#there's this movie called igby goes down

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

i stand with you in the face of a defensive misunderstanding of what critique is.

i think understanding what a critique actually is is a skill that increasingly is not taught. i remember going through freshman art courses feeling the frustration that all negative, nasty, unhelpful, and missed-the-point-entirely feedback is so commonly conflated with critique, and then critique gets a bad name because everyone remembers the time someone said their painting looked like an asshole (true story, altho now i think i would take it as a compliment) instead of the time a teacher or friend or classmate helped them uncover a hurtful bias or think of new ways to explore the same idea or how to connect it to related ideas or how to look up and understand other people's ideas on the same topic.

anyway i think you're great.

ahhh you're so kind to me!! i appreciate your support, and i think you are great also.

i have experience with giving and receiving critique as a student myself, and i think it was the best part of my degree! i majored in creative writing in college, and critique was just a generally accepted part of learning to become a writer. i don't even remember people being especially worried about receiving critique on their work. we had guidance on what kind of feedback was useful, but we were still at liberty to give it as we saw fit as like messy 19 year olds. the standard was that we gave it both written on printed copies of the work AND aloud in front of the whole class, and the writer receiving it was not permitted to speak during the critique. understanding how people are perceiving your work is important!

i don't have any particularly negative recollections of the critique process, although once in a high school writing class, the boys in the class told me that my male characters touched each other too gently and real boys are more rough with each other. in particular, they took issue with me writing that one boy nudged another. nudging is too soft. nudging is for girls. that was more than 20 years ago, and i still think about it sometimes because it was such an interesting perspective! i did not take their advice, though.

i should dig up that piece and see if it reads queer in any other ways. i think that's what they were getting at. (actually i once had a non-fiction class tell me i was in love with my roommate after reading an essay i wrote about her)(i did not listen to that advice either, but having 12 acquaintances tell you that you're gay in 2006 before you realize it yourself is Truly Something!)

i think people have conflated criticism and critique and think that being more openly analytical is the same thing as being negative. but analysis is so fun to me! analysis is why i joined fandom in the first place, and it's why i write fic! can we trust each other to be respectful and to speak in good faith even when we're not singing each other's praises? for me fandom would be better if we could.

oh i also want to clarify that i don't think it's impossible to demonstrate that you've thought deeply about a piece of fanwork while remaining completely positive. people do it all the time and do it very well!

i know i sometimes have tunnel vision wrt my own perspective. in a lot of situations, i wish it were more acceptable to be more direct, and i know people sometimes find the way i express myself to be kind of shocking. i know a lot of people like to be spoken to more indirectly than comes natural to me, and i don't mean to imply that my perspective is the only correct one or that there's no good reason to err on the side of gentleness/politeness in our responses to amateur art and writing. i just think that at a certain level of circumspection, it feels like we're all holding each other at arm's length.

i think for people who can't bear to feel exposed, making and sharing art is always going to be painful and difficult, and maybe too painful and difficult to enjoy the process unless they're sure of a soft landing. but like. the rewards of being loved only come after the mortifying ordeal of being known, right?

[royculkins]

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (3)

part three: the warmth of swirling minds & fluttering hearts

PART ONE, PART TWO

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal

Author's Note: i know, i know! it’s been forever but here’s the third part!! i hope you like it! if you would like to be added/taken off the tag list, please lmk! 🫶🏼

5.9k Words

Rain in New York could be treacherous, especially during the season’s cold front. 

Water would fall from the sky by millions, having no mercy for those who dared walk through it. The closer it got to those in the street, the more daring it would become. Sweeping sideways with the wind and sprinkling reminders of its presence on faces hidden under umbrellas. It would bounce off the pavement to soak through socks and ruin expensive shoes. Leaving its victims drenched and shaking from its chilling touch.

Igby hated this type of rain⸺the harshness and coldness of it feeling all too familiar as he splashed through puddles and received tiny wet slaps to the face.

Typically, he would never dare to trek through this type of downpour. For too long, he had been chasing the sun, trying to find affection in its sunkissed warmth and assurance. He had never been granted the peace of the sun's warming promise, for the chilling breath of his family curse was always present on the back of his neck. It would cascade down his back, leaving him with a constant spine-chilling need to search for anything to keep his dying fire ignited. 

A part of him wondered if the icy past that followed him would catch up to him one day. Would it freeze him instantly and forever? Would it cause his burning desire for freedom to die? Would he become as cold as his family? 

He didn’t want to stay in one place too long⸺fearing that if he did, his questions would be answered in the worst way possible.

For so long, he had felt the chill settle around him. Mocking him as he would add another layer of clothing to try and keep the cold from swallowing him whole. He wore his scarf so often for that very reason⸺for as long as he had it, he cursed the scarf draped around his neck for never doing its job, for never soothing him or comforting his shaking form.

That is until you.

You, who would take the fabric between your fingers to feel its used material. You, who reminded him of its presence above his shirt and below his jacket. You, who seemingly brought heat with just a touch⸺letting your warmth escape through your fingertips and travel into the stripped object, which would finally soothe the coolness on the back of his neck. 

You with the warm enough touch to cause his family's icy persona to nearly disappear. Maybe that was why, even though it was pouring down raining, Igby made his way to your apartment. 

Many of Russel's usual buyers had opted out of their deliveries on the storm-ridden day. Igby could still recall waking up on the sticky and crammed couch, a line of drool trickling out of his lips as Russel’s outdated phone jittered against its handle. A string of curse words stumbled out of the older man's mouth after each call, the weather washing away his usual profit. However, just as many began to cancel, others called for a supply to keep them busy during their time inside. 

You had been one of the many callers, telling Russel that it would be Igby’s jurisdiction if he wanted to travel through the storm to make his way to your apartment. 

You stared out your own window, twirling the telephone cord between your fingers and watching the rain as your drug dealer yelled across the apartment for his delivery boy. You could hear a quiet rustling noise on the other side of the line, but you couldn’t see the hazel-eyed boy tripping over himself and rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he hurried to the kitchen. Russel placed the palm of his hand over the receiver, relaying your message to Igby, who hugged himself against the room's chill. The dealer pushed the boy to go, bringing up the many cancellations of the day⸺not shying away from mumbling about how much you hated storms and that you would be all alone during one of the worst ones this season. 

Igby could only nod, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible as Russel used you as bait to get more money. What he didn’t know was that the younger boy was going to go anyway. The two of you had spent so much time together it would have felt wrong if he didn’t follow your regular schedules.

Smiling wildly, the artist sang into the phone, “He’ll be there.”

After the call, you shamelessly awaited the boy's arrival, looking past the racing raindrops on your window to try and catch a glimpse of the red and yellow scarf you had grown familiar with seeing on the sidewalk outside your apartment. You knew that the boy would tease you endlessly, just as he always did if he knew you were watching that closely for him. Yet, you couldn’t pull yourself away from the glass that separated you from the outside. That is until you could see the boy jogging toward the entrance of the building, pushing past the others who also sought shelter from the sheets of rain falling from the sky. 

Just as every time before, you had opened the door before he could even think of knocking. You were more prepared this time, immediately grabbing the dripping umbrella from his grasp and setting it aside. Your hands quickly peeling off his damp jacket and scarf before wrapping him in a blanket and taking a warm towel to his face to wipe off some of the remaining water droplets that clung to his skin.

“Jesus,” Igby forced out a chuckle, a shocked smile growing on his face as he grabbed at your wrist to pull the towel away from his hair. Tiny droplets of water clung to the ends, the added weight causing small pieces to fall slightly in front of his eyes. You watch his nose scrunch slightly before he speaks, “You could’ve told me to leave my shoes at the door if you were so concerned about me bringing water into your perfectly dry and tidy apartment.”

You roll your eyes at the sarcasm that drips from his lips onto your carpet just as the water slips from his shoes. The left side of your lip quirks up as you push the fallen pieces of hair out of the boy's face. His eyes shone brightly against his cold and pale features, his lips burning pink as they parted with the feeling of your touch. Even though he had just walked through the harsh cold rain, your touch brought forth the addictive warmth he’d become scared of growing familiar with. You place the small towel in his hands and put your own up in mocked surrender, “I just didn’t want you to be cold, you big baby.”

Igby laughs silently as he scrunches your towel through his hair, catching the blanket you put around his shoulders before it slipped off. You hold his eyes in contact with your own before walking toward the window seal where the two of you always sat. 

The brunette boy followed behind you, sniffing lightly as he pulled the blanket tighter around him. As the two of you sat together, Igby tried to ignore the burning in his thigh as yours pressed against his own. Glancing at your touching limbs briefly, the boy looked at your smile before following your gaze out the window, where people were hunched over and running for shelter from the rain. 

Narrowing his eyes with a growing smirk, the boy looked back at you, a teasing tone wrapped around his words, “It appears to me you like watching people suffer.”

“Suffer? They’re running in the rain. They’re not suffering.”

“How would you know? You haven’t left this room in months. You probably forgot how disgusting rain is,” The smirk on the boy's face was seemingly permanent as he tilted his head to catch your eye.  His teasing didn’t go unwelcomed by you, a smirk of your own sliding onto your features as you huffed out a laugh. 

Shaking your head, you look back down at the people holding umbrellas, newspapers, bags, and jackets over their heads. Raising an eyebrow, you look back at the boy, “Everyone looks the same when it rains. Everyone does the same thing⸺it’s cute.”

“Yeah, it’s only cute because you didn’t have to go through it,” The boy motions toward himself, emphasizing that he was still damp from his journey to your apartment. 

“You looked like everyone else out there. Quickened pace and hunched over⸺you looked cute,” You laugh softly, the both of you turning away as a blush crept upon your faces in a revealing shade of ardent. 

Allowing a crease to form between his eyebrows, the boy looked back at you with a humorous smile, “Were you watching for me?”

You didn’t answer, you didn’t have to. The way you refused to meet his eye and your soft laugh that was accompanied by a smile was enough for him to know. You hadn’t known each other for long, yet there was an easy nature that brought forth an understanding so strong you could identify each other's thoughts by just a simple action. Pulling a baggy out of his pocket, Igby tosses your supply into your lap as he bumps your shoulder, “God, you must have really wanted these drugs, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” You nodded with fake enthusiasm, matching his sarcastic tone with a wide grin.  

Igby smirks before leaning closer to you, his breath fanning your face as he speaks. You would blame the rosy pink color on your cheeks and neck on his body heat instead of what it really was, “Or did you really wanna see me? Hm?”

You smirked back and mirrored his actions, allowing the tips of your noses to brush together, “I don’t know. I gave you the jurisdiction over whether you wanted to come or not. And here you are. So I guess you really wanted to see me. Hm?” 

Igby breaks your eye contact as he smiles down at his lap, trying to ignore the heat that rushes up his back as he quickly returns his gaze to yours. Noticing his hesitation to speak, you continued, rubbing your hands on your thighs as you grinned, “I mean, come on, you must admit that I’m your favorite customer.”

“You wish.”

With wide eyes, you scoff loudly before letting it transition into a laugh and lightly slap the boy's covered arms. Igby couldn’t fight his urge to join you, your laughs silent but warm with connection. 

The two of you fall back into your familiar pattern of Igby telling his delivery horror stories while you listen intently, craving the sweet taste of human interaction. When he finished with the stories of today, he seamlessly transitioned into stories about what it was like to live with Russel, relishing the times that he made you laugh, soaking in every time you leaned in closer or pumped your body into his own. 

It was a type of intimacy he had never quite experienced. To be so comfortable with someone that he could openly complain, make jokes, and tease without fear of backlash was almost foreign to him. However, he liked it, he liked it with you. 

The rain continued to pour as you exchanged one story after another. Finding connections and making jokes to ensure that the moment between you lasts for even a second longer. It was the boy's small sniffles that caused you to pull the blanket tighter around his body. Rubbing his arms lightly, you watched closely for any indication that your touch was unwanted⸺it never would be, “Are you warming up?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Igby’s voice comes out hushed like a whisper, almost breathless, as shock ran through him at how gentle your touch was compared to anyone he had ever met. Licking his lips, his hazel eyes meet with yours, silence settling around you like the colors of the sunset settled in the sky. 

“Good,” Your voice is whispered just as his was, the both of you becoming increasingly aware that the moment was approaching its end. However, both of you were grasping for ways to extend it, even if it were just for a few seconds.

Hoping that the familiarity of your routine would be enough, you held the bag in your lap with a hopeful smile, “You wanna smoke?”

The agreement was just on the tip of his tongue, but it was muted by the rolling thunder that alerted the teens of the storm's presence once more. Looking out the window, Igby frowned slightly, not wanting to leave you just yet, “I doubt you want to hold an umbrella for that long.”

“We can smoke it in here,” Your reply was fast, nearly stumbling over the remaining words of Igby’s short sentence. You tried to appear nonchalant as you continued, hoping not to look too pleadingly for his company, “If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

The confirmation came in the form of a boyish grin, the two of you moving to the center of the living room to gain more comfort as Igby lit the joint that had been rolled and placed between your lips. With the fiery spark at the end of the paper, the boy on the floor leaned against the expensive floral couch, watching you inhale. 

Any remaining tension or cold that remained between you was pushed out with your first exhale, floating away from the two of you in the form of twisted and traveling smoke. Igby watched as it dissolved into nothing and smiled at you lightly as you passed him the joint. 

You observed the boy closely as he inhaled deeply and tried to blow out smoke in the form of an O, only succeeding in doing so twenty-five percent of the time. However, he didn’t care that he had failed to have a higher success rate; all he could focus on was the sound of your giggles beside him. He looked down at you as you lay with your stomach on the ground and your ankles kicking in the air. You looked childish and carefree, and for the first time, Igby didn’t feel compelled to mention it because he, too, looked childish and carefree. 

Something that the two of you needed to be more often. 

As the first joint worked through your systems, you had changed positions. Igby had removed the blanket from his shoulders and laid down with his back against the carpeted floor, a throw pillow from the couch tucked under his arms crossed over his chest. His feet were far from the couch; his ankles crossed over one another as he stretched out on the floor. To the left of his head was yours, your back had now been pressed against the floor as well, but now your feet were kicked up and rested on the couch. 

You both held onto easy smiles, not a single muscle ached or twitched with the inkling of movement. Your minds swirled effortlessly with floating thoughts that replaced the attention of the heavier ones. 

Tilting your head slightly to look out the window, you watched as the rain persisted, freefalling from clouds with no destination, “I love the rain.”

Scoffing lightly, Igby closed his eyes and squeezed the pillow, his body feeling heavy with relaxation. But not relaxed enough to not argue with you, “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” You laugh, lolling your head to look at the boy rather than out the window. 

“No, you don’t. You hate storms.”

Shaking your head, you give the boy a confused look and chuckle softly, “When did I say that?”

“You didn’t. Russel told me.”

“Well, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, pretty boy, but I love the rain.” 

Igby rolls his eyes at your giggled pun, hoping it was distracting enough to hide the flutter in his chest at you calling him pretty boy, “Well, I hate it. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s annoying.”

“It’s New York.” You laugh at the boy's complaints, “There’s an entire season here dedicated to rain.”

“Exactly! It’s the worst! That’s why I wanna leave, get out of here. Somewhere where it never rains. Where it’s never cold.”

Subconsciously, Igby pondered if that was the reason he spent so much time in your apartment. He had been to many places filled with light and accompanied by expensive heating equipment, yet your apartment was the warmest place he had found in New York. Your place, with its wandering ghosts of your parent's decisions and expensive untouched furniture.

That only left you. You had to be the warmth that filled the apartment. 

Turning your head to look at him, you watch his eyes trace shapes into the ceiling. His eased mind swirling with thoughts of sunny skies and serenity. Scanning his pale features, you speak quietly, not wanting to spook him from his thoughts, “So why don’t you?”

His eyes freeze on a spot on your ceiling, slowly coming out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice next to him. He turns to you with furrowed eyebrows, causing you to sit up on your elbows, which Igby is quick to mirror, “Go somewhere warm and where it never rains?”

“If I could, I would.”

Silence follows the truth of his statement, which makes Igby’s stomach turn. It was honest, but your lack of response jolted his heart into thinking you would scold him just as others before you have. Instead, you tilt your head in confusion after a prolonged moment of thought, “What’s stopping you?”

“I live with a drug dealer and deliver the drugs for him. What do you think is stopping me,” The boy huffs out a troubled laugh, his words intermixing with the harsh truth, yet his words held no resentment toward you, only toward his situation.

Pushing yourself further into a seated position, you examine the room before grinning at the boy. A helpful gleam dancing in your eyes, “Maybe I can help!”

“No,” Igby lies his head back down on the floor, his eyes returning to the ceiling. There was no compromising with him on this⸺it was the end of the discussion. At least for Igby, it was. 

“Why not? I have a bunch of shit here you can pawn, or I can grab you some cash.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t take his eyes off the ceiling. He simply states again, “No.”

“It’s no big deal,” Confusion was laced in your words, circling around your sincerity in offering the boy help to make his grand escape. 

Turning his head, Igby’s jaded eyes meet your hopeful ones before letting them narrow, “Okay, fine. One condition, though.”

He sits up, and you nod, ready to hand over anything to help him. He tilts his head and smiles sweetly, too sweetly. He knows he’s got you with his simple request, “You have to come with me.”

“What?”

“I mean, if you’re supplying me with the funds to leave, you might as well join me,” He speaks as if it’s obvious, his tone steady as his hazel eyes observe every emotion that glides over your features. He wondered if he should try to keep count of them, seeing as your face had changed many times within a few seconds.

You force out a laugh. It’s breathy and weak as you shake your head, trying to keep the wavering smile on your face, “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Igby’s Cheshire cat smile was met with a stern look from you. You didn’t find his mocked confusion entertaining, especially because all you wanted to do was help him. Rolling his eyes, the boy let his head fall backward, “Who cares about your parents?”

“I do.”

“They’re holding you hostage here. We could leave and never see them again,” Igby’s voice starts confidently before becoming a hushed promise. You aren’t sure whether or not it’s for you or him, “Any of them.”

You look down at your lap, ashamed by the words that follow his, “I can’t.”

Shifting himself closer to you, Igby’s shoulder rubs against your own as he leans down to catch your eyes, his voice whispered with finality, “Which is why I refuse to take you’re money.”

“Fine,” You nod, causing him to grin triumphantly before lying back down. You follow his example, frustrated at your lack of assistance, “Is there anything I can do to help you, though? Non-currency-wise?”

Smiling to himself, his hazel eyes connect to your side profile, “Wanna smoke another joint?”

You look at him with a blank expression before breaking into a grin and standing up in your spot to gather your supply. The boy kicks himself into the sitting position again and lets his eyes follow you silently until you’re sitting in front of him again.

He watches as you lick the paper before rolling it and holds the lighter out to light the end of it for you. Letting your fingers lightly wrap around his wrist to keep the flame steady, you peek up at the boy through your eyelashes. His lips parted as he sucked in a breath at the eye contact, blinking harshly to potentially ease the crackling tension that always surrounded the two of you. Maybe it was unwise to hold a flame so close to flammable chemistry that circled around you.

Taking the first hit, you blow smoke to the side before handing Igby the joint, “Where would you go?”

“Hmm,” He hums questioningly into the joint with his eyes closed, more focused on inhaling the relaxation than anything else.

“Where would you go? I mean, you’ve had to have thought about it.”

“Los Angeles,” He hands the burning paper back to you, “It’s warmer there. It’s sunny.”

“Maybe you could get a tan,” You hold the smoke in your lungs as you send the boy a teasing grin, “You’re very pale.”

“Fuck you,” He pushes your shoulder lightly with a matching grin, a beautiful laugh escaping his lips, causing you to stare at them subconsciously.

Igby watches you as well as you laugh and takes the joint from you, “Where would you go?” 

You give him a confused look, causing the boy to wave his hand around the room, “When you’re finally free from this hell hole? Where are you going to go?”

You blink and shake your head, “I don’t know.”

“Really?”

He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. Not when he has spent his entire life thinking about running away and getting out. But as much as you two had in common, you had many things that separated the two of you as well. Igby wanted out; you’ve only ever wanted an in.

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What,” His voice raises in apparent disbelief, “Getting out is the only thing I’ve ever thought of. You really haven’t thought about it? Not even once?”

You look up thoughtfully, your lips pulling in indecisiveness, “I mean, I guess the beach would be nice.”

Igby sits in silence, relishing in the fact that you are so nonchalant about leaving the apartment. Shaking his head, he leans his head against the couch cushion, “You think the beach would be nice? Jesus. Yeah, you really haven’t thought about it, have you? You’re really weird, you know that?”

You shrug, not offended by his words, causing the boy to narrow his eyes, “Well, what about your friends? I mean, wouldn’t they want to see you? Have you even thought about seeing them when you get out? Or do you have them over when I’m not around?”

The boy plays like he’s hurt, a hand on his heart and a pout on his lips, causing you to chuckle before shaking your head, “No, no, neither. Um, once I stopped showing up at Russel’s afterparties, no one kept in touch. Except Russel, but that’s only because I’m paying him.”

You take the joint from Igby’s fingers, quickly inhaling it as he watches, “I don’t think I have many friends, really. Most of the people I used to know were just people to take bumps with.”

The pale boy whistles lowly and shakes his head with a smirk, “So, you really are a loser, huh?”

You throw your head back laughing and hand him the joint, “Oh yeah, how many friends do you got?”

Igby’s smile wavers slightly as he thinks back to the friends he made at boarding school, which consisted of mainly other troubled kids. Rachel, who he enabled and used for shelter. And finally, he thought of Sookie. His heart aching as flashes of her blonde hair and greyish-blue eyes raced through his mind.

“I used to have this one friend, Sookie. She was the worst⸺she was vegan and older than me and was the type of spoiled who didn’t think they were spoiled⸺but I really liked her. She helped me pass the ILSTs. She’s actually the only reason I even took them.”

You tilt your head to catch his eye, the remaining bit of feelings he had for her lingering around his words, “You liked her.”

“I already said that.”

“No,” You chuckle as you scoot closer toward him, “I mean you liked her. Had a crush on her.”

“Oh, yeah,” The boy nods, but his face screws up before he starts shaking his head. Unsure of his feelings as he began to unpack them in front of you, “Actually, I don’t know. I mean, we had sex a few times, but I don’t know. I guess I just, I just trusted her.”

You note the frown on his face and lean into his side so that he’d look at you, “And where is Sookie now?”

“Sleeping with my brother.”

You look down awkwardly before slapping at the joint in his hand so that he’d take a hit, seeing as he needed it more than you, “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” The lost boy chuckles before inhaling, holding the smoke in his chest as he speaks, “So if you’re gonna do me any favors—don’t sleep with my brother, alright?”

He passes you the joint as you smile lightly, a joke slipping past your lips, “Can’t promise that if he’s hot.”

Igby jolts as if you had just slapped him upside the head with a pan. You almost laughed at how fast his head turned toward you, disgust growing over his features, “Gross! He’s, like, older than you and–and you would hate him!”

“Well, how old is he?”

“Around the same age as Sookie.”

You tilt your head in thought, a visible expression of reflection on your face as you shrug, “I’ve dated older.”

“That’s disgusting,” Igby didn’t try to hide his thoughts as he expressed them verbally and physically as his face scrunched up. 

“Trust me,” You start before taking another hit of the joint, “I’m aware.”

Shaking his head, the brunette takes the joint between your fingers. Suddenly realizing that it was nearing its end, with his hesitation, you took note of the same thing, “Wanna shotgun it?”

Igby looks up at you, confused, causing you to quirk an eyebrow as you point to the burning paper, “The rest of it? Do you wanna shotgun it?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never really done that.”

Now, it was your turn to share your reaction of disbelief, “What? Really?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Igby tries to maintain a nonchalant stance, but he twitches as he begins to feel inexperienced. You smile lightly, “Why not?”

“Haven’t really wanted to get that close to someone else's face,” The boy quickly made an excuse, giving you an appalled look, “It’s actually—probably disgusting.”

“It’s not disgusting, it’s fun.”

Snorting, the boy mocked your excitement by raising his voice and waving his hands, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s so fun!”

You move so that you sit in front of him, his breathing catching in his throat as you grab his wrist that was holding the joint. Slowly, you bring his hand closer to your lips, letting them wrap around the joint and softly brush against Igby’s fingers. You hold your breath, letting the smoke dance around your lungs, and lean forward. Your noses touch briefly before you blow the smoke toward his lips. You watch as the smoke circles around his mouth but doesn’t enter.

Igby had been too busy holding his breath at your proximity, his eyes focused on yours as heat spreads over his body. You pull back laughing, “You’re supposed to inhale it when I blow it out.”

Having to break himself out of his trance, Igby blinks harshly and nods quickly, hoping you won’t back away and suggest doing something else, “Okay, okay. Try again.”

You do it again. This time, Igby brings the joint to your lips without your help, watching as you inhale it and leaning forward to meet you halfway. He was fully prepared to do whatever you needed him to do. As you blew out the smoke, he inhaled it, his eyes on your lips until the smoke disappeared into his lungs. Looking back up at you, he blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. His lips tingling as the sensation mixes with the fire ignited in his chest. You smile at him and laugh as you speak, “I told you it was fun.”

“Shut up,” He laughs as well and brings the joint to his own lips, following what you did as he leaned forward, his nose crashing into yours as he moved quickly with excitement. You laugh at his giddiness before bringing your lips closer to his, letting them just barely brush together, sending a shock through both of your bodies. 

You both make eye contact, holding it for a prolonged second before Igby finally pushes out the smoke due to the burning in his chest. You inhale the smoke and blow it to the side, heat spreading across your face as you feel the boy's eyes watching you closely. 

After that, the two of you can only stare at each other, silently trying to calm your racing hearts and fluttered minds. The shock caused the energy in the room to shift, your bodies feeling like magnets being pulled apart but wanting desperately to regain their closeness. Igby seems to think first; wanting to get closer again, he tries to go for another round of shotgunning, but as he raises his hand to your mouth, you softly grab his wrist to stop it from coming near your lips. You slowly push his hand down as you lean toward him, your eyes locked on his hazel ones. His lips are parted, his tongue darting out anxiously as your lips come near his with caution. You hold yourself just an inch away from him, giving him an out, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he starts to lean forward, his lips brushing just slightly against yours until a loud ringing jolts the two of you apart. 

You close your eyes and place your hand on your heart as Igby turns around to look toward the kitchen, where the phone is ringing against its handle. He looks back at you with wide eyes, unsure how to proceed. You shake your head, making no movement toward the ringing device. Igby watches you, “Are you going to get that?”

“No, if it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”

The ringing finally stops as the answering machine picks up. Russel's voice singing through the machine, your name being the first thing to leave his lips, “Pick up the phone. Are you keeping my delivery boy hostage? Pick up! Tell him I have more running for him to do. Seriously? Pick up the phone. Give him back! He’s my delivery boy! You know I don’t like sharing. Igby, I know you’re there. Hopefully, you two aren’t getting pregnant. That’d be awful.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand up from your position and take long strides toward the phone as Igby slowly gets up and starts putting his shoes on, “Okay, okay, I’m sending him back to you. Jesus Christ.”

You could nearly hear the smirk on your dealer's face, “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck you, Russel,” You mutter into the phone, causing the man to speak happily before hanging up on you, “I love you too! And you’re welcome for the drugs, cunt!”

You hang the phone on its handle and turn to watch as Igby puts his jacket back on and grabs his umbrella. Jogging after him, you pick up his scarf that had fallen off the ground and reach out for him, “Wait!” 

He turns around and lets you put the scarf around his neck. His hazel eyes watch you closely as you pat the fabric down, running your fingers over the material just as you always did. However, just as he thought you were about to let go, you do something unexpected. Meeting his eyes, you smile softly before leaning forward and softly kiss the mole on his cheek. When you pull away, Igby has half a mind to chase your lips but stops himself with a scoff, trying to look down to cover the pink dusting against his cheeks, “You’re fucking weird, you do know that, don’t you?”

“Do you know if you keep insulting me, I may need to tell Russel I want a new delivery boy?”

Igby chuckles and begins to walk out the door, and just like every time before, you walk him out and lean against the threshold of your door. The boy pushes the elevator button, shoving his hands in his pockets to prepare himself for the cold rain he was about to encounter again. 

Looking over his shoulder, his hazel eyes connect with yours, causing him to pause in his action. Your smile wavered just slightly as his eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what was now swimming through his mind. Whatever it was, it caused him to make a sudden decision. 

He takes long and powerful strides, yet his hands are soft as they cup your face, your noses brushing against one another, and deep breaths mixing together in an urgent burning of anticipation. Igby drags his lips lightly against your own, silently questioning if it’s what you want. 

And you do. 

So you push forward and press your lips harder against his. The kiss is new and slow, something neither of you were used to. Too used to rushing the experience due to your counterparts being older than you. Now, all it was was warm and gentle. Your hearts combining in an act of fluttering like butterfly wings against the summer sun—so warm, so young, so carefree, and so beautiful.

Your hands grip at his scarf, pulling his body closer, needing the growing glow of warmth to encapsulate this moment. The elevator dings behind Igby, causing you to pull back, but he chases your lips, pressing them together again to cling to the comfort he has never felt before. 

With one last peck, he pulls away, placing his forehead against your own. His eyes locked on yours before they looked down at your plump lips, running his thumb over them soothingly. With every fiber of his body, he has to untangle himself from you and back himself into the elevator, having to catch the door before it closes on him. He sends you a final infatuated smile before the doors close. 

Igby blinks as he loses his eye contact with you and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the smile on his face expanding with every tingle he felt. He knew he was about to face the cold rain again, yet this time, he knew it wouldn’t bother him. Not when the burning of your shared kiss still lingered in his body. 

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛ ┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

NEXT PART

[drinksattheendoftheworld]

Favourite* 50 Movies Seen in 2023

As has become my tradition, I'm sharing the Top 50 new-to-me movies that I watched in 2023. I participated in a certain Letterboxd challenge last year through which I had more of a focus on movies from the 90s-present than I normally would have, but it did result in my exposure to some gems (half of my top 10 were from the list, so at least there's that!) This year, however, I hope to watch far more from before my birth as tends to be my preference. Anyway.

Everybody Wants Some!! (2016)

Boogie Nights (1997)

American Graffiti (1973)

The Last Days of Disco (1998)

Mulholland Drive (2001)

Party Girl (1995)

The Misfits (1961)

Another Country (1984)

Back to the Beach (1987)

Tommy (1975)

Margaret (2011)

Women Talking (2022)

Wicked Little Letters (2023)

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. (2023)

Man Wanted (1932)

Beverly Hills Cop (1984)

Crooked House (2017)

The Aviator (2004)

Earth Girls are Easy (1988)

The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945)

Impulse (1990)

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992)

Girls Nite Out (1982)

Pretty Woman (1990)

Call Me By Your Name (2017)

The Fabelmans (2022)

The Nest (2020)

May December (2023)

The Pelican Brief (1993)

Point Break (1991)

The Convert (2023)

The Long, Long Trailer (1954)

American Fiction (2023)

Dead of Winter (1987)

In Her Shoes (2005)

Mother, Couch! (2023)

Tár (2022)

Crash (1996)

The Miracle Club (2023)

Thanksgiving (2023)

Under the Silver Lake (2018)

Pompeii (2014)

Ghostkeeper (1981)

Eyes of Fire (1983)

The Bloodhound (2020)

Blue Ruin (2013)

Igby Goes Down (2002)

How to Beat the High Cost of Living (1980)

Arlington Road (1999)

*Also, an important caveat: Favourite ≠ Best

[maraskolnikova]

Favorite character tag

Thank you @monicamelancolie, @shes-gone-rogue, @mjquintas, @wannaseeamonkey and @albionknight for tagging me ♥

rules: list ten characters from ten different things (book, TV, movies, etc) and tag ten people.

1) Elio Perlman - “Call Me By Your Name”

2) Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov - “Crime and Punishment”

3) Akaky Akakievich - “The Overcoat”

4) Gareth Keenan - “The Office” (UK)

5) Maurice Moss - “The IT Crowd”

6) Larry David - “Curb Your Enthusiasm”

7) Igby Slocumb - “Igby Goes Down”

8) Layla - “Buffalo ‘66″

9) Max Fischer - “Rushmore”

10) Bartleby - “Bartleby the Scrivener”

tagging @subjectivelyspeaking, @xiavttini, @ickivaychalamet, @debmont8686, @backofthepostcard, @cecilatec , @simplyshady, @beige-honey, @flamina08 , @ohana

[marianajacqueline45]

Hoy cumple años Susan Sarandon 71 años es una laureada actriz y productora estadounidense de teatro, cine y televisión. Su nutrida y extensa filmografía, sumada con sus característicos ojos grandes y cabello rojizo, la han convertido en uno de los rostros más reconocibles de Hollywood.Debutó en la gran pantalla en 1970 con la cinta dramática Joe, para luego saltar a la pantalla chica con la telenovela A World Apart, emitida entre 1970 y 1971. Apareció por primera vez en las tablas de Broadway en 1972 con la obra Una velada con Richard Nixon y en 1975, logró el reconocimiento internacional con la cinta de culto The Rocky Horror Picture Show, el cual marcó el punto de partida de su exitosa carrera como actriz. Ha acumulado 5 candidaturas al premio Óscar por su destacada participación en las cintas: Atlantic City de 1980, Thelma y Louisede 1991, Lorenzo's Oil de 1992, El cliente de 1994 y, la que sería su victoria, Pena de muerte de 1995. También tiene en su haber un BAFTA y el Premio del Sindicato de Actores a la mejor actriz, además de numerosas nominaciones al Globo de Oro y al Emmy. Algunas de sus intervenciones teatrales más importantes son: A Coupla White Chicks Sitting Around Talking de 1979, Extremidadesde 1982 y El rey se muere de 2009. Algunas de sus intervenciones más importantes en la televisión son: sus múltiples apariciones en Friends en 2001 y Malcolm in the Middle en 2002; además de las películas Bernard and Doris de 2007 y You Don't Know Jack de 2010. De igual manera, destacan en su filmografía las cintas: Pretty Baby de 1978, El ansia de 1983, Las brujas de Eastwick de 1987, Pasíon sin barreras de 1990, Mujercitas de 1994, Stepmom de 1998, Igby Goes Down de 2002, Encantada de 2007, Desde mi cielo de 2009 y Tammy de 2014. https://youtu.be/a-tLJ-OXN9I Hoy cumple años Alicia Silverstone 41 años es una actriz, productora y exmodelo estadounidensede origen británico y judío. Se hizo famosa de joven por los vídeos musicales de Aerosmithy posteriormente por su participación como protagonista en películas como The Crush(1993), Clueless (1995) y Batman & Robin(1997). Trabajó como modelo mientras estudiaba la secundaria en el colegio San Mateo de California, también estudió en la Universidad de Old Dominion en Norfolk, Virginia. Silverstone obtuvo un papel principal en la película de 1993 The Crush, interpretando a una adolescente que decide conquistar a un hombre mayor para arruinarlo, después de sufrir un desencanto romántico; por este papel, ganó un premio 1994 MTV Movie Awards en la categoría Mejor Revelación y Mejor Villana. Silverstone se emancipó legalmente a los 15 años para poder trabajar todas las horas que requería el rodaje de la película. También en 1993, audicionó para el papel protagónico como Angela Chase en la serie de ABC My So-Called Life, pero Claire Danes fue finalmente elegida para el papel. Alicia hizo también películas para televisión a principios de su carrera, incluyendo Torch Song, Cool and the Crazy y Scattered Dreams. Después de verla en The Crush, Marty Callnerdecidió que sería perfecta para el video musical que estaba dirigiendo para la banda Aerosmith, llamado "Cryin'" en 1994, al que luego le siguieron los videos "Amazing" y "Crazy". Las canciones tuvieron mucho éxito tanto para la banda como para Silverstone, precipitándola a la fama. Además, la directora Amy Heckerling vio los videos, tras lo cual decidió contratarla para la película CluelessClueless se convirtió en un éxito muy bien recibido por la crítica en el verano boreal de 1995. La actuación de Silverstone fue elogiada, y fue marcada como la representante de una generación joven emergente. Como resultado, firmó un contrato con Columbia-TriStar de 10 millones de dólares. Silverstone también ganó los premios de "Mejor Actuación Femenina" y "Actriz Más Atractiva" en los premios MTV Movie Awards de 1996 por su participación en la película. El mismo año, Silverstone protagonizó otras películas, incluyendo el thriller The Babysitter, una adaptación de la novela de Dean Koontz, Hideaway y el drama francés New World. El papel siguiente de Silverstone fue como Batgirl en Batman & Robin, que no fue ningún éxito de crítica. Durante el rodaje del film, la actriz llegó a subir varios kilos de peso, razón por la que tuvieron algunos problemas en el momento de que ella realizara sus tomas puesto que la personaje de Batgirl se caracterizaba por ser delgada, contrastando con la engordada figura que relucía Silverstone en ese tiempo. ni de taquilla en los Estados Unidos. Silverstone ganó un premio Razzie por Peor Actriz de Reparto.Después sufrió mala prensa por haber atropellado a un peatón con su vehículo en un paso de peatones. En total, la película recaudo $238,207,122 y fue un éxito de taquilla alrededor del mundo, aunque no en EE.UU. Alicia protagonizó también la película de 1997 Excess Baggage, la cual fue la primera película producida por su compañía, First Kiss Productions. En la película, Silverstone interpretaba a una chica rica que falsifica su propio secuestro para llamar la atención de su padre. Aunque no fue tan duramente criticada como Batman & Robin, la película no tuvo el éxito de Clueless. En la película también participan Benicio del Toro y Christopher Walken. Silverstone continuaría su carrera de Batgirl, tras haber estado en otras dos secuelas de Batman, pero estas nunca salieron al cine, porque Batman Triumphant fue cancelada. Sobre el final de los '90, Alicia fue nominada para los Premios Saturn por su actuación en la comedia romántica Blast from the Past, co-protagonizada por Brendan Fraser, Christopher Walken y Sissy Spacek. Silverstone apareció también en la adaptación cinematográfica de Kenneth Branagh de la obra de Shakespeare Love's Labour's Lost en 2000, en la cual tuvo que bailar y cantar. En 2001, Silverstone grabó la voz de Sharon Spitz, el personaje principal en la serie televisiva canadiense animada Braceface. Durante este periodo, hizo las películas Global Heresy y Scorched. Tras desaparecer del ojo público por unos años, en 2003 resurgió en el programa televisivo de la NBC Miss Match, el cual fue cancelado luego de 18 episodios. Silverstone más tarde se dio cuenta de que odia los reveses de la fama. Según ella, «la fama no es algo que le desearía a alguien. Comienzas a actuar porque eso es lo que te gusta. Luego llega el éxito, y repentinamente ya no estás en carrera». Luego de Miss Match en 2003, hizo un episodio piloto para una serie de FOX llamado Queen B, en el cual interpretaría a una reina de graduación llamada Beatrice (Bea), quien se había dado cuenta de que el mundo real no era como la escuela secundaria. En 2004, personificó a la villana Heather Jasper How, una reportera algo mentirosa, junto a Freddie Prinze Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar, Matthew Lillard, Linda Cardellini y Neil Fanning en el filme Scooby Doo 2: Monstruos Sueltos. En 2005, co-protagonizó junto a Queen LatifahBeauty Shop, una remake de la película BarberShop, en la cual interpretó a una estilista de un salón de belleza. Ese año también realizó la película Silence Becomes You, la cual fue directamente lanzada en DVD. La película más reciente de Silverstone, Stormbreaker, fue estrenada en el Reino Unidoel 21 de julio de 2006, y en Norteamérica el 13 de octubre de 2006. Sus co-protagonistas fueron Ewan McGregor y Sophie Okonedo. En noviembre de 2006, protagonizó la película para televisión Candles on Bay Street para Hallmark Hall of Fame, basada en el libro de Cathie Pelletier. Actualmente está filmando un piloto para ABC junto con Megan Mullallyllamado Bad Mother's Handbook. Alicia ganó muchos premios por sus actuaciones en el cine, incluyendo MTV Movie Awards, National Board of Review, Young Artist Awards, etc. También fue nominada para los Premios Emmy y los Premios Globo de Oro. Durante su carrera, rechazó varios papeles protagónicos, incluyendo el de Dede Truitt en The Opposite of Sex, Nicole en My Father the Hero, un papel de Scream 3 y Julieta Capuleto en Romeo + Juliet. También fue pre-seleccionada para papeles en las películas Scream 2, Bewitched, Little Women y Heartbreakers. https://youtu.be/RS0KyTZ3Ie4 Hoy cumple años Christoph Waltz  61 años es un actor austriaco, nacionalizado alemán. Ganador del premio Óscar al mejor actor de reparto en dos ocasiones por sus interpretaciones en Inglourious Basterds(2009) y en Django Unchained (2012), ambas películas del director Quentin Tarantino. Entre otros galardones, ha sido acreedor de los Globo de Oro, BAFTA y el premio al mejor actor del Festival de Cannes.La primera película en la que participó fue Der Einstand en el año 1977, mientras que su primera película estrenada en los cines fue Fuego y espada en 1982. No fue hasta 2009 cuando recibió las mejores críticas[cita requerida]por el trabajo que desempeñó en la película Inglourious Basterds de Quentin Tarantino, adoptando el rol de Hans Landa, un Standartenführer apodado cazador de judíosdurante la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Su trabajo en dicha película fue reconocido en el Festival de Cannes, donde recibió el premio al mejor actor y su primer premio Óscar. Cabe destacar que es el segundo actor austriaco, por detrás de Joseph Schildkraut en ganar el Óscar al mejor actor de reparto, ambos de origen vienés. Tarantino reconoció la importancia de Waltz a su película diciendo lo siguiente: Creo que Landa es uno de los mejores personajes que he escrito y que escribiré, y Christoph lo interpretó a la perfección... Es cierto que si no hubiese encontrado a alguien tan bueno como Christoph, no podría haber hecho Inglourious Basterds. Entre las numerosas películas en que ha participado, también destacan Lapislázuli, estrenada en el Festival Internacional de Cine de Berlín, Bailando con el diablo, ganadora del prestigioso Premio Adolf Grimme, y Du bist nicht allein, die Roy Black Story, por la que ganó el Premio de la Televisión de Baviera, de la Televisión Alemana y un León de Oro de RTL. También tuvieron relevancia películas como Agua para elefantes, donde compartió rodaje con Reese Witherspoon y Robert Pattinson, y Carnage de Roman Polanski, basada en la exitosa obra Le dieu du carnagede la dramaturga francesa Yasmina Reza. En 2012 volvió a trabajar a las órdenes de Tarantino para la película Django Unchained, por la que ganó el Globo de Oro al mejor actor de reparto y su segundo Óscar en la misma categoría. El austriaco partía como uno de los favoritos debido a su doble triunfo en los Globos de Oro y en los Bafta. El intérprete agradeció el premio especialmente a Tarantino por atreverse con unos proyectos que otros no harían. Waltz, que le da a su personaje el sentido del humor marca de Tarantino,[cita requerida] encarna en la película a un cazarrecompensas encargado de liberar al esclavo Django, interpretado por Jamie Foxx, y de ayudarle a reencontrarse con su esposa, cuya libertad depende de la voluntad del tirano Candie, interpretado por Leonardo DiCaprio, dueño de una de las plantaciones más grandes del Misisipi. En 2015 se estreno la pelicula Spectre (007: Spectre en Hispanoamérica y Spectre 007 en español) es la vigésimocuarta película de James Bond producida por Eon Productions. Contó con Daniel Craig en su cuarta actuación como James Bond y Christoph Waltz como Franz Oberhauser, el antagonista de la película. https://youtu.be/a2qXmalcPNM Hoy cumple años Dakota Johnson 28 años es una actriz y modeloestadounidense.Hija de los actores Melanie Griffith y Don Johnson, y es nieta de de la actriz Tippi Hedren. Es conocida por su papel al interpretar a Anastasia Steele en la trilogía cinematográfica de Cincuenta sombras de Grey, y por interpretar a Kate Fox en la serie estadounidense Ben y Kate, para la cadena FOX. https://youtu.be/9LHfc9yBsyg Hoy cumpliría años Buster Keaton (1895-1966)fue un actor, guionista y director estadounidense de cine mudo cómico.Ganador de un Óscar honorífico en 1960, en 1996 Keaton ocupó el 7º lugar entre los 50 mejores directores de cine del listado de Entertainment Weekly, y en 1999 ocupó el puesto 21 de los mejores actores del cine clásico estadounidense del listado del American Film Institute 100 años... 100 estrellas, un listado elegido por las propias estrellas actuales del cine. Su película El maquinista de la General (1927) figura en el puesto 18 de la lista de los 100 mejores películas del American Film Institute y en el puesto 34 de las mejores películas de todos los tiempos, según la British Film Institute, el puesto más alto conseguido por una película de comedia. El crítico de cine Geoff Andrew le considera no solo el mejor cómico del cine mudo sino el mejor cómico de la historia del cine, además de ser «unos de los mejores cineastas de todos los tiempos». Se caracterizó principalmente por su humor físico mientras mantenía un rostro inexpresivo en todo momento, lo cual le ganó su apodo, Cara de piedra. En España fue conocido artísticamente como Pamplinas o Cara de Palo. Al igual que sus contemporáneos, Keaton provino del vodevil. El apodo de Buster fue puesto por el ilusionista Harry Houdini, colaborador del padre de Buster, que, al verlo caer de una escalera, sin una sola herida a la edad de tres años, exclamó: «That was a real buster!», que podría traducirse por: «¡Menuda caída!» o también «¡Qué tipo más tremendo!» o «¡Qué temerario!». Otras películas de Keaton incluyen a Las tres edades (1923), La ley de la hospitalidad(1923), El navegante (1924), El moderno Sherlock Holmes (1924), Las siete ocasiones(1925), Steamboat Bill Jr. (1928) y The Cameraman (1928). El actor no está relacionado con Diane Keaton ni con Michael Keaton (cuyo verdadero apellido es Douglas, pero se lo cambió para no ser confundido con el hijo de Kirk Douglas, aunque ratificó que su elección fue justamente como homenaje a Buster). https://youtu.be/UvXxd3U1A5g Hoy se cumple 27 años del estreno de la serie de TV Beverly Hills, 90210 es una serie con formato de telenovela juvenil emitida desde el 4 de octubre de 1990 al 17 de mayo de 2000 en el horario de mayor audiencia de la cadena FOXde los Estados Unidos y posteriormente en varias cadenas alrededor del mundo. La serie trataba sobre la vida de un grupo de adolescentes que vivían en la lujosa y acomodada comunidad de Beverly Hills, California y asistían a la escuela ficticia de secundaria West Beverly Hills High School y luego a la también ficticia California University. El show fue creado por Darren Stary producido por Aaron Spelling. El "90210" en el título se refiere a uno de los códigos postales de la zona (o código ZIP).En un principio los protagonistas principales eran los hermanos mellizos Walsh, Brandon (interpretado por Jason Priestley) y Brenda (interpretada por Shannen Doherty), que se mudaron con sus padres, Jim y Cindy, de Wayzata, Minnesota, un suburbio de Minneapolis, a Beverly Hills. De todos modos, al pasar el tiempo, esta se enfocó en otros aspectos de la actualidad juvenil californiana tales como violaciones durante citas amorosas, el alcoholismo, el abuso de drogas, el suicidio de adolescentes y el embarazo precoz, dejando de lado el formato inicial. La serie ganó popularidad durante el verano del 1991, cuando FOX transmitió un especial llamado “temporada de verano”, mientras la mayoría de las series se encontraban en el acostumbrado descanso veraniego. Al comenzar el otoño en los Estados Unidos, la serie se había convertido en una de las más populares de la cadena FOX. Los seguidores de la serie se incrementaron drásticamente y los miembros del elenco, particularmente Jason Priestley y Luke Perry, se convirtieron en ídolos juveniles, mientras que las actrices Shannen Doherty, Jennie Garth y Tori Spellingse volvieron nombres muy conocidos en la televisión estadounidense https://youtu.be/xKVV2aoeFt4

[bunchoffaceclaims]

Claire Danes

Gender: Female

DOB: 12 April 1979

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: German-English-Scottish-Irish-Austrian-Croatian

Gif Hunt tag RP Icons tag

Claire Catherine Danes is an American actress. She is the recipient of three Emmy Awards, four Golden Globe Awards, and two Screen Actors Guild Awards. In 2012, Time named her one of the 100 most influential people in the world, and she was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2015.

Danes gained recognition with her role as Angela Chase in the acclaimed 1994 teen drama series My So-Called Life. The role won her a Golden Globe Award for Best Actress and a Primetime Emmy nomination for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series. She made her film debut the same year in Little Women. Her other films include Romeo + Juliet, The Rainmaker, Les Misérables, Brokedown Palace, the English dub of Princess Mononoke, Igby Goes Down, The Hours, Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, Shopgirl and Stardust.

Danes appeared in an Off-Broadway production of The Vagina Monologues and made her Broadway debut playing Eliza Doolittle in a revival of Pygmalion. She portrayed Temple Grandin in the highly acclaimed HBO TV film Temple Grandin, which won her a second Golden Globe and her first Primetime Emmy Award for the Outstanding Lead Actress in a Limited Series or Movie. She stars as Carrie Mathison in the Showtime drama series Homeland, for which she has won two Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series, two Golden Globe Award for Best Actress – Television Series Drama, and the Television Critics Association Award for Individual Achievement in Drama. She is married to actor Hugh Dancy, with whom she has one child.

[royculkins]

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (Final Part)

part five: let the light in

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: It's crazy to think this is the end, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! My inspiration for this chapter was, of course, Let the Light In by Lana Del Rey and Work Song by Hozier. I hope you enjoy it! I love y'all so much!

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The stars that hung in the sky on the night you spent with Igby would tell the tale of true warmth and delicate feelings for the rest of their burning lives. Echoing the comforting words the two of you shared. Encapsulating every touch, hug, and graze of fingertips against skin. They’d speak of the screaming color that wrapped itself around the two of your colorless lives while trying to recount the secret language of your understanding of one another.

And even if they could remember every intricate detail of that night⸺it still wouldn’t serve justice to how powerful the night truly was for you both.

That night replayed in your heads for days later, you didn’t speak about the looming presence of his family or your secret that could destroy the last lingering connection you had to your own. Instead, you held onto each other, words of comfort falling past lips and promising potential future harmony to each other. You had fallen asleep tangled in each other's presence and promises, letting reality slip away from your grasp as you soaked in the golden moment between the two of you.

However, reality would make itself apparent again. It had to⸺Igby, and you had known that from the moment he arrived at your apartment that night. But it didn’t make this day any easier.

The cold chill that had once been present in New York had allowed the graces of a warmer day to make itself known, the sun dancing across the sky with a watchful gaze. Igby glanced at it as he walked the familiar path to your apartment; his movements were more dreadful and slow than they had previously been. A part of him cursed this day away; he once wished for a warm day in this cold city, and he hated the irony that was a warm evening in this damnest of times.

He paused when your building came into his view, his eyes trained on the very window he first saw you. The memory of your body being haloed by the sun and your teasing voice irking his soul as you purposely called him the wrong name. He found you annoying and never imagined a world where your voice would become his beacon of light and liveliness.

Letting his hazel eyes rise up to where you two had shared countless joints and stared down at the passing people below, his eyes met your figure, and he had half a mind to turn around and forget what he had to do. Or he could join you and refuse to let reality capture him and swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure⸺he just knew he didn’t want to do this.

Any thought of running was banished from his mind as you leaned against the brick railing of your roof, looking down at his body that stood across the street. You tilt your head, watching the boy stand frozen in the middle of a frenzy of moving bodies. Even at a distance, even with many people standing between you, it somehow felt like it was just the two of you as your eyes locked on one another. Sucking in a breath, Igby drifted across the street toward your apartment as if he was a moth to a flame, unable to think of anything but getting to you and enjoying the burn of your light.

Pushing open the door to the roof, his eyes take only seconds to find you. Your body is in the exact place it was the first time you had invited him up to the roof. Your legs dangling on each side of the building as you turn to look at him, a small smile growing on your face. Igby takes this moment to let this image of you burn into his memory forever, the sun grazing against your features and your smile directed only toward him. Even though he dreads his future words, your smile feels so welcoming that he begins to form one of his own. Your impact on him showing clearly as he allows the warmth of the day to finally touch his own skin without cursing it away.

Approaching you slowly, he leans his body against the space just beside you⸺just as he had the first time and every time after. You watch as he stares at the people passing below, his eyes conflicted as his mouth twitches. You knew the day would come and that he’d dread it, but you couldn’t help but feel honored that he had come to see you one last time. There was a tiny amount of fear in you that he’d just leave⸺take off, running away from his family or returning to them without saying goodbye. Yet here he stood, needing you more than anything before he made his final decision.

Igby once believed that poverty was the only thing keeping him in New York, in that ratty apartment and this cold city. Yet as he stood there, he realized that now the only reason he’d ever want to stay⸺was for you.

He realized that every moment with you was warm; every time you looked at him, he could see the golden light he had always craved. Maybe he didn’t need to go somewhere new, maybe you were enough to save and free him from the icy curse of his family. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say goodbye to you⸺or if he’d even be able to.

“You decided to go home?”

Igby’s face screwed up at the term. He hadn’t called the house where his family lived home in a long time. He couldn’t even be able to recall the last time he even referred to it as such. Tearing his gaze away from the people on the sidewalk, Igby glanced at you before picking at the scarf he still had wrapped around his neck, “Got to make sure my mother actually croaks this time around.”

You don’t respond to his crude statement, you just continue to watch him struggle internally with the war in his head. Leaning forward, you catch his eyes and place your hand over the one that pulled relentlessly at a string on his clothing, “Are you going to be okay?”

He blinks fast at the question, still unfamiliar with the affection and genuinity of your voice. Suddenly, his decision to return to his mother's side doesn’t make any sense. Why would he ever return to such a horrid situation when someone as gentle as you existed? How was he supposed to leave you behind? Maybe he didn’t have to, “We should leave.”

Your eyebrows raise at his quickened words, his eyes turning to yours pleadingly as he continued almost frantically, “You and me. We can pack our bags and leave New York. It can just be us; we won’t have to worry about anything else.”

“Igby-.” You whisper, but the boy can’t stop as the words push past his lips. His fear of being in the same room as his mother and brother only increased his reasons for fleeing⸺except now he couldn’t do it unless you joined him. Shaking his head, the brunette stumbles over his words, “My family doesn’t care about me, and yours—yours keeps you locked away in this apartment! We could just leave and go and be happy without their constant weight! We could—We could–.”

The boy worked himself up so much that he resorted to pacing before you, causing you to remove yourself from the roof's edge to grab the boy's hands and keep him in place. He stops his rambling to look at your calm eyes.

“You know I can’t do that, Igby,” You whisper softly, searching his eyes to ensure that your words don’t come off as a rejection and instead a retelling of your familial situation. Truthfully, you would love to join the boy on his adventures, yet the pull of being the perfect child for your parents was too haunting and embedded for you to leave behind.

Scoffing, the boy shakes his head, not accepting the reasoning for your words. Your name falls from his lips in an exasperated tone as he speaks again, “Can’t you see that your parents are never going to let you out of here? They’re going to keep you locked away in this prison for the rest of your life, and you’re just letting them!”

“Igby-.”

“No! They have you! They already have you here! What makes you think they won’t have you locked away for the rest of your life? You need to get out of here, even if it’s not with me! Either way, I just–I just need you to get away from here, away from them,” The boy rants with frustration rising over your current issue, the truth of his feelings about it coming to light.

Sighing lightly, you can’t help but understand his words and his fears about your parent's future plans for you. You had thought about it many times before, yet you had already decided on these thoughts long before you met Igby. Now, your only concern was making sure the boy before you would be okay and escape in ways you’ve never been able to. Bringing a hand up to hold his jaw, his hazel eyes burn as they meet yours, listening carefully to every word that leaves your mouth, “With what money, Igby? How could either one of us live a life without money? Would we just share a couch and sell drugs around the city for Russel? Is that really what you want?”

Igby shook his head and looked down at his feet. He didn’t know how he’d get the money, he just knew he wanted to be with you. Closing his eyes, the boy knew that he had to return home if he wanted to escape life as a couch-surfing drug delivery boy. Taking a deep breath, he grabs your wrist gently and looks back up at you, “I can go back to my family, get the money, and come back for you. I can come back, and we can go anywhere we want. Just the two of us.”

A part of you wants to accept his offer, but you remember every story he told about this very moment. The moment that he had enough money to be happy and alone, you knew that it would be selfish to piggyback off his escape and claim it as your own. You just can’t do it to him, so you decline his offer again, “You’re going to go to your family, see your mom away, get your money, and then you’re going to be free. Without me.”

Igby shakes his head, his eyes closing in pain as his head drops, but you’re quick to pick it back up. His eyes are misty as he looks to you again, “Please.”

Your heart aches at his pleas, but you know he needed this. He needed to find himself without looking over his shoulder for his family or carrying you, “You have to get out of this city, away from your family. You have to be free and live without anything holding you back or causing any distractions. I need you to do that. I need you to let the light in, Igby. Please, if you do anything for me, I need it to be that.”

The Slocumb boy searches your eyes for any cracks in your words, but you mean every word. It hits Igby that you’re the only person who ever wanted him to do something for himself instead of moving in a way to please someone else. Letting his fingers rub up and down your arms, he stares deeply into your eyes as he admits in a whisper, “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you smile at the boy, “I think you’re mine as well.”

The two of you sit silently at your confession, knowing that what the two of you felt was something much deeper than friendship, yet it didn’t mean that the hushed words weren’t true. However, Igby can’t refrain himself as his hands cup your face and his lips connect to yours softly. Warmth and comfort wash over the two of you as your bodies press against each other in a gentle action of intimacy. Pulling away slowly, your foreheads lean against one another, and the boy raises his thumbs slightly to caress your cheek. You offer him a smile, which he returns before you whisper, “I’ll be expecting a postcard.”

Laughing lightly and shaking his head at your callback to his previous words, he breathes out, “I’ll send you a whole damn plane.”

You don’t respond; you can only lift your head to place a gentle kiss on the boy's mole that sits perfectly on his cheek. His eyes close at the action, his body filling with gratitude and solace at your small yet impactful action. The two of you know that this won’t be the last time you see each other, not when the longing feeling to return home to one another was deep in your marrow. Maybe that was why Igby was able to pull his body away from yours and return to his own haunted house a few cities away, but not before leaving his scarf wrapped around the door handle of your apartment door on his way out. Something to remember him by, something to remember that escape was possible and that he’d always come back if you so much as thought of it.

It would be almost a week until you’d hear from the boy again. You’d be in your apartment, trying to return to how life was before Igby. It was proven to be a much harder task than anticipated. You had resorted to pacing the floor, chewing on your nails as you wondered and worried about the boy who ignited a fire within your soul. You could only hope that he had made it there, followed through with his plan, and escaped his life of running and hiding.

Your windows were cracked open, letting the warm breeze whisk away the smoke of your cigarette as you sat on your window seal. Flicking the ashes out the window, your eyes look curiously at the outside world. You had fallen back into the habit of people-watching as boredom filled your life at the lack of visits from a certain delivery boy.

It was the sound of ringing that pulled you from your thoughts. Stabbing your cigarette into the ashtray, you glide toward the noise and place the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

It’s silent on the other side of the phone for just a moment before a familiar voice rings out, “Hi, this is Jason Slocumb Junior.”

You can’t ignore the jump of your heart at the boy's voice that you could admit you were already missing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile humorously at the boy before speaking, “Your name is Jason?”

Igby hummed on the other side of the phone, glancing toward Oliver, who was watching him make his half of the calls. Smiling sarcastically to ensure that his brother didn’t know he was calling you, the boy continued without answering your question, “I just called to inform you that Mimi Slocumb won’t be answering any further invitations because she’s dead.”

The Slocumb boy waited for your response, hoping that you’d be selfish and ask for him to return to get you before fleeing. All you had to do was say the words, even just suggest it, and he’d come to you. No questions asked. No hesitation. However, you smiled to yourself and spoke warmly, “Go ahead and let the light in, Igby. I’ll be seeing you.”

The two of you sit silently for a prolonged moment, the boy relishing in your voice and promise, feeling comfort for the first time in days. Closing his eyes briefly, the boy pretends you are beside him with your beautiful smile and encouraging nods. A ghosting smile crosses his features before he hangs up the phone, not wanting his brother to know he still has you to keep promises with.

From your kitchen, you’d listen to the static sound of the dial tone before placing the phone back down with a small smile. Even though so much of you wanted him to return, you felt joyous over the fact that the boy was finally free from everything he had spent so long running from. You knew that your words were true. You would be seeing him, just not as soon as you’d hoped.

The next time you heard from Igby, it came in the form of mail.

Your tutor had entered your apartment, books and notes in hand, along with the mail the doorman had handed her when she passed. Setting up your workspace, she gives you the pile of envelopes, magazines, and newspapers, allowing you a moment to sift through them boredly. However, your attention perks as your fingertips graze the side of a single piece of thin cardboard.

GREETINGS FROM CALIFORNIA! THE GOLDEN STATE.

Looking over your shoulder, you excuse yourself from the dining room to the comfort and isolation of your room. Sitting on your bed, you place the other worthless mail beside you and cling to the most valuable object. Running your fingers over the enlarged font, you take a deep breath before flipping it over. Your heart leaped at the familiar handwriting that was scribbled on the back. At the top, your name was written clearly and sincerely, just as Igby remembered you. The only thing written on it was a new address, as well as a plane messily drawn near the bottom with a note below it.

Until I can send the real thing. -Igby

Smiling at the written promise, you bring the small piece of him you had to your chest⸺hugging what meant the most to you close to your heart. Taking a deep breath, you stand from your bed and place the postcard on your vanity where you can always see it. It becomes clear that out of every expensive piece of furniture and knick-knacks you had, this twenty-five cent piece of cardboard held the most value.

That would continue to ring true, except as the months went on, Igby would continue to write to you. His letters filled with what life in California was like; he’d write of the sun and the warmth, but he’d never admit that it didn’t compare to the warmth you had offered him. It wasn’t even close. It would beg to be written, but it would never reach the paper, the boy fearing that his confession would confirm how much distance there was between you. So, instead, he’d settle with leaving constant reminders that he’d return to get you and help you escape your parents' isolated prison. Your letters would contain what the weather was like in New York, as well as telling the boy that Russel had taken to delivering the drugs himself. The drug dealer not wanting for you to be left alone⸺he couldn’t do that to the tragic muse of his work. You’d sign off every letter with the same promise of seeing him when the time came. Eighteen was closer than it seemed. It had to be. It was a reminder you would write to him in hopes of reassuring yourself.

However, the shared fear of you and Igby would come true. Your parents would decide that letting you go at eighteen isn’t what’s for the best. They would continue to hold you hostage in the apartment, now sending in professionals to prepare you to work for your family company one day. Your once promising letters turned to ones full of misery and doubt. Igby’s remained optimistic, even going as far as offering to return to New York and bring you back to California with him. He knew you wouldn’t do it because, as he had told you on the rooftop the last time you saw each other, your parents' claws were too deep in you. They were too embedded for you to remove them without fatality. Yet, he needed you to know that his promise would always remain. He’d always hold you and the unbroken promise sacred.

Years would pass, yet Igby’s letters never slowed, and you kept every single one of them. There were occasions when the two of you would call one another, but timezones and your parents' distractions caused them to come to a predictable decline. On your twentieth birthday, you broke your own heart⸺sending him a letter of apologies and regret. You felt as though you were holding the boy back from living his life fully. It wasn’t fair of you to make him wait for you. It wasn’t fair for him to be free yet still be tied down by someone who couldn’t share that experience with him. So you offered him an out, telling him that he didn’t need to check up on you or keep your promise because your devotion to your parents had been controlling you and remained unmoving.

In return, Igby sent you the shortest letter he had ever sent to you. There was no talk about California, its weather, its glowing sun, or the new activities he had clung to within the time he received your last letter. It was just a piece of paper with three sentences scribbled on it.

My life here will never be complete until you’re here with me. I’ll wait for the rest of my life if I have to. I know I’ll be seeing you again. -Igby

These three sentences would sit with you for nearly a year. The letter would remain with you at all times, serving as a reminder that even when you’ve given up on yourself, there was someone out there who loved you enough to wait a lifetime. You’d read it once, twice, even three times a day. Letting his words ignite a bright and burning fire in your soul. Finally, on a random Wednesday evening, the fire would burn away the leash that your parents had you locked in. You had saved more than enough money on your own to live comfortably for years and enough experience to find a job elsewhere. So without warning, without so much as a notice, you walked away from your family's company, returned to the familiar apartment, packed your things, grabbed every single letter and postcard Igby had sent you, and left this life of despair behind. Not feeling an ounce of loyalty to return or shame to cower away from this moment.

After almost twenty-one years of begging and pleading for love from your parents, you finally walked away and toward the golden affection and tenderness that awaited your arrival on the other side of the country.

Igby never stopped thinking about you, wishing upon shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that you’d one day have the courage to cut the ties of your enclosure. He’d imagined on countless nights that you would call him or send him a letter that revealed that you were finally free. His mind would only ease itself to sleep if it thought of the one night you had spent together all those years ago. The night where he momentarily forgot about your shared pain and instead found light within each other. It had been the best sleep of his life⸺his body tangled against your own in a blazing flush of adoration and tranquility.

In the morning, the Slocumb boy would check his voicemail for any missed calls from you and check his mailbox for any letters. When there were none, he’d resort to continuing on with his day, his thoughts lingering around what you were doing, where you were, and if you were okay.

Reading a book you had recommended to him, Igby tried to pass the time. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read. The boy's attention was broken by a knock on his front door. Pushing himself off the couch, he places the book down and approaches the door with a swiftness in his step. Without peering through the peephole, the brunette opens the door and pauses at the sight before him.

Your body stood frozen before him, your eyes scanning his before taking in every feature. He had grown since you had last seen him; his face was more mature, and his body was not as awkward against his posture. His slouch had disappeared after all these years away from his family, no longer looking over his shoulder or running from shadows that lingered for too long.

His hazel eyes held onto a stunned shine, taking in every part of you. His tongue darted between his lips as he tried to decipher if this was real or if his imagination had finally seeped into reality. You had looked different, yet exactly the same. The sun circling around your body, causing your new freedom to radiate off you in waves.

After a prolonged moment of shocked silence, you smile and breathe out, “Hi.”

That smile, your smile, and that voice, your voice. It was real, it was right here in front of him, you were right here in front of him. The warmth that California couldn’t supply Igby came rushing through him in waves of love as your eyes locked, a grin growing on the boy's face before his hands grabbed the sides of your head, pulling you into a long-awaited kiss.

The two of you smile into it, unable to stop laughs of disbelief from breaking through the moment. After all this time, after all the distance⸺this was happening.

You were real. He was real. This moment was real.

Pulling back slightly, the boys' thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, the two of you looking at one another with tear-filled eyes. Unable to say anything, he pulled your lips back to his own. This time, there was no laughter, there was no smiling. There was passion, there was gentleness, there was warmth, there was comfort, and above all else, there was love.

The two of you would continue to live your lives together in harmony. Knowing that no matter where you were, as long as you were together⸺everything would be okay. You’d grow together, you’d fight together, and you’d love together. There were times of hardship and disagreements, but never doubt when it came to each other or your relationship. In moments of weakness, you would uplift one another, and in times of remembrance of your estranged families⸺you’d remind one another how much love there was between the two of you, and there was no limit on it. Your love for each other was unconditional.

For so long, you two had been labeled as difficult. Difficult to obtain, difficult to tolerate, difficult to love. They said you two were too sensitive, too much to handle, too emotional. It was the universal curse of sensitivity. However, as time continues and your love grows stronger with Igby, it becomes clearer. You were not difficult to obtain or tolerate. And you are not difficult to love.

Igby and you now knew that your sensitivity wasn’t a curse⸺not when it led to this. This happiness, this warmth, and this love that would grow forever and evermore.