feeble attempt at writing

Music Series: Stone Cold by Demi Lovato

(Sighing heavily…)

Without going into long detail of how this post transpired, and protecting the person who requested it, this post makes me a bit uncomfortable and I may trash it at some point. Someone told me a couple of days ago that they think about Harry in an admittedly unhealthy way (who in Harrydom hasn’t at some point), to the point that when she reads or sees stories that link him to women or love interests, she cries, feeling heartbroken. It made me realize there are probably a lot of people who feel this way about the celebrity they swoon over, and Harry being total swoon material, I get it.

She asked if I thought she was crazy. Drooling over an idol does not make you crazy! It makes you human. Fantasy can be healthy, to an extent. And Harry being so personable to people, making him relatable, it’s completely understandable that many would feel this way. He has the “Prince Charming effect” going for him in a big way. Do you think girls years ago didn’t dream about being with Paul McCartney or Elvis? Actually, my answer to her was something more like, “Honey, I write potentially unhealthy Harry fanfic in my feeble attempt to help myself and others feel a connection to Harry, because God knows he’ll never know I exist, nor be interested.” Are you feelin’ me right now?

I think what we should remember is, Harry can have girlfriends, and friends who are girls, and he’s allowed privacy, AND not everything you see on the internet is what it seems or even true. Whether he has a love interest or not, I don’t know. But if he does, we should be happy for him, even if it crushes dreams globally of being his one and only. And if he does, it doesn’t mean they are secretly shacked up with 2.4 kids and a dog named Spanky with a family unit condo in Malibu. He’s 23. Relationships come and go, so be happy for him if he has one.

All of that said, I hope this creation, featuring “Stone Cold” by Demi Lovato, will embody my idea of this situation. Thanks for reading! xo

Shelli

Link to this song on my Spotify playlist called “Singing in the Shower”: HERE

p.s. Wrote this sporadically throughout the day while working so I hope it makes sense. Busy workday, sloshy brain.

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

Stone cold, Stone cold

You see me standing, but I’m dyin’ on the floor

Stone cold, Stone cold

Maybe if I don’t cry, I won’t feel anymore

Stone cold, Baby

God knows I try to feel happy for you

“Hi,” you said, as you saw Harry looking at something on the store shelf.

Harry turned around and looked at you surprised, then smiled sweetly.

“Hi,” he replied, looking at you for a moment before leaning to you with a kiss to your cheek. “Been awhile.”

“Yes, it has,” you replied, smiling back. Three months, to be precise. Three months since you and Harry had decided to break up. It was a mutual agreement, even if you had both cried.

‘It’s not because I don’t have feelings for you,’ Harry had said, sadly.

‘I know…just…not working,’  you had agreed.

‘Our lives are…’  he had started.

‘Going in different directions right now…I know…’ you had finished.

“How’ve you been?” he asked politely, looking around a bit.

“Fine. You? Work good?” you asked, trying to expand but forgetting how to think.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Staying busy, you know?”

“Yeah, I caught your show when you were in LA. I knew I’d be there for work,” you admitted.

“Did you? I wish you’d stopped and said hello!” he said, seeming disappointed.

“I…didn’t…” you tried, but were interrupted.

“Harry?” the girl said to him as she took hold of his elbow. The same elbow you used to cling to when you and Harry would go for a walk, or as you drove in the car together.

“Um, yeah, you ready?” he asked her, seeing you respond to the interruption by looking at the floor. The girl nodded then walked toward the checkout counter.

Know that I am, Even if I can’t understand

I’ll take the pain, Give me the truth

Me and my heart, We’ll make it through

If happy is her, I’m happy for you

Harry looked at you for a long moment then hugged you, pulling away slowly. “Let’s talk again soon, alright? Catch up a bit while I’m here in London?”

All you could do was nod and paint on another smile, as your throat tightened and you felt the fluid building in your eyes, as he slowly backed away, still looking at you, then turned and walked to where the girl was waiting for him.

Your and Harry’s decision to break up was a difficult one. You’d been together for a long time. But the stress and distance involved in being in a relationship with Harry, not to mention you had a job, too, just became too difficult to make work. It was sad, really. You still had strong feelings for him, and had hoped maybe he felt the same. You were still in love with him, and it hurt to see him. Not only because he was with another girl, not even knowing what they were to each other really, but merely seeing him again and hearing his voice after three months of nothing, it just hurt.

Stone cold, Stone cold

You’re dancing with her, While I’m staring at my phone

Stone cold, Stone cold

I was your amber, but now, She’s your shade of gold

Stone cold, Baby

God knows I try to feel, Happy for you

You hadn’t really believed him when he said you would talk again soon. You thought he might have meant it at the time, but you knew how things were with him, and now that several days had passed, you had lost all hope in it happening. His life was a busy one. Too busy sometimes to fit everything in. It wasn’t the first time he had left you hoping.

As you laid in your bed, unable to sleep and scrolling through your social media on your phone, you saw the confirmation that you wouldn’t be getting together with him this trip after all. You played the “live” video replay hesitantly, one of him and the girl from the store, dancing with a group of people at some sort of party. The video was posted only 4 minutes earlier, and was captioned, “When Harry Styles and his date show up at your New York event unannounced!”

You exhaled heavily and attempted to choke back your tears, but it didn’t change how much you missed Harry. Missed being around him. Missed his friendship. Missed talking to him. Missed spending time with him. Missed the intimacy. You wondered sometimes if he missed you at all, even thought about you. Maybe it’s time to try to move on. You hadn’t wanted to move on. You wanted to wait and see if he couldn’t live without you and begged you back, but he hadn’t. Maybe it was just time to be happy for him now and…try.

Don’t wanna be stone cold

Stone, I wish I could mend this

But here’s my good-bye, Oh, I’m happy for you

Know that I am, Even if I can’t understand

If happy is her, If happy is her

I’m happy for you.

As you finished your day at work, you walked out the front door of the building and began your daily strides toward home. You saw the little coffee and tea shop that you and Harry used to frequent, and reminisced in your mind. You passed the floral shop, where Harry used to buy you flowers at least once a week. You remembered how happy he looked when you would wrap your arms around him every time, always acting surprised, and always appreciative that he thought of you.

“Stop it!” you shouted at yourself in your mind. Just stop doing this to yourself and move on already! Harry apparently had so you should, too! Why couldn’t you?

As you slowly approached your house, you slowed as you walked toward the steps. You hadn’t noticed Harry’s car parked nearby, but there he sat on your front steps, waiting for you. You stopped as you saw him smile at you, then slowly walked closer to him. He stood and walked to you, that same look in his eyes from the day in the little store.

“Do you mind some company this evening? I think we need to talk.”

Charles could not take his eyes off the man and the way he was controlling those needles.

It was hypnotizing, to say the least. Sure, he’d seen men knitting on subway before. It was New York, after all. But to do it with such fine, precise control of metallokinesis? That was definitely the first.

He’d certainly seen a lot of mutants showing off their power in public. Often it was an act of defiance, a retaliation. Sometimes, it was nothing more than a mischief.

But this man, and what he was doing, was different. There was something about that stoic expression, the relaxed gesture, and the quiet focus on something so domestic amid the fidgeting commuters that intrigued him. Charles did not need his power to tell how uncomfortable the man was making the others feel, and how little he seemed to care about it. Charles knew it was rude to stare but still…this subversive silence? He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

That was when their eyes met.

(If you're hurting) Lay it all on me

“Not now, Phil.” He heard her hard voice coming from the chair to his right. He could tell she was clenching her teeth; another sign she was trying to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t fool him.

Also on AO3.

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ct-hardcase  asked:

Rex and Dogma for #9, please.

9. “You know, it’s okay to cry.”


“Dogma.”

The clone’s head snapped up, and he blinked as he looked for the source of the voice. He jolted up off his cot, standing at attention quickly in the middle of his cell. The door to his cell shifted from a milky sheet to a clear blue shimmer, and a familiar, shadowed figure stood facing him.

“C-Captain Rex.” It was almost a question, an uncertain hitch in Dogma’s voice as he tried to focus his eyes forward instead of on his former commanding officer. He hadn’t seen him since the incident with Krell. “I…what are you doing here, sir?”

Rex inclined his chin, and Dogma could feel the captain’s eyes move over him slowly through the shield. He knew he looked more than worse for wear; he’d lost at least ten pounds since his arrest two weeks ago, and the bags under his eyes had darkened substantially thanks to too many sleepless nights. Nightmares of Krell’s death and the deaths of his brothers in the field played constantly in his head, as if they were a holo recording that was forever stuck in a loop. Sleeping only made it worse.

“How are you holding up, soldier?”

Dogma’s eyes darted to Rex, taken aback by the question before he tried to refocus his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t feel strong enough to look Rex in the eye anymore.

“I’m…I’m fine, sir.”

He could feel Rex’s dubious expression more than he could see it and swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the burning in his throat. It failed, and his posture faltered as his back began to ache.

Rex let out a small sigh, shifting his weight to one leg and frowning slightly. Dogma’s eyes darted to him again and his chin dipped a fraction of an inch, a feeling of inadequacy and shame welling like ice water in his chest. They both knew his trial was getting closer each day and that it wouldn’t end well even under the best circumstances. Dogma didn’t like thinking about it, but it was inevitable.

“I don’t regret it.”

It took a moment for Dogma to realize that he was the one who had spoken, and he felt an uncomfortable heat rise in his cheeks. He looked at Rex again, shoulders hunching before he forced them down. “I-I don’t,” he repeated in a cracked voice. The burning spread from his throat to his eyes as his throat constricted, and his chin dropped to his chest. His vision began to swim as he stuttered again, “I-I…”

“Dogma.” The captain’s voice was quiet. Not quite comforting, but soft enough that it redoubled Dogma’s feelings of failure. A strangled sob escaped the trooper before he could suppress it and he pressed his lips into a thin white line, his arms flat but shaking against his sides.

Rex shifted a little outside the cell, his expression a blurred shadow to Dogma. The captain spoke again, and Dogma looked away, a shaking hand covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle another sob. 

“It’s okay to cry, Dogma.”

Orphan Black and narrative affirmations

Honestly, when it comes down to it, one of my favorite things about Orphan Black is how actively accepting, respectful, and anti-judgemental it is about so many things that are often judged so harshly by society.

The most obvious example, perhaps, is Cosima and the show’s treatment of her queer identity. It is simply accepted in the narrative and allowed to be, without interrogation. There’s no need to rehash all the potential negativity she might encounter because of it: it’s beating a dead horse. We know already. Far better, the show merely allows Rachel her little “So, you’re gay” dig, only to throw one of the most powerful shutdowns/affirmations in the entire series back in her face: “My sexuality is not the most interesting thing about me.” It so elegantly turns Rachel’s nasty pointed question into an irrelevant pettiness, resists reducing Cosima to her orientation, and refuses to let Rachel claim any power there.

Sarah’s troubled relationship with motherhood and its attendant impossible ideals is another arena where it would be oh so easy to judge. However, Sarah is allowed to be neither a saint nor a demon, and still narratively respected as a valid woman and mother just the same. Her past and current struggles with the responsibility of parenthood, up to and including her months-long abandonment of her daughter, is never denied, but neither is her soul-consuming desperation and commitment to doing everything she can (and attempting many things she can’t) to protect Kira. Once again, a small moment of judgement occurs early on in the series, this time coming from Alison. However, that mentality is completely shut down by Felix, and from then on, Sarah’s identity and validity as a mother is mostly challenged only by her own self-doubt.

I find the show’s treatment of Beth and her mental illness to be both particularly subtle and especially powerful. Her perfect spiralling storm of depression, anxiety, addiction, and incredible levels of stress are not played off as pathetic and hopeless, but as devastating and valid. Never once is Beth blamed for ‘not being able to handle it.’ Even Sarah’s feeble denial of the conspiracy, her attempt to write Beth off as just someone who made a mistake and couldn’t cope, is allowed to be just that - a feeble denial of the very real troubles she’s inherited from Beth. Furthermore, the way in which a (successfully) suicidal woman is remembered not for her weakness, but for her strength, is simply mind-blowing to me. Three seasons on, and Beth is still regarded by all as a pillar of incredible strength who was simply put under more pressure than anyone should ever be asked to bear. The narrative never affords her anything but the utmost respect with regard to her struggles.

See, Orphan Black has this tendency to take the derogatory status quo and twist our expectations of what always happens into something refreshing and utterly affirming. The normative default is not allowed to be the default. There are so many more examples: the entire creation and existence of Krystal’s character; the way Alison’s comparatively ‘ordinary’ fears and concerns are not dismissed as less real than the more dramatic ones of the rest of Clone Club; the seriousness and care with which Tony Sawicki’s gender was handled; the amazingly sympathetic narrative framing of Helena’s complicated characterization (discussed with great insight and incredibly moving emotion here by @sharkodactyl). Please, add onto this post and discuss these and more! However, the last one I want to focus on is a quiet moment from the Helsinki #2 comic that for me encapsulates this recurring pattern of field-leveling affirmation.

(***Spoilers for the comics under the cut***)

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“Stay with me, please?”

Description: A short scenario where you are Namjoon’s little sister who’s dating Yoongi and you hear the news about BTS having to cancel their concert in Japan 

Word Count: 518

Author’s Note: I’m not a writer and this is my first time writing something like this, so it’s probably not very good, but I wanted to try writing something after constantly reading scenarios on Tumblr, so I hope you enjoy my feeble attempt at writing! 

————————————————

“Hey, Namjoon says they’re back already”

Hearing those words from your mum finally made you stop pacing back and forth before you grabbed your coat and dashed out of the door.

Namjoon was your older brother, and also the leader of BTS. Getting wind of the news that they had to cancel their concert in Japan due to health issues broke your heart - you had heard your brother lament previously how busy they were and how hard they worked, and you couldn’t imagine the pain of having to stand in front of thousands of excited fans and announce that what they waited so eagerly for had to be cancelled. You worried for your brother and the rest of the group, but you worried the most for Min Yoongi.

Having dated Yoongi for 6 months you knew what a perfectionist he was, always wanting to give his fans the best and beating himself up whenever he felt he wasn’t good enough. You knew that despite the rest he should be having now, he would instead spend his time being hard on himself for disappointing the fans.

As you let yourself into the dorm with the key Yoongi had given you, you were greeted with the sight of 6 dejected boys sitting around the coffee table, sighing to themselves. You made your way into the kitchen to scoop out 7 bowls of the warm chicken soup you had prepared for them, when you felt your brother’s presence behind you.

“Hey Y/N, thanks for coming. Go bring a bowl to Yoongi, he’s been in his room since we arrived and he won’t come out. I’ll give out the rest of the bowls to the boys”

Nodding, you carried the bowl of soup towards the room Yoongi shared with Jin, lightly knocking on the door.

“Hyung, I said it already. Please, just leave me alone for a while….”

“Jagi? It’s me. I brought you chicken soup”

Yoongi didn’t respond. Following the silence, you slowly opened the door, making your way to your beloved’s bed. Yoongi had curled himself into a fetal position with his blanket, and you could only sigh at how heartbreaking that sight was. You sat at the edge of his bed, and although he still had his back facing you, you lightly placed a kiss on his cheek, whispering that everything would be okay.

“I’m not hungry” he whispered as you stroked his soft, mint green hair. “It’s my fault, I’m such a disappointment, I couldn’t stay strong enough for the fans. Please, Jagi, I love you but I need some time alone”

“Okay, but please have some food. You need it. And it’s not your fault, Yoongi, you’ve been working so hard and I know the fans will understand.” As much as you wanted to stay with Yoongi, you knew he needed his time alone. Giving him another kiss on his cheek, you began to make your way out of his room.

However, barely taking a step from Yoongi’s bed, you felt warm hands circle around your wrist, taking you by surprise.

“Jagi? Stay with me, please?”

Would he ever think about writing an episode?

“I’ve made feeble attempts in the past, friends of mine who are writers have said hey, let’s get together and do this, and I last for about two minutes. I have a hard time with conceptualizing things, coming up with concepts. I can take ideas and tweak them, I feel like I’m good at doctoring dialogue but as far as conceptualizing from the genesis I’m always at a loss. So no, not really.”