomas wished he were lying in Tennessee mud among the Arkansas bugs instead of this warm cozy room with all the luxuries that had been misinterpreted as necessities in this ruined 21st century world. But, nevertheless, he slept well in recovery from his long, emotional trip.

If one thing prevented Savannah from reaching the sheer majesty of David Reynolds’s creation, Thomas believed it had to be his own family. The amount of ugliness that followed this group was so bold it many times made Thomas physically ill. This is not a reference to their appearance but to the hideousness that is their overwhelmingly uncouth behavior. Politeness is a characteristic that never a Shepard, not even Thomas, had been blessed with, and Thomas despised being in their presence. Thomas often times thought their presence in his childhood made him the loner he was today. He then wondered if David had a similar family background.

Thomas survived the day, which began with his family showing off any commodity they had purchased, as if it should be celebrated to waste money on materialistic advancements, especially when they couldn’t realistically afford them yet desired this bragging right so much that they sacrificed any sort of financial ease for an overvalued luxury item, valued so high due to the logo which came with it. After hours at the Shepard house of adults arguing over who had the superior vehicle, as if they were children on the playground arguing over who was better between their two favorite quarterbacks (and, Thomas thought, with similar levels of intelligence), they all decided to have lunch together in the town, together. There were 20 people travelling in three vehicles because, in spite of their contradictory attitudes, the Shepards believed in being one loving family, a unit of sorts.

This kind of torturous companionship would continue on for the next two days but for once it did not seem to bother Thomas. Although his body was forced to travel onward, the mind of Thomas Shepard remained in its new home along The Bridge for No One to Nowhere. He still felt like he had to fight not to be pulled back to the bridge at any given moment as if a strong magnet had grabbed hold of his body. But this was much worse than that. His spirit seemed to be attempting to leave his body and return to his mind along the Mississippi River, but his body refused. Thomas had heard of duality within a person, but never this. He was now three, until the end of tomorrow when he would reunite with himself and himself; only 34 more excruciating hours to go.

Thomas managed to survive the last day and a half. The pain seemed intolerable, both from his emptiness in being away from the bridge and in his ‘relationship’ with his kin. But nonetheless he had survived. The anxiousness had surmounted now, and he decided to leave for the bridge that night. This would put him there mid-day the next day and give him 12 more hours to spend there, with his new companion, before he must return to the hustle and bustle of hell that he called a job, or even life in general for that matter. Dosed up on caffeine and spiritual ambition, Thomas returned to his true home between two states he often joked of.

The night was long but Thomas knew it was worth it. He had to get back to his spiritual sanction and return to the world with such beauty that it was required for him to witness such time and time again. As Thomas passed the morning lit Nashville, he realized that he had become no better than the typical hobo alcoholic he passed every day begging for a fraction of the change required to acquire his own spiritual freedom and seeing his own majesties. But there weren’t liquor stores around every corner for what Thomas desired, there was only one man that could sell him his drug, and Thomas rushed towards this man now. But something wasn’t right.

Thomas saw David standing by the glass wall on the north side of the bridge, the side Thomas was now travelling across. He was visible from a mile away, being at the very peak, like a man standing at the top of the world. Thomas would travel up this metaphorical Mount Everest, but his expression changed quicker than the elevation. A man who had not 15 minutes ago dreamed, even craved to be where he was had been flushed pale with concern. Anxiety so extreme even the purest beauties this world had to offer were outside Thomas’s peripheral vision as his eyes tunneled on Reynolds like the light at the end he had preached so hard against not half a week earlier.

When Thomas reached Reynolds his fears seemed to be truer than he ever expected. David was not the happy compadre Thomas had learned to love nor was he the disgruntled loner Thomas had happened onto by the river bank. No he was currently the worst of all of this man’s personalities. He was the mad scientist, and his evil creation stood complete beneath him. The smile on his face at that moment could have made murderers weep and soldiers tremble. This was not the facial expression of a man who could be approached, much less reached. He had escaped this world. His body stood atop the creation which seized his spirit. As for his mind, it was in the darkest depths of hell. Nonetheless, Thomas had to try.

“Hey David, I came back,” said Thomas, attempting to ease the situation, “I thought maybe we could have another night like the one we shared the other night.”

“There will be no more nights for me good friend,” said Reynolds, never making eye contact with Thomas. It seemed like he had managed to not make eye contact with any of this world. “I’ve come a long way, done many incredible deeds, and explored the thoughts I so sought. While I am most satisfied with the world I have placed around me, the surrounding world leaves such distaste in my mouth that I can no longer be trapped within it.”

“What are you talking about David?” Thomas was now speaking with a sense of frustration. He could not comprehend what was going through Reynolds mind, especially with what he had surrounded himself with. “You have everything any human could ever desire here: serenity, tranquility, freedom. What more could you possibly want? You have one of the engineering wonders of the world to yourself!”

“Yeah, I have a great thing here,” said David now speaking harshly, “a great accomplishment. Like a kid who made all A’s or a writer completing the best novel he could possibly write. But what you aren’t grasping, Mr. Shepard, is that when I bring my report card home, there are no parents standing there to congratulate me. When I finished my book, it sat in an attic where no one would read it.”

“Your bridge is out there David, people can see it. People cross everyday to witness the majesty.” Thomas said this with arms spread wide as if holding all of the nature that stood around him.

“Ok, so some people take my novel and use the pages as paper towels or toilet paper,” said Reynolds, remaining with the previous metaphor, “every day cars pass by here and never stop to see what they are passing. Every car passes without noticing the rock carving of the bolts that hold this bridge together. And I constantly ask myself why. I’ve spent many of my days pondering how they could do such and it always comes back to the same thing. Selfishness, lack of appreciation, pessimism, technologies, urbanization,” Reynolds sped up as he talked until he was muttering under his breath with hair clenched in his weathered hands. Then he calmed and smiled the smoothest smile, and grabbed a spot on the glass wall. He then softly spoke “The fact is, this world is heading straight to hell and humans are leading the way. And I will be damned if I have to stick around to see it anymore.”

Thomas’s face was now a foot from David’s and he began to panic. The truth is Thomas had become just as reliant as David on the hope that this place was special and, more importantly, indestructible to the evils that Reynolds had just mentioned. He needed this now, he needed faith in something and watching its creator fall would lead to the same for him. Now shaking and sweating, Thomas raised his finger to the underside of Reynolds jaw, and in a panicky oblivious way, began to scream at his friend “WHAT ABOUT ME, HUH? DID THAT EVER CROSS YOUR MIND? WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”

With the same unaffected face he had had since Thomas arrived, David so calmly stated “You were just a false hope, something sent to give me some sort of belief. You were hope, don’t get me wrong, and I appreciate the final moments of bliss I could share with one of the good ones still out there. But, in the end, it is all false, all wrong. It is just not meant to be. You were like a holy spirit coming to bring me to God. Unfortunately I am an atheist, and that will not work.”

Thomas studied David now, trying to decide if he was poetic or mad. Thomas decided there was no difference in the two and even if there were, a man like David Reynolds could be both. Suddenly, David pushed on the glass where his hand had settled and like a magic trick, a square approximately the size of a doorway pushed outward and fell to the water so far below. Thomas was amazed, there were no noticeable marks or anything and just like that it had disappeared. Maybe David Reynolds was the God, or maybe a vivid dream of what Thomas wanted gone nightmarishly mad.

“Impressed are you?” said Reynolds, calmer than Thomas could possibly have been. “When I designed this place I cut this out one day, suspicious that a day like this might come. Of course I made it completely unnoticeable and I have a glass square of the same dimensions stored away in my house which can be placed here once I depart.”

“W-w-what are you planning on doing?” stuttered Thomas, now nervous, curious and terrified all at once, like a boy who had angered his father and was waiting to discover his punishment, too scared to know but even more scared of a surprise.

“In a moment I will jump from this very spot into the water.” said David still maintaining his composure, “If I have it right, from this height, if not from the heart attack I am sure to suffer, I will die from the impact that will be like a full body bludgeon. I will become partial splatter, until I sink down and I am quite literally ripped in two by the strong Mississippi undercurrent. My velocity I travel with will interfere too much with the velocity of the current and I am sure to be torn into the many people that I am sure you have discovered I am.”

For a split second, the dark-humored side of Thomas overtook him and he had a slight desire to see this. But it needs to be someone else he thought, snapping out of this state of mind and back to the one with only one focus, saving his friends life. “You can’t do that. I need you David Reynolds, and this world needs you too.”

But this seemed to not have any effect on David. He checked his watch, and stepped forward as if an invisible step existed before him. Thomas prayed there was such a step. But there was not. Before he began to freefall, David turned to Thomas and said, “Please keep my name, keep my world, and keep my bridge untarnished,” and then fell from his own creation. Thomas had no desire to see his friend die, but as if he was being forced to, he peered over the edge.

David Reynolds, for the millionth, and final, time in his life, had been right on with his calculations. His body stood no chance against the magnitude of the fall or the magnitude of this grand river. But this was not the part that shocked Thomas. Nor was it the fact that Reynolds had landed perfectly tangent to the reflection of the sun (That sick engineering bastard planned that all along Thomas thought No wonder he checked his watch). The part that caught Thomas off guard was that Reynolds did not have a heart attack on the way down. In fact Thomas could see a smiling face as he floated not 50 feet above the water, followed by the echoes of a madman’s laughter along the trees of his habitat. David Reynolds died happier than he had been since the bridge had been finished.

Hunters were common to this land, frequenting it as long as time could tell. Even Mr. Reynolds hunted these lands. Many animals were killed here, victim of human lust and greed, and every time the other animals went on as if nothing had ever happened. But this time, when David Reynolds fell to the hands of a human (be it the evils of humanity or his own, whichever you prefer), things were different. For what seemed like an eternity, but was actually about five minutes, Thomas Shepard stood atop this bridge and was awestricken with grief. It was possible that every living thing in the area was as well, as silence was the only thing that seemed to exist on Clinton Memorial Bridge.

Finally a car passed, a car that probably would not have stopped had it not been for the now sobbing man sitting beside a glassless piece of a towering bridge. He stopped and asked Thomas what was going on, probably assuming that Thomas was about to accept the same fate his friend had. When Thomas informed him of what had just occurred, he immediately contacted the police, who arrived shortly.

Nothing was ever found of David Reynolds, although Thomas said that anything you wanted to find of the man existed in the bridge. The funeral service was one of beauty along the river bank that this man called home. Former President Clinton even graced David’s legacy with his appearance. Praise was given, tears were cried, and respect was shown. And, although he was dead, the old sly Thomas had recently come to know had one last stunt up his sleeve.

In the two day absence Thomas took from the place, David left everything he owned to Thomas. To many people this was not much, but to Thomas it was the opposite. He now had everything he wanted, everything but the man he wished to share it with. He would quit his job and move into Reynolds’s house and never have to worry again because David Reynolds was a very rich man and when he became pieces within the water he loved, Thomas Shepard became the wealthy. But Thomas was unsure that he could go on with the most inspiring man he had ever met reaching the lowest point any human can reach. Then he remembered the final words David had muttered to him:

“Please keep my name, keep my world, and keep my bridge untarnished,”

Now Thomas understood why he had told him this; Because it would become his responsibility to do so. That man is still two steps ahead of me and his legs aren’t even connected to his torso muttered Thomas. Although Thomas seemed furious, he was mostly relieved at this. Now he had all of the things he so desired over the last few days and a purpose with which to do it. His only fear that remained is he would become what David Reynolds had, a pure soul lost in the torment of our world.

The person Thomas believed he had knew was only the surface to a much more intricate design buried deep beneath. In David’s den, Thomas discovered books and books on everything any man could desire to learn. There were probably no intellectual boundaries for David Reynolds and yet he kept challenging the boundaries of knowledge. His mind was a prize, a sacred gift that can only be created by some divine power (although Thomas believed if any human could engineer it, it would be David). Thomas enjoyed months onto years of discovering what this man knew, the side projects he had accomplished, and the ability of this man to solve almost anything.

Next, in David Reynolds subtle office, Thomas discovered the determination and dedication that were obvious in his masterpiece. The entire office had been dedicated to the design of the bridge and still the office was too small. There was a stack over three feet high in the corner of just blueprints on the design. I want to see the stack of errors thought Thomas before jokingly deciding this man never erred. The entire room was covered in pictures of the bridge as if it were a far-away destination and not the roof of this house. The man that was David Reynolds was also the bridge often crossed.

Thomas had found David Reynold’s personified in everything before him. His scholarly work, intellectual abilities, and anxiousness to learn were not just peculiar traits but golden in many ways. ‘Golden’ thought Thomas that’s the perfect word. He had discovered the rest of Reynolds’s bridge, what couldn’t be observed by the human eye. The things that weren’t there were more important to David than any piece of the structure and Thomas recognized this. For these two things, Thomas would never allow to tarnish. But the final wish of Reynolds’s three, Thomas was not so empowered.

He discovered the world of David Reynolds buried where any person would hide their world, beneath the bed they slept on. A box, approximately 3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet filled to the brim with books of what appeared to be journals. Thomas’s hunch was correct, and they dated back almost 20 years. Thomas began reading them, knowing that his spirit and his fate required him to know the man he admired. But what Thomas discovered was like the sad realization of a child that Hogwarts isn’t real, or that the cartoons they watch can never come to life.

David Reynolds was a successful man on the outside, undeniably. But what he battled on the inside was a tragedy even Shakespeare would avoid. Many things became blatantly evident to Thomas. First was that this man was not dedicated to his bridge, he was obsessed, addicted. And not in the manner that is heralded but in the sickening way that makes your heart quiver. There were Stories about going days without food to finish a single beam, firing his only friends because they only put in 16 hours a day, complete obsession to his work. By the 7th year on the project, the bridge had become personified. By the 11th, it was as if it were a love story being played out between the inanimate object and Reynolds (who by this point may have been an inanimate object himself). By the end there was no differentiation between the bridge and David. They were one and it was terrifying to Thomas to read such, although he was aware of how much Reynolds cared for this bridge. Then, the books took a horrific twist

In the years following the bridges completion, David expected tourists from all over to want to see such an accomplishment. But they never came. Occasional passer-bys were enough for him at first, but in the end, the neglect of his creation led to his demise. He began creating stories, bizarrely untrue. He was writing in depth stories about cars plunging to their death because no one stopped to notice the chief engineer had removed half the bridge. No one would notice, he said, no one ever paid attention to the road that gets them there. More and more bizarrely insane stories from such a brilliant man (and a true wordsmith) that made you believe this was happening right before your eyes. Among the poems and short stories were 15 novels. “I am a writer, don’t you see. I’ve got 15 novels invested in this bridge,” whispered Thomas, reminded of these words exactly as David had spoken them to him that night atop the bridge, “that witty little asshole.” Every word was terrifying, until the last page of the last book. Reynolds wrote more calmly than any post before:

“Today, I am once again myself. I have overcome the personalities that have overtaken me these past few years and returned to myself. I did not accomplish such a task on my own but with the help of a man I now hold dearer than any person that walks this Earth. His name is Thomas Shepard, and like a shepherd he has guided me to epiphanies I never thought possible. He has rid me of the many demons that had taken over my soul and allowed me to live one more day as the man I once was. But with my brief sanity I must prevent myself from returning to what I have become. I plan to leave this wretched hell hole, possibly for another. But that I do not care about as long as I can separate myself from the life I now know, shared with the many devils that have filled my precious diaries with words I would never speak of.

My new friend wisely said “People rush to the destination too quickly to appreciate the journey. We all want to reach the light at the end of the tunnel that we see so clearly with the false lenses of selfishness. If people were to look with their hearts, they would discover that the light they desire is travelling alongside them lighting the path, not the end.”

This might be true, but you also must realize when the path has ended and your light flickers off. My world went dark many years ago but I have temporary been relit by the presence of my friend David, glowing brighter than any sun.

This will be my last entry in a series so eclectic no man could bear to follow it, and yet I have been forced to live such. But no more, for this world needs one less David Reynolds, uncontrollable mad genius, and one more Thomas Shepard, guiding me and my land to the salvation it so deserves.

As he finished the last section, Thomas Shepard looked to the sky (although he didn’t believe that was the direction to look to find his friend) and said in a voice so rasp it was hardly translatable “I can keep your name and bridge untarnished. But your world requires a little cleansing. That I don’t know if I can do.” A tear then rolled down Thomas’s eye like a rolling wave of the river he slept beside. “But I will sure as hell try.”

Thomas never put the piece of glass up to replace the missing door-frame sized chunk. Thomas Shepard did every thing else he believed David would have desired, or even done himself. He then did two things Reynolds would have never asked of him. First he contacted President Clinton and asked for a change in the name of the bridge to Clinton-Reynolds Bridge. At the request of Mr. Clinton, the name was changed to Reynolds-Clinton Memorial Bridge. And Thomas did replace the missing chunk, but not with glass, but an indigenous rock similar to granite he found outside Reynolds’s home. Then Thomas hand-engraved his thoughts and what he liked to believe were Reynolds’s wishes into the stone before erecting it:

“Here stands the highest point of this bridge, standing

700 feet above the water below. It was the visions of

Chief Engineer David Reynolds that many people would

Stand where this stone is and see for many miles while also

Appreciating the beauty of the design of his beloved project,

The bridge you currently cross. But this never came true and the

Sad fact is that most of you will cross this bridge with no more

Than a glimpse at the text before you. Because of this, the glass curtain

That was once a window to the most wonderful majesties this

World has to offer became a doorway to something much darker.

It was through this hole that Engineer Reynolds walked, committing

Suicide one faithful day. May he be remembered for his great scholarly

Mind, the beautiful bridge on which you travel, and the world around

You which he called home.

R.I.P

David H. Reynolds

1969-2020

“Pleasure in the mind puts perfection in the work”-Aristotle”

But pleasure in the spirit puts perfection in the soul.

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cityutopiadystopia · 8 years ago

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Museums of Chicago

We selected a few museums in Chicago and thoroughly talked about the history of their founding. While it is hard to pinpoint data for every specific instance of development, we envisioned how the general structure of the museum and the reason for its founding would be responsible for the type of people who attend it. Additionally, we put on our literary caps to determine where different characters from the books we read this past quarter would end up if given the chance to attend a museum.

The Art Institute of Chicago- 111 South Michigan Avenue

The Art Institute moved to its Beaux-Arts building on Michigan Avenue after the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893. It is easily accessible by CTA buses, the ‘L’ in the Loop, and the Metra at Millennium Station. There are two bronze lions given as a gift by Mrs. Henry Field for the museum’s opening. The Museum contains a growing encyclopedia collection and a 264,000 sq ft Modern Wing designed by Renzo Piano. The museum is partners with the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) (http://www.saic.edu/about/historyandquickfacts/buildinghistory/)

The organization, Chicago Academy of Design, was founded in 1866. Their primary goal was to run a free school with its own art gallery. This school opened up on Dearborn Street but soon moved to 66 West Adams Street, which opened on November 22, 1870. The Great Chicago Fire destroyed this building in 1871, and the Academy soon confronted massive debt. After much desperation, the Academy went into bankruptcy and the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts bought its assets at an auction. Later, this organization renamed itself to the Art Institute of Chicago. In 1882, Charles Hutchinson was elected as president and he transformed the Institute to turn it into what it is today. The organization purchased a lot on the southwest corner of Michigan Ave and Van Buren Street for $45,000, and another adjacent lot was purchased as the galleries expanded. Architects wanted a building that would create an “impressive presence” on Michigan Ave, so the Institute pressed for the Chicago City to commision a building for the World’s Columbian Exposition to be held in 1892-1893. After the building was used for the Expo, it could then be converted into the Art Institute itself. The city agreed, and this is primarily the museum we see today.

Initially, the museum was free, which allowed more access to its facilities. However, the people who had access to the museum were still limited because it was a matter of wealth of time in this case. Most people were heavily working in sweatshops and could not afford to take time out of their schedule to see an art museum. As the museum got more popular, they started to charge for admittance. Today, it costs at least 14 dollars for admission but is free if one is an Illinois resident or a student at a university in Chicago. Though these provisions still provide access to the general public, it is still very limiting, and there is an inherent privilege for the groups that have this free access. Given the grand presence of the Art Institute building and the commercialized and flashy attractions built around it, it is now seen as an elite, “touristy” attraction. In 2014, Tripadvisor named the Art Institute the world’s best museum, which is a great promotional name to have, but at the same time elevates the museum’s unique status and removes the building from being a truly global and ubiquitous place to access art.

The Smart Museum of Chicago

David and Alfred Smart (1892-1952 and 1894-1951, respectively) launched the Esquire magazine and built an innovative publishing business in Chicago. They both were very rich and successful entrepreneurs during the Depression in the 1930s. They had an initial private magazine company, but people were stealing these magazines, so they created a public magazine called Esquire that was very cheap and exposed the public to fine arts like literature. They died in the 1950s. The University of Chicago wanted to open an art museum in the late 1920s, but they couldn’t because of the Great Depression. The Smart family was asked to fund this project due to their interest in the arts and public engagement. (https://vimeo.com/107279140)

The founding gift came from the Smart Family in 1967 and was originally associated with UChicago’s art history department but ultimately became its own unit of the university in 1983.

Collections include modern art exhibits, Asian art, European art, Contemporary art. Now, the museum collaborates with other RSOs on campus and local community engagement programs

The building is very minimalist and modern, to add emphasis to the paintings that are being displayed.

Though the concept of upper level university linked museums are tricky with regards to concepts like gentrification, the Smart Museum tries to constantly engage with the local Chicago community through educational outreach activities in local schools. Though it’s wonderful that the Smart Museum has an inherent cognizance of the position it serves, the fact that it is at one of the world renowned institutions gives off an elite vibe, and the primary demographic of people who attend these museums are students of the university.

The Smart Museum is located on the campus of the University of Chicago, which is most accessible by car and CTA buses.

The Field Museum

Like the Art Institute of Chicago, the Field Museum was also commissioned as part of the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1890. Several individuals responsible for national museum exhibits by the government saw the possibility of creating a great museum, appointed JW Ellsworth of the foreign affairs committee to spearhead this initiative

Initially, in 1893, there were strong editorials that called for this museum. Directors of the exposition even called the museum “The Columbian Museum of Chicago” initially and wanted this public meeting as a way to “adopt measures to establish in Chicago a great museum that shall be a fitting memorial of the World’s Columbian Exposition and a permanent advantage and honor to the city.” As committee members and officials of the exposition got more exhibits and collections to be featured in the museum, they realized they needed a larger endowment to fund the museum permanently, and that person, in 1893, was Marshall Field.

Features many anthropological collections, and there are extensive collections made by the department of anthropology of the exposition. Similar to the Art Institute of Chicago, this museum has an entrance fee of about 17 dollars. There are free days throughout each season for families and children, but these events often get overcrowded.

(https://www.fieldmuseum.org/about/history)

The Field Museum is most accessible by car and CTA buses.

Chicago Cultural Center

The Chicago Cultural Center opened in 1897 as the central public library of Chicago, until 1977 when it became the Chicago Cultural Center. It is located on the Magnificent Mile, across the street from Millennium Park, and is accessible by CTA buses, the ‘L’, and the Metra.

The center has two wings-- one four stories and one five stories tall. Each has its own glass dome. The exterior facade is limestone and is in the Neo-Classical Style. The two main entrances and interiors feature decorations that celebrate the Italian renaissance, including Doric columns, brightly colored marble, arches for windows and doors, and mosaics. In contrast to the pure, Italian Renaissance inspiration, there are a few very pronounced imitations of Venice, including a staircase meant to be Venice’s Bridge of Sighs, and an art gallery that is a replica of an assembly hall in the Doge’s Palace.

The cultural center is the official reception venue of the Mayor and the city. Any Presidents or leaders go on official visits to Chicago are greeted at the cultural center by city officials. The main attraction is the spectacle of the architecture, meant to impress visitors, foreign dignitaries and common citizens alike. Over 1,000 events and exhibits are put on at the cultural center each year. The Chicago Cultural Center is unique in that its building has been free and open to the public since its opening.

Chicago Architecture Foundation

The Chicago Architecture Foundation was founded in 1966 to preserve Chicago landmarks, and eventually turned into the educational institution we know it as today. Since 1992 its headquarters has been in the Railway Exchange Building on South Michigan Avenue, across the street from the south wing of the Art Institute. It is accessible by CTA buses, the ‘L’ in the Loop, the Metra, and many tourism bus companies.

The foundation has one permanent exhibit that is free and open to public called Chicago Model. This is a large diorama of the city plan that is constantly updated with new and demolished buildings. It is reminiscent of the Panorama of the City of New York located in the Queens Museum, on the grounds of the 1939 New York’s World Fair and was made in 1964 New York’s World Fair.

Ticketed tours depart from the headquarters and use the city of Chicago as their museum. Once the barriers of money and mobility are crossed, the tours take attendees out and travel through public space, mostly outdoors but sometimes indoors, and informs them of the history and meaning behind buildings and streets they might pass through in their everyday lives.

DuSable Museum of African American History

The DuSable Museum of African American History is a museum dedicated to African American history and culture. The collection consists of 13,000 items including art and personal affects of African Americans and activists who fought for African American rights.

The museum was originally on South Michigan Avenue on the ground floor of a residential building which had at one time been a club and a boarding house. The museum is now on East 56th Place and Cottage Grove in the Washington Park neighborhood of the Southside. It is accessible by CTA but it is not very convenient for travelers. Buses get travelers closest to the museum, but the ‘L’ and the Metra are over half a mile away. It is most accessible by car. The building the museum is now housed in was built to be a parks administrative building in the 1910s but when donated to the museum by the Chicago Park District. The museum also has a 466-seat auditorium for various performances and events for museum attendees and the neighborhood. The museum is not free but has discounted admissions rates for Chicago residents.

Characters and Respective Museums

The Baron — Chicago Cultural Center

The Baron would love to appreciate the splendor and spectacle of the the Chicago Cultural Center, which borrows architecturally from the Classical tradition just like the Baron borrows his ancestry from families that are not his own. He cares deeply about appearances, which is the primary function of the cultural center-- to make an impression on any visitor who walks through the door

Narrator of Man of the Crowd — Museum of Contemporary Art

The Narrator of Man of the Crowd gravitates towards large groups of highly diverse and interesting people, which he could easily find in and around the Museum of Contemporary Art. He would find a person or group that peaks his interest and follow them wherever they may go, most likely down the Magnificent Mile.

Aschenbach— Art Institute of Chicago

Aschenbach is drawn to the Greek statues after seeing the perfection that is Tadzio, making a trip to the Art Institute and its collection of Greek sculpture something that he would appreciate.

Jurgis— Balzekas Museum of Lithuanian Culture

Jurgis knows he has to shield his true culture in the workplace and a place that celebrates Lithuanian culture would be a good place to express himself and organize activism among his fellow Lithuanian workers.

Conclusion

Museums as public spaces in Chicago have a long history dating back to the Columbian Exposition. Their variability in terms of accessibility speak to the politics of transportation and class privilege. The museums we have described here and many others in Chicago offer wonderful, educational content, and we believe that some of the characters we’ve discussed in class would have either enjoyed some of these museums or that their personality matches the spirit of a given museum. Over the last century Chicago has increased its public cultural programming through these museums and hopefully more, accessible offerings will continue to operate for the people of Chicago to enjoy.

#atlas #ella hester #meghana rao

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