#a piece of art he will cherish for a lifetime because he loves Will's art
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So his breath caught when he saw the painting... I cannot handle that information
#his breath caught#caught like in his throat as if he was so amazed by the painting he couldn't breathe for second#looking at the painting will made him#a piece of art he will cherish for a lifetime because he loves Will's art#he loves it so much his breath caught#someone take me to hospital my god#byler#byler tumblr#will byers#mike wheeler#byler season 4#stranger things
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Blue Period Chapter 64
Scans and Rough Translation
Disclaimer: I DO NOT consent to using this translation for scanlation! I am not fluent in Japanese, I use Google Lens and Deepl/Google Translate to translate this, so sometimes stuff can be faulty or unclear. Besides, Impromptu Scanlations do their best with their scanlations. There's a simulpub, but kodansha decided they should keep it to US only and most of us do not live in US (and those that do don't share the translation bruh)
I am translating it this way because no one keeps up with the story and it feels lonely to be the only one reading it. You can obviously take bits form here to discuss, but do not use it for scanlation without my consent. If I see any I will immediately stop translating and you’ll get back to square 1
Scans are here
Translation 64
P1 : Title
You, send.
The blue continues. (Great start I don’t really know what it is supposed to mean)
君を、送る。
青は続く。
Art reference: Un enterrement à Ornans by Gustave Courbet
P2
Kanie: I'm here to collect all of Machiko Sanada's pieces.
Murai: Ha? What?
Murai: I didn't hear anything about that.
Murai: What? What? has the Kanie Gallery finally started doing things this way?
Kanie: ?
P3
Kanie: Listen... are you available?
Kanie: Well, you seem angry, don't you?
Kanie: You know...
Card: Machiko Sanada exhibition. ~ The genius girl painter who became a real deal/an angel.
Kanie: You can come, but don't get violent.
Kanie: Of course, I've already got permission from all the relatives.
Kanie: No wonder you don't know.
P4
Kanie: You're just friends, aren't you?
Hachiro: When did you decide?
Hachiro: When I talked to Sanada-san's mother last week...
Kanie: Let's see, the day before yesterday, or the day before that?
Kanie: Three years ago... The exhibition she was planning on doing before she died went bye-bye. I was about to give up on it, but...
Kanie: But then Machiko's paintings became a hot topic on SNS.
Phone screen: The artist died when she was 18. God takes geniuses with him.
Sound effect: I see.
P5
“Machiko's paintings...”
"They love her so much..."
Murai: ... What? SNS...
But her mother...
“She wouldn't want it to be like this”
“She wants you to be with someone who cares about you.”
(she probably meant she wanted people to care when she was alive)
P6
Yakumo: You're a miser!
Hachiro: Yakumo!
Yakumo: All he cares about is making money!
Yakumo: Are you happy that Sanada's dead and the sale price went up? Yeah?
Yakumo: Fucking hijacker!
P7
Kanie: After ten years, most of the paintings are worth two or three thousand dollars.
Kanie: Idiot.
Kanie: You guys must think you're doing something great, don't you?
Kanie: When you die, you get a fixed number of works for the rest of your life, so the relative value of your work goes up.
P8
Kanie: There are only a handful of artists like that.
Kanie: In fact, they almost always go down.
Kanie: There are artists who get recognition after they're dead.
Kanie: But there are artists who were very successful during their lifetime, have their prices dropping.
Kanie: Artistic value is determined over a period of 50 years.
Kanie: But 50 years...
Kanie: In other words, it's difficult to find a place that will value your work for 50 years.
Kanie: It takes a lot of space and money to store a painting.
Kanie: Even if it's a good painting for the person who buys it, it doesn't mean that the family who inherits it will share its value.
Words: Trend, Humidity, Sunlight, Location
P9
Kanie: incidentally
Kanie: Machiko Sanada's paintings didn't change in price between her life and death.
Guy in the background: President.
Kanie: It's okay, I've got the permit.
Kanie: Our job is to make the work worth the most and deliver it to the people who cherish it.
Yakumo.
Kanie: Put your feelings aside.
Kanie: Are you going to turn mellow wine into vinegar?
P10
Yakumo: …
Kanie: good grief
Kanie: Galleries don't bring in any money.
Kanie: Fucking kids.
Momo: We’ll be late
Shall we go?
P11
Hachiro: ... Yes ... Yes ...
Hachiro: No, what mother decides is best.
Sound: Bleep.
P12
Yakumo: Maybe if we were a family (as in married I think?)
Yakumo: I'd have the right to tell him.
Momo: But we're friends.
Yakumo: But... But...
Box1: We're friends.
Box2: I feel so powerless.
P13
Hachiro: I see... Sales...
Hachiro: Yakumo will miss her paintings.
Hachiro: ...but I wonder if it will force him to get back on her feet.
Hachiro: Yakumo didn't even come to Machiko's funeral.
Yotasuke: What?
Hachiro: When someone you love dies, it means that one part of your daily routines disappears...
We're here.
Register: Those who have applied to the AOJ, please fill in this form and proceed.
P14
Yatora: Surprisingly ordinary warehouse...
Hachiro: There are no regulations on the size of the works, so this is probably all that's needed.
Yatora: Wow...
Yatora: I'm getting nervous now.
Hachiro: What's going on now?
Yatora: I've seen other works and I start to feel it...
P15
Yatora: So this is where I'm being delivered.
Yatora: Come to think of it, Hacchan seems to have finished early.
Yatora: What kind of...
Yatora: !
Yatora: An abstract painting? It looks like he put a brush on a cleaning robot and moved it...
But I don't have the image of Hacchan as a painter, so maybe the cleaning robot did it for real...
…!
Yatora: Yakumo-san...
P16-17 double spread
P18
Yatora: That…
Yatora: I knew right away.
P19
Yatora: It is a floral service.
Secretary: Okay, we'll be judging in a week's time.
Secretary: We'll be streaming it on TUBE, so please do watch it, and we'll be in touch with the winners shortly afterwards.
P20
Hachiro: Uh-oh.
Hachiro: Mr. Kanie cleaned up the whole place...
Yotasuke: He left something...
Momo: It's a postcard for Machiko's exhibition! They're having a reception party.
Yatora: What's that?
Momo: A party for the people involved in the exhibition, right?
Momo-yota-yatora: The date is... One week later!
Hachiro: Mr. Kanie's been preparing for this for a long time.
P21
Hachiro: Well, I'm not keen on it, but I might just turn up.
Momo: It's been four long years. ~~~~~~
Yotasuke: Yaguchi-san?
Yatora: What?
Yatora: Oh...
Yakumo: Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!
Yakumo: Don't look at me. Go do whatever you want.
Yakumo: I'm watching the AOJ's trial feed.
Yakumo: They don't even know what the work is about. It's just a shitty exhibition.
P22
Hachiro: Well, Yakumo's right... Machiko's work is different from the type of artists Kanie Gallery usually deals with.
Hachiro: Maybe the Kanie’ customers won't be interested...
Sign: Kanie Gallery
P23
Yatora: Are there more galleries in Hiroshima?
Hachiro: Oh, no?
Women: I'm from Wakayama, I saw it on social media and thought it was a really nice painting...
Hachiro: I see.
Momo: I saw it on a social media and thought it was a very good picture.
Yakumo(‘s phone): This year's AOJ has started slowly, hasn't it?
Receptionist: Yaguchi Yatora-sama, isn't it?
Receptionist: Please have a drink from over there.
P24
Momo’s dad: Are you sure you didn't want to go with the others?
Momo’s dad: It was Machiko's big day.
Yakumo: You wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you, kakinokizaka-san?
Momo’s dad: That would be a problem.
Momo’s dad: When he came to collect the paintings the other day, I got a call from Mr. Kanie. but I wondered if he'd already told you guys.
Momo’s dad: Now, this is Kenji Hachiro's work... (I think he rather meant responsibility???)
・・・・・・
P25
Momo’s dad: Hey, Yakumo-kun.
Momo’s dad: A lot has happened since Machiko passed away, hasn't it?
Yakumo: I never thought the three of us would pass the exam together.
Momo’s dad: Me too. I mean, no one thought so.
Yakumo: What's the matter? Are you trying to cheer me up?
Momo’s dad: Yakumo-kun, getting over something isn't a bad thing.
P26
Yakumo: You don't seem to understand, do you?
Momo’s dad: Funerals.
Momo’s dad: Maybe it's the ego of the living, but it's precisely because we humans can share something invisible that we can all interpret death together, accept it or let it go.
P27
Yakumo: In other words?
Momo’s dad: I mean, you know, I was thinking about moving on away.
Yakumo: ...? A postcard?
Postcard: Murai, I'll be waiting. Sanada Machiko Solo Exhibition
Bubble: A postcard from the exhibition three years ago, which did not take place, addressed to you.
P28-29 double spread
Bubble: I think she wanted you to come and see it.
P30
Box: Amazing...
P31
Box: Egoistic.
Box: A strong picture that leaves no room for others.
Box: It's much stronger than the one I saw in the warehouse.
? - There you go.
P32
Kanie: So Yakumo didn't come after all?
Kanie: How's it going? It's a nice painting, isn't it? Sold out on the first day.
Kanie: Machiko Sanada's paintings only look good in the exhibition space.
Kanie: I understood the meaning of her persistence in the exhibition through this exhibition.
Yatora: I see…
Box: But for all that...
P33
Women: How could someone who paints such good pictures...
Women: She was... She was young, wasn't she?
Women: God is... really...
Dude: Hey!
Dude: Have you been on social networking sites too?
Dude: Sanada and I went to middle school together!
Dude: Sanada was a weird kid, but she was always really good at drawing...
Dude: Here's my graduation album from junior high school...
? - Hey...
P34
Yakumo: I know who you are, too.
Dude: Uh... friend of mine? You're a friend of mine?
Yatora: Mr Yakumo! You came?
Yakumo: Wow, so many people.
Yatora: Sanada-san's painting is amazing.
Yakumo: Hmm...
Yatora: What's going on?
Bubble: It's even better than when I saw it in the warehouse...
P35
Yakumo: It's a terrible exhibition. ~~~~~
Yatora: It's...
Hachiro: Yakumo ....?
Yatora: This is bad! It's a bad sign!
Yakumo: That woman...
P36
Yakumo: She just liked to draw, and it just happened that she drew good pictures.
Yakumo: Only to die at 18.
Yakumo: So what's this, "a genius girl painter who became an angel/real deal"?
Bubble: Who the hell is that?
P37
Kanie: So Yakumo's here...
Kanie: You can go home.
Hachiro: Yakumo.
Hachiro: Let's not... at Machiko's exhibition...
Yakumo: No, no, no, you can't stand it either, can you, Hacchan?
Yakumo: As soon as she died, they dramatized it.
Yakumo: Her drawings are eloquent, but she was just a quiet person.
Yakumo: I wonder why it's selling so well after all this time.
Yakumo: That's funny.
P38
Yakumo: If you pity her so much, buy her when she's alive!
Yakumo: Then maybe she'd be more...
Yakumo: Whaaaatttt?
Yakumo: Don't touch.../leave me alone
Kanie: You're ruining the mood.
Kanie: Go home.
P39
Talking: Call the police. ....?
Talking: What to do...
Hachiro: Let's go home. Let's go home.
Momo: Hacchan…
Hachiro: We're sorry for the trouble we caused you.
Hachiro: I will tell him to be more careful (something like this)
?- That’s unnecessary…
?- Hachiro-san...
P40
Machiko’s mom: Machiko must have made some good friends.
Bubble: Yes, she did.
P41
ha ha ha (laughing loudly)
Momo: Look! Look at this!
Phone: There was a man who was verbally abusing Machiko Sanada at her exhibition, it was terrible. Arrest him!
Hachiro: Yakumo. He's getting shit on social networking sites.
Yakumo: Hey, stop Ego-surfing!
Yatora: Ah, that middle school classmate...
P42
Momo: I can understand how Yakumo feels! I knew a lot of people who'd never even heard of Machiko.
Hacchan: Even the caption was, "What? Who?" It's a bit overdramatic.
Yakumo: Then, why don't you say so on the spot?
Momo: I'm an adult.
Hachiro: I'm an adult.
Bubble: If I were you, I'd retaliate in a way that wouldn't be noticed.
Yakumo: Oh, shit.
P43
Yakumo: No more paintings by that artist...
Yakumo: I've been drawing ~~~~ for a long, long time...
Yakumo: Every time I draw, every time I aim for something, I can't help thinking of her...
Yakumo: But it was fine...
P44
Yakumo: I've only known her for a few months.
Yakumo: That's fucked up.
Yakumo: I'd rather let my feelings die than be with her.
Yatora: What can you do with a person who draws like that?
Yatora: I’d think they’re too cool.
Yakumo: Ah?!
Yakumo: I think so too!
Yakumo: Right! She's so cool!
P45
Yakumo Oh, well, I'll just watch the rest of the AOJ feed.
Hachiro: Don't drink!
Hachiro: Thank goodness... Yakumo seems to be on the road to recovery.
Yotasuke: Hey...
Yotasuke: Why does he have to get back on his feet?
Yotasuke: .... What? What's wrong with Murai-san?
P46
Yotasuke: It's okay to live with that grief for the rest of your life.
P47
Yakumo: ... What?
Yakumo: I see.
Bubble: I can carry this sadness with me for the rest of my life.
Brush: Sanada
The wounds don't need to heal.
I will not forget you.
End of 64th stroke.
Next time: the results of the AOJ!
24th August 2023
#blue period#yaguchi yatora#murai yakumo#yotasuke takahashi#hachiro kenji#momoyo kakinokizaka#text post#blp vol 15#blp translation
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Watching Doof's plot in Magic Carpet Ride makes me genuinely so sad because, like, he worked so hard on this painting he knew may only come once in a lifetime for him and he's so excited that he managed to finish it that the first, the very first person he tells is Roger.
Like bro, BRO. BROBROBROBROOO. This implies that, since it's shown that Roger and Doof didn't get along as kids, they may have reconciled at some point after high school, which that thought just gives me so much happiness and is my only Canon for their relationship now. Thank you. He goes to immediately find his baby brother and drag him along to see this thing he's created. ANd Roger is eating his lunch but like he wants to support his brother, who's never gotten any kind of support or love from their parents, because he loves him.
AND THEN THEY GET TO DOOF'S STUDIO OR WHATEVER...
And listen, this is important. I hate pretty much every time that Roger is on screen BUT this one plot is something I will always cherish of him.
And it looks like Doof accidentally pushes him a little too hard into the room, so JUST MAYBE Roger didn't spill the food onto the painting of his own volition.
Doof is mad, of course he is, it's his young adult life's work. He swears, SOLEMNLY swears, no less, that Roger will pay for it. That day finally comes in the episode mentioned. Magic Carpet Ride. Roger's painting, now his own two decade effort, will be destroyed in mere seconds. A fair price to pay for potentially ruining a better life for Doof.
BUT LIKE... THE REVEAL BRO. IT HURTS ME.
Roger: You see, the greatest painting I ever saw was made by my brother Heinz.
Doofenshmirtz: You'd better believe it! Art killer.
Roger: And I, in an extraordinary act of clumsiness, destroyed it, denying him the accolades he so greatly deserved.
Doofenshmirtz: And here comes the payback...!
Roger: And that's why I've spent the last two decades restoring it to its former glory.
Doofenshmirtz: What? Huh, what? (rapidly pressing the remote) No no! No no! No no no no... OH NOOOOOO!!!!
Roger: Ladies and gentlemen, (removes the cover from the painting) my brother's painting! (a purple stain ball immediately hits the painting)
BRO. So many things. First of all, just genuine appreciation for his brother and his creation. He still loves his brother enough to spend long nights painstakingly recreating it. Sure, it's very plausible that when he initially wanted to repay the favour, he didn't realize it'd take so long and only kept going cause he felt obligated at that point. Seems like him.
But he still DOES finish it.
And then Roger blames himself, an act of clumsiness from him wrecked the painting. Now, I may be wrong when I say that I think Doof pushed him a little too hard but I'm not sure. What my point is though, is that regardless of whether it was Roger tripping or not, if he was, tripping is very hard to recover from. Especially while holding food, as a klutz I can say from experience. And also he's like, "My brother deserved praises and fame from this painting and I accidentally ruined it." So clearly he knows his brother is talented.
Now Doof's reaction as Roger says that he's spent TWENTY YEARS restoring the painting to its former glory, panic sets in and it has this amazing way of drowning you in that tension. He desperately tries to save the one piece of proof that Roger genuinely loves and cares for him. Acknowledging a mistake from so long ago, praising his brother in front of this crowd of people. It's too late for anything to be taken back now though. As the tarp falls from the canvas, you feel so much dread as Roger presents the painting, only to see purple splatter all over it.
Heartbreak.
I just... It breaks my heart, man. I love the dynamic I've created in my head over the course of the like half an hour I've used to try and phrase my thoughts coherently.
In conclusion, more wholesome mid twenties Roger and Heinz pls. I need it.
#phineas and ferb#heinz doofenshmirtz#dr heinz doofenshmirtz#roger doofenshmirtz#pnf doofenshmirtz#them ❤️#long post#sierra rambles
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Getting Taiyang a birthday present has always been a struggle over the years. It’s weird because Mana never had too much trouble with thinking of something ( sans the time she actually got him War & Peace as a present- it was a joke she said, before presenting him his actual present ) so one might think her influence would rub off on Calum.
It hasn’t, but Calum did figure out what to get Taiyang for his birthday!
“This from Sol,” he says, handing Taiyang a roll of paper tied with a blue-green ribbon. “They worked on it for the last week.” Which, for a child is a very long time.
And then Calum hands him box with a piano wire bracelet with a silver charm of a tremble clef attached. That and there's an accompanying plate of cookies beneath because he’s assuming Taiyang is also hungry… “Try not to wear it in the water.” Calum adds hastily. “…I don’t think it’s waterproof.”
( HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SHARK BOI :DDDDD winter you'll be getting a few more asks from me :3 )
birthdays are a strange thing. he's caught between delight and embarrassment— embarrassment for what, he doesn't quite know; like it's an embarrassment, an inconvenience to be born. taking up so much space in a room, and in the minds of others, for a day— it's nice . . . but that same heightened significance feels a little selfish... and unfamiliar.
in his childhood home, his birthdays had gradually become no big affair, but Taiyang had learned not to mind it. even to prefer it that way. because what was worse: a quiet day with a cake and a few presents, or a birthday 'party', where his friends and classmates were exposed to the sad state of affairs that was his home life? ( the memories of his father, drunk as usual, blustering around the room, telling his stupid stories to a chorus of laughs— but hovering only one escalation away from erupting the gathering into chaos? ) NO THANKS.
no, he'd learned not to ask for much: if you want for nothing, then the heavy weight of disappointment could not drop down on you, like a cartoon anvil from the sky, squishing coyotes underneath it . . .
but perhaps that's why his eyes light up at the simplest thing: a rolled-up piece of paper with the crayon markings of a child. or marker, or maybe watercolor paint— whatever Sol had deemed an appropriate artistic rendering for his birthday, it would be cherished more than the most expensive gallery art piece could ever be. looking it over with the biggest grin, he can't help but laugh at the innocent imagination of the kid, put to paper. " I'm so keeping this. Sol's gonna have to look at it when they're like 15 years old, and they think it's embarrassing as hell— I don't care. it's staying on the fridge forever. " but what was 'forever' to a child, anyway? a week probably felt like a lifetime in their little hands, which made the artwork that much more precious. smile beaming, he settles for words of gratitude more within the understanding of a child: " tell Sol I love it. " Taiyang would, too, next time he sees them.
already giddy from the cute gift, he blinks in surprise when there's a box, too. ( the cookies, well, he kind of eagerly anticipated: Calum seemed like the homemade-gift type to him, and Calum knew how much Tai loved his homemade baking . . . in all the time he'd known him, Calum had probably picked up on what Tai's favorite recipes were, too; and one glance at the plates content confirmed his suspicion. if it weren't for the surprise third gift, he would have grabbed and teared into a cookie already— )
but instead, he takes the box gingerly, giving it a slight shake. ( not the best idea— what if it was something fragile? ) " is this jewelry? " a faux thoughtful look is given towards his friend; " are you proposing to me, Calum Reynolds? finally; it's about time... " jokes aside, he unwraps the item, delicate silver glinting into his eyes. as the pretty piece of jewelry unravels, he feels the warm, fuzzy static of nostalgia in his belly . . .
it invokes visions of his grandmother, setting him on her lap, his little toddler feet dangling... a happy jazz-piano song filtering through the house on a summer day, white window curtains flapping gently in the warm breeze... his mom and grandmom laughing in the kitchen over the sink. it's like, all the happy memories of his childhood mixed with the slight sadness that it's gone. . . but more than anything, it's the feeling of family.
Calum's voice breaks him out the momentary reverie. Tai looks up at him, and sees family. family in the flesh, standing right in front of him; not drifting through his memories. that's Calum... he registers his words slowly. " right... yeah. I won't, " he confirms, seeming a little distracted— ( but in a good way. there's a lump in his throat. ) he's not really much of a huggy person, with most people, but . . . Calum is family. so, he's gathered into a bear-hug, with an appreciative pat to his back. " thanks. for everything. " and he doesn't just mean the gifts. when he pulls back, he attaches the bracelet around his wrist, looking down with a smile. " hey, do you even like piano ... ? I should play something for you sometime— if you do. "
#SORRY I'M SO LATE TO GET TO THESE i think its bc tai-muse feels weird & awkward abt birthdays so he's like ummmmmmMMMMmmasjjaj#buT I'M GETTIN THRU THEM && also he wuvs calum sm#calum you are his BRO in every sense of the word; the u w u 's are overflowing for calum#asjajja#tenderpulsive
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Hello! Here’s my submission for @50yearsofqueen’s event. Posted nearing midnight for the drama. It’s a Doctor Who crossover that doesn’t really have much to do with the franchise other than in concept. It’s a very complex show, but canon’s already constantly challenged so I might as well challenge it even more. Thanks to my partner @bananavarina who made the art for this chapter and other chapters to come. Special thanks to @anne-white-star for helping me with the concept. Hope y’all enjoy!
———————————————
Humans succumb rather easily to trickery. After all, an unfortunate amount of them lead such jaded lives to the point they gradually lose the ability of thinking outside the box. This particular box is all these humans have ever known, yet, still, it serves as a case study in the development of claustrophobia. It’s stuck moving at a steady pace in a singular direction: forward. No turning back, no jumping ahead. Worst of all, the box never takes you anywhere. You need gasoline for that and gasoline, as you may well know, is expensive.
And if you don’t prefer a cheaper alternative for transportation, you’re either very well off or there’s something terribly wrong with you.
Thus, when presented with a different box, a time-traveling, space-hopping one which happens to accommodate much bigger dimensions on the inside, humans are easily fooled into stepping right in, putting aside all reasonable caution.
It’s for this reason that The Doctor recruits folks aboard his TARDIS with relative ease. It’s an art form he has nearly mastered, effectively trapping starry-eyed wanderers under the guise of adventure into a lifetime’s worth of the terror they least expect upon boarding. This terror had plagued dozens of Earthlings whose narrow understanding of space and time rendered them rather clueless as to how they might defeat it. This entity was, as brave Jamie McCrimmon ever so rudely proclaimed, a threat less comprehensible than Cybermen. This threat was unwanted exposition.
(Which is more commonly referred to as rambling.)
Countless humans have fondly (and exasperatedly, as certified human, Tegan Jovanka may attest) listened to The Doctor ramble for hours on end. It was a familiar dynamic, one The Doctor found comfort in. Perhaps, most of his companions never truly understood what he would be rambling on about, but it was, and still is, part of their exchange. The Doctor finds joy in showing such excitement, such beauty and wonder, to his friends. In return, his friends put the fun in his travels and gawk, accordingly, to all that they witness.
The Doctor always expected his companions to marvel in the sights and let him ramble on and on from topic to topic. What he didn’t expect was for them to stop marveling and start rambling back.
-
“Your mama loved scarves. They were all she had managed to pack from home when she was taken here.”
Brian slipped on his rubber footwear, his feet secured by tiny pieces of braided cloth cut from a scarf threaded through unevenly punctured holes. Haru had called them flip flops although he wasn’t quite sure whether it was a name he’d invented to cheer him up when he was little (like when he used to call lightbulbs fireflies) or if it happened to be the effect of inherent human silliness, thus making it the correct term.
“This is your papa’s favorite pair of pants. Your mama doodled stars and planets on it for his birthday. He loved them as he loved her...you love them too, don’t you?”
He pulled the pants up and fastened it with a belt. It was rather long and baggy for a ten-year-old. Still, Brian tried to make it work, bunching up the cloth and standing as tall as he could. He wondered if his father was out there, unaware of the existence of a son, finally home among the stars drawn daintily across his trousers.
“We all had to wear long sleeved shirts back in the metropolis. I wore green. He wore white.”
Brian put one on accordingly. The sleeves flopped and swallowed his arms as the shirt engulfed his skinny frame.
“Your mama had sewn him a vest. He wasn’t particularly fond of vests but he was very fond of your mama.”
He put on the black vest
Little Brian stared at the mirror in front of him, unsure what to feel. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, yet he wasn’t quite sure if it were right to mourn for something he’d never known.
“Bri?”
Brian looked up to find Haru standing at the doorway. His face was blank, yet a storm seemed to brew in his eyes. Perhaps, he was upset that the child he’d loved and raised as if he were his own was wearing the painful reminder of his friends long gone. Or, perhaps, he was disheartened that said child wasn’t satisfied enough with his care to stop yearning for his parents’ presence. Perhaps, he was neither of those. Perhaps, he was angry.
Brian hoped he was angry.
A moment of silence passed between them. Then another. Brian had read about moments like this in fictional Earthling books. He was steeling himself for those angry outbursts he always read about. Haru rarely got upset, yet Ian had never messed up this terribly before. So he braced himself…
Only to be engulfed in a bone crushing hug.
Brian quickly hugged Haru back as the latter trembled. He felt the pitter patter of tears falling on his shoulder and for the first time in his life, he felt the crushing weight of loss.
“You deserve to know your father,” Haru croaked as he regained his composure. Brian merely buried his face in his shoulder as he finally let his own tears flow.
“I already do, Dad.”
—————————-
“Doctor, your library’s collection of medical books is incomplete,” proclaimed Brian, a young man clad in white, signifying his status as an esteemed astronaut of Planet Rhye.
The Doctor gasped theatrically, startling Deacy, a man from 21st century Leicester, younger and less knowledgeable than Brian, yet seemingly much wiser. He’d been tinkering with a malfunctioning lever for about an hour now.
The Doctor merely smiled in apology to which Deacy responded with a fond shake of his head.
“Oh the TARDIS hasn’t been fixed yet?,” Brian inquired as he sank into a lavish red sofa situated in the console room.
“Not to my knowledge, no,” Deacy replied.
The Doctor laughed.
“Cheeky now, aren’t we?”
“Well, I deserve to be cheeky. After all it wasn’t me who busted the wiring in the butterfly room for a photoshoot.”
The Doctor scoffed as Brian let out a snort of his own.
“I’ll have you know, darling, that we’re perfectly safe and untarnished. I managed to avert the crisis by rearranging the wires before anyone could get hurt.”
“Did you, now?,” Deacy asked, his confusion evident.
“Of course I did!”
“Then how come the wires here are all mismatched and tangled up?”
A sudden silence swept across the room.
“Oh! You managed to rearrange them well enough for the TARDIS not to combust but they still weren’t in the correct order because based on the times we were on Itakam and the time we went to Roman occupied Greece, you’re no good at technical repairs,��� Brian piped up, rather satisfied with himself. Deacy chuckled as The Doctor gaped at his lack of tact.
“Brian...do tell me about the library,” The Doctor muttered, as Deacy amusedly returned to his work.
“I’ve searched high and low in every single shelf of your library and found references to every single medical lung condition I’ve read of back home. They were all there...except for one.”
“Well, that’s silly, darling! The book dealer had been very sincere. I couldn’t have been tricked!”
“Perhaps, you’d simply been gullible?,” Roger suggested as he entered the room. He was exceptionally beautiful with no trace of wrinkles, pores, or even a philtrum. His skin was smooth as silk save for a pair of gills which rested on either side of his neck. He sat next to Brian and plopped his feet on the former’s lap. It was no secret that this Doctor, unlike the last two of his incarnations, was reserved around strangers. That being said, soaked up every last trace of physical affection from his friends like a sponge. Yet, even he chuckled at the display of such disregard for human manners.
Brian was human. However he’d been raised far from Earth, isolated from society with no one but Dad for company. Etiquette was unimportant in his little world and Dad hadn’t known enough about human custom to teach him anything of substance. Brian hadn’t known touch for years and he embraced, quite literally, its sudden return in the form of team cuddles. It seems rather funny, doesn’t it? That there are things you never realize you lost until you find it and cherish it once more? Ian seemed to believe so.
Roger was a fish.
“That’s impossible, for how all that pretentiousness my sixth face had, he simply wasn’t one to be tricked.”
“I beg to differ,” Roger countered. “I’ve met him. You’re absolutely rubbish at spaceship maintenance, I give you that. But you’re actually quite clever...very creative even. He was witty and creative too, but he wasn’t clever. He was mostly a bumbling fool.”
The Doctor didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.
“What medical condition were you looking for anyway?,” Deacy inquired as he rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck and took off his spliced button up.
“Hanahaki disease.”
At this, Roger quickly turned away from Brian, trying to hold in his laughter. The Doctor buried his smiling face in Deacy’s shoulder as the latter forcibly schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. He was well aware that Hanahaki disease was fictional, after all, his girlfriend, Ronnie used to write fiction in her spare time and he’d be the beta reader. He nodded politely, as Brian happily hummed a little tune, oblivious to his friends’ antics.
You know you’ve got a terrible grasp on human custom when even a fish is more culturally aware than you.
“Well, either way,” Brian piped up, still blissfully unaware, “your collection’s incomplete. Maybe we should go look for the missing volume after Deacy repairs the console?”
“I reckon we need another adventure,” Roger agreed as he set his legs on the floor and yanked The Doctor towards the couch. Brian scooted closer, letting his head rest on Roger’s shoulder as The Doctor climbed in and rested his upper body on his companions’ laps.
“I’m afraid we’ll be stranded here for a little while,” Deacy remarked.
“Then what are you waiting for?,” Brian asked as he beckoned Deacy over to the couch. The latter smiled as he joined in what he believed to be the best part of traveling with The Doctor: cuddle piles.
—————————————-
“Are we gonna tell him…?”
“No!”
“How dare you?! I invited you onboard expecting a starry-eyed audience to gawk at everything I do but instead I got someone who seems to know my TARDIS better than me!”
“There’s no point in complaining about free maintenance.”
“You’re one to talk, fishman. There’s no point in bringing you along with me to witness the universe if you’ve already seen it all!”
“Yet you still keep us around.”
“...I suppose I do. Now wipe those smug looks off your faces. We’re going to 2012. Just to appease him.”
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“I could start fires with what I feel for you.”
David Ramirez
“I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.”
E.L. James
“Take off your clothes. Show me. Show me your edges. I want to see with my own eyes where you end and where I begin. I want to see where I fit, where you leave off being you and turn into me.”
Peregrine
“She knew she loved him when ‘home’ went from being a place to being a person.”
E. Leventhal
“He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.”
Anais Nin
“I cannot imagine a life in your absence. You are like the breath of air that I need to live, the drop of water in a thirsty desert.”
Constantine Jake
“I find the most beautiful moments of life aren’t just with you but because of you.”
Leo Christopher
“I am so in love with you that there isn’t anything else.”
Ernest Hemingway
“Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time.”
Jorge Luis Borges
“For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.”
Stephanie Perkins
“I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever.”
Robert Browning
“I know I am in love with you because my reality is finally better than my dreams.”
Dr. Seuss
“Every time you say those 3 beautiful words, I cherish that moment like a treasure.”
Andrea Croft
“Faith makes all things possible…love makes all things easy.”
Dwight L. Moody
“Giving someone a piece of your soul is better than giving a piece of your heart. Because souls are eternal.”
Helen Boswell
“Each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.”
Rosemonde Gerard
“I love you, with no beginning, no end.”
Coco J. Ginger
“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.”
Marc Chagall
“I love you and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald
“The water shines only by the sun. And it is you who are my sun.”
Charles de Leusse
“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”
Kiersten White
“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.”
Judy Garland
“Chemistry is you touching my arm and setting fire to my mind.”
Nayyirah Waheed
“I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.”
Sarah Kay
“When you trip over love, it is easy to get up. But when you fall in love, it is impossible to stand again.”
Albert Einstein
“I was, and I remain, utterly and completely and totally in love with you.”
J.R. Ward
“I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.”
William Blake
“A view of the ocean, mountains and the sunset. But yet, he was still looking at me.”
Aly Aubrey
“Holding you, I held everything.”
Garth Brooks (“The Dance” lyrics)
“I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow.”
Leo Christopher
“All of me loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges; all your perfect imperfections. Give your all to me. I’ll give my all to you.”
John Legend (“All of Me” lyrics)
“If I had to choose between breathing and loving you I would use my last breath to tell you I love you.”
DeAnna Anderson
“You had me at hello.”
Jerry Maguire
“Affection is responsible for ninetenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.”
C.S. Lewis
“I can’t promise you forever, because that’s not long enough.”
Jasinda Wilder
“My heart is and always will be yours.”
Jane Austen
“Ask me to define my love for you and I’ll say it’s captured in every beautiful memory of our past, detailed out in vivid visions of our dreams and future plans, but most of all it’s right now, in the moment where everything I’ve ever wanted in my life is standing right in front of me.”
Leo Christopher
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
Lao Tzu
“If I know what love is, it is because of you.”
Hermann Hesse
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Novelty Pt. Two (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)
Character/s: Tommy, Shelby family mention
Word Count: 1,606
Requested: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @parochialism
Inspired By: @parochialism
Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt
A/N: First, if you're going to give anyone credit for the plot, we should all thank @parochialism :) Thank you my love!!! Your idea was so lovely and I felt so stuck about what to write, your reply was so incredibly helpful and I couldn't have written part two without you!!! Second, I really like writing parts to fics! I'm not sure I'd be able to write more than just two parts, but I thought the same when it came to this! Third, this is the longest thing I've ever written and idk, I'm really proud!!! I'm proud of how it turned out! I haven't been able to say that in a while, but I think I needed a lil break from mini-fics to get back into the swing of writing. Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💖💜
~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~
PART ONE.
A curse, the greatest loss of them all, to see young love die.
He could have burned them, used them as an ash tray, put his cigarettes out on them one by one until it held the whole pack. He could have thrown them away, tearing them apart, shredded to pieces. But he didn't. Instead the divorce papers sat there, lifeless, collecting dust in the corner of his desk. Other papers, books, things of more importance stacked on top. Neglected, just like your marriage. Didn't matter, not really, it sent the same message all the same, no use in trying. No one could divorce a Shelby. Tommy never would have agreed despite the lack of love he felt for you, and no lawyer dare let you set foot through their doors with a last name that dangerous. If you'd known all those years ago this is where you'd be, sitting, waiting for him to react through the thin walls of the office, bracing for the worst, you never would have said yes on those fucking tracks.
He knew how you felt regardless of those papers. It was clear the space between you was growing, opening a pit you wished, you hoped, you'd fall into one day. Two lives lived separate, coming together only when neccesary. Grew up, apart, wanting different things. A man of power, he cared more about the toy soldiers he sent out, doing his dirty work for him, than the spouse he left at home each night, rotting alone in the bed they used to share. Greedy, angry, hungry. This was his life, his business, you were nothing more than a tiny, mangled piece of the puzzle. Meant to speak when spoken to, appear on his arm with a smile and only good things to say, put on a good act when there were eyes watching. When there weren't, he didn't give your actions much thought. You weren't even sure you existed out of his line of sight.
You came to family meetings. Not to nod and smile, the family knew just how you felt about one another, but because you had every right to be there, same as the rest. Your feelings for Thomas didn't bleed out towards the rest. Greeting Pol, Arthur, John, Michael, even Finn with a kiss on the cheek, a kind word, a lighthearted quip towards their brother or cousin. Sweet as ever, complimenting you quietly. You were their small reminder of the world before the war. A lifelong friend before an in-law. Someone to cherish, to protect. Regardless of what your husband felt for you, they still loved you. You sat with them instead, an us vs. them. None of you afraid to call him out, to stare in those deep blues and question him, his authority. He needed that, to be knocked down, challenged, learn that the world would not bow or smile per his beck and call.
You didn't work for him, or any of them. This wasn't your place. He wanted to be the provider, for you to wait long hours for him and him only, but you wanted your own freedom, your own worth. Found a shop. Used your maiden name. They all knew, but no one dare say a thing. Hired you on the spot, your boys visiting often per his request. Checking up, making sure you behaved. It wasn't much, but it was yours, and that was enough. Quiet, without him. A place of escape, to fill your own time with. No guns, no bodies, it was safe here. He knew his place, not to set foot. You had your own territory. This was yours. Untouchable, sacred. Tommy still knew his place sometimes.
You thought about leaving, disappearing, packing your bags, showing him you meant what you said. And you had, a few times, caught yourself on a train ride to nowhere, but you always came back, wasting the day, frustrated with yourself. You weren't only leaving him. They were your family, too. Your nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, your friends, people you cared for and who cared for you. It was your home, too. The same place you grew up, a place you never really wanted to stay too far from. It was yours, not just his. He'd find you unpacking, shoving the suitcase in the closet, knowing what you did today, why his men couldn't find you working. There were a lot of things you gave up becoming a Shelby, a lot, but your home would not be one of them.
No one defied him the way you could. There was an art to it all, a dance. Though he wanted to be the one in power, you always lead. Slamming a bowl in the sink, a drawer shut, a door or simply stomping your foot. A reminder that you made noise, that you were to be heard. Rage pickled under your skin, burning your eyes, sharpening your words. Nothing touched him. He was just as ruthless, uncaring, slicing you to shreds with the things he said. You knew one another better than you knew yourselves. All his soft spots, weaknesses, fears, they sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to pull the trigger. Broken bits strewn across the floor, neither of you picking it up. It was no shock to the rest of the world that the Shelby's were unhappy. The way the help spoke, you weren't surprised. Left to pick up the pieces, the two of you unable to look at one another, word spread quick.
There were others. Other bodies he spent the night with, other smiles he charmed, buying drinks for, other hands he kissed. It was easy for him to find a companion. Strangers threw themselves at him, falling for the same eyes you did. Those lipstick stains were not your shade, nor were the scratches on his back by your nails. He gave up hiding it, and you gave up caring. You stopped looking for one another for that kind of comfort. He wasn't the only guilty one. Trips to London, where no one had to know who you are, where no one needed to. Dressed up just for them, needy for attention, a touch, to be wanted. No feelings, no names, no strings, just mindless, naked fun. You never let yourself get too close, too attached. They'd face a fate worse than death. The animosity meant you and them were safe. He never asked where you were, what you were up to, as long as you were home by Sunday.
Sometimes, though, those stars would shine through when he looked at you, the barriers crumbling, the walls falling. He'd carry to the car, bring you home when you drank too much at the bar. Tuck you in under the covers and apologize softly, sorry for the man he's become, sorry for the life you live, sorry you're stuck with him, this new him. After particularly bad fights he'd sigh, convinced you were asleep, apologizing for the things he said, wishing he'd been able to take them back. He apologized a lot when he thought no one was listening, when he could drop this angry facade, revealing just how tired he truly was. Laying beside you, over the blankets, his tie loose, jacket long gone, he'd apologize for all the things wrong in the world, wrong in the marriage. Apologize for taking your youth, stealing so many years from you, for never giving you the family you always wanted, the husband you always wanted, the one he promised to be in a past life. Sorry for this, and that, and everything else. . . .
It didn't fix anything, it didn't make you love him the way you used to, it didn't make him the man he used to be. There were still fights, nights you spent floors away from one another, in beds that weren't your own, in booths trying to drink your problems into oblivion when you hated the very sight of him. It didn't prevent you from staying with Esme and John, taking the couch at Pols, even disappearing back home with your side when that house felt too haunted. It didn't fix a goddamn thing, and it never could, but it humanized him, a corpse he'd been carrying around since he stepped off that train.
It wasn't hate. You never hated him as a person. You hated the words he said, and the things he did, but there would always be peaks and hints of the boy you first fell for. You were mourning in your own ways, bitter, crying for a loss no one else could see or feel. For the people you always pictured yourselves being, the houses you'd have, the life you'd live, the children you always wanted to have. Never would you raise on this environment, not now. Mourning your lost youth, your own broken heart. It was a marriage of grief, a graveyard of wedding vows, made up of dead promises. This was never like anything the two of you expected, and that was something to grieve for. It wasn't easy watching happy engagements turn into a lifetime of unconditional love. It wasn't fair. Faces younger than your own had been still happy to this day, their hair white,terth gone. Til death would they part, you guessed. . . .
When your request was denied by the very man who promised to do whatever it was to make you happy was the day you realized, no matter what you did in this lifetime, your own grave would still have the name Shelby carved into it.
#requested#writing#thomas shelby#thomas shelby drabble#thomas shelby oneshot#tommy shelby#tommy shelby drabble#tommy shelby oneshot#peaky blinders#peaky blinders drabble#peaky blinders oneshot#thomas shelby x reader#thomas x reader#tommy shelby x reader#tommy x reader#x reader#drabble#oneshot#gender neutral#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader
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fytheuntamed's Untamed Fall Fest: Day 2- Family
Go under and come up again
Nightless City, if it could be called a settlement anymore, did not rankle any memories.Ning Shushu tells him that it is not surprising. A Yuan had never been here.But Wen blood runs through his veins, this was the seat of his family; A Yuan feels that it at least ought to tickle a little something.
Read below or on ao3.
Go under and come up again
A Yuan has always nursed a phantom ache in his heart. Or at least, he thought it was phantom until recently.
His heart would constrict, his days drowned in emptiness. He had always thought that the ache was to align with his Baba’s anguish. Hanguang Jun was always present, always kind, always righteous, always around for A Yuan.
He made A Yuan food, he snuck him candies, he buried him in piles of bunnies. He would let A Yuan sit on his lap for hours and let him test his fingers across Wangji.
His practice sword was fashioned by his baba. His first guqin string was tuned by his Baba.
When he moved into disciple quarters, it was with an easy assurance that he could walk into Jingshi anytime. His father packed his things, talisman papers, and ink brushes, and his grass toys.
By all means, Hanguang Jun’s steadfastness surprised other disciples his age. Even having both, a set of parents instead of just Baba, some of them were always a little taken aback by the bond that tied A Yuan and Hanguang Jun.
And yet, A Yuan had never needed his courtesy name to realize that his father hurt constantly. Not from the wounds in the back, but from inside.
So, when A Yuan hurt, and when he looked hard for the shadows that came to engulf him and grasped at nothing, or maybe something phantom; he had wondered if you could inherit sadness.
*****
Nightless City, if it could be called a settlement anymore, did not rankle any memories.
Ning Shushu tells him that it is not surprising. A Yuan had never been here.
But Wen blood runs through his veins, this was the seat of his family; A Yuan feels that it at least ought to tickle a little something.
Everything about the place is alien. The residence of his family is intact, if overgrown weeds and crumbling walls are overlooked.
Ning Shushu points things out.
They search for spaces where a cenotaph could go, or a memorial would make sense. A Yuan feels very little. He has not walked these corridors. And as much as Ning shushu is guiding him through the old walls, his stories sound like their family regretted any walk through these corridors too.
His family healed people. A Yuan has never been inclined towards the healing arts. He does not know what he wanted to be, as a child, or even when he grew up.
He knew he wanted to be something that would temper the anguish his father carried. He wanted to be something that mirrored his father in his righteousness. He wanted to be motley of things that didn’t mirror his father but always brought a tint of warm nostalgia in his father’s eyes. The eyes would get wet, but they appeared less wilted.
****
A Yuan had not inherited sadness. He had drowned in it as a child. Ducked and tried to gasp up for air, and the only thing that held on, that had delayed the drowning had come in the form of Xian Gege, the lotus trying to not sink as he held on to A Yuan.
Xian Gege had held onto him for as long as he could. He had held others, family of A Yuan above everything even as the world was pushing them down to the abyss.
But he knows he went under and came up again. He did not come whole, shedding pieces of himself, memories behind. He does not know their count, to be able to find them all again.
He wondered how many people willingly drowned themselves in the hopes that he would not drown. He does not know their names. He does not even remember those faces well. He had not recognized Xian Gege or mourned Qing gugu or known that Ning Shushu had been killed trying to protect…He remembers a bit of Granny now. But he cannot complete a picture.
*******
Nightless City leaves them both more restless. That is not the outcome they envisioned. In the end, they leave the city without leaving a mark.
A Yuan does not think it’s even his place to demand things. As eager as he has been to rejuvenate a connection, he knows that he does not have the same rights on the family as Ning Shushu does.
They make camp in the woods.
“Did it bring bad memories?” Ning Shushu gently asks after the quiet goes on for too long.
He is perceptive and A Yuan does not like to lie.
“No,” He pipes out despondently, “It did not bring any memories.”
Ning Shushu blinks, “and that upsets you.”
It is not a question. In fact, his gentleness always reminds him of Baba. But while A Yuan knows the iron, the ice, the fury his father guises in himself, he thinks Ning Shushu is an endless pool of tender patience.
“It does not upset you? The last blood heir of Wens does not know anything. Does not remember most things. Don’t I owe that to my family, my blood? They all tried so hard to make me live.” A Yuan has rarely had meltdowns. He was always precocious, well-adjusted.
“It does not,” Comes back softly.
A Yuan just stares. He knows he is on the cusp of being considered a grown-up, but he feels like a little child, with eyes wide open, and tears pooling in his eyes.
“No one sacrificed things for you because you had the wen blood running in your veins. They did it because you were a child that they cherished and loved. Blood does not make family, A Yuan.”
A Yuan just kept looking at him intently.
“Wei Gongzi always looked out for me. He knew my sister and I were sent to spy. He knew the things our uncle was getting up to. He did not hold it against us. In fact, he was kinder and affectionate than anyone I know. Even JieJie would sometime doubt my abilities, fret about me, but it was Wei gongzi who believed in me. He went against Wen Chao to defend my archery skills. One of them was my blood, the other is the man who has taught me the most about family. “
“Wei Gongzi does not share his blood with anyone. The Jiangs were not his blood. We were never his blood. It did not stop him from loving them as he did. It did not stop him from loving and protecting us. He had not even met your parents. Yet Granny told me a few days with you, he went around telling people that he had birthed you. He simply cared and gave love. We never wanted, none of us ever wanted you to feel this way.”
Ning shushu’s voice is soft, patient.
A Yuan manages to croak out through the streams of tears down his cheeks, “What did you want for me? I am no healer. I am not…”
“We wanted you to live. We wanted you to be loved. We wanted, we hoped that you would get to live your life.”
A Yuan looks on in confusion.
“None of us were under any misconception that we were living on borrowed time. JieJie and I had taken part in the war. The others were old, crippled by the war. They did not hope to live longer. Their only wishes towards the end were for you to be able to live a happy life, and for Wei Gongzi to not suffer for the choices he made to protect us.”
A Yuan lets out a strangled sob. He does not know what he is crying for. He still cannot picture their faces, but something is crushing his heart. How can he be so loved by people he does not even remember?
“This is beyond what we imagined. Hanguang Jun raising you, for you to be so loved, so gentle, so accepting. Wei Gongzi and I thought you dead. We probably held out a little kindle of hope of you being alive. Wei Gongzi blamed himself. You being alive is a miracle. We would have been happy if you were raising chickens in a farm if you were doing it with a smile. Now, you are the first Disciple of Gusu Lan, so well-liked by your peers, so gracious…I know everyone who fought for your life is smiling from above. ”
“I do not know anything about being a Wen,” A Yuan cries out.
“I was never much of a Wen. Wei Gongzi is not a Wen. Your Baba is not a Wen. They are two of the best people I know. It is fortuitous that you resemble them and not our cousins.” Ning Shushu tells patiently.
“I miss them,” He croaks out without meaning to.
“Your fathers miss you too.” Ning Shushu said kindly, “We can start our journey towards them at dawn.”
“But the memorial?” A Yuan protests. He will not be so self-centered.
“Your happiness was always our primary concern, A Yuan. They have waited for a few years for a memorial, they can wait for some more time.” There was a smile there.
A Yuan just sniffled, letting himself wonder a bit.
Ning shushu continued “And it has taken coming back to this city to make me realize that this was never home. This was prison. We were not Qishan Wen. We always hoped to leave and be happier in our mountain, and that is on the way to Gusu.”
“Dafan mountain, the dancing goddess?” A Yuan asks.
Ning Shushu nods.
“I don’t remember their faces.” A Yuan blurts out, “I mean could you tell me about them?”
Ning Shushu nods happily before launching into a story.
It is when A Yuan is almost asleep, that Ning shushu said, “We should ask Wei Gongzi to come too. He was their family too, he should be able to mourn. And he is a better artist than either of us. He could paint their faces for you.”
“Why did you not ask him earlier?” A Yuan asks, only curious.
“He has spent a lifetime going away from your Baba. And your Baba has lived without him long enough. The thing about Wei Gongzi is he always thinks of everyone else’s happiness before his own. And just this once, I thought I would not give him any choice besides Hanguang Jun.” Ning Shushu said.
A Yuan lets out a snort in the middle of his yawn, “He was wearing Baba’s inner robe…”
“Ah nephew, you need to know their sordid history for the context. You did not spend your teenage years watching them moon after each other and as JieJie said ‘be sanctimonious idiots’. But well, I tried,” Ning Shushu mumbles, or maybe A Yuan is already halfway to sleep.
It’s fine. They have time.
*******
FIN
#fytheuntamed#day2#family#untamedfics#untamed fall fest#a yuan#wen ning#grief#mourning#healing#emotional comfort
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Violet Evergarden the Movie: Special Interview
Public commemoration for the Violet Evergarden movie! Featuring the series producer, Hatta Shinichirou.
Raw || Index
――Firstly, could you tell us the circumstances from when it was decided that the original novel by Akatsuki Kana-san was going to be animated into a TV series?
The original was the first winning work of the Kyoto Animation Grand Prize, as its story, which depicted the importance of delivering feelings through letters, pierced through the hearts of the judges, who are living in the current digital era, so its victory was decided unanimously. From that point on, comments such as, “I want to transform this deep work into animation” arose amongst the staff members of Kyoto Animation/Animation Do, and this led us to the TV series.
――Was the production of “Violet Evergarden the Movie” decided from time you started making the TV Series?
I was not expecting it when we began the series’ production, but the TV series portrayed the figure of Violet Evergarden living her life, and we believed that depicting the future from then on would be the conclusion point of this work, so taking the TV series into account, we decided to portray it in detail through a theatrical version.
――So you commenced the movie adaptation when the TV series’ broadcast ended.
This topic came up for a little bit when we were making the TV series. In episode 10, there was a story where fifty letters ghostwritten by Violet are uninterruptedly delivered to a girl named Ann for fifty years. While making this episode, we staff members were talking amongst ourselves things such as, “How was Violet doing during the time those letters were being delivered?” and, “What happened to her in the end?”. They linked up in a natural manner with the concept of this movie, which depicts “her future”.
――With what kind of balance did “Violet Evergarden: Eternity and the Auto-Memories Doll”, which was released back in 9/6/2019, progress towards the movie?
The production of the Gaiden and the movie happened at the same time. Director Fujita Haruka was the one in charge of the Gaiden as her directorial debut, so the work also included this challenge for her. The Gaiden is but a sidestory, so the idea was to follow it and make a conclusion in the movie, which depicts Violet’s future even further.
――The movie is an original story in film format, right?
That is right. The narrative of the TV series differs from the novel in the first place, so it is a matter of course that the movie will be an original one. But the author, Akatsuki Kana-san, shared with us conditions for the scenario and settings, thus the movie also properly reflects the essence of what is most cherished in the novel. I hope that the people who enjoyed the original work will enjoy her future again with a different flavor to it.
――Yoshida Reiko-san has been writing the script since the TV series; what do you deem as the charm of her screenplay?
I guess it is the fact that she wrote sensibly about Violet Evergarden as a young woman. On top of having Violet stand at the center, she also granted her the function of narrator, and I think she was able to very finely portray the process where Violet could do nothing at first but then developed through the meetings she had with all kinds of people and through accomplishing the jobs assigned to her by them. I have the impression that she operated in tandem with director Ishidate.
――So she saw the same world as director Ishidate.
Right. The drama’s course of action was the same for both of them, and the outlook configurer, Suzuki Takaaki-san, created the foundation for the worldview that the two had pictured, so the image of a work where they were cooperating with each other became even more solid.
――What are the highlights of the movie’s story?
If I had to say it, there are several parts of the TV series where Violet is the point of view, thus it became a composition where she pieces together the feelings of the many people she met through her ghostwriting job. On the other hand, we are matching the focus of this movie with Violet’s way of life itself, so I believe this will be a big highlight.
――It also has the charm of a “story that tells about love”.
Agreed. To begin with, having been raised as a “weapon” since she was little, Violet had no idea what emotions were and did not understand the “I love you” that Gilbert had conveyed to her, so she was looking for what they were. In the TV series, we have portrayed her until she comes to understand the meaning of “I love you” a little through her many encounters, but in the movie, this “I love you” has become the very base of the developments. How does Violet personally feel about “I love you”? We would like everyone to watch over it.
――Then it seems we will be able to see her growth and evolution in it too.
You are right. If it were the former Violet, there was the fact that she also did not understand her own emotions, so I believe she was pushing her way forward according to the course of events, but now she has become able to properly dig up people’s feelings and take action after thinking about them. This is a growth greater than any other for her, but since she became capable of understanding her own feelings, Violet’s “I love you” has turned into something madder and more dramatic.
――What are the distinctive characteristics of director Ishidate Taichi and the appeal of his work?
He is a director full of obsessions and skills, from the making of the art to the layouts, up to the action of the animation. Moreover, he strongly loves the young woman named Violet Evergarden as if she were his own daughter, so I guess the fact that he had the resolve to handle and depict her life steadily is appealing of him as a director.
――These strong feelings can also be felt from the script. The climax where the complicated thoughts of Violet and the people that she meets will surge and intertwine seems like it is going to be terrific, both drama and animation-wise, so I am looking forward to it.
Director Ishidate’s passion is incredible. From the cityscapes to the landscapes, from the actions to the ways of presenting Violet, every single cut is drawn dynamic and carefully. Not even the smallest detail is compromised, and he carries his obsessions to extremes until the last minute.
This work was developed with the intention of being delivered to people all over the world since the start. The director’s posture during the production transmits his desire to make the series even better, and the staff is also frantically getting to grips with it, so we are working on it as one.
――Following the Gaiden, instead of the TV series’ screen proportion of 16:9, the movie be of a theatre-appropriate size of 2.31:1, which broadens the sides, so are there any obsessions with that as well?
The one who first suggested it to be made with this screen size was director Fujita, who had discussed with director Ishidate about what the adequate animation making would be for watching “Violet Evergarden” in the theaters. Because of this, the sky, sea and mountains are drawn larger and more dynamically. The necessary composition and essence of the paper we use is also related to its size, so along with the Gaiden, it turned out as a challenging work in our production struggles.
――I also believe there are many fans looking forward to the abilities of the character designer and general animation director, Takase Akiko-san.
Takase-san is also someone who has the story and vision inside herself quite clear, such as, “I want Violet to be this kind of woman” and, “I want Gilbert to be this kind of man”, which become the characters’ peculiarities and strong points. I think this plays a big part on the reason why the individuals she draws are so charismatic.
――The nearly-completed movie is about to become a masterpiece over two hours long, and this is also a result of director Ishidate and the staff unleashing their obsessions, isn’t it?
We must handle and depict the life of the young woman named Violet Evergarden in a steady way. The director’s sense of responsibility also shows in that he says we simply needed this much if we were supposed to make a proper “Violet Evergarden Movie”.
――I believe there are also people who will be discovering the world of “Violet Evergarden” through this movie, but can they expect it to be a work that they will also be able to enjoy?
It has turned into something that people can enjoy quite a lot even if they watch only the movie. Aside from the usual work of the young woman named Violet Evergarden and her sentiments from such occasions, the people involved with her and her feelings are portrayed carefully, as they had always been until now, so the easiness to watch this work and dive into it have not changed from the time of the TV series. Should anyone become interested in her way of life after watching the movie, if they go over the TV series and then watch the movie once again, there will be further depth to the story, so I think it would be even more fun.
――Lastly, please leave a message for the fans who are looking forward to the Violet Evergarden Movie all over the world.
“Violet Evergarden the Movie” will be the finale of this work, which started with the TV series. The staff is making it while putting their utmost thoughts into it, and it has gone through to a point where director Ishidate and the screenplay writer, Yoshida Reiko-san, decided that they cannot write any further. I would be happy if people could warmly watch over the lifetime of the young woman named Violet together. I strongly wish that we will be able to share our feelings with the fans who watched this series, and that our thoughts will connect with the future. Thank you very much.
#violet evergarden#violet evergarden movie#fyeahvioletevergarden#kyoani#kyoto animation#hatta shinichirou#interview#my translation
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for the last time
jeonghan/reader | mental illness!au | angst, fluff
synopsis: in which jeonghan wants to do everything for one last time
content: depression, suicidal thoughts, character suicide
notes: WTF TUMBLR APP DELETED EVERYTHING anyway...more a/n in the m.list!!
wc: 1.3k
“please, y/n, don’t leave me, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry-!”
it was almost like a ritual at this point, waking up to nightmares, drenched in sweat, with his heartbeat pounding in his chest while lying in bed. holding his head with trembling fingertips, jeonghan tried to recall the events of his dream, trying to pinpoint the cause of his nightmare. he sighed before giving up, running his fingers through his sweaty, damp hair.
looking over at his bedside table, jeonghan saw his phone lit up with multiple messages from his best friends.
jeonghan grabbed his phone and got out of bed, checking messages from seungcheol and joshua while brushing his teeth. recently, the pair had been checking up on jeonghan to make sure he was getting out of bed everyday.
jeonghan knew he didn’t have much time left in the world, but even with that impending doom in the back of his mind, he didn’t want to see his other friends suffer like he had. mustering up his strength, he put on a smile and before leaving the bathroom, flashing one last smile at the mirror.
>>[p.sc] jeonghan, don’t forget to take your meds
jeonghan checked his phone again as it buzzed on the table, smiling to himself at how caring seungcheol was. these days jeonghan couldn’t find the motivation to even make breakfast, instead, he just filled up a glass of water, sitting down at the table to reply to his friends.
<<[me] already did, mwah
<<[me] @joshua, i’m dropping by your campus later today, you forgot your notebook
>>[h.js] thanks bro!! remember to eat breakfast
after sending the message, jeonghan let out a sigh and leaned back into his chair. his life really was miserable after you had left him. jeonghan had no motivation to do anything, he couldn’t sleep or even eat. the only thing that kept him going was staying with seungcheol and joshua. tapping his fingers against the polished wood table, jeonghan tried to recall the event of his dream again.
then, taking a sharp breath, jeonghan stood up determinedly; he wanted to go back to your shared apartment for the last time.
he remembered the painted walls and pictures on the table during the dream and all jeonghan knew was that he needed to be there again.
but he needed to see seungcheol and joshua first before he left.
“how was your day so far, jisoo?”
“it’s been good so far. thanks so much for bringing this with you, jeonghan!”
jeonghan laughed, “aren’t you taking advantage of me living with you a little?”
seungcheol seemed to notice something wasn’t right about jeonghan’s manner, and piped up, “jeonghan, did you get my text this morning?”
jeonghan nodded, smiling as he showed him the pill bottle. “yep! i even brought it with me so i wouldn’t forget to take some this afternoon.”
seungcheol relaxed, “it’s been awhile since we’ve gone out together.”
for a moment, jeonghan’s smile fell off his face before he quickly forced it back upright. jeonghan nodded, reading between the lines of what seungcheol was saying: “it’s been awhile since we’ve gone out together, because you used to always be with y/n.”
after that lunch, jeonghan left to take a walk by the han river, marveling at the beautiful weather today. as he followed the trail, he slowly made his way to your apartment complex, the old building had the same charm it always had.
as jeonghan climbed up the concrete stairs, he suddenly had a rush of deja vu, causing him to slightly stumble.
“i don’t even get why you went to that stupid party, you know how shit you are at drinking.”
jeonghan dragged your body up the stairs as you struggled to maintain balance.
panting, you huffed out, “shut up jeonghan, i just wanted to have some fun.”
jeonghan grunted as he looked down at you from above, “are you saying i’m not fun? ‘cause i can totally be fun.”
you laughed as you made it to the last stair, collapsing onto the dirty cement.
jeonghan panted beside you, still standing up, “get up, y/n, we’re almost at the apartment.” he tapped you on the side with his foot, his height towering over you.
you smiled drunkenly, “you’re so pretty, jeonghan.”
jeonghan sighed, propping you up. he squished your cheeks together, “you know that i like to be called handsome more. now, up you go!”
jeonghan chuckled at the memory. before he knew it, he was at the top of the stairs, on the floor of your apartment.
it had been what seemed like a lifetime since he climbed these exact stairs.
when you died, he didn’t have the heart to sell your apartment. it held all the memories jeonghan cherished so much, it felt like losing a piece of you.
standing in front of the door to your shared apartment, jeonghan got hit with a wave of nostalgia. unable to push back at the rush of emotions, jeonghan leaned against the wall, his chest suddenly unbearably tight.
he should have been there for you.
straightening up, jeonghan put on his brave facade and unlocked the door. after you died, jeonghan hadn’t returned to the apartment you shared, the pain was too great. looking around the room, jeonghan could almost smell your perfume and shampoo that you always wore. nothing had changed since your death, your parents hadn’t come to collect your things. dropping his bag, jeonghan started to wander around the small room until he came to a stop in front of your room.
he couldn’t hold it in, breaking down in front of your room, sobs wracking through his slim frame. jeonghan covered his face, as if you could see him, tears running down his arms. guilt was rushing through him and his chest became unbearably tight. out of the corner of his eye, he saw his bag, the pill bottle in the compartment outside of the backpack.
“jeonghan, i’m so proud of you, baby!”
jeonghan smiled at you cheering for him, he tickled you, “i can’t wait to go to your art gallery as well.”
you laughed, bubbly happiness surging through the both of you. jeonghan had just performed his first concert in front of your university classmates. there weren’t a lot of people there, a couple of hundred, but it was stunning to see him on stage.
you cupped his face gently, “make sure you don’t miss it, okay?”
jeonghan choked at the memory, his chest tightening even more. it felt as if his heart was being squeezed, suffocating him. taking raspy breaths, jeonghan could finally breathe again. crawling over to his bag, jeonghan collapsed against the front door. picking up the pill bottle with his trembling fingers; jeonghan stared at it.
“i just wanted...you to be there for me, this one time!”
you were crying now, a tear streaming down your face.
jeonghan sighed exasperatedly, “i know and i’m sorry okay? i had to practice for the next concert and i just forgot.”
you glared at jeonghan, “that’s the problem, jeonghan. you always forget about us,” then you turned on your heel and spun out of the apartment, slamming the door on your way out.
jeonghan unscrewed the cap, peering though his tears at the pills inside.
“jeonghan, i’m so sorry...they were too late...”
their voices were all so muffled and distorted at that time, jeonghan couldn’t even hear them over the rushing of his blood.
jeonghan collapsed on the hospital floor, sobs wracking through his body. he would never see your smile again, never be able to hold you, never be able to-
“oh god,” jeonghan gasped out. he had never told you he loved you..
jeonghan reached a trembling hand in and inspected the single pill before swallowing it.
“she wanted you to have this.”
jeonghan reluctantly took the letter. flipping it over, he saw his name written in your handwriting. jeonghan left your letter in his coat pocket for two days before gathering the courage to open it.
gathering some more pills into his hand, jeonghan pulled out the folded piece of paper from his pocket; he always kept it with him no matter where he went.
“my love, jeonghan,
if you’re reading this, it must be too late for me. you must think that this was your fault, but i want you to know that it wasn’t. being with you these years have been my happiest moments, but i want you to be happy as well, jeonghan. you deserve better, i guess. i’m crying while i’m writing this because i really miss you right now. i regret yelling at you, i regret walking out. i’m sorry, jeonghan. i must be really cowardly, to not tell you these words in person, but jeonghan, please know
i love you. be happy for me,
y/n.”
jeonghan re-screwed on the cap, dumping the pills back in. he had to honor your last wish. slowly standing up, jeonghan pulled out another piece of paper: the pledis entertainment business card.
i’m sorry, my love. i can’t be happy without you here, but i’ll try. i promise i’ll try.
pulling out his phone, jeonghan quickly sent out a text to joshua and seungcheol.
>>[me] i’m trying out with you guys.
jeonghan loved for the last time.
#jeonghan angst#seventeen angst#seventeen/reader#jeonghan/reader#jeonghan fic#seventeen fic#kpop#fallin' flower#jeonghan scenario#jeonghan imagines#seventeen jeonghan#yoon jeonghan#g:seventeen#m:jeonghan
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Saint&Reading: Sat. Nov.,28, 2020
Commemorated on November 15_ Julian calendar
The Holy Martyrs and Confessors Gurias, Samon and Habib
The Holy Martyrs and Confessors Gurias, Samon and Habib: During the time of persecution against Christians under the emperors Diocletian (284-305) and Maximian (305-311), two friends were arrested in the city of Edessa, the Christians Gurias and Samon, preachers of the Word of God. At the demand to offer sacrifice to the gods the saints answered with a decisive refusal and confessed their faith in Christ. For this they were subjected to cruel tortures: they beat them, hung them up by their hands, tied heavy weights to their feet, and cast them into a stifling prison. The martyrs endured everything with firmness and a prayer to the Lord, which one of the witnesses to the martyrs wrote down: "O Lord my God, without Whose will not a single sparrow falleth into the snare. Thou it was, Who wast diffused in the heart of David in sorrow, Who proved the Prophet David stronger than lions, and granted for a child of Abraham to be victor over torture and flames. Now also Thou knowest, O Lord, the infirmity of our nature, Thou beholdest the struggle set afront us. For the enemy striveth to tear away from Thee the work of Thy right-hand and to deprive (us) from the essence of Thine Glory. But do Thou, with Thine compassionate eye watching over us, preserve in us the inextinguishable light of Thy Commandments. By Thine light guide our steps, and grant us to delight in Thine bliss, for blessed art Thou unto ages of ages". By night they took the martyrs out beyond the city and beheaded them (+ 299-306). Christians buried their holy bodies.
After some years the last pagan emperor Licinius (311-324) began a persecution against Christians. A deacon of the Edessa Church by the name of Habib, whom the emperor ordered to be arrested for his zealous spreading of the true faith, presented himself before the executioners, since he did not want other Christians to suffer because of the search for him. The saint confessed his faith in Christ and was sentenced to burning. The martyr went willingly into the fire and with prayer gave up his soul to the Lord (+ 322). When the fire went out, the mother and kinsmen of the saint found his body unharmed. They buried the martyr next to Saints Gurias and Samon.
After the death of the saints, numerous miracles were wrought by them for those who with faith and love entreated their help. Thus, one time a certain Gothic-soldier, sent for service at Edessa, took as his spouse the pious maiden Euphymia. Before this he vowed to her mother Sophia at the graves of the Martyrs Gurias, Samon and Habib, – that he would do his spouse no harm, and would never insult her, but would always love and cherish her. At the completion of his service in Edessa, he took Euphymia with him back to his native land. Afterwards it turned out, that he had deceived her: in his native-land he already had a wife, and Euphymia became her slave. Euphymia had to suffer much abuse and humiliation. When she gave birth to a son, the jealous Goth woman then poisoned him. Euphymia turned with prayer to the holy Martyrs Gurias, Samon and Habib – witnesses to the oath of the deceiver, and the Lord delivered Euphymia from her suffering and miraculously returned her to Edessa, where she was welcomed by her mother. After a certain while the Gothic oath-breaker was again sent for service to Edessa. All the city learned about his misdeeds after his denunciation by Sophia, and by order of the governor of the city the Goth was executed.
Glorifying the holy martyrs in an akathist, Holy Church addresses them: "Hail, Gurias, Samon and Habib, Heavenly Patrons of honourable marriage".
© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.
Repose of St Herman of Alaska
November 15, 1836 in Spruce Island
“I IMAGINE MY BELOVED VALAAM.”
St. Herman’s Letters to Abbot Nazarius
St. Herman even in Alaska considered himself to be under obedience to his spiritual guide and abbot, Fr. Nazarius of Valaam Monastery. Whenever he had the time he would write to Valaam with reports on the missionary team’s work in the Alaskan territories among the native peoples. As we can see from St. Herman’s legacy of “Russian Orthodox Alaska” today, this missionary work was effective and enduring.
May 19, 1795
Rejoice in the Lord, O most blessed and most honorable Fr. Nazarius, together with thy brethren in Christ. Thy paternal kindness and deeds of love towards my lowliness, shall in no way ever be erased from my heart. Neither the terrible impassible Siberian wilds, nor its dark forests, neither the rapids of great rivers, nor the mighty ocean can quench these feelings of mine. For in my mind I imagine my beloved Valaam, and constantly behold it across the great ocean. But because of the great distance, it is impossible for me with my own voice to express to you my gratitude and instead I am obliged to send you, my beloved Batiushka, this little piece of paper. I shall try at the same time to give you a report.
By the grace of the Most High God and thanks to your holy prayers, we have safely reached the American territories, all ten men. The briefness of time does not allow me to describe such a great voyage in detail. Nearly the whole year was spent travelling. We did not meet with any adventures worth recording, although some impressed themselves by reason of the novelty of the place and the varied forms of travel. For the sake of conversation, you can tell those who are curious for news that while travelling on horseback along the Okhotsk road, we were attacked by bears. And on the ocean we saw several kinds of sea animals: whales, dolphin, sea otter, elephant seals and others of which we spotted quite a number. There have been no big storms except one.
We are located on the island of Kodiak, but this is not to be permanent. Our intention is to go to the mainland, although we are not sure just what place will be to our liking. The Americans2 are very eager for baptism—nearly seven thousand have been baptized. On Unalaska, while passing through the Aleutian chain, we were driven by an opposing wind to a place where the Aleuts amazed us with their zeal and readiness to be baptized.
Together with this letter, Fr. Makary is setting off for the Aleutian, Fox and Adrianovsk Islands in order to preach and to baptize. Fr. Juvenal will be leaving shortly for the mainland starting on the Kenai peninsula and then heading to the Chugachi, the Alegmint and further to the Kolosh and ocher tribes, even to the Chilliket.
Oh! Here enraptured in spirit, in spite of all the shortness of time I will snatch a short minute to relate some narratives [of the missionaries’ travels and apostolic fervor].
Finding myself between fair weather and foul, between joy and tedium, between sufficiency and insufficiency, satiety and hunger, warmth and coldness, in all my sorrows I find something that cheers me, when I hear conversations between the brethren about their preaching, and about their dividing up for this various regions among themselves—especially the discussion between Hieromonks Makary and Juvenal, for they set out around Kodiak, too, in the smallest little boats of hide, despite all the sea’s dangers, and Father Archimandrite Joasaph Bolotov remained with us, as if with little children, in the harbor.
And so these hieromonks extended their thoughts yet farther: Once when taking a scroll in our harbor, where I, sinful one, happened to be among them, we climbed a little hill toward the southern side, sat down facing the ocean, and among other things began to speak as to which of us should go where to preach, for the time was then at hand for the departure of the ships on which they had to travel. And then an argument broke out between them which for me, humble one, was comforting and joyful. On Captain Cook’s maps of the north, it is indicated that along a certain river Russians live; among us there are different rumors of them, about which we then recalled in our discussion, wishing somehow to see them. Father Makary began to speak: “According to my intention, if it please God, when I shall be in the Aleutian Islands, in all propriety I should go also to Alaska [the mainland], to which place the Alaskans have already called me, too; and as that side is nearer those Russians, I shall find means somehow to learn something more certain about them.” But Father Juvenal, having heard about Alaska, and in his zeal not allowing the other to speak further, hastened to say to him: “Alaska in the whole belongs to my part, and so I beg you to yield to me and not offend me in this; since the ship now is setting out for Yakutan, I shall have tO go by way of Alaska to go out to this harbor.” Hearing this, Father Makary became shrouded in despondency and, having assumed a sorrowful air, said with feeling: “No, Father, don’t hem me in with this; you yourself know that the Aleutian chain of islands adjoins Alaska, and so it absolutely belongs to my part, and from there the whole northern shore; but as for you, if you please, the southern part of America is sufficient for your whole lifetime.” And I, lowly one, hearing such a debate, went from joy to rapture.
Ah, what a pity, Batiushka, that because of the shortness of time, I cannot tell you more about the customs, habits, and all about the way of life in this country, as well as about our own brotherhood. Cosmas Alexeyevitch was tonsured, receiving the name of Ioasaph. We are now together in the bread bakery. Forgive me, my beloved Batiushka, forgive me—I have no more time to write. l· am asking your holy paternal prayers and your blessing. I remain,
lowly Herman
P.S. To all my beloved and dear Valaam brethren, I most fervently bow down before you and ask your holy prayers.
More letters @Orthodox Christianity
Luke 9:37-43
37 Now it happened on the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, that a great multitude met Him. 38 Suddenly a man from the multitude cried out, saying, "Teacher, I implore You, look on my son, for he is my only child.39 And behold, a spirit seizes him, and he suddenly cries out; it convulses him so that he foams at the mouth; and it departs from him with great difficulty, bruising him. 40 So I implored Your disciples to cast it out, but they could not. 41Then Jesus answered and said, "O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here." 42 And as he was still coming, the demon threw him down and convulsed him. Then Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the child, and gave him back to his father. 43 And they were all amazed at the majesty of God. But while everyone marveled at all the things which Jesus did, He said to His disciples...
Galatians 1:3-10
3Grace to you and peace from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ,4 who gave Himself for our sins, that He might deliver us from this present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father, 5 to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen. 6 I marvel that you are turning away so soon from Him who called you in the grace of Christ, to a different gospel, 7 which is not another; but there are some who trouble you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ. 8 But even if we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel to you than what we have preached to you, let him be accursed. 9 As we have said before, so now I say again, if anyone preaches any other gospel to you than what you have received, let him be accursed. 10 For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I still pleased men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ.
#orthodoxy#orthodoxchristianity#ancientchristianity#originofchristianity#spirituality#holyscriptures#gospel#sacredtexts#wisdom
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Hiii again. I figured that submit option would be easier for this. ^^
I love your matchups, they’re so accurate and thought through.❤️ Can I have one too? My name’s Emily, I have blue hair and blue “husky” eyes, got two tattoos and plan to have more, I’m very pale and I hate people saying things like “you look like a ghost, go get a tan” I usually dress like a witch, but sometimes i doll myself up as a pinup girl to feel pretty.I’m autistic, depressed, have ADHD & ptsd (nice combo, ha?^^) I’m also sarcastic, reserved and have a dark sense of humor.I’m oversensitive to lights and noises. I don’t like being hugged or touched by strangers, but once i get comfortable with someone I transform into their koala.^^ My life is a bit messy, I try to do tasks on time and remember important things, but it’s hard. I have two kids cats, Lilith I found under the bridge and Harold in woods. I’m a big spooky fun, I love horror movies and Halloween. I like drawing (my arts are creepy tho, def not for everyone to see), playing guitar, singing, reading books, running and walking in the woods. I’m interested in psychology & astrophysics and I love when people want me to teach them something. I can’t live without music and my cats. @dont-be-alarmed
Hi, my love! 💙 Thank you so much, I spend a lot of time on matchups and it means a lot that you, one of my favourite writers, find them accurate! I hope this one lives up to your kind words and that you enjoy it! 💜 (I’m happy to redo it if not, angel!) I wanted to give back to you after all you’ve ever done for me and for this community, and so I went on your other blog and scrolled through; I found a post about yourself and Arthur and I’ve tried to incorporate pieces of that in here to make it as… emotionally you as I could. I hope that you don’t mind! 💚
Total word count: 3, 785.
Arthur // wc: 1, 755.
Arthur is… completely in awe of you. You caught his attention due to your bright blue hair; such a vibrant colour in the grimy streets of Gotham which are made up of much the same; grey concrete, grey walls, grey buildings, grey sky, is unusual and eye-catching. Arthur wants to be seen and he admires the courage you possess in having such a hair colour. And your eyes, oh… It’s canon that Arthur likes to touch people’s cheeks and he holds people’s faces in his hands, and when sea green meet your blues, the entire world stops and Arthur can only sink into you; for if eyes are windows to the soul then surely yours is radiant. You’re not afraid to paint the blank canvas which is your body and Arthur likes to trace your tattoos with a careful finger, his lips moving silently as he thinks to himself; he wants to know if there are stories behind them, why you got them, how badly they hurt, what they mean to you… if the mind is an ocean then Arthur wants to dive right into yours and discover your murkiest depths now. But he holds back; he doesn’t want to ruin what he’s building with you, and so every day when he discovers something new does he only fall deeper and deeper in love with you. You’re very pale and people are quick to point it out. If it happens in front of Arthur, he’s quick to frown, “Don’t say things like that to her, Emily’s perfect just as she is!”. He won’t tell people off when they say bad things about him, but about you? He has to stop himself from going feral and he contents himself with snapping at them or, if it’s something which is truly nasty, Arthur gives them such a look it’s like he’s trying to kill them without even touching them. His knees will bounce and he’ll giggle around his cigarette, but he’ll only be concerned for you. Arthur would do anything for you. No matter what you were, Arthur always compliments you sincerely; his voice soft and raspy because he’s barely able to speak through the rising laughing in his throat. Such is the effect you have on him.
You and Arthur have so much in common. Sometimes when you talk to each other, it’s like you’re talking to yourself but you’re hearing it in a different voice. You have shared many experiences and there’s so much about Arthur which exists within yourself; you are both so worthy of love and you are both capable of being loved for exactly who you are, and in the early days first of friendship (though you begin to date quickly, both of you so eager to discover what may exist between you), you mostly bond together over your shared dark sense of humour. Over the weeks which bleed into months, Arthur’s comedy material becomes more tailored to your sense of humour; for what you find funny and making you smile means more to him than anyone else. He could have a crowd at Pogo’s captivated but your smile would be the only one which he has eyes for. The both of you are so tried and tired, so weary and you’ve both been through so much more than people should ever have to go through, but you help each other and you’re there for each other as much as you can be every single day. You’re over sensitive to lights and to noises so when you’re out in public together, Arthur keeps a close eye on you. He learns the signs for when it’s becoming too much and the two of you talk often; late night discussions with dimmed lamps and a turned down volume on the TV, and the two of you learn how to help each other and how to be more open together. It’s a shared journey, this love between you, and it’s once in a lifetime. Neither of you could ever want this with anyone else. Arthur was almost shocked by the difference in you from when he first met you to when you became comfortable with him and all the ways in which you showed affection changed and became more intimate, but he takes it as a compliment. You’re so comfortable with him and he cherishes that information above anything else. He’s just as comfortable with you, and he tries to show you every single day the depths of the love which he holds for you.
Your life is as messy as Arthur’s is busy, but the two of you make it work as best as you can. You do your best to remember important things but it’s hard, and for everything you forget is Arthur there to remind you. Sometimes he has to leave the apartment before you so he’ll leave a quickly scrawled note taped to the front door in big letters so you can see it even from a distance, or he’ll make sure that you’ve got everything ready in the same place, like right next to or on top of your shoes so they can’t be forgotten. Your two kitties, Lilith and Harold, are doted upon by yourself and by Arthur. He had always wanted a pet, someone or something to come home to whom was happy to see him, and now he has three beings who love him: you, Lilith and Harold. The fact that you rescued both of your children shows the true depths of your heart and Arthur’s in awe of you. He adores watching you interact with them. It always makes him coo and the ice in his heart which is left over from the day melts away and then evaporates completely at the touch of your hand and the sound of your voice. You love horror films and Hallowe’en and Arthur loves watching how excited you get when October rolls around! Carving pumpkins together, creating decorations and the jokes just get darker and more morbid… he comes to love the holiday as much as you do, though he’s not as fond of horror films as you are. Life is horrifying enough and if he wants to be scared, he’ll just watch the news - but when you’re more comfortable together and you’re his koala, he likes to cling to you and hide his face in your neck as a way of becoming closer to you. Arthur cherishes the few scant hours he gets with you every night. It’s yours and his favourite time of day and it only makes your daily hardships almost worth it.
You are… extremely creative. Your writing is so descriptive and so vivid, your drawing is beautiful, you can sing, you play an instrument… music runs through your soul just as surely as it does within Arthur, and one night when Arthur was much too shy to tell you that he loved you, he instead said, “you are the music in me”. It’s an admission which, years later, still haunts you in the best way. If you ever let him read what you have written or view what you have created, though he may be creeped out, he would still compliment you sincerely and ask you some questions, wanting to see things through your beautiful blue eyes. If you’re open to the idea, Arthur would love to sit down and listen to you sing and play the guitar; and if you have ever written any songs for him, they would bring tears to his eyes and he would find himself choking down laughter. How can you love him this much? Just as much as you have become more open and kinder to yourself in loving Arthur, so has he because of your love, and the two of you walk hand in hand down the path of life together, leading each other into your better selves; such is the power of love. When you read, Arthur likes to write in his journal and the sounds of his scrawling are the perfect accompaniment to the sounds of your turning the pages of the book you cradle in the palm of your hands as surely as you hold Arthur’s heart in your hands. Though he never asks, Arthur would love to go with you on a walk through the woods. You can see it in his eyes sometimes, how desperately he wants to go with you, but he’s too afraid of rejection and too shy. When you come back from your running, the bathroom is all ready for you to have a shower, there are clean clothes out for you and dinner is ready. Arthur does everything he can to take the best care of you possible; for truly do you deserve nothing less than the best of everything in life.
You’re interested in a variety of subjects and as a way to engage with you, for he so loves the way your eyes and face light up when you’re talking about the things you’re passionate about, Arthur would sit down with you and ask you questions. Even if he doesn’t fully understand what you’re talking about, especially with astrophysics, he still sits and he listens and Arthur engages with you. And if you have a hyperfixation, then he’s right there with you. He validates your interests and wants to know as much as you’re willing to share with him! It’s just another way for him to spend time with you, to get to know you, to tell you that he loves you. You’ve spent many a night talking the time away about your interests and you have so much in common that it’s unsurprising that you feel like you have known each other forever. Music and cats are your life and Arthur protects everything that he knows about you, because you mean the entire world to him and you deserve to know just how much he loves you! No matter where you go, what you do or who you become, Arthur loves you for all of you - he’s learned all the ways to help you through your various struggles, through the things which you go through (including the ones only you know about), and he does everything he can to help you, to love you the way that you deserve to be. Even when he’s so, so tired, the two of you pull each other through life with your joined hands, fingers interlocked… and neither of you will ever let go of the other.
Joker // wc: 2, 030.
By now, you and Joker know each other like the backs of your hands. There isn’t much that you don’t know about each other, though of course is it impossible to ever really know someone in their entirety, so every day do you discover something new about one another which only makes you fall deeper in love with each other. Even though you know each other so well, Joker still finds himself wanting to completely dive into who you are to find out everything all at once; to view the tapestry of your life in its entirety without having to wait for the discovery of something else. He loves you so much it hurts him in the best way. Your name is Joker’s favourite word and he sometimes catches himself whispering it when he needs some extra strength or a reason to slow the rage in his veins, which threatens to poison his heart and turn his soul away from the goodness which still exists in his very core, unchanged is he deep inside himself where he is safest. You were there with Arthur through it all and you only loved him more as the man he was now. With your bright blue hair and Joker’s electric green hair, the two of you catch people’s attention when you’re out in public; Gothamites aren’t known for their courageous self expression, so wearied and beaten are they by the soulless and relentless demands of the city. The two of you like to redye your hair together; even if Joker’s hair has faded back into his naturally dark curls, he will wait for you to need to redye your hair. Joker dyes your hair and you dye his and the flecks of blue and green blend and merge together in the bathroom sink; Joker likes to get messy so green runs all down his back and pools into the waistband of his baggy underwear, and he ends up making more mess than you do. Joker adores your tattoos and he knows the reasons and stories behind them as well as you do and he gets excited when you talk about having more. Joker’s less forgiving now when people make comments about how pale you are, and he’s not afraid to narrow his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly in anger, and fire back a few well-timed insults of his own. Whether you dress like a witch or as a pinup girl, Joker is in awe of you and sometimes he literally chokes on air because he’s just so stunned by you and all that you are; you’re so beautiful inside and out and he just can’t believe, even now, how lucky he is to be loved by you.
Just because Joker gave up on his own mental health - he stopped taking his medications, he stopped taking care of himself and he stopped caring - it didn’t mean that he would ever allow you to do the same. Joker wanted nothing but the best for you and he would do anything he could for you. This, combined with the fact that Joker knows exactly how to support you and how to look after you when you need to be loved extra hard. Both of you are worthy of being loved for exactly who you are, and when you feel like you’re unwanted and not capable of being loved, Joker cradles you on his lap - your favourite seat - and tucks your head into his chest, his heartbeat pounding in your ear to ground you and to calm you. He knows how to hold you, how to talk to you, how to comfort you, and he even knows how to ground himself and also you in the same touches. If anyone understands you and what you go through every single day, it’s Arthur, and that’s never been and would never be any different. You’re sarcastic and Joker enjoys playful banter between the two of you. He knows when you’re being sarcastic because you’re having fun and when you’re being sarcastic because your mood is low, but either way will Joker snap back. He enjoys swapping comments with you if that’s something you like to do, and by now his dark humour is perfectly tailored to your own. Of all the citizens in Gotham, your smile is the only one which matters and your laughter is the only one Joker closes his eyes to fully savour. You are Joker’s koala now and he loves every touch which you gift him with. Coming home to you is the absolute favourite part of Joker’s every day and sometimes he stays away for just a little longer so that he can get an extra enthusiastic hug or some clingy touches. You’re over sensitive to lights and noises and Joker is used to keeping the TV on a certain volume and to buying a certain type of light bulb so that the lamps are always dim enough for you. You are always Joker’s main priority and that will never be any different. You’re his entire world and when he cups your face in his hands to kiss you, he likes to say, “I’ve got the whole world in my hands, Emily. Look after it for me, okay?”. The first time you did it back to him, he almost sobbed with love for you even as he nodded and said, “mm-hm”. The sound was smug even with how overwhelmed he was in that moment and your stomach swooped; as again did you only love him more.
Your life is still a bit messy but oh, you do your best. Joker knows better than anybody how it can feel to do your best and to still feel like you’re not doing enough, like you’re not trying enough, like you’re not good enough for all of the demands and responsibilities which are daily placed on you without reprieve or without a break, and he continues to do everything he can to help you, to be there for you and to support you. He leaves notes lying around to help you remember to do things, to not forget things, and if ever you do forget something, Joker’s there to do it for you. There is only ever love in the things he does. Looking after you and being there for you and loving you is the reason Joker does what he does, the reason he tries every single day to reconnect with the man you first fell in love with. Oh, but he was still that man; he had only stopped caring, he had only succumbed to all that was making him numb, and every day did you love him just as fiercely and just as strongly as you always had. Your two cats are spoiled rotten by the both of you; Joker still loves to watch you interact with them and when chaos is shut away, when his suit is hung up and his face is washed, Joker likes to sit on the sofa with you to watch the news with your children around you; his fingers in their fur or in your hair, and the two of you talk quietly. About your days, about the things you need to do tomorrow, how you have been feeling... the evenings are ticked away in this way, with the two of you indulging only in each other. You love horror films and Hallowe’en and still does Joker love how excited you get! He joins in with you now with the celebration and the decorations, but instead of hiding within you now while you watch horror films, scared did he used to be, he now watches you with them and cracks dark jokes. In one film, the screaming victim got decapitated and Joker snorted and said, “Talk about losing your head when it gets crazy out there”. It’s up to you if you join in with him but if you do, he will turn to the side to give you his attention, only just watching whatever is on the old and grainy screen. He loves to cuddle with you and if you ever get scared of the things you watch, Joker assumes the protective role as he cuddles you. “Nothing’s going to hurt you, Emily. Joker’s here.”. He would die for you, kill for you... you’re his entire world and he loves you with everything that he is, everything that he has.
You are very creative and to this day, Joker is still in awe of everything that you’re able to do. Your writing is so beautiful and everything that you create is beautiful. Your arts are creepy but Joker’s not creeped out by them anymore. Long ago did he stare into the abyss and see it staring back, so what used to negatively affect him rarely does now. “Awh, that’s sweet.” // “Joker, it’s - there’s blood all over the - “ // “Yeah,” He shrugs, “But it’s sweet in a morbid way, you know?” You thought you did, but you weren’t entirely sure. Either way, you were just glad that he liked your arts. His support meant the world to you. You have an entire playlist of songs you would like to play for Joker, and when you ask if you can play for him, Joker beams and practically runs across the room to sit down for you, running a hand through those dyed green curls which bounce gently against the tops of his shoulders as he does so. Joker is transfixed by the way you play the guitar; your hands are one of his favourite parts of you because they create pure magic every single day. You love to read and when you do, Joker tends to read through his old journal. It’s a quiet time for the both of you and it’s most likely that Joker will want to cuddle with you while you do these things; so that you can spend time together... separately. Occasionally, Joker might read a joke out loud; they’ll be dark jokes, ones which make you laugh because you know not how else to react, and he’ll soak in your response. Don’t fake your laughter, though, Joker will notice and he won’t appreciate that. By now, he’s used to your routine when it comes to running and walking in the woods, so he doesn’t ask if he can go with you - he’ll know if you want him to join you by the way you said goodbye to him. If you linger near him, he’ll know that you want him to join you; but if you’re quickly out of the door, then he knows he should stay. When you come home, everything is ready for you to get clean and comfortable; for Joker will always do what he can to look after you, no matter what!
On the nights when everything he’s ever said and done catches up to him, or when the world is just too loud and you need everything and everyone to go away, the two of you hole up in the bedroom. If Joker is the one who needs comforting, then you’re the one who reads to him or tells him about anything you’re currently hyperfixated on or curious about, but if you’re the one who needs comforting then Joker reads from his old journal or reads your current book to you. You can’t live without music or your cats and that’s precisely why Joker protects everything that you hold most dear to you, and that includes his own self. The both of you are so similar in so many ways and you have both shared many of the same experiences. You have so much love between you, so much need to be seen, known and loved, and you both have a dark sense of humour. You’re both strong and brave, creative and so full of love, and no matter what happens or who you both become, you will fall together again and again... and again. You’re soulmates and you’re truly meant to be, and that’s all that matters. Arthur Fleck loves you for all of you, through every rise and fall!
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Precious Time (fic to complement art)
to anna @illgetmerope, for the robron anniversary celebrations i really wanted to pay tribute to you as an amazing artist and thank you for your wonderful art. i wrote three short fics to work alongside three of your favourite art pieces. i hope i managed to do them justice because what i love best about your pieces is the intimacy, emotion and joy that you can feel through the screen. being that i’ve set this in the “now” universe, the fic does have a sad edge but i hope you’ll forgive me.
Precious Time
i.
(art inspiration)
Aaron’s out of breath, his wild heart thrashing under damp skin. He pulls Robert closer, until their foreheads bump and Robert’s fingers climb to the back of his neck. Aaron’s mouth falls ajar and he’s too aware of the sounds he’s making. Gasping. Desperate. Between them, their cocks touch, their hands stroke. Aaron feels like he just might collapse at the knees. Robert stops for a moment to kiss him, and murmur hotly: “I want you. God, I want you.”
The bedroom is dark, the only light from a leak of moonlight between the slats of the blinds and there’s something about the dim that makes everything closer, more intimate.
Robert pulls Aaron by the hips and runs his tongue and teeth against Aaron’s throat and Aaron’s fingers in Robert’s hair feel like a retaliation, tugging and teasing. Then by some magic Aaron has control again, and edges them over to the wall of the bedroom. Robert’s been away on a haulage trip and oh fuck he’s missed this, missed Robert’s body, the size and skill of his hands. There’s only so much memories and late night texts can do.
It’s stupid o’clock and Robert told him not to wait up but he had. He’d sprawled on the sofa, TV on low and pinching himself to stay awake. He’d failed. When he was next aware of his surroundings, Robert was home, creeping around the living room to cover Aaron in a blanket, but Aaron opened an eye and grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“I told you not to wait,” Robert said with such affection that Aaron pulled him down by the shirt collar for a kiss.
“I wanted to see you.”
After a kiss that was slow and sleepy, Robert pulled away and with suggestion in his voice said, “How tired are you?”
Aaron leapt off the sofa and then they were upstairs, stark naked, kissing in a sleep-deprived trance. Real conversation could wait for the morning. Robert would ask about the yard, about Liv, and Aaron would hear the trials and tribulations of some complicated haulage route and queues in Dover.
Aaron’s so close to the edge now, but Robert knows him too well and holds back, toying with him. He tries to roll his hips, rub up against Robert, but it’s a game of cat and mouse, Robert wants to delay it. Robert presses his forehead harder against Aaron’s and lets deliberately loud moans cause goose-bumps to appear on Aaron’s skin. He lets sighs and groans morph into extended versions of Aaron’s own name. Other words blend into it too, words like: good, and yes, and, oh like that. Sometimes, Robert admitted to Aaron, he could get hard just by imagining Aaron jerking him off. That’s how good he was.
Aaron feels Robert sinking, aware that in some way they’re holding each other up. He leans some of his weight on Robert’s shoulder and in turn, Robert presses his nose and mouth into the crook of Aaron’s neck and whimpers. Aaron rolls his head to the side and whispers so Robert can hear, a strangled, urgent cry: “I’m gonna come.”
*
ii.
(art inspiration)
There’s a moment where they share the same breath, where neither of them feel like separate people. Aaron loses the second syllable of Robert’s name down the back of his throat and runs his hands over Robert’s chest, transferring heat to all the peaks and shallows of his body. His hands come to a natural fit around his waist that once might have felt like possession but now is just home. Comfort.
What had it been? An argument, a fight. Something quick and hot-tempered, an explosion of shouting, and later when he was alone, tears. Time was falling from them fast and Aaron hated himself – hated them both – for wasting a single second. When they made up they didn’t speak, curling against each other, pressing their noses into skin and hair and clothes and committing it all to memory while pretending they weren’t.
Robert seems taller somehow, like Aaron’s grief is shrinking him day by day. Robert presses his face against Aaron, breathes him in, puts his hands on his shoulders as if to say: I’m right here. Aaron manages to bottle it all up again, the solid presence of Robert’s body giving him a strength he can no longer find just in himself. He understands now why people talk of finding “The One”, why people talk about souls. He’s always thought it’s stupid. He still does when it comes out of the mouths of people who haven’t known love like he has.
He can feel Robert’s heart racing, just like earlier when the frustrating was pulsing away in Robert’s neck. When they’re breathing in tandem again, eyes closed and all Aaron can feel in the slight weight of Robert’s hands, they begin to move. Sway so slightly that an observer wouldn’t even be able to notice. It feels like a lifetime since they danced in front of their friends and family in a pub tackily dressed for every occasion. A bee hanging from the ceiling. Christmas chintz. He was at his happiest, at an impossible place, and yet the day after he knew prison would crush him.
It feels like a lifetime. It feels like yesterday.
Aaron secures his arms around Robert’s waist with a clinging that says: never let me go.
Breathe in, breathe out. He can make this last forever, if he holds on tight enough. He tilts his head so his lips catch Robert’s and then nestles his face in the crook of his neck. He knows, in some way, that every touch is a goodbye now, but he won’t let the thought consume him. He won’t let it win.
*
iii.
(art inspiration)
When they get home on the Sunday, the 6th, the day after their anniversary, with the low-slung sun blaring into their eyes on the drive home from the hotel, they collapse onto the sofa. Their eyes squint to stay open and Robert pulls a rough hand through his unstyled hair before offering to make Aaron a drink.
“I’m fine,” he says and then in a flush of softness, rests his hand on Robert’s knee and his head on his shoulder. “I’m knackered-”
“-but it was worth it.”
Aaron’s smile steals the breath from him. “Hundred percent.”
It’s hard not to let any leak of sadness through but they’d promised themselves through the weekend that this was a time to treasure, to reminisce and be grateful. Not a time to dwell on the future and the what ifs - when had that ever got them anywhere?
They were supposed to be using Mandy’s money for important things, but Robert had reasoned with him that this was their wedding anniversary - their first - and it was an occasion that deserved celebrating in luxury. Robert booked a five-star penthouse suite with its own terrace, a hot tub, a gilded bath in the bedroom. Aaron didn’t want to see the bill and he let Robert organise the whole thing as a surprise, shutting out any pressing thoughts about what their life might look like in a few months to just enjoy the moment. It wasn’t denial. It was survival.
It was second nature in the hotel bed, adrenaline and passion made him euphoric. Robert took every sensation he owned and multiplied it. Toes curled, spine arched, the pressure of pleasure so intense he thought he might have to escape his own skin. Afterwards Robert checked the time on the watch Aaron had gifted him – well, returned – a year ago and then stroked Aaron’s face, thumb stilling on his lip.
“A year ago to the hour, husband,” Robert said.
“Best day of my life,” Aaron said, denying the tears that were threatening and leaned to kiss him, to seal their anniversary with a new vow of its own. To cherish every second.
They didn’t even entertain the idea of going somewhere that evening, it was as much as Robert could do to entice Aaron downstairs to the bar and restaurant for something to eat. But that was after a long, hot soak in the bath, watching Robert lay stark naked as he flicked through the TV channels. Aaron wore a shirt and blazer as promise and then because Robert was nothing but a cheesy bastard, an extra dessert was brought out after they’d finished the first, and placed between them.
Happy Wedding Anniversary x
The waiter gave Robert a subtle nod when he placed it down, candle and everything and said to them, “Congratulations. We heard it was a very special day.”
“It is,” Robert said, filling Aaron’s stunned and aching silence with an adoring smile. “Thank you.”
Aaron stared at the candle, his throat clenching after the waiter had gone. “Can you make a wish if it’s not a birthday?”
“Worth a shot.”
Under the table Aaron gripped his hand and together they closed their eyes and wished for the same thing.
Back at home on the sofa, Aaron feels Robert shift beside him, reaching for something on the coffee table. It’s their wedding album. Aaron knows Robert’s been keeping it out to look at every few days, opening it and closing it like picking at a scab. When it’s out, sitting there, it’s shiny cover, it taunts them, comforts them. Every day has the same atmosphere.
Aaron budges up next to him so they’re comfortably squashed in the arm of the sofa and tucks his arm through Robert’s so they can look through it together. They’re in silence mostly, looking at each picture, each photograph electric with its own memories. They laugh out loud at some of them from the reception, like the one of Faith leaving lipstick marks all over Robert’s cheeks. There are photos of all the family, the doughnut cake, the car, the decorated pub filled with photos taken from their life together. The album tells a story all on its own.
“It was perfect,” Robert says flicking back to the photo of the two of them after they’d said their vows, when they were walking back down the aisle, confetti, tears and cheers surrounding them.
“Feels like yesterday.”
“We can always do it again,” Robert says with a teasing smile.
“Marrying me twice not enough?”
Robert takes his hand tightly, it’s all bones and knuckles and sincerity. It feels unbreakable.
“Marrying you is the best thing I ever did.”
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Celebrating Life after Loss
If you haven't been here, it is inevitable that at some point you will be. I never thought my Mother would actually leave this plane called living. I had her my whole life. She was tired and her life journey was nearing the end. I felt it when she would take verbal inventory with me in conversations prior to her death about her mother creating beautiful frocks as a child with imported fabrics from Italy. All hand made. The best dressed child in her era. She grew up to be a very spicy lady with grace, elegance and style. It wasn't until the 70's that she began to paint. Her medium of choice was oils and acrylics. I now am the proud owner of many of her paintings. Her spirit lives on. I feel closer to her now than when she was dimly fading in this life as we know it. Below is one of her creations. She called it Pompeii. Having taken her talent rather for granted back in the 70's, I can tell you, now I cherish it. This piece hangs in my home now.
Manifesting reality from a dream
My Mother’s death instilled a form of inner courage and confidence within me I didn’t realize I was capable of. One fine evening in July, three weeks before she passed – I reverted back to a musician’s voice I discovered on a Claude Challe CD in 2008. I was still producing fashion shows at this point for Matsu. Little did I know how powerfully this man’s breathy, angelic voice would later influence me. I must have been the one to raise the views on You Tube by hundreds as I watched it on multiple occasions. In watching and listening to Jehro, I began to question, why? What was it about this music that brought me into my self? It triggered all of my-selves: my childhood self, my teenage-music major self, and my artiste adult self. I simply felt magical at the sound of his voice. So much so, I Googled his place of performance the following morning and made the discovery that I could take this mental fantasy that spoke so strongly to my heart and turn it into a reality. My desire to be in his presence-creative energy-was stronger than that of the fear of the unknown or doing nothing about it at all. Mom’s passing shone a new light on my life.
Fast forward. I woke up the following morning with a strong will to locate where Jehro was going to perform next. Voila! After some research, I found him on the program to perform on November 24 at Cabaret Sauvage.
I got tickets (with the assist of my fluent-speaking French friend) since the ordering was all in French online. Bingo. Scored. Next, I contacted him through Messenger. I completely put myself out there. I shared with him my “vision” to fly to Paris to hear him. He responded and welcomed me. I was momentarily star struck just from receiving a response. A lovely one at that. He was flattered. I was shy and beginning to realize just what this push meant. It will be uncomfortable. I will be attempting to accomplish something very foreign and clearly beyond my own comfort zone. I had no choice but to push through. The initial contact was made in July. This is what you call serious planning!
Paris et moi
Within the very French “bordello style” musical venue and the dimly lit room, the stage comes alive with his talent, voice, guitars and drums. I was finally in the place I dreamed of since last summer. Meeting him backstage after the show was one of the most exciting moments I’ve experienced in my life. Submerged into another culture with all strangers in one small room, where he was the center of attention-having just completed a stellar concert. The Cabaret has many years of history. The decor was slightly raw but reminiscent of a dinner club. The smoke filled circular room added ambience as the lighting changed colors throughout the evening. If you’d like to hear this magnificent magical voice click here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpZJ59CtlSc
And here we are. Back stage. I’m starstruck, and I think he’s over-the-top flattered. We continued on for the night along with his bandmates into Bastille, sipping Bordeaux and Chartreuse until 4 am in the morning. This adventure will never be forgotten.
The original focus of my trip to Paris was to heighten all of my senses. Prior to meeting Jehro, I filled my afternoon with another sensory distraction: the art of creating perfume. The notes and composition of the scents are not unlike those of writing music or playing an instrument. The correlation was intense.
See The Art of Creating Scents post.
The Nurturing Pearl
Shame on me! I admit that I stereotyped the majestic pearl. I thought they were preppy. I thought they were boring. I often thought they lacked complexity in healing properties offered. It wasn’t until I cleaned out my Mom’s jewelry box along, with my sister, that I realized how healing these creatures from the oyster are! My Mother had tons of pearls. Some costume, some real. Regardless, as I handled them in organizing the array that lay before us, they continued to ask to be fondled. Their round spherical smooth shapes were conducive to having a tranquil effect on my hands, then grew into my heart. After all, I had just lost my Mom 1.5 weeks prior to when I arrived down South to sift through her home. We started within her drawers and as I mentioned, her massive jewelry collections. This opportunity re-introduced me to the wisdom and beauty of the pearl.
Since I returned from Florida after this challenging yet necessary feat, I began visualizing pearls in my head - to the point that I am compelled to find some beauties and drill them, and create earrings first, so they would be on me at all times. I then somehow stumbled upon a collection of primitive looking baroque pearls ranging in colors, sizes and shapes. I made several long single strand necklaces to be worn as a talisman and an elegant accessory on the body. I even placed stacking roll-on bracelets into my collection with 18k gold bead accents on them as pictured below. The photos below depict several different pieces available in my Atelier and also in my online shop Nymph Jewels. I have not been able to remove the sensual pearl earrings from my ears in months. There is indeed something beautiful about their simplicity and understated elegance that works with each and every other piece I wear. As far as the wardrobe goes, this too is a wonderful backdrop for any pearl necklace I decide to wear on any given day.
The mystery of the pearl runs deep. In Chinese culture, it is said that pearls fall to earth when dragons fight in the clouds. Dragons are often seen with a pearl in their mouth or claws - which is a symbol of immortality, luck and magic. Western lore, on the other hand, holds the pearl as the stone of Diana, the Roman goddess of the moon and wild magic. Worldwide, the magnificent pearl has been said to have the kind of legendary, mystical, restorative and healing powers that have fired imaginations for centuries. Pearls have been associated with the Moon and femininity, along with the fact they are grown underwater symbolizing emotions. Pearl energy represents innocence, purity and integrity. Due to their natural beauty, wearing the pearl is a natural attraction for bonding friendships and for love. From another standpoint, wearing the Pearl instills the bearer in accepting love, self love and nurturing. It’s no wonder they simply feel good to the eye and actual touch. There is no such thing as wearing too many pearls. They love one another and will love you for having chosen them to become part of your life.
Pearls will always now bring my spirit and soul close to my Mom’s spirit. This is most likely why I have worn mine daily, and have been encompassing the pearls into the Nymph Collection. Never a trend, always in style. They are the true form of classic elegance. Thank you Mom! I love you and miss you. I know you are up there watching me. You’ve inspired me in this lifetime. I promise not to ignore any inner signs from the universe, or the cloud formation because I’ll instinctively know it is you.
Yours in joy,
Dava
(Originally posted December 4, 2017)
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A Third Person Journey to an Otherwise Rather Straight Forward Question
X armed herself with the smooth new Z-Grip medium weight ballpoint she had swiped from the LA airport Mexican restaurant and sat daunted by the question blinking at her from the blank page of her next advice piece: What is it like to fall in love again?
She had picked the query because at first blush it appeared harmless–a simple, straight forward account of something she had experienced and so should be able to speak to. She had in fact been in love 3.5 times: a biracial soccer player who she spent the four years of high school falling asleep on the phone with; a seven year whirlwind that started as a gut punch of summer love and survived the evolution of fame and the cruelty of long-distance; a half-love with her best friend’s cousin, six years her senior, whose love it felt more interesting at the time to return than deny; and Current Boyfriend–the steamy college throwback who made an unexpected return during her first year in New York and gave her enough space to both grow to love him and feel truly herself–a first.
Back to the question at hand. The Reader was asking if, after the dissolution of her first love, she should expect to ever fall in love again–to feel that awesome power of “first love” again?
There did seem to be some consensus amongst girlfriends that first loves, young loves, feel especially… powerful; awesome; all consuming. Being in love for the first time is like being haunted, except for instead of cold chills you get hot sweats–a warm flush to the face when you lock eyes, or touch hands. It’s dizzy and disorienting, a bit like a sickness. Here, perhaps, is the best metaphor for first love: a sickness.
When you first fall in love, X thought, it’s like a foreign entity in your body–some new combination of chemical reactions. You have nothing in your immune system to combat this condition. And so powerless, you submit, you fall at love’s feet to be consumed by, to be enflamed by, to be at once destroyed and brought to life by…
Yes–brought to life! The fullest version of life. Existence pressed to the inside of your skin, bursting through, totally alive, present...present in a way that makes all life before feel like a shadow; alive in a way where you can’t remember where you came from, how you got here, only that there you are, nose to nose on the mattress on the floor, window open; no noise from the street below; falling or floating you can’t quite be sure.
What is that? What is it about a someone that detonates this chain reaction?
It all started with a thick-haired friendship seeded in elementary school. Their playground pack “The Group” included a hot-shot loud-mouth leader-type who had, at eight years of age, the biggest crush on her. Series of innocent elementary school sleepovers continued into middle school basement hangs and then high school parents-out-of-town parties with beer, and clove cigarettes, and the Black Keys. And all the while he loved her. And she realized that because of him, this best friend, this oldest friend, this dearest friend, who now is of course over her and onto something else, that she has had, since a child, since the time she could first muster memories, someone absolutely madly in love with her.
And how much of our attachment to first loves is our lust of youth; our nostalgia for a time when we could even be so taken over? When we faun for our first loves, X thought, aren’t we also and at the same time reaching out for the soft, round cheek of teenage; for a time when we felt with such an urgency; full of promise and potential and possibility?; a time when you loved someone and the future was a total unknown; and all you had was this love you couldn’t see the otherside of.
So no, X concluded, you never love like your first love. But thank God.
When you fall in love for a second, or a third, or a half time you start to understand that love will never feel the same as it moves from person to person. Forever after your first love you will now have a point of reference; your antibodies are armed, so to speak.
The truth of any love, a lesson you learn after the first, is that with love often comes pain. The two exist entwined. They are necessary opposites that give each other meaning–pulling in opposite directions creating the tension needed to stand upright. After the pain of a first love lost perhaps now you are cautious, or choosey, or closed off. You don’t feel ready, or willing, or able. How do we ever let ourselves go through it more than once, knowing full well what it entails?
And that, X decided, is what most distinguishes new love from first love. Why yes, Dear Reader, you will fall in love again, and no it may not be madness, may not be messy, but it will be, and what it will from now on become, is a choice. We get a bit older, get better acquainted with ourselves, build a few boundaries, and instead of slip and fall madly into love, we chose it. We choose to give it and we choose to accept it. And it feels so much freer to not be under a spell; to see clearly; to make no sacrifice of self.
X had a theory that we love people for who we feel we are around them. And eventually your love starts to seek safety. You just want to be the most yourself possible, with someone who cares for you, and respects you, and who you also happen to be incredibly attracted to.
Current Boyfriend was a hot summer of late nights, loud music, and empty bellies lined with cold tequila. The Manhattan skyline and his Mercedes arriving after a two hour drive; pulling up in a fitted suit and dark sunglasses; left her biting her lip Monday morning at her desk, head filled with the tangle of sheets and sweat that was their weekend.
She was damaged and a little lonely and brutally honest. She never considered it would go anywhere, and so had nothing to prove or to hide. He seemed attracted to her sadness–seeing something she hadn’t yet noticed needed healing or even could be healed. And he read her so well; as if he had studied her for a test. She couldn’t outmatch him, and he seemed dead set on loving her. It was as though in a dream he had received some vision of their future together; knew it would be so. And so he smiled slyly with his secret, amused at her attempts to put off their inevitable.
It was the only time she felt she didn’t have to fix someone–that this person was whole and just fine without her, but would simply be damned to give her up. In a way he still felt like a stranger to her–something separate from herself, like a piece of art she admired and adored and wanted in her home but had no hand in making and so couldn’t explain its method and many parts.
She liked this abstraction. She liked, no, needed a relationship that was not in and of itself an identity; not a thing to feed but to enjoy. She was, for the first time, both understood and supported; cherished and released; loved and left the fuck alone. It felt so much stronger, so much surer than anything that had come before.
But would any of this answer Dear Reader’s question? Would any of this make sense? How are there any answers at all when it comes to love? And if there were, how would she know any of them? Though she had spent a lifetime with love, she knew but two simple things: it finds you in the strangest places, and it’s always exactly right at the time.
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Whirlwind Romance (Part 19)
Prompt: You’re getting married to Chris Evans… Everything in your life is perfect… Except when you break the news to your two best friends: Tom Hiddleston and Sebastian Stan
Word Count: 1516
Warnings: language, anger, angst, adult themes,
Notes: This is for @carryonmyswansong challenge (Double Season, Multifaceted, 500 Follower Celebration, Writing Challenge!): Prompt – You’re marrying the wrong person! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes bcuz shes amazing and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo @carryonmyswansong for letting me brainstorm with them. Got this idea from @formyfandoms… Fic image made by the super bomb @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo
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Tom had left, and Chris was now in your living room, agreeing to talk to you. You’d caught him just as he had got in his car and you nearly begged him to come back inside. Now that he was in here, twenty minutes of tense silence had passed.
You sat and thought about this over and over before finally speaking. You turned to him on the couch, ready to say your piece.
“I don’t like football, in fact, I hate it. I don’t get excited over sports. I'd rather be at a museum or looking at art. You want to live in Boston, I don't. The idea of starting a family immediately terrifies me, and I don’t like the way you make breakfast…”
Chris nodded, wondering exactly where you were taking this.
“But none of that changes the fact that you’re an amazing man. A wonderful man...who deserves his shot at true happiness with a girl that deserves you,” you continued, twisting your fingers roughly. Knots continued to writhe in your stomach, doing this made you want to throw up, you were so nauseous in that moment.
Chris frowned. “If you felt that way, why didn’t you just say it? I mean if you didn’t like all of that shit, why didn’t you just tell me?” he wondered.
“I didn't realize I felt this way. Not until Tom just now. You’re perfect. You’re this incredible guy who never does anything wrong. Sometimes, it got to the point I thought if I said no to things that made you happy, that I felt I was beingselfish. How hard is it to just go along with things you like? I mean, how lucky can one girl get to be with a guy like you? Most girls would kill for you.”
He smirked ever so softly.
“I wasn’t sure I’d ever get or deserve anyone as good as you, so I didn’t want to fuck it up by saying no to you. But… I’ve realized love isn’t sacrificing everything you want to make the other person happy.”
“And I never asked you to do that,” he defended.
You reached over and touched his knee. “I know you didn’t, and I know you wouldn't, but that’s why this won’t work. Because if I give things up, or you give things up, neither one of us is going to be happy. You don’t want to live in LA or wait for a family. There’s no compromise here.”
“There could be, if we talk about it,” he tried, taking the hand on your knee and putting it in his own hands. “I mean now that we know the problems, we can work through them together, fix them.”
“But how many compromises do we have to make?” you asked. You had dreaded this moment. Deep down, you knew this day would come for you and Chris. There were just too many incompatibility issues. But now that you were finally truthfully telling him how you felt, it was feeling like a weight was lifted. “Okay so we pick a spot between Boston and LA., and we wait two years to have a family. What next? You go to football games without me? You go camping without me? I go to bookstores alone? We can’t keep chiseling away the things that won’t work out between us. At some point, we have to face the fact that we aren’t compatible.”
For a long moment he was quiet, nothing but a frown on his face, he had no idea how to respond. He didn’t want to lose you, or what you two had, but if you were this unhappy, how could he rationally ask you to stay?
“So did you ever enjoy yourself or was it all a lie?” Chris questioned in an anguished voice.
“None of it was a lie. Despite hating some things, I still cherished the time with you. I still loved the beach with you, and dancing with you, and every vacation we ever took. I'm not saying it was all bad… or that any of it was bad at all. It's just… I've realized what we had isn't the once in a lifetime love…”
He finally looked up at you, his eyes red-rimmed, making you feel like the world’s biggest asshole for doing this to the sweetest, nicest guy.
“It was for me…”
You bit your lip, fighting back your own tears now. “I love you...But this just isn’t working out between us any more. I can’t marry you, not with good conscience.”
He shook his head, unable to accept that because Tom said he was in love with you that you were willing to change all of this, unless you’d had an affair, but he didn’t really think that was the case.
“I thought you were happy? I thought you wanted to move forward with us? I thought you were excited to be married? What the hell changed?”
You delicately shrugged. “I think I was in love with the idea of being in love… We were good, we were happy. But then we got engaged and it all got so real so fast and I suddenly started to have doubts.”
“So we’ll postpone the wedding, give us some more time,” he pressed. If you just wanted more time to get to know each other, he could do that.
You shook your head.
“It isn’t about time, Chris, it’s about the people involved. We just aren’t right for each other.”
“Is it me? Did I do something wrong? I know I’ve been kind of a jerk lately but… I mean, is it because I was working in New york?”
“It's nothing like that. Chris, I swear it's nothing to fix. You're who you are and I am who I am.”
“Is this just wedding jitters? Cold feet? We can work on that.”
“No. There is nothing to work on!” you stated, exasperated. You understood he didn’t want to give up, and it was sweet, endearing, of course he wouldn’t just step aside. He was in love with you. But you had this in the back of your mind for a long time, that the two of you just weren’t good together.
“So what? We’re just supposed to say fuck it to the last three years? Like they didn’t mean anything? If it’s about Boston then--”
“It isn’t just Boston. It’s everything. We’ll never see eye to eye on everything, on the big things that matter, or even the little things.”
“We see eye to eye that two people are in love should get married.”
At this, you nodded, swallowing before you said, “You’re right. We do.” For a split second, his eyes lit up, which is why you had to back it up with, “Which is why I won’t marry you.”
Chris let out a shocked, hurt breath of air. You shook your head, fighting back tears the entire time as you pulled off your engagement ring and handed it to him.
“It’s a beautiful ring… You should give it to a woman who really deserves it.”
Chris laughed slightly. “Yeah, I thought that was you.” He looked up at you. “So this is it huh?”
You shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, I, uh, guess so…”
After a moment of pressing his lips together in a firm line, he gazed at you and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
You nodded. “I… yeah. It’s for the best, for both of us. I think I knew I felt this way for a long time, but you are so amazing and sweet, I didn’t want to lose that… But that isn’t fair to either of us. I’m so sorry, but it’s good we end it now before going through with the wedding…”
“I’m not so sure,” he said, taking a deep breath. He got up to leave. The air between you two was now heavy and soaked in pain, and you weren’t sure how to handle it.
He simply nodded at you and went to walk out, yet, this time, no part of you wanted to ask him to stay, or felt bad about what was happening. You knew in your heart this was right. Maybe it would hurt like hell right now, but it was best it was happening.
With Chris gone, you sat and thought all night, running it over in your mind if this really was the best decision, and you realized it was. Just because Chris never did anything “wrong” doesn’t mean he did everything “right” either. You’d never thought about leaving him, because he never gave you a reason to.
He was caring and loving and patient, yes, but that wasn’t enough. You wanted someone that cared for you in the ways you loved, in the way that they were patient and it that didn’t feel like you were a burden to them. Someone that made you feel like you were priority, that you were on top of the world.
Chris loved you, he just didn’t love you in the ways that mattered to you.
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Forever Tags:
@essie1876
@magpiegirl80
@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked
@iamwarrenspeace
@marvel-imagines-yes-please
@superwholocked527
@missinstantgratification
@thejemersoninferno
@rda1989
@munlis
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@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama
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@sea040561
@princess76179
@thisismysecrethappyplace
@sarahp879
Tom Hiddleston:
@camigt1999
@lenawiinchester
@esoltis280
Sebastian Stan:
@nedthegay
@lostinspace33
@alwayshave-faith
@elleatrixlestrange
@buenostardissherlock
@lenawiinchester
@the-red-world-of-jess-chibi
@memory-of-a-goldfish
@shamptain-shmerica
@crazybutconfidentaf
@esoltis280
@alwayshave-faith
Chris Evans:
@nedthegay
@camigt1999
@lostinspace33
@alwayshave-faith
@elleatrixlestrange
@lenawiinchester
@mellsstark
@esoltis280
@patzammit
WR Tag:
@gaylemonshark
@tacohead13
@seabasstiantrash
@nerdy-bookworm-1998
@berruneko09
#whirlwind romance#CarryOnMySwanSong500#chris evans x reader#tom hiddleston x reader#sebastian stan x reader#chris evans#tom hiddleston#sebastian stan
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