who loves my sister?

(c)

Before all of this, Arthur had never really travelled. Didn't really see the need for it. His sister, Harper, was the adventurous twin, she was the one who would spontaneously book a solo trip and he would stand with their mothers as they waved her off at the airport drop off - waving excitedly in anticipation of the stories she would return with, whilst their parents would tremble in anxiousness for their daughter. He learned about the world and all it had to offer from Harper, and from the people who came from all walks of life to pass through the hospital. He was satisfied with that, he had always been content with average, seeing no need to venture out of his comfort zone when the ones who did were all around him. Then all of those people, his parents, and Harper just vanished - taking their stories with them. He stayed put for as long as he could, crafting his day with a broken routine as if one day he'd wake and like a switch, things would just be back to normal again. In the various apocolyptic films he had seen, people always sought out hospitals first and Arthur thought that if that were to ever happen, then he would be there and ready to help. But the weeks rolled into months, and then years, and nothing. He'd felt helpless, to the extent of feeling completely useless to himself. If he couldn't even understand how to read a map or use a compass, then what was the point? The building was well kept, and showed no signs of deterioration - once he had survived his first harsh winter, he developed the resilience to survive through the next, he could do without the electricity and there was plenty of sources for water nearby, he didn't have to leave. Then his helplessness turned into something else, something darker, which had tried to convince him that the world would restart the moment he exited it. That his perserverance was selfish and he was only prolonging the inevitable. So he packed and prepared. He kept himself busy, working towards a goal he wasn't sure he would be able to pull off, he was going to move. During the daylight, he'd wander the streets, stopping off at the neglected malls to stock up on supplies, still mildly hopeful that he would run into some other figure besides his own shadow. He just kept going, until he had far more than an entire hospital of people would need and he studied the maps, having no clue where he would go. His sister, mothers, other relatives and close friends had all tried their hand at teaching Arthur how to drive but he just couldn't get the hang of it. When he had driven the van for the first time, it was the first time in a long time he had felt a flicker of confidence. No road rage, no reckless pedestrians, unpredictable traffic lights or awful traffic just...silence. He drove and he drove, for what should've felt like days but, without any disturbance, he wasn't bothering to keep track of time anymore. The drive started off as confidence building exercise, to familiarise himself with the road but once he got over the initial anxiety, what was really stopping him? Then he'd pulled over to rest, deciding a view of the sea would be a nice spot to watch the sunset. "Yeah, I...I guess so...I've spent my entire life there and never left, until now." Arthur responded, making a noise that nearly sounded like a small laugh. "Wendy..." his mouth twitched as he sounded out her name, almost as if committing it to memory. Even if she turned out to be nothing more than an aparition constructed by his mind's desperate plea for a social interaction, then the least he could was remember something about her. "Oh...uh, you can call me Art or Artie...whichever. It's nice to meet you Wendy, from Arkansas..." He extended his hand out to her for her to shake. This would be it, he thought to himself, the final check to see if she was real or a cruel construct.

These can also be either the ideas that were discarded or planned to be used in the future.

NOAH WYLE as DR. JOHN CARTER in ER (1994-2009) | S03E09 "Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies" (1996)

“i can’t do this anymore. this, us, was a fucking mistake, and i can't keep going on like this.”

"Woah,' Farrah rolled her eyes, sliding past Miles and working her way into his apartment. She didn't like when he was upset with her because it usually took quite a bit of time to talk him back down, and it wasn't like he was volatile or fun when they argued— just didactic and logical, and if she wanted didactic and logical, she'd go talk to one of the guys from the chess club and call it a fucking day. "Can I get in the building? Can I get a stiff drink? Can I get my fucking coat off? Jeeze, Louise. I've not even done anything yet,' Farrah raised her hands in defense. "I've not even said anything to you today, and you already have this diatribe waiting for me at the fucking door. Take it down a notch, Miles. Get out of your head,' she dropped her coat and walked over to his at-home bar. She perused over the familiar section before looking at him with penitent eyes. Do you mind if I partake, she signaled and waited for a response.

9½ Weeks (1986) | Dir. Adrian Lyne

HALLE  BERRY for  ‘  travel  channel  ’  .

Sabrina sat in the driver's seat for what felt like hours as her entire frame trembled, as if her body was going into shock from the multitude of emotions rushing through her. She didn't really arrive at the party with a plan, she just wanted to see him - and then, when that happened, everything else just happened all at once. But there was some extremely naive part of her that truly believed she would have left no longer in this turmoil, now she was worse off, overwhelmed with more questions than answers after than conversation with Matthew. Had she really been that oblivious? Had she really been so self-involved that she hadn't noticed that he was unhappy this entire time? Her eyes narrowed as something much darker crept into her, anger. She shoved the key into the ignition and released a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sarcastic laugh, her face hot with tears as she pulled her seatbealt across her chest. The need for an understanding was replaced by the sudden urge to march back into that party and call him a coward, to shout and scream until he could be provoked into giving her some kind of reaction. Something more than the forlorn expression he continued to taunt her with, she'd gone there searching for something and left with nothing but the haunting image of his disappointment. She even looked at the entrance as if she was really considering it then shook her head, about to pull away when she saw Matthew approach her car. Something told her to just drive off anyway, to watch his lanky form shrink in her rearview mirror no matter how much her chest would feel like it could crack open whilst she did it. Instead her hand stilled on the hand break, yet to disengage. Up until he arrived at her window, their eyes locked and Sabrina felt like she was in a trance until he broke the eye contact again. His question made her face contort in disbelief, the anger pushing through the surface. "What is it that you want from me, Matthew?" She questioned harshly, ignoring his question entirely. If he really had to ask that question then perhaps everything she said to him inside the house didn't land the way it was supposed to, but Sabrina had very little patience or restraint left. "Why did you follow me all the way out here, when you've already made it clear you have nothing more to say to me?"

"Did you say goodbye to my friends when you stormed out, Sabrina? The same people you basically commissioned to follow you back on Instagram the last time we hung out with them? Or did you rush out and disrespect them and me when they went out of their way to invite you? Can you get out of your car? Can you go say goodbye? If you do that, we can go back to my house and talk."

The fact that her parents had stood by him from the moment he was arrested was more like a thorn in her side rather than a testament to Jedediah’s character. For the five years that followed, Nour never once felt as if her ex-boyfriend’s presence would slip away, and that was thanks to her parents, who wouldn’t allow her to forget him. She had no interest in the dating world before their relationship, and that had lowered into dangerous, spinster-idolising parameters the moment the judge slammed down his gavel. She couldn’t be the jailbird girlfriend who would be punctual to every visitation, send daily love letters marinated in her perfume, and plan a surprise conjugal visit for Valentine's; if she was going to do all of that for anyone, it would have been him, but her family needed her. Nour barely registered the heartbreak and buckled down to get the restaurant out of the red, working herself to the bone to turn it into the functioning business it is now that finally broke its first even. If her parents ever visited Jedediah or took any of the collect phone calls that would come through the restaurant phone (since she wasn’t answering on her mobile), they never told her. They did remind her when he was finally released, but they didn’t need to – the date had been burned into her memory, without intention. Still, she kept her distance. Seeking out alternative, often longer routes, to avoid passing by places he would most likely frequent. Once the restaurant was stable enough to run without her, she took a ‘sabbatical’ and worked at a friend’s pop-up diner in London for a few months, then bounced around Europe – the extreme ex-avoidance tour. Then, once she was confident that she had seen enough of Europe to expel Jedediah out of her system, Nour returned to find that the restaurant hadn’t crashed and burned without her. Her commitment to the place hadn’t changed; still, she was the first through the doors and the last out. This time, the last ones out were the usual regulars who bid her a goodnight, casting final glances in the same direction before finally departing with a slow shake of their head. Despite the story, people had come to their own conclusions to cast judgment upon Jedediah as if he were some loose cannon and not someone defending his family. Nour would have liked to have asked them what they would have done, but she couldn’t let herself unravel that way. Instead, she locked the door and went back behind the counter to continue her final tasks as if it were any other night. Only this time, she had made one last meal – a favourite of his that she had taken off the menu after his sentencing. It had been over five years since she made it, but muscle memory was a bitch. He was talking, filling up the silence with small talk and general life updates that weren’t necessary – she already knew. Nour kept her back to him, focusing on putting the finishing touches on the dish despite the slow increase of her heart pounding in her eardrums. “It’s the same pretty face it was five years ago,” She responded dryly as if those words hadn't brought out some softness in her, finally turning around to place the hot dish on the countertop, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Everything's just as you left it, even the shwarma."

"The food's good. Never had that as a doubt in my mind,' Jedediah cleared his throat. "I got this nagging feeling everything else ain't the same no more."

“I also didn’t think I was coming.” He admitted. He had found the time when the same pang that kept him coming back returned. Something horribly and pathetically yearning. What a terrible and lonely man he was. “You sounded great.” No point in ignoring what was clearly in front of him, glassy eyes and pink-rimmed nose, incendiary and lovely; how could he be any arbiter of morality? He slept in his bathtub, cradling a bottle of whiskey most nights. “I’ve brought a gift,” He slides a bottle of wine, something fancy and sweeter than his own taste, offering it over as a token of mutual destructive, if nothing else.

"I sent you flowers,' she turned back to the mirror and looked over her makeup. She was reinvigorated— her eyes opened back up. "These beautiful bouquets, the type I wish someone would send me. I sent them to where I thought you might be or to people I thought you might know. I wrote 'To Will G. from Will O.',' she smiled, pleased with herself. "I thought that was sweet. Will O... So, I guess one message did get through. You're here. You look so handsome."

INDE NAVARRETTE photographed by Nick Rasmussen for Schön! Magazine

Rothko / On Fear by Ollie Cowley

His feelings for the woman fluctuated between fear and infatuation at a rate which would give anyone whiplash if they tried to keep up with it. Around anyone else, most likely those who knew him well enough, Taylor was completely unrestricted and unaccountable for his way of thinking, which was a direct feed to what came out of his mouth. With Julienne, he had to actually think - to take a mere second and consider what the reaction to his words would be and how that could impact him. She scared him to the point where he should have put a significant amount of distance and some kind of court order between them but also there wasn't anyone else who made him feel this way. Was it love? who knows. But everyone seemed to pale in comparison to the fire burning right in front of him. Also, he knew her story which gave him a much deeper understanding of why Julienne is the way that she is. Taylor knew better than anyone how family dynamics can either build a person or leave them with inexplicable scars. One thing that was for sure, which brought in a sense of conflict for him, was that he wasn't looking for a relationship. Their casual arrangement was exclusive, on his end anyway, for the timebeing he wasn't interested in anyone else and if that were to change would he be able to confidently communicate that to her? He'd rather wait for her to grow bored of him, and this situationship, and leave on her own terms. Despite not being raised that way, Taylor spent a lot of his time on the road. It felt like a necessity more than an actual want. Being home meant that he was being bothersome, being away more meant that he could get out of his mother's hair and stop raiding his brother's pantry for a little while. To Taylor, the world was always a lot bigger than the confines of any home - or relationship. Julienne kept him tethered, whether it was deliberate or not, he was the kite and she was the one pulling on his string until she decided to pull out a pair of scissors. Her kissed made him feel dazed for a moment, he had to blink out of the trance she had locked him into and a quiet - and slightly nervous - laugh left him. "Did you forget that I have sisters?" He reminded her then pulled away to throw himself back on her cushions. "I can do the hair crinkle thingy too, if you want? You know the one that makes you look like a mermaid, or whatever? I absolutely suck at a french braid, though."

"The one that the girls used to do on picture day during middle school, yeah?' her voice echoed out of the closet. Julienne laughed. "That's fucking hideous, Taylor, absolutely no, but,' she tried to play nice. "You're a doll. You're an absolute babe. And you look like you don't want to come out with me tonight,' Julienne said, laying eyes on the man, comfortably tucked in under her pillows. She crossed her arms. "What are you going to do instead, Tay? Go sleep on your brother's couch?"

A beer in hand, he circled the room for the third time, finding he didn't quite know what to do with himself. The rush of winning was wearing off and holding himself together the way he was expected to at work in order to please the people above him — with a charm he wasn't sure he possessed in any natural sense — was beginning to become exhausting. When he spotted her at the bar, the beeline he made was probably a bad call, but he approached anyway, appearing beside her with his empty beer bottle which he placed down. "You haven't congratulated me." He said, meaning it to be some sort of joke, but it came off more awkward and cruel than he'd intended it to be.

She placed her head in her hands and added the internship to her internal tally of things she'd fucked up, but the score was so high that she was sure she'd forget it in the sum of all things within the next year or two. A voice beside her broke into her internal monologue. Julienne looked over, first frowning, but she let a smile creep over her face. Ah, Ferris. Probably the only person there that she could trust, her only sober confidante. The only person she would have wanted, truly, deep down, to win out over herself. "Congratulations, Ferris,' she said, leaning in to give the young man a hug. "I'm really happy it was you. I mean it."