#interative

We’re gonna see the crew again cuz netflix is releasing a interactive to netflix 

Hi guys, I hope you are all doing okay and I hope you enjoy this reading. Sorry in advance for grammar mistakes and if you have some requests let me know ♥

a special tag today  @lullabieswrappedinlies  thank you so much for cheering me on.

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He touches your thigh, and you look outside the window. He can't read your thoughts just by that, he can't, so why do you have to repeat it to yourself more than once? You were still thankful your leg isn't shaking like a dog's tail.

There was still sand on your lower back somewhere and you could focus on that till you couldn't, till he says something while his hand was slipping out of your thigh, till there was nothing left to talk about but; "Hey, wasn't it weird when Pamela confessed to everyone she canceled her wedding because of me? Right." Tonight you can't find out who was behind the torturer black mask, Pamela, James or yourself.

A long sigh, red light, red traffic light. You don't want to do this right now.

"(Y/N)…"

"I'm so hungry." You cut him out impulsively.

He got silent, went back to waiting again, you knew it too well. It was a Halpert thing to hate the passive aggressiveness of it all, but this is the result of your denied intuition taking physical form in front of both of you and everyone you worked with, so powerful, that the minimal flashback alone was enough to trigger that burning feeling, building on your stomach and climbing its walls. Say, "I told you so."To your boyfriend wasn't going to make it go away. She was in love with him or is in love with him currently.

"Fucking unbelievable." You let escape the words. "Can't believe I'm still hungry." Was your best saving.

It wasn't his fault, is the field you wanted to remain, but there was something within the mix of feelings wanting to retreat to the comfort of somewhere where he wouldn't be at aswell.

"We can stop at that new pizza place we've been wanting to go."

He was trying, but you could easily capture the hint of tension and how low and deep his voice got. You didn't want to be unfair or immature. There were a million different patterns your tricky mind could take a trip on, but no of them would replace getting the answer out of his lips.

"No, let's just go home." You turn to look at Jim. His eyes were already locked on you. You give him a small smile, a white flag, to show him you were still willing to listen at some point. There was no gratification in shutting him out, a bad habit you promised to quit. His eyes soften and get back on the road, a couple of seconds later he parked in front of your house. There is silence, but there was no harshness behind it, just no words till both got inside. Some deep parts of you were still afraid it could be the final moment of peace before it all falls, the fear of just not knowing, maybe.

You hear the sound of the door closing when you got to the couch. You sit and let your head fall back closing your eyes for a moment. The sound of his steps coming closer was all your attention was wrapped around, suddenly the confidence on a fair communication failed apart like delicate glass, now that it was about to start, now that you felt the heat of his body next to yours on the couch.

"I think I'm scared." You laughed it out, the best way you could "The only thing we ever fought about was over takeout, it was so stupid."

"It wasn't even a fight, we were just too hungry."

"You right, we can't even call that a fight." You agreed, now actually smiling when recalling that moment.

"Are we going to fight right now?" Jim asked. You open your eyes, desperately wanting to look into his, but he was inclined forward, elbows on top of his tights, his hand ran over the back of the neck you observed.

"I wanted to, but not anymore. I wanted to fight you and your buddy at that damn beach." The words flew out casually like you were talking about your day, any other day.

"Two at once, ambitious." He joked and reclined back looking at you with a smirk.

"Too soon."

"I understand you are angry. You have the right to be, but. God (Y/N) I swear-

"We are just friends? Yeah… Don't think so. If she dared to say those things it is because she sees you as an option, Jim." His eyes widen and his breath got heavier.

"I don't care what she sees, I'm not an option, never was, my thing is with you and she knows that."

"It doesn't seem like that to me." You felt physically weak thinking that next Monday you would have to look at Pamela's face. Worse than being angry was being angry and sad in a balanced way, both feelings battled inside.

"I'm going to talk to her tomorrow." He stated, and you gave him a bitter laugh.

"Of course you are."

"And It will be best if I back away from her as well. It doesn't give her the right, but I think she is just confused and sad, she lost years with Roy."

"Or maybe she is sad that she didn't choose you before."

"She couldn't choose me when I have already chosen you. Come on (Y/NN) I didn't wait years for you to change my mind over someone else instantly. I'm not going anywhere." Jim turned to face your answer. You felt the compromise in his voice, as you heard it before too many times, as you saw in the way he looked at you, you saw it right now. In the end, you couldn't blame anyone that wanted a piece of him, that wanted his attention and time, you are no stranger to what was so magnetic about him and what would also be the double-edged sword, putting you up to test. As long as you saw the reflection of what you feel in his eyes, there was no way you could let anything come in between.

"Anywhere? Not even to my very spacious bathtub where two people fit very well, I may add?" Your hand landed on his chest and traveled to the back of his neck grabbing gently on his hair, knowing what it did to him.

by Laura Juliano, NYU Graduate Student, Public History and Archives

The Textile Workers Union of America Scrapbooks WAG 249, is a collection in the Tamiment Library at NYU Special Collections. The Textile Workers Union of America (TWUA) was an industrial union of textile workers established through the Congress of Industrial Organizations in 1939 and which merged with the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America to become the Amalgamated Clothing and Textile Workers Union (ACTWU) in 1976. 

Work in the Lab:

During my time in the NYU’s Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department, Book and Paper Conservation Lab, I was part of a project to complete the second step of the TWUA’s iterative process: creating access by opening up the scrapbooks from their bindings and rehousing the material.

Western Union Telegram, 1917; Textile Workers Union of America Scrapbooks, Tamiment Library & Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives, WAG 249 NYU Special Collections. 

If a binding is too tight, the text is obscured. To fix this, we removed the bindings, the conservators removed the cloth covers and removed the text block from the board, and then each page was separated from the binding paste by peeling them apart one at a time.

 Original bindings of the Scrapbooks; Textile Workers Union of America Scrapbooks, Tamiment Library & Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives, WAG 249 NYU Special Collections. 

Once the pages were separated, they were re-foldered and re-housed in archival quality boxes and folders and sent up to ACM for processing. The collection is now more accessible for researchers and is ready for its next step in processing.

Finished product of re-housed material Boxes 1-15; Textile Workers Union of America Scrapbooks, Tamiment Library & Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives, WAG 249 NYU Special Collections.

After the Pandemic:

My time in the lab was cut short due to NYC’s quarantine and the global pandemic that has swept through our city. My hands-on learning was replaced with zoom interviews with conservators and archivists from around the country, discussing iterative processing and how to balance access with preservation at larger institutions. This is access I would never have had if my internship had stayed in the lab.

While the personal interviews and access to top industry professionals has been informative and useful, I am worried about the opportunities I am missing out by being unable to work in the lab, what hands-on experience I could have had if I could still be learning directly from some of the best conservators in the country.

Hello everyone!!! I hope yall have a great weekend, take care of yourself and spend some quality time with the ones you love. Thank you so much for for reading my stories.

special tag: @lullabieswrappedinlies ♥

                                              Warnings

. Letters in Italic means the memory of a dialog. alright?

. This story contains angst and some fluff and mentions superficially death and alcoholism.

. It probably has some grammar mistakes, sorry for that, but I’m working to get better.

                                              Hope you enjoy ♥

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                                                 "This is going to be weird, but... I think I'm going to miss you."

It is unclear if he meant to laugh or sigh; it was a mixture, unlived and short, makes you wonder a little longer where his mind was at.

Your hand bumps John in the shoulder playfully and unravels a loop of memories that were lurking somewhere in the dark, it makes your left eye twitch slightly, it was been this way the whole week. 

"It does sound weird. Please, don't miss me." 

John scratches the back of his neck, eyes low, radiating his nervous energy.

"I know it is too late, but, it doesn't make sense. I finally got something. The show is getting traction, you were confident about LA, doing your job from home as you wanted, why are you leaving me?"

Why are you leaving me?

You didn't want to leave him. You desired to run, fast, adrift, till your lungs freeze as you swallow the cold air of February, gasping and numb, crumbling, but controlled on the surface, similar to waking up at God knows when last night and grabbing the phone. You dial him, without the intention of doing it; something got you on automatic and there was no explanation as to why or how. All the things you said.

Reviving that feeling of reality mixed with the land of vivid dreams leaves a bitter taste of angst and doubt, but the answers were the same, wasn't it? For either of the possibilities, you had to leave him and figure how to end this before you had to leave him for good.

"Hey, this is John Krasinski and I can't answer right now so leave your message after the beep and I will call you back.

"I'm not leaving you, but I'm leaving, for now, and you can call me whenever you want, especially when the next episode airs."

"John, I just had the craziest dream, well, it's kinda how all of my dreams are, but this time there is no giant koala spitting fire or anything. It made sense, it was so vivid that I can't tell if I'm in or out of it right now. You were holding my hand so tight, too tight. I swear if I close my eyes I can feel it right now."

"Damn (Y/N) Please, talk to me. Did I do something? I know I've been busy-."

He moved on the couch, agitated.

"No, there is nothing to do with that, stop torturing yourself already! There is something I need to do, by myself this time and when I get back everything will be the same, I promise."

"I feel like I've been setting a trap for myself all these years and now is too late. I'm not even asking, I know I'm not, either way since you never actually listen to your voicemails and I will never say that to your face because you know, I can't...I wanted to say just this once."

"I feel like you need to tell me something and it's been a long time. I know you (Y/N)."

"It's been a long time, this is not the first message, but for sure will be the last, I promise, since I will be packing my shit and going very far away, I can't sneak away with your phone when you are distracted and erase all of them anymore. I'm taking turns around it again...Shit."

"What? What are you saying, John?"

A laugh to ease a rise of tension that grabs your neck with a firm grip is not enough to silence your heartbeats, loud and unsteady, it's in the throat, it's in the brain and every single one of them are telling you that this time no covers would help. He knows. You knew.

"I'm...in love? with you I.. Think I'm. I know I'm...It's driving me crazy, I'm sorry, there is no way I'm letting this ruin us okay? I promise you are never hearing this. Sorry."

Narrowed eyes stare back at you for a second that felt like a minute and stayed on your brain till he let out the air getting up from the couch.

"Nevermind. I think I need to rest, and we can talk better tomorrow."

You let him walk away, knowing that tomorrow your bags would be packed and the door of his room would be miles away from yours, but he didn't close his. You waited for the sound that was filled by an absolute silence as if both of you weren't in the apartment.

Putting your head on your hands, your fingers run through the tangles on your hair, the same way you wanted to run them through the tightness in your chest, tearing it apart to make room for anything else.

That friendship meant more than putting into the phrase "We know each other since we were 12." So people could fathom how long you've been together, never how much you've been through; there was no need for them to know. Inside that bubble you shared, there was never anyone else to complete the interior but a mixture of feelings that became a bad religion. It could pop it easily. At least now you know why your mom adored John, especially when you were both together.

Closing your eyes, your heart makes a silent prayer to her spirit. A sign, that’s all you need it.

"Can you at least admit to my face that at some point you wanted me to listen to those?"

Coldness hits your core. While you were still sitting in the same position, dizziness clouded your vision as you faced John, standing on the other side of the living room. Your primal reaction is a deep breath.

"Yeah, I do listen to my voicemails (Y/N)."

"You said..."

"I know what I said, and I know what you said, all of those messages and I can't choose to call myself too patient or dumb enough to wait for you to stop erasing them and instead of saying it to my face."

"John..."

"I know why. I get why. I get better than anyone else. You know that. Just because he left, it doesn't mean I'm doing the same."

"This has nothing to do with my mess of a father and I chose not to make this the center of everything in my life because he is fine now and mom is dead. There is nothing I can do to make it better. I don't want to make us worse; these things just don't work out."

"Just because it didn't work for them, it doesn't mean it can't work out...For us."

You swallow dry, thinking about the tricks your mind can do.

"You can't be serious."

"Yes, I can and I'm."

"You don't want this; you don't want to deal with me."

"Shocking, but I've been dealing with you for a very long time."

The first tear tickled your cheek.

Click here for Part One.

Hi, guys. It has been long, but it is finally here. I’m pretty happy to be posting this one and I hope you feel happy reading it.  

There is going to be a part three, so stick around in case you like this one.

I have other stories if you want to check those out (i have to make a masterlist, but it easy to find them)

If you have a request or just want to chat send me an ask.

special tag @lullabieswrappedinlies

if you want to be tagged, let me know.

Before you jump in, be advised:

. There is some cursing words, some f-bombs.

. Consumption of alcohol.

                                                cccccccccc

"Morning guys." Dex greets enthusiastically, before bowing down to place a kiss on his bride-to-be's cheek.

You are staring too much, but you can't miss the view.

The gift of ignorance was a delicacy underappreciated, at least while it lasts. It would make you eternally grateful if Rachel could keep everything to herself till ten years later. She will be sitting at her fancy dinner table, arrived from France, laughing too much because of that one bottle of old wine, from another place in Europe, maybe from Spain, she won't remember quite well. Then after recovering from laughing, putting the last sip of wine on her glass, she will tell him the story. With a sad, mildly drunk expression, Dexter would stop laughing.

"Morning." You respond.

She smiles at him and goes back to reading the newspaper.

Rachel was good at this, controlled, on the surface, as a lawyer should be. It brings a mixture of fear and thankfulness, that hid underneath itself another problem that walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, just so you know, Claire is coming today, she just called." Her mouth moves and her eyes don't lookup.

Dex sighs and you get up with the last spoon of cereal still laying on your tongue. You take the bowl and go towards the sink, planning to stay a long time with your back turned. 

"Morning everybody." 

It was visible the tiredness in his voice, tone low and deep, while you washed the white ceramic bowl in auto mode.

"Morning." Dex and Rachel responded together, laughing afterward. 

"That's cute." 

A chair's screech filled the room before a previous subject arose again. 

"So, she is really coming?"

Dex sounded worried.

"What, who is coming?" Now Ethan was worried too.

But why would he be worried about who was coming when he will be leaving tonight?

"Claire," Rachel says neutrally as before.

You place the bowl and the spoon carefully on the dish rack and spin back, spotting Ethan for the first time in the morning since you woke up to an empty bed. 

He stares from the not very long distance, with no longevity, because you cut it right away going towards the door, a way out to the porch, out to where random people were laying in the sand. 

Harsh winds of the morning shaping up weaves. You have to pay attention to that, to anything at all other than your head. 

You sit at the wooden bench, that didn't quite match the rest of the design on the porch next to a luxurious white couch, a unique setting for a suffering old seat that didn't belong. The best guess, could it be someone's favorite? Why wouldn't they throw it away when they thought about putting a much better couch beside it? Why did it remind you of the ones in San Francisco? 

"What the fuck am I thinking?"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Dex leans over, and your heart skips a beat from his sudden appearance.

He was observing. God knows for how long.

"No, I'm just thinking out loud, like a normal person."

He laughs, while you tried to shake the uncomfortable off, and takes a seat next to you. 

The next thing was silence, what you observed to happen a lot when Dex would talk to anyone other than Rachel, something normal considering you two barely knew each other, but still. Dex was the type to slip under radar if it wasn't for his looks. He was quiet, polite, unlike the stereotypes set for someone on his position, he possessed some of the same traits Rachel had, good traits, that combined make them good people if you could only erase all the cheating behavior Ethan mentioned. 

Now you see why his ex-fiancé wouldn't suspect them at all. 

Yet, it was none of your business, and the only thing that kept you involved in this world was the one that wasn't sitting on this bench with you.

"It is a good view right?"

Dex asks, and it is clear that making small talk wasn't his thing, and you were on the same level right now. Smiles appear to compensate.

"Yes, it is amazing."

You breathe in, deep. It could be some type of nervous vibe easy to detect, hovering, or you were projecting. 

"So, you and Ethan... You guys look good together."

"Oh, you think so?" 

Your mouth open's in surprise, genuine surprise. 

Before advancing to a judgment that could compromise, you try to relax and answer as naturally as possible.

"Yeah, I thought he was... Nevermind-." Dex interrupts the took, shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

"Gay?" You completed with confidence, spotting a mix of surprise and discomfort in the way he smiled back.

"Yeah. To be fair, Ethan gives the vibe sometimes." You continued, knowing that Dex was probably confused, reminiscing Ethan's lie about being gay so Claire would leave him alone, and the fool never cleared it out before moving to London.

Something bumps into the door, somewhat aggressively, and the first thing you recognized was the hand.

"What are you guys gossiping about out here?"

Ethan comes out to the porch, exchanging looks towards you and Dex, taking the space left between the two of you. 

"I was just saying to (y/n) that I think you two make a great couple." 

"Oh, you think so?"

Ethan responds, reclining his back against the bench and puts an arm around your neck. It is all that it takes to remind you why you escaped to the porch in the first place.

"And we were also talking about your gay vibes, babe."

"What?" He looks at you, confused.

"Yeah, like when you said you were gay to drive Claire away, like the mastermind player that you are. That is like, his thing Dex. He loves doing stuff like that-."

You incline forward to look at Dex, but Ethan blocks the view. His arm traps your body next to his chest, and you were obliged to stand up with him.

"Okay, babe. Do you want to take a walk on the beach? Hun? Dex, catch you later, bud." You don't resist since that at some point it all had to be addressed.

Ethan loosens the grip while you both were walking down the four steps. His hand travels down your arm slowly, and before you could cross them, he beats you by the timing and takes your hand. 

You wait for a fair distance before taking your hand back.

"What was all that?" 

Ethan asks. The audacity of the annoyed tone he used makes you start to walk faster in front of him.

"Does it matter? we are leaving tonight, right?"

"No, we're not leaving."

You stopped and turned around. Ethan faces you with both hands on his hips. You waited for some confirmation that he was messing with you.

"Ethan."

"Look, I talked to Rachel this morning, I apologized, and she decided to forget all it. It is going to be weird if I suddenly left. I'm her best friend."

"Oh, so that's why you left me this morning? To go talk to Rachel."

"I'm only trying to fix this, find an answer to make this right."

You complete the steps that separated both of you, being centimeters away from his face and the way he observed you.

"Look. Do what you want to do, every crazy pathetic thing you want, to get a woman that doesn't want you but don't use me and leave me like I'm nothing because I'm not your rebound anymore, Ethan."

You breathe in, feeling your chest rise and the beats of your heart multiply by the second. Suddenly there wasn't control over thoughts or words. Everything wanted to break loose.

"Are you even listening to yourself right now? 'I'm her best friend.' You mocked. " Stop using this bullshit to excuse what you are thinking. The answer is Dex, Rachel is not choosing you. She never did, not then and not now. You should do yourself a favor and get the fucking hint already Ethan."

You wanted to explode, wanted to scream. It wasn't the first time this same conversation took place between both of you, and yet, you were waiting for a different outcome that never happened before. It was useless. You saw it in his eyes. You saw it in the way he walked right past you and didn't look back.

                                             (Ethan POV.)

There is something worse about positive emotions. Something buried underneath, and It's ugly, blinds you, makes you live in denial for a very long time, till it turns the question 'What the fuck am I doing?', into a daily mantra from a bad religion.

I asked this more times than it is possible to count. I asked a thousand times while I was doing my bags, and another thousand while I was on the plane watching (y/n) asleep. I asked it again for a couple more thousand times when I saw Rachel, and since then it has been a background sound for my thoughts, the usual ones she belonged. 

Her face. Her laugh, ever-living memories, that insisted themselves on my central vision like jumping ghosts, obliging me to keep feeding my brain with any distraction. Sinking myself with work till numbness almost did the thing, but the closest I came to the remedy was (y/n).

That one night, I went out to the bar on my block, not feeling like me anymore after diagnosing myself with derealization through a quick search on google. The impression of furniture moving convinced me to run away from the claustrophobic place that became that apartment.   

It all happened at some time past one in the morning, at the right time and place to meet someone like her, someone very different from me. I guess, just what I need it. 

The crisp vision of things gives you a perspective, but she never centered around only one thing. (Y/N) was always in movement while I was still ruminating about Rachel and what I couldn't let go. 

When the post-coital conversation started flowing, after weeks of our same scheme passed by, I realized that not everything was cold with (y/n), only the way she perceived love. The way she rolled her eyes when I talked about it, but not the way she makes it, which can make one confused at first and be careful at least.

I  had reasons to strongly believed in my immunity because I knew I was still in love with Rachel. That was what my brain reminded me on the daily, being in love with an unavailable person was becoming a personality trait instead of a problem to be dealt with it, and it was that I accepted. Only at San Francisco, when I made no attempts to contact Rachel, I realized too late that I had mixed the medicine with alcohol, and now they had the same effect.

All of the past mess, mixing with the habit of sweeping things under the rug, made me start thinking about ending everything. Still, a burden compounded with a miracle came when we got back from San Francisco, and we discovered to be new working partners. The universe seemed to have done everything for me, except providing the answer I was still looking for when Rachel's wedding invitation arrived. I was about to mix the medicine with alcohol all over again. 

When they hugged at the airport, my stomach ran laps. 'What the fuck am I doing?'. The mantra comes back again. 

"Can I take your order, sir?"

A redhead girl, holding a notepad, appeared next to the table I occupied. Her Blythe doll eyes blinking at me.

How long was she there while I rewind all the past regrets only God knows.

"Sorry. I'm... I'm waiting for someone before ordering."

I simulate my way out of the situation with a smile. My wallet was at home, and it was a good thing because it was too early to drink something distilled.

"Oh, okay. I'll just leave the menu here." 

She left two menus over the white cloth before leaving with a condescending smile.

I decided to spare some time. I faked looking at my clock and looking around at random times as if I waited for someone very tardy before I left the table. The Blythe doll eyes must be cursing me, and I deserve it. 

 The sun outside, hitting my eyes was already alarming hot, or London made me a stranger to the feeling of warmth. I look behind me, but there is only the bridge, and random people passing by.

It felt familiar to the place where Rachel and I spend time together, but like everything else after a while became a blur under what happened that night. 

I can replay it quickly while continuing to walk with no destination.

It happened when Rachel smiled and ordered a Heineken. I was explaining the order to myself, controlling my eyes and planing my words, usually with gastric reflux would be burning the walls of my stomach, but now the house was quiet. 

I was alone with her, after years, after long years and miserable scenarios played inside my head, and now there was total silence, the silence of death.

"What?"

Rachel asked, still smiling, brightly, I loved that fucking smile, I loved.

I loved.