#i can't write anything that isn't about shakespeare apparently.

[butchhamlet]

hi it's me again im the anon who dropped about 800 words about ocd hamlet a couple weeks ago (maybe longer, time has been weird for me lately).. it made me soo happy to see it resonated with you and with some other people who reblogged it as well!! i've been projecting on hamlet ever since i read it and it feels like every time i read it i learn more about him AND me... and ever since Symptoms showed up he's been even dearer to me and im just so glad people like my interpretation as well :)

i hope it's ok for me to do this again because i want to talk about what if lady macbeth has ocd also. and i know this is sort of well. dangerous if that's the right word because 1) lady macbeth IS the villain in her play even if i love her from the bottom of my heart and i support everything she does and ocd is already an incredibly stigmatised and misunderstood 2) hand washing is possibly THE most stereotyped compulsion that sort of epitomises this really warped view of ocd in the public consciousness. i personally do not have handwashing as a compulsion or really any physical compulsions that are direct responses to my intrusive thoughts so i will try to be really really careful when im talking about this. + other disclaimers: again while i have definitely experienced symptoms of ocd i do not know if i have it and i am NOT diagnosed + ocd experiences are different for everyone + you cannot diagnose a character because they are not real + this one is mostly projection and is more a frame of reading than it is an interpretation grounded in textual evidence (esp since i will be talking about the sleepwalking asleep a LOT and she is technically, well. sleeping.) so just. take everything with a pinch of salt and please let me know if i ever overstep!!

im mainly going to be drawing on experiences close to real event ocd even though i know that typically real event ocd is defined by the fact that the sufferer blows their past mistakes way out of proportion and/or question their memories, and i guess i cannot say that lady macbeth’s guilt is completely unjustified because uh. she did kill a man.! but i do think her behaviours after the murder reflects what i’ve seen people speak about online as well as some of the experiences i’ve had. 

guilt as illness

this is more general to the whole play i guess but i wanted to point out how the consequences of the macbeths’ regicide is absolutely portrayed as a disease. there’s a LOT of foreshadowing in lady macbeth’s advice to her husband in the immediate aftermath of their murder: she tells him not to “think / so brain sickly of things”, and says, “these deeds must not be thought / after these ways so, it will make us mad”. (2.ii) the doctor later alludes to “infected minds” (5.i) in relation to lady macbeth’s madness. the fact that the fixation on guilt is seen as an illness i think fits so well with ocd: whenever im having a bad day with intrusive thoughts and mental spirals it genuinely feels like there is something festering in my brain like a parasite feeding on anxiety. 

guilt is also so intrinsically linked to sleep in macbeth: famously macbeth comes out of the king’s chamber ranting about how he may “sleep no more; macbeth doth murder sleep”, and lady macbeth’s obsession pours out of her when she is sleeping (and this is exactly why a doctor is called). i would argue that fucked up sleep is somewhat presented as an illness in ‘macbeth’ too; or if not, at least unnatural. this idea is all over act 2 scene ii (right after macbeth commits the murder) but i think it’s best epitomised in act 3 scene iv: “you lack the season of all natures, sleep.” (lady macbeth) season as in both night-season and seasoning/preservative. so sleep is both a natural part of life, and something that keeps things the way nature or god intended. the doctor says too that disturbed sleep is “a great perturbation in nature” (5.i). nightmares are DEFINITELY depicted as illness: macbeth says that they “sleep / in the affliction of these terrible dreams / that shake us nightly” (3.ii)

insomnia is highly associated with ocd since the obsessions/compulsions prevent sleep and sleep deprivation increases the commonality AND duration of obsession. if a significant portion of your day is spent devoted to obsessions/compulsions, there’s a chance they may become assimilated into intrusive dreams, since dreams are generally regarded as a way that the brain processes memories. thus, we can see that the way guilt in ‘macbeth’ is linked to disturbed sleep parallels how ocd is linked to sleep disorders. so not only is guilt itself an illness in ‘macbeth’, it links to other disorders too

2. withdrawal from dialogue

lady macbeth stops being on equal footing in terms of number of lines with macbeth after the murder. from act 3 she really only responds briefly to what macbeth says, and she’s not even in act 4. i sort of see that as her being dragged under her spiralling thoughts and retreating further and further back into her mind. i know i definitely zone out a LOT more on days where im being absolutely bombarded by intrusive thoughts. she’s definitely disoriented by the begining of act 3:

nought’s had, all's spent, where our desire is got without content. ’tis safer to be that which we destroy, than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. (3.ii)

the whole soliloquy (if you can even call it that—it’s only 2 couplets) is riddled with paradoxes and confusing wording. her mind is completely scattered and it feels to me as if she’s just been arguing with herself. this might be reaching slightly (as if this entire post isnt kind of reaching already. sorry) but to me it kind of mirrors the absurd leaps of logic my intrusive thoughts and rumination can sometimes take: how can it be “safer” to be destroyed? how can “joy” be doubtful? it doesn’t make sense, and it’s confusing and frightening, but it feels absolutely real. (also note: as you’ve said before ocd is sometimes called the doubting disease. and lady macbeth calls her experience “doubtful”….

3. the mad scene

(disclaimer again i KNOW she is supposed to be asleep the entire time BUT i am going to. sort of. ignore that. sorry</3)

in the beginning of act 5 scene i, lady macbeth’s lady-in-waiting says,

since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed — yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

i’ve never experienced physical compulsions myself, but this sort of repeated, methodical act matches how i’ve seen people describe them. the doctor specifically calls them “actual performances”, which suggest, i think, something mechanical and dictated in some way; “perform” is definitely a word i’ve seen people use to descrive carrying out compulsions. (do correct me if i’m wrong!)

then let’s look at lady macbeth’s actual speech:

out, damned spot, out, I say. — one, two — why, then, 'tis time to do't. — hell is murky. — fie, lord, fie, a soldier, and afeard! what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

the jumping around of her thoughts honestly feels exactly like my mind alternating between intrusive thoughts and desperately trying to justify why they aren’t true. she goes from reflecting on her debillitating guilt, to being anxious about going to hell, to replaying and checking her memories, to reassuring herself (and macbeth) that she won’t get caught, and then to thinking about her guilt again. it’s a rapid-fire, relentless cycle that continues throughout the scene. she’ll jump from reenacting a moment with her husband, to the obsessing over the blood on her hands, then back again. notably, in her address to macbeth, she never seems to be reenacting the exact same moment. she taunts him for his cowardice seemingly before the murder, then pleads with him, saying that “banquo cannot come out his grave”, then goes back to when they are fleeing the crime scene. i think this reflects the sort of distortion of memory that constant memory checking and ocd can cause. the moodswings and the flip-flopping between “everything’s fine” and “i’m going to hell” are also SO intense and honestly it’s exactly what it feels like on my worst days. 

in the entire scene, lady macbeth speaks in prose instead of verse: it’s obviously a sign of madness by itself, but i also think it reflects the complete loss of control she has over her thoughts and actions. in the beginning acts she is all about control: she demands “spirits / that tend on mortal thoughts” (1.v) to do her bidding, she tells macbeth to “leave all the rest to me” (1.v), and she tells him what to do at every moment. but at this point in the play she can’t stop the onslaught of regrets, guilt, and memories, and she can’t even control herself physically.

speaking of the elephant in the room: the excessive handwashing. i think of lady macbeth’s handwashing as less of a reaction to a genuine fear of contamination, but as something more akin to body-repetitive behaviours like skin-picking (dermatillomania) and hair-pulling (trichitillomania, which i think i have) which are associated with ocd.

i sort of headcanon lady macbeth to have absolutely horrible skin splits on her hands (<- this part is complete projection): and so following this interpretation, i think of her handwashing sort of as a form of self-flagellation because rubbing her hands continually will make the skin tear and bleed. (gore tw?) that, then, fits in with the blood on her hands: in her semi-conscious state she thinks it’s duncan’s, when it’s really hers.

i know that another common compulsion is counting: and lady macbeth does count (“one, two—’tis time to do it.”) one of the reasons people with ocd may count (and there are many reasons, this is not the be-all-end-all) is “attaching meaning to particular numbers where certain numbers will induce anxiety, while others will reduce anxiety. for example, if you assign special meaning to the number three, you might count your steps by threes, or lock and unlock your car three times before driving, or any variety of other action ruled by this magic number.” (<- quoted from nocd website)

i also know that repetition of words or phrases is another common compulsion. and these are lady macbeth's final lines:

to bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. come, come, come, come, give me your hand. what's done cannot be undone. — to bed, to bed, to bed.

4. her death

in your ocd hamlet post, you talked about how hamlet’s death is almost peaceful in his “silence”, and how horatio, despite knowing all his flaws and obsessions, believes wholeheartedly in his salvation. (that honestly means the world to me, by the way, so thank you.) the macbeths went through EVERYTHING together: the planning, the crime itself, the aftermath—it’s clear from their dialogue that at the beginning of their sufferings they saw each other go through sleeplessness, nightmares, and obsession. but over the course of the play, they completely fall apart. (i think the last time macbeth uses “we” to refer to the two of them is to say “we’ll to sleep” and “we are yet but young in deed”, which is the most ironic thing ever.) macbeth’s only response to lady macbeth’s death is “she should have died hereafter.” i honestly don’t know what that means in terms of the ocd reading, or in comparison with horatio's reaction to hamlet's death. i'd love to know what you think.

thanks for bearing with me!! i’m a bit less confident in this reading than i am for ocd hamlet, and it’s more likely i’ll get something wrong about ocd in this one, but sorry i just wanted to unleash this somewhere i hope that’s okay and genuinely please tell me if i say anything wrong or insensitive! i also typed this over 3 hours and went over the text as if this was a homework essay.....? and it is now almost 2am so i’m sorry if this isn’t coherent. i hope you’re having a wonderful day :)

hi same anon here i forgot to put this in but. i listened to verdi macbeth opera mad scene una macchia è qui tuttora the whole time i was writing that thing in case anyone would like to know...... i love it so so much my favourite video recording is by sylvia sass on youtube https://youtu.be/tP59Ox8MdQ4?feature=shared&t=319 AND there are full productions of the opera on youtube as well. thank you so much for reading!!!!

YES.... YES..... YESSSSSSSSSS I LOVE AN OCD LADY MACBETH... IT'S ABOUT THE GUILT IT'S ABOUT THE REPETITION DOES EVERYONE HEAR ME? TODAY WE ARE DOING GUILT AND REPETITION

i have had similar thoughts about the sort of inherent trickiness of it (oh, the lady who washes her hands a lot has ocd? whoa, totally original thought that has nothing to do with pop culture perception of ocd) (and also she did kill a man). but you really said it all with that ksdhfdksnfdsn. i will pitch in that i DO have handwashing compulsions and tbh. i personally think lady macbeth ocd reading is a net win even if it does trail a little close to stereotypes because if you dig even slightly deeper than "haha handwashing" it allows for an examination of ocd not just as an action but also as a manifestation of guilt and illness. which is SO macbeth. the body politic is sick the government is sick!!! again im taking the words right out of your mouth here this ask whips ass

shaking your hand on conceiving of ocd as something parasitical. really feels like there is some Thing up there feeding on my brain. (also on intrusive thought dreams. fucked upppppp like man leave me alone)

AND ON THAT NOTE i feel like even if she is asleep it can still be ocd. i say this with no medical training whatsoever and this isn't, like, me asserting that people actually do compulsions while asleep, but on a narrative level, the emotional processes happening to her character are petty clear even if she's sleepwalking, right. once again no medical training whatsoever

the jumping around of her thoughts honestly feels exactly like my mind alternating between intrusive thoughts and desperately trying to justify why they aren’t true. [...] the moodswings and the flip-flopping between “everything’s fine” and “i’m going to hell” are also SO intense and honestly it’s exactly what it feels like on my worst days.

YEAH. YEAH. YEAH. the ugly intrusive thought -> self-reassurance -> self-reassurance makes it worse -> intrusive thought (harder and worse) spiral. and literally this is EXACTLY what it feels like. me when i accidentally say something rude and then i'm evil for three days. except she killed a man

i sort of headcanon lady macbeth to have absolutely horrible skin splits on her hands (<- this part is complete projection): and so following this interpretation, i think of her handwashing sort of as a form of self-flagellation because rubbing her hands continually will make the skin tear and bleed. (gore tw?) that, then, fits in with the blood on her hands: in her semi-conscious state she thinks it’s duncan’s, when it’s really hers.

YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH. ON AN ANALYTICAL LEVEL AND A PERSONAL LEVEL. LITERALLY THE LEAPS I CAN DO IN MY BEAUTIFUL MIND TO BE LIKE WOW IM JUST LIKE LADY MACBETH (BLOOD ON MY HANDS). YOU N ME BROTHER

and re: her death and the macbeths splintering apart. that is honestly the most painful part of this play for me, as a lover of evil couples and also of their specific dynamic. the fact that they mesh so well at the beginning (i mean, they argue, there's friction, but they're clearly on the same page--they enter their first shared scene both thinking the same thing and a lot of their communication is in implication) and then they just. fragment. and i think with the OCD ladymac reading it's even worse, because the thing about OCD at least in my experience is that. at some point the people around you stop being able to understand what the fuck your problem is. even when they're trying really hard. because it doesn't make any sense! the compulsions don't make logical sense the self-flagellation doesn't make any sense none of it is SOLVING anything but it also does make sense, To You, on a level you cannot really explain to people that don't Get It*. and so like. the macbeths are already breaking apart because of their responses to the murder, and this is just one more thing coming between them. she is trapped in a cage in her brain that he cannot see.

*(i think not infrequently about the overlap between OCD and psychosis; i haven't experienced psychosis and obviously there are major differences, but i relate a lot to what psychotic people have said about, like, the ability to hold multiple contradictory truths at once. my compulsions will not actually stop disasters from happening, but they also will. you could maybe pull in something about macbeth's parallel loss of control + his hallucinations? but i'm not diagnosing macbeth with psychosis necessarily i'm just saying words).

anyway, anon, i am always extremely impressed by your dedication to writing out quotes and coming armed with evidence, and also your analysis fucking bangs. this is such a good ask i need to frame it on the wall your mind is huge. i hope you have a wonderful day as well :)

[azrantimes]

Romeo and Dial drunk??

Aka me relating every Noah Kahan song to & Juliet

"I'm rememberin' I promised to forget you now"

Juliet killing herself was supposed to be the end of the play. The end of Romeo and Juliet, as people. Their relatives would move on, and Shakespeare would write another tragedy. The tale of two lovers would be forgotten, if it wasn't for Anne.

"But it's rainin', and I'm callin' drunk"

Romeo is dead, or was. He doesn't know. All he knows is that he has to get to his wife, who rains on his parade by announcing her engagement, and he's banished from the wedding. He still manages to sneak in, a dumb act for love, something you'd do if you were drunk.

"And my medicine is drownin' your perspective out"

The poison that ends all. All Romeo could see was a dead Juliet and a vial of poison, there was only one solution in his eyes.

"So I ain't takin' any fault"

"I forgive you." Romeo doesnt hate Juliet, he loves her too much, but she doesn't love him back. Someone who loves you would kill themselves for you. He acted out of love, not out of rationality, he couldn't have known she was still alive.

"Am I honest still? Am I half the man I used to be?"

Who is Romeo Montague besides his imago? How can he be his real self if he doesn't know who he is? He wants to be better, for Juliet, but he can't even fight for her until the quill breaks. He hasn't moved on since he woke up, but Juliet apparently has, so has he changed that much by dying?

"I doubt it, forget about it, whatever"

Juliet is marrying Frankie and he can't do anything except letting her go. He's alive! He should be celebrating and moving on! Juliet deserves that.

"It's all the same, anyways"

Romeo and Juliet are destined to die next to eachother over and over again. It can't be rewritten.

"I ain't proud of all the punches that I've thrown"

Romeo isn't a fighter, he's a lover, but love is like a drug. Love can make you do crazy things. He didn't want to kill Tybalt, but he had no choice, right?

"In the name of someone I no longer know"

He's banished. He lost the love of his life, twice. He can't go anywhere. Everything he loves has been taken from him. Everyone he fought for wouldn't fight for him.

"For the shame of being young, drunk, and alone"

He's alone. He has been alive for less than 20 years and never felt like he was actually living. He's to deep in to change.

"Traffic lights and a transmitter radio"

Paris is far from Verona, but Romeo persisted, even if he didn't know Juliet's whereabouts, he wasn't stopping for anything.

"I don't like that when they threw me in the car"

I gave your name as my emergency contact"

A friendly carriage driver was his only ally. If it wasn't for him he would've never found Juliet. He didn't know what the guy's deal was but he was just as interested as Romeo himself in them getting back together.

"Honey, it rang and rang, even the cops thought you were wrong for hangin' up"

Juliet didn't feel the same. Romeo felt rejected. How could she move on so fast and leave him in the dust after all he did for her? That went against his, and William's plans. He even apologized!

"I dial drunk, I'd die a drunk, I'd die for you"

And he was sure she'd do the same.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Gender things that contradict themselves in European Society

Just pointing out the mind numbing contradictions. I suppose one could also think about this and how people climb through this and come up with justifications for it. Contemporary society, BTW.

Meat==Man thing.

Pigs are supposedly (but not really ) pink.

Pink is woman's color said from the 1950's.

European gentile man eats meat from pig. Then what gender is he? Does meat > pink.

Does that explain why medium rare or rare beef==real man? Of course the justification is "raw"==more man, but ignore the pink?

What? But then vegetables are women in writing, except when oblong, then it's a man, except for gourds which are what gender according to Europeans? And mushrooms are often called manly, though they technically are neither animal or vegetable, so wouldn't that make them nonbinary especially considering they have thousands of genders, but this apparently does work in this gender system. But no one compares a man to a zucchini though it's long, oblong, and is technically in the same family a a gourd?

Yeah... kinda confusing here.

Then what are blue flowers? Why is fruit a woman? Is it the Eve thing? But sheep are feminine until a man eats them according to the Bible (also goats and dogs are considered evil in the Old and New Testament). Granted this isn't European standards, but often it was disciplined to misunderstood Bible references that later scholars who did not read Greek, Arabic, or Hebrew, like Thomas Aquinas misunderstood severely.

***

Dress==top attached to a skirt. This is woman and girl's wear.

Toga is super manly and part of the Greek system? (Frats)

A robe is not a dress when a man wears it? Vestments are also not a dress?

A mumu is a robe with print and color on it? But when print is on man's shirt it's called "Hawaiian" or "dress shirt"

When man wears nightgown, that's not a dress??

When a man wears a towel wrapped around his middle, that's not a skirt? When a man wears a robe that splits in the front that's not a dress. When a man wears a sheet and ties it around his hips, that's not a skirt, but a sarong. BTW, anything outside of mainstream Europe is calls it a skirt. A grass skirt from Hawai'i. There's mixed feeling about kilts. But when a woman wears these same exact things, definitely a skirt??

BTW, el vestido is masculine in Spanish.

la robe is dress in French.

I spent a long post on clothes already, pointing out lace, pink, heels, etc were in men's clothing originally. Pants is only men's wear because around Western Europe that tried to ban women from riding horses.

***

So according to White European standards, men can lift heavy things and women can't. Women are simply weaklings, you see, who never knew a hard day's graft.

So that means when washer women existed and nearly drowned from lifting water from rivers and wells, this was easy work compared to a man driving a plow.

So this means when the woman had to scrub the floors on her hands and knees this was not back breaking work.

This means the three witches in Shakespeare's Hamlet when they talk about a brew didn't have to haul several buckets of water and go trouncing in the woods because they were weaklings, you see.

This means when the washing up used to be done with urine, women weren't having a hard time at all.

When women were lifting hot cauldrons, and doing things like spinning threads day in and day out by a drop spindle, they weren't doing long and tedious work.

When women were carding wool by hand it wasn't a difficult thing to do.

When women had to wrangle the animals, milk a cow and care for children or give birth--you see, not difficult at all. Women are simply weaklings, don't you know it?

They aren't making lye soap which was caustic or bits of cheese or churning butter (Which is harder than it looks).

And when women were chopping off heads, you see, not that difficult.

See, women were always weak. Because real men's work was.. let's check, being a merchant selling things without being fined for doing so (See women's scolds), ruling the Kingdom, letting animals pull your plow, Trading, chasing prestige. Because according to this system, women are money grubbing, which is why you can't trust them with money, now can you and don't do any work at all and lounge all day completely serene, reading frippery novels that utterly pollute their brains.

For all time, women were clearly, clearly weaker than men. See, see the terfs are onto something. transporting a boiling kettle and trying to do ironing without electricity, lazy women who are clearly weak amirite? <sarcasm>

It's not oh, say women's work and labor were severely unvalued and then even more undervalued as electricity came along. See, everyone is white of stable means and income on 40K pound a year. Women must be physically weaker than men.

***

Deep voices are male, but the most celebrated male singing is falsetto.

So, high singing male is considered still a man in most cases without question.

Vox didn't do a video on Contralto female singers, though...

though this talent seems like it is more rare than a falsetto.

So... contradiction here too. Or sexism?

***

Some people try to gender fonts and that is totally odd to me. How it writing in a certain way "girly"? https://www.reddit.com/r/AskFeminists/comments/vmcman/why_do_only_young_girls_develop_the_bubbly/

People care very much how people write to a gender standard? But what about writing words on a page, without looking at the letters themselves make them "girly" scratching lines on a wall isn't gendered.

***

BTW, nature says that super men i.e. high testosterone are more likely to be gay? But Europeans like to say they are "girls"... in the stereotype.

[everydaychaotic]

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. "

Charlie x Reader Fic

a/n: i used a writing prompt here because there were some prompts i found on my phone. they're from creative-writing-prompts on tumblr (?) omg enjoy 💕

Word on the street is all about this Charlie Dalton. All the girls in your school can't seem to shut up about him, this guy from Wellton who pulled an infamous stunt in front of everybody.

"Have you heard about what happened at Wellton?"

"God, that Charlie has guts."

"He's single right?"

All this gossip annoyed you. Either they applaud his not-so-daring feat, or they suddenly fancy him. Apparently, this boy has become popular here and you never understood why he would do something so stupid.

You're a real stickler for the rules, future mapped out and planned for, and you always had this thing where everything should be in order. Charles Dalton, that jerk, just disrupted the peace and order you have been accustomed to by turning these girls into boy crazy and lovestruck little girls. His name made your blood boil and it made you lose focus. They never seem to get enough of him, and that's probably because there aren't really a lot of options in boarding school.

Wherever you went, his name would always pop up. Whoever you talked to would ask if you knew. You would roll your eyes and tell them they're wasting time on someone who isn't even worth it. This boy was getting into your nerves, and (rumor has it) another girl's knickers.

There came a time you just couldn't take it anymore. Even your best friend was talking about him with a mix of amusement and disappointment. She thought this boy had potential but wasted it on a foolish prank. Both of you shared the same sentiments, although your friend was obviously intrigued.

You had a lot of homework to do, and with everything that was going on, you decided you didn't have time for this. You sigh loudly and throw a pillow at your friend, exasperated. "Hey!" she said as the pillow hit her face. "What was that for?"

You turned to her, annoyed and stressed from all the homework and drama. Your roommate raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. "I'm getting tired of this— this boy!" you tell her and she stifles a laugh.

It wasn't funny, and then she replied, "Who knew that the great y/n would lose focus over a boy?" You ignored her and went back to your homework. There was still so much to do with calculus, and you haven't checked on your science project yet. Your French essay is due tomorrow and it isn't near perfect. You didn't let the idea of Charlie Dalton get to you.

Days went by and the chatter started to lessen. You smiled to yourself, everything was slowly going back to normal. Your focus was back, and nothing else seemed to interrupt it. Right now, everything is perfect for you. Back on the right track to be one of the country's most esteemed lawyers.

Everything was almost back to normal, you hardly even thought about him, and no one

had any more stories to tell about the infamous little pick who caught St. Agnes' by storm. One fateful day, he was once again the talk of the town. Rumour has it, he went out with one of the girls from her class. People kept on talking, asking this girl to tell him about Charlie. All of them would pile around her, and ask if he was what they dreamed he would be like.

You thought it was all rubbish. Charles Dalton? You bet he got under her skirt. Your classmate's story about him being the perfect gentleman was too good to be true. There's no such thing as a gentleman, and you believed Charlie was far from that. People see what they want to see, and you thought this girl just let heard what he wanted her to hear. Quite stupid, you thought.

One day as you were walking around the courtyard, book in hand, you caught sight of him. The infamous Charlie Dalton, in the flesh. You couldn't deny he was handsome. There was an air of arrogance around him, and a hint of brilliance to which you were so. curious about. He was with a different girl, and he gave a smirk you knew all too well that he was up to no good. He dropped her off at the dorms, and you shook your head in disappointment. You saw this coming, but in the back of your mind you always hoped it wasn't true.

He passed by you, and smiled. His brown hair all messed up, with eyes that always twinkled with mischief and chaos. "Hi," he said to you. You gripped your book tighter and ignored him, walking away. Charlie always liked girls who played hard to get. He found the chase to be rewarding. He turned around, "I didn't catch your name."

You muttered something, and continued to walk towards the dorms. There were footsteps following you, and you tried your best to ignore him as he tried to get your attention. "Did you just say your name? I didn't get it the first time." He caught up to you and went ahead. There he was, facing you: Charlie Dalton of Wellton Academy.

You decided to be blunt and said, "I didn't, and no, I'm not telling you." You sighed, "I was asking you to leave me alone." He wasn't taken aback by this comment, after all, it was part of the chase, and Charlie enjoyed every second of it.

"If you say so," he said sarcastically. He is so infuriating, you thought. You looked him in the eyes and you were inwardly fazed by how beautiful he really was up close. You always hid your emotions well, and you certainly didn't want to break that wall in front of this jerk.

"Did I stutter?" you replied coldly. You took a deep breath and once again told him to leave you alone. He chuckled and told you, mocking defeat, "Whatever you say, sweetheart." He waved at you and went on his way. Charlie was amazed, and decided he was gonna try harder than usual. That meant he absolutely had to, because most of the time they just came onto him.

You thought about this encounter for a considerable amount of time, and sometimes wondered if you were to see him again. You were working on your english homework until someone on the phone asked for you. You hate being interrupted, and it annoyed you to drop whatever you've been doing for something so irrelevant. Begrudgingly, you grab the phone and put it to your ear, rolling your eyes. "Hello?"

"Hello to you too, y/n," the sound of his voice made you mad. You tried to keep it together, your friends were watching. You couldn't lose control now, it would guarantee him victory. You whispered, "You're not supposed to call."

"Well sweetheart I did, now y/n, tell me, what are you doing Saturday night?" You ignored the question and said, "How did you get my name you jerk?" You heard people laughing from the other line, who were teasing Charlie. "I asked for a pretty girl and they led me to you," he slurred. For a moment, you felt flattered, but mostly embarrassed. That was officially the worst line you have ever heard.

"Shut up. Now if you don't have anything important to say, I'm hanging up now." You put down the phone and went back to your schoolwork. You can't afford to have any more distractions, especially a Dalton-shaped distraction.

Almost every night, he would call, and like always you would give the phone back, telling everyone you absolutely had no time for this. This boy was persistent. You tried your best not to lose your temper in front of your friends and classmates. That rarely happened. You're y/n, and he isn't your Waterloo.

The day you've been waiting for came. Charlie stopped calling. You thought he got bored and latched himself onto another pretty thing. You were a bit hurt, to know he was exactly what you thought he was but it worked best that way, and you were starting to feel normal again. He wasn't the talk of the town anymore, and that alone gave you the motivation to do everything on your to-do list.

You went out to the courtyard for a stroll and brought your favorite book along. Your eyes widened when you saw him. Messy brown hair with everything undone. There he was again, and he looked like he was waiting. You continued to walk towards your favorite spot in the courtyard, made yourselg comfortable and started to read. "Hey y/n," Charlie said. At that moment, you wanted your soul to leave your body. You closed your book and looked up, "To what do I owe this unwanted encounter?" There was sarcasm dripping in your voice and Charlie raised an eyebrow in amusement. He ignored your comment and asked, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

You didn't answer. He sat down next to you and looked at what you were reading. "Shakespeare, huh? You've got good taste," he commented. You smiled a little, and felt better that this boy, even for a moment, stopped pestering you. You were a bit glad you at least had something in common, and relieved he wasn't just a prick. He was a brilliant prick who knew his stuff, and you were somehow attracted by this.

You just sat there in silence for the whole afternoon. You were immersed in your book, and all Charlie did was stare at you. The silence was endearing, and you stopped only to find him sleeping. You swore he became more attractive. This boy is beautiful, and when it hit you, you started to think about everything you worked for only to be disrupted by him. You pat his arm gently, trying to wake him up. It was getting late and you had to catch up on your study group tonight.

He blinked a few times and stood up, offering you his hand. You took it and he smiled, looking away. He earned it, you thought. "My friend Neil's performing tomorrow at Henley Hall, and since you love Shakespeare so much, bet you'd try to take a look at it," he said finally.

Shakespeare was your favorite poet, and it's been so long since you've watched a Shakespearean play. It was a hard offer to consider. If you accepted, you would be going with him, and that would make it seem like a date. "I guess you can call it a date," he drawled.

You pondered over it as he walked you back to the dorms. Annoying as he was, he knew how to get a girl's attention, and you were no exception. You didn't answer him, and told him how you were running late instead. You felt his hand on your shoulder, turned you around, and once again there you were: face to face with Charlie Dalton. This time, you couldn't help but feel flustered, and it was evident. He smirked a little bit, and that alone shifted your mood. One moment he was charming, the next one a jerk. You moved away and muttered a curse under your breath. "Come on, I saw that, y/n," he pointed out. "Admit it, you like me."

Once again he was this conceited bastard. You didn't know which was more annoying: his behavior or the fact you were attracted to this boy. You pursed your lips and tried not to lose your temper. Charlie just stood there, waiting.

"Silence means yes, you know," he smiled. You rolled your eyes, and started to lose the cool façade you had going on. "You know what, Dalton? Do whatever you want."

"You're insufferable, and I can't believe I spent an afternoon with you! You're a jerk, and you're too conceited for your own good," you said with so much frustration. "I'm not someone you just plan to fool around with, and I'm sure there's another girl waiting for you to sweep her off her feet. And just so it's clear, I'm not that girl, and I don't want to be that girl." Charlie just stood there, listening.

"You know it's a shame. You've wasted so much time and energy on me, and it's endearing and flattering, and I'll admit you're quite attractive, but you're so goddamn infuriating! And guess what? I could kiss you right now." You ran your hands through your hair, frustration and annoyance rushing through you. His eyes widened as he heard the last thing you said. You realized it was too late, and it's undeniable. Charlie Dalton was so damn attractive and you can't believe it worked on you.

He put his hands in his pockets, and smiled at his feet. You were a blushing mess, and his smile wasn't helping at all. He pulled you in and finally replied, "You're very welcome to do it."