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walterslab2011-11-16 06:25 pm
syd15.livejournal.com) wrote in walterslab2011-11-16 06:25 pm
Challenge 17 - More Movie Poster Fun
Movie Title: Memories
Poster Maker:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tvnut014
Rating: PG-13, maybe a little more?
Warnings (if any): This is NOT finished, but I procrastinated enough to type and now I have to go back to study so this is all I've got so far. It lacks scenes, but no time means uncompleted fic. BTW, it hasn't been betaed at all.
She feels like a bucket, forced to collect the slowly falling raindrops as they seep from a cabin’s roof.
Rachel and her used to sit on the floor watching as the little drops filled their tiny tea cups. Until mom came later with a bigger bucket, of course.
They used to stay and watch as that bucket, too got filled drop by drop, but it was way too big and Rachel’s patience too small. Olivia always stayed for a little while longer, trying her own patience. She would try and stay as her body became itchy, desperate for movement, desperate for the drops to fall faster, for the bucket to fill already.
She never stood around long enough to see the water cover the bottom of it.
It was torture, the wait.
Now, she’s beginning to understand the bucket got the worst part of the deal, having to watch the drops form, their reticent to fall from the roof, and finally watch them to inevitably surrender to gravity.
That is torture.
She’s feeling it now, memories seeping in, trying to fill her mind like those tiny drops that tried to overtake the bucket.
*
She wants to be fucked into oblivion, feel something that is her own and hasn’t been corrupted by this mysterious man and his longing looks.
They aren’t right, her reasons, but Astrid thinks he’ll be good for her and she needs this.
Lincoln accepts her invitation to a night out and in the middle of what she thinks is a date, kisses him. He’s not responding but she thinks it is because she took him by surprise.
It’s not working, that man is trying to fill her mind and she needs more of Lincoln to try and dissipate the feel of his lips on her. She gets as far as to straddle him – nothing she’s ever done on a place with so many people but their booth is secluded enough and the feel of Peter kissed are just too real, before Lincoln puts his hands on her hips, firmly pushing her away.
Olivia looks at him, frowning because, what the hell?
Then he says, “I like men as much as you do,” with this big bright smile on his face and she want the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
She’s ready to run, but Lincoln doesn’t let things get weird between them, instead he invites her to another drink and spends the night talking, trying to make her relax and forget how stupid she feels.
In retrospect, she should be relieved things didn’t go any further, something tells her that the wrong name would have come out at the worst time possible. Like when her fingers are working on her and all she can think about is him.
That would have been embarrassing.
*
Is she doesn’t want to be alone with him it is because weird things tend to happen when she is, things she’s sure aren’t happening and make her feel like she’s going crazy. If she weren’t sure that they actually happened, when, is what she doesn’t know.
She hears him say, “Olivia, if you need me, I’m here” but his lips aren’t moving.
And that’s exactly the problem, she doesn’t need him and he’s still here.
Everywhere, refusing to go away.
*
She figures that she, the one from whatever reality he is coming from means something to him.
It’s not that she just figured it out, but how do you tell a guy, ‘you look at me as if I meant the world to you, as if you loved me’? without sounding too full of yourself.
She settle for simplicity, straightforwardness, and if she feels a little hurt by hearing him say he does have feeling for someone else, it doesn’t show.
The same way it didn’t show when he opened the door to the house and a sense of home filled her everywhere.
*
They are sitting at a bar – it was cold outside, waiting for the team to come and he’s talking about the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
He mentions something called ‘Red Russian’ and as much as she swears to never had heard of a drink like the one he’s describing -accuses him of lying because something like that can’t possibly exist- a bitter, disgusting taste fills her mouth and she’s completely sure that they’ve drank it.
*
The day he meets her redhead counterpart is a dark day. She isn't talking about the storm that’s threatening to break the sky above Boston and drown the city.
No, it’s her mood the one darkening her vision, clouding her mind.
The redhead is flirty, won’t stop making innuendos at Peter and she knows she shouldn’t worry, she’s read the file, knows she’s engaged to some pal called Frank and this is just the way she works, but the way she looks at Peter? It’s driving her mad.
Also, the way Peter looks at her? Like he knows her, like there’s something unresolved between them? She doesn’t like it.
She spends the entire time it takes them to solve the case barking orders, dragging Peter with her so he doesn’t have the opportunity to be alone with the redhead.
And God, she knows it’s stupid. He isn’t hers, never has been, doesn’t want him to be, but this possessive feeling is all around her, surrounding her, intoxicating her every breath and word and she just can’t help it.
At the end of the case she’s the one who has to take him home and the silence in the car is the most awkward situation she’s ever found herself in. She hasn’t been subtle about what the redhead’s presence has done to her and it doesn’t take a genius – which he is, to realize why.
Olivia can feel him looking at her, a mix of a knowing smile and something akin to reticence drawn in his face. Maybe it is a favor from God or Peter simply knows better but he’s not smug about it, doesn’t even acknowledge the reasons behind her foul mood.
At least not until she parks in front of his house. He invites her in for a drink, but she declines. She knows better than to prolong a day like this one and if she goes in now, words will come out and she isn’t completely sure if she’ll mean them, if she won’t mean them.
He nods, says goodbye and gets out of the car. He is almost at the door when she sees him coming down the stairs, towards her side of the car, leaning at the window to talk to her. Ignoring the rain coming down on him.
He stays there a couple of seconds, looking at her and looking as if he wanted to say something. She’s not really sure she wants to hear whatever he has to say and suddenly words are coming out of her mouth, “You be…” She catches herself before ending that phrase, stunned at what she has been about to say, ‘You belong with me’, but she doesn’t have time to get scared by it as he finally speaks, “I’m not gonna do that again. She’s… not you, or my version of you anyway. I just… I know that.”
His hand is on her cheek, eyes fixed on his fingers against her skin and she feels the urge to kiss him, to take him inside and mark him as hers. No his hers, no, just… hers.
He’s gone before she even has a chance to put her hand on top of his.
*
Lately, she’s been remembering more, feeling like this new old memories are hers. She wonders if the reason that’s happening is because she can finally picture herself in them or simply because she wants them to be hers.
Every part of her body catches fire wherever he touches her and though at first it made her flinch, step back from him, now she wants it at all times, looks for it. Sometimes she thinks she’s being way too obvious but he’s taking every opportunity she gives like an addict craving his next fix.
Today, he walks her home and neither says anything but it's obvious that once they are inside, he won’t be leaving. When they finally get to the door he takes her hand and plays with it, innocently, the complete opposite to what will be happening when they get in. She looks him in the eyes and can see doubts there, reticence in the way his fingers caress her hand. It feels like a goodbye, like he’s afraid of taking this next step.
The words come out before she can stop them, she remembers when he said them to her.
“Don’t be.”
Instead of soothing him, her words make him flee, like he can’t get out of her hall fast enough. She sees regret and self-hatred in his eyes before he disappeared with a vague “I’m sorry.”
Drop by drop, memory by memory, she’s becoming her and it only serves to push him away.
Every time they seem to get closer his resolve to go back home to her grows bigger and she can’t help the sadness filling her heart.
Poster Maker:
tvnut014Rating: PG-13, maybe a little more?
Warnings (if any): This is NOT finished, but I procrastinated enough to type and now I have to go back to study so this is all I've got so far. It lacks scenes, but no time means uncompleted fic. BTW, it hasn't been betaed at all.
She feels like a bucket, forced to collect the slowly falling raindrops as they seep from a cabin’s roof.
Rachel and her used to sit on the floor watching as the little drops filled their tiny tea cups. Until mom came later with a bigger bucket, of course.
They used to stay and watch as that bucket, too got filled drop by drop, but it was way too big and Rachel’s patience too small. Olivia always stayed for a little while longer, trying her own patience. She would try and stay as her body became itchy, desperate for movement, desperate for the drops to fall faster, for the bucket to fill already.
She never stood around long enough to see the water cover the bottom of it.
It was torture, the wait.
Now, she’s beginning to understand the bucket got the worst part of the deal, having to watch the drops form, their reticent to fall from the roof, and finally watch them to inevitably surrender to gravity.
That is torture.
She’s feeling it now, memories seeping in, trying to fill her mind like those tiny drops that tried to overtake the bucket.
*
She wants to be fucked into oblivion, feel something that is her own and hasn’t been corrupted by this mysterious man and his longing looks.
They aren’t right, her reasons, but Astrid thinks he’ll be good for her and she needs this.
Lincoln accepts her invitation to a night out and in the middle of what she thinks is a date, kisses him. He’s not responding but she thinks it is because she took him by surprise.
It’s not working, that man is trying to fill her mind and she needs more of Lincoln to try and dissipate the feel of his lips on her. She gets as far as to straddle him – nothing she’s ever done on a place with so many people but their booth is secluded enough and the feel of Peter kissed are just too real, before Lincoln puts his hands on her hips, firmly pushing her away.
Olivia looks at him, frowning because, what the hell?
Then he says, “I like men as much as you do,” with this big bright smile on his face and she want the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
She’s ready to run, but Lincoln doesn’t let things get weird between them, instead he invites her to another drink and spends the night talking, trying to make her relax and forget how stupid she feels.
In retrospect, she should be relieved things didn’t go any further, something tells her that the wrong name would have come out at the worst time possible. Like when her fingers are working on her and all she can think about is him.
That would have been embarrassing.
*
Is she doesn’t want to be alone with him it is because weird things tend to happen when she is, things she’s sure aren’t happening and make her feel like she’s going crazy. If she weren’t sure that they actually happened, when, is what she doesn’t know.
She hears him say, “Olivia, if you need me, I’m here” but his lips aren’t moving.
And that’s exactly the problem, she doesn’t need him and he’s still here.
Everywhere, refusing to go away.
*
She figures that she, the one from whatever reality he is coming from means something to him.
It’s not that she just figured it out, but how do you tell a guy, ‘you look at me as if I meant the world to you, as if you loved me’? without sounding too full of yourself.
She settle for simplicity, straightforwardness, and if she feels a little hurt by hearing him say he does have feeling for someone else, it doesn’t show.
The same way it didn’t show when he opened the door to the house and a sense of home filled her everywhere.
*
They are sitting at a bar – it was cold outside, waiting for the team to come and he’s talking about the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
He mentions something called ‘Red Russian’ and as much as she swears to never had heard of a drink like the one he’s describing -accuses him of lying because something like that can’t possibly exist- a bitter, disgusting taste fills her mouth and she’s completely sure that they’ve drank it.
*
The day he meets her redhead counterpart is a dark day. She isn't talking about the storm that’s threatening to break the sky above Boston and drown the city.
No, it’s her mood the one darkening her vision, clouding her mind.
The redhead is flirty, won’t stop making innuendos at Peter and she knows she shouldn’t worry, she’s read the file, knows she’s engaged to some pal called Frank and this is just the way she works, but the way she looks at Peter? It’s driving her mad.
Also, the way Peter looks at her? Like he knows her, like there’s something unresolved between them? She doesn’t like it.
She spends the entire time it takes them to solve the case barking orders, dragging Peter with her so he doesn’t have the opportunity to be alone with the redhead.
And God, she knows it’s stupid. He isn’t hers, never has been, doesn’t want him to be, but this possessive feeling is all around her, surrounding her, intoxicating her every breath and word and she just can’t help it.
At the end of the case she’s the one who has to take him home and the silence in the car is the most awkward situation she’s ever found herself in. She hasn’t been subtle about what the redhead’s presence has done to her and it doesn’t take a genius – which he is, to realize why.
Olivia can feel him looking at her, a mix of a knowing smile and something akin to reticence drawn in his face. Maybe it is a favor from God or Peter simply knows better but he’s not smug about it, doesn’t even acknowledge the reasons behind her foul mood.
At least not until she parks in front of his house. He invites her in for a drink, but she declines. She knows better than to prolong a day like this one and if she goes in now, words will come out and she isn’t completely sure if she’ll mean them, if she won’t mean them.
He nods, says goodbye and gets out of the car. He is almost at the door when she sees him coming down the stairs, towards her side of the car, leaning at the window to talk to her. Ignoring the rain coming down on him.
He stays there a couple of seconds, looking at her and looking as if he wanted to say something. She’s not really sure she wants to hear whatever he has to say and suddenly words are coming out of her mouth, “You be…” She catches herself before ending that phrase, stunned at what she has been about to say, ‘You belong with me’, but she doesn’t have time to get scared by it as he finally speaks, “I’m not gonna do that again. She’s… not you, or my version of you anyway. I just… I know that.”
His hand is on her cheek, eyes fixed on his fingers against her skin and she feels the urge to kiss him, to take him inside and mark him as hers. No his hers, no, just… hers.
He’s gone before she even has a chance to put her hand on top of his.
*
Lately, she’s been remembering more, feeling like this new old memories are hers. She wonders if the reason that’s happening is because she can finally picture herself in them or simply because she wants them to be hers.
Every part of her body catches fire wherever he touches her and though at first it made her flinch, step back from him, now she wants it at all times, looks for it. Sometimes she thinks she’s being way too obvious but he’s taking every opportunity she gives like an addict craving his next fix.
Today, he walks her home and neither says anything but it's obvious that once they are inside, he won’t be leaving. When they finally get to the door he takes her hand and plays with it, innocently, the complete opposite to what will be happening when they get in. She looks him in the eyes and can see doubts there, reticence in the way his fingers caress her hand. It feels like a goodbye, like he’s afraid of taking this next step.
The words come out before she can stop them, she remembers when he said them to her.
“Don’t be.”
Instead of soothing him, her words make him flee, like he can’t get out of her hall fast enough. She sees regret and self-hatred in his eyes before he disappeared with a vague “I’m sorry.”
Drop by drop, memory by memory, she’s becoming her and it only serves to push him away.
Every time they seem to get closer his resolve to go back home to her grows bigger and she can’t help the sadness filling her heart.
no subject
no subject
I'm glas you liked what I had so far, I'll try and finish it at some point I really didn't have time to write more of it before the deadline and what is written was written in between exams, like literraly, part of it it's at the back of one of the exams papers.