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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

PARIS PART II of III

Warnings: Swearing, heavy drinking, smut. +18.

SUMMARY: Timmy is an artist living in Paris in the 1950′s. You come to him to model for a painting but you have an unusual demand for the artist.

R E A D P A R T O N E H E R E

1st of October, 1952 - Paris.

It’s Tuesday and Timothée is tired. It’s 1 in the afternoon but his head is still aching from last night. It's been seven months since you left Paris, and somehow, life has gone on.

The sun is shining mercilessly bright and he wishes he was back in his studio, so he could hide from it. But it’s a place he spends as little amount of time as possible in as of late. Instead he’s sitting on a bench just below Sacré-Cœur, wearing last night's clothes, a mess of curls framing his tired face. In one hand a cigarette and in the other a freshly printed copy of the Tatler. On the front page is your face, radiantly beautiful, in a wedding dress and veil, diamonds in your ears and diamonds on your head. Next to you is your Freddie, looking straight at the camera, unnecessarily smug; or so Timothée thinks. Inside the magazine there’s an entire montage in the happy couples’ honor, complete with exclusive pictures from the high-society occasion.

“Dubbed the wedding of the season this intimate affair took place on a drizzly September morning between baron Freddie Fairfax and his blushing new bride. Freddie, who is the son of the 9th Earl of Abington, was overheard by some guest remarking over the beauty of his new bride, who was wearing a bone-white couture gown signed Christian Dior and accessorized with a diadem, an heirloom of the Fairfax family that has been in their possession for generations and borrowed to the bride on this special occasion. The nuptials were exchanged in St Margaret’s Church, gloriously decorated with bunches and bunches of yellow chrysanthemums, aconites and white lilies, in front of an audience including representants from most of the royal households of Europe and the English social elite. The reception took place at the Earls 25,000 acres estate in Oxfordshire and upon arrival the guest were served ice cold”

Timothée stops reading and throws the magazine down on the bench. For a long time he sits there, watching as people climb their way up the stairs to the church, and smoking cigarette after cigarette until his throat feels sore. It’s a fine October day, the air crisp and clean. The leaves on the trees changing from emerald green to vibrant shades of orange and yellow. Some have already fallen to the ground. A melancholic part of him, the majority in fact, can’t help but to think of it as a metaphor of his life. He’d met you and the entire world had seemed in bloom. Now it was rapidly fading.

Someone sits down beside him on the bench, but he ignores them, mind too far away to care.

“You are monsieur Chalamet, I presume”. With a startle he looks at the person next to him. It’s an elderly lady, possibly in her 80’s, with hair in a sophisticated updo, burgundy lips and sparkling eyes. She’s clothed in an expensive fur coat and with diamonds on every finger. He suddenly feels dirty in his unwashed clothes.

“Yes madam, and who are you if I may ask?” he answers politely.

“Marguerite Beauchêne-Wright” she introduces herself, stretching out her heavily bejeweled hand. He shakes the elderly woman’s hand. It feels strangely cold in his.

“And what can I do for you, madam?”

She doesn’t answer at first but looks down on the magazine between them. “Pretty, isn’t she?” she asks. He doesn’t answer at first, doesn’t know what to say to that. “Yes, very pretty” he answers at last.

“It was a terrible wedding” she continues. “Terrible”.

“And how do you know the bride?” He asks, feeling rather uncomfortable

“She’s my grandniece” she says and looks up at him again, studying his face. “She lived with me for a period, here in Paris. I believe you know one another?”

He doesn’t answer her question, knows she already knows the answer to it, instead he asks “and why was the wedding so terrible?”

“Oh” she says and swats with her hand, but there’s a look of worry on her face he can’t look past. “When the bride’s wearing the wrong dress, or the bridesmaids won’t behave, or the food’s terrible, well those are all things one expects at a wedding. But when the bride marries the wrong groom, well, that’s not quite as easily overlooked. Then you find yourself actually praying for an ill-fitted gown instead”.

He stares at her in confusion. “What do you mean, the wrong groom?”

She observers him with shrewd eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Madam, with all due respect, I not sure what you want with me” he says slowly. He finds himself wondering if maybe he’s still asleep and this is a strange dream produced by too much absinthe. If he’ll perhaps wake up in a ditch soon, with a hangover from hell.

“But don’t worry” she says with a kind smile “We can still fix this”.

He wonders if he should leave, for this is not a conversation he wants to have, especially not with a complete stranger. But despite himself he says “there’s nothing to fix”.

Then she takes him by surprise, for she grabs the magazine from the bench and hits his arm with it, not hard, but enough to get a reaction out of him. “Ow!” he bursts out, “what was that for?”

“For you to get a grip of yourself! Don’t be so defeatist, I told you we can fix this. You still love her and she loves you, not that absolute buffoon”.

“It’s too late, she’s already married him. And I'm over it” he lies, trying to keep on to some kind of dignity in this bizarre situation.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you haven’t moved on from any of it, I know an idiot in love when I see one, and you’re it”.

“Gee, thanks” he mutters, rubbing the sore spot where she hit him with the magazine.

“Now, what are we going to do? Are you going after her?”

He stares at her in disbelief, “no, she’s married, I told you, it’s too late”.

“Do I need to use this again?” she threatens and holds up the magazine, but there’s a humorous gleam in her eyes that makes him smile.

“Why are you trying to help me?” He asks.

“Well, quite frankly dahling, I'm not trying to help you. But that girl, my dahling niece, is miserable.” There’s sadness now in her old eyes and something twists uncomfortably in Timothée’s chest.

“It’s that bloody women's fault, her mother!” She bursts out, taking him aback. The venom in her voice almost palpable, “She’s whispering ideas of self-sacrifice in her ear. Not that her father’s any better – defeatist! That’s the only word to describe him! Never could fight for himself. To think that my dahling sister could have given birth to such a fool. And now my grandniece...” she trails off, sadness in her voice again.

“Now your grandniece has a title and is married to one of the richest people in England.” He states firmly.

She throws the magazine down on the bench again and swats her hand in front of her, as if to get rid of a particularly annoying fly, and the diamonds on her hand sparkle in the sun. “Yes, but it’s not what she wants. Is it? What she wants is, well, it’s you.”

There’s something so penetrating about her eyes and the way she looks at him. Crinkled and full of wrinkles her face may be but those shrew eyes shine bright as ever. They are very familiar eyes, a strong remembrance to another pair of eyes that haunt his dreams. He looks away,

“But she did decide to marry him, that was her decision. Doesn’t mean I don’t understand it, but there’s where we’re at. There’s nothing to be done.”

“I saw the painting you made of her” She says in a voice that make him think she’s fishing after something and in the corner of his eyes he can see her inspecting him. He lights a new cigarette and avoids her eyes. “The one with yellow tulips?” she adds, making it sound like a question.

“’s just a painting” he mumbles, feigning nonchalance.

She continues to observe him before sighing. Then, she pats him on his arm and in a gentle tone she says “we both know that’s not quite true”.

And suddenly he wants to weep. Weep in a way he hasn’t since he was a child. Without holding back, without grace or shame. Weep, and subject the poison from his body. But he doesn’t. Clenching his hands around the rim of the bench with all of his strength he manages to keep the storm at bay. Only when he feels he has his emotions locked up and under control does he look at her again. Her familiar eyes, full of sympathy, observes him and something inside his chest is screaming.

“Could I paint you, madam?” he asks with a smile, to lighten the mood.

She throws her head back in laughter. “Oh, how sweet of you, but I'm afraid my modelling days are far behind me. But if you ever need something, a listening ear or” and she looks at his dirty clothes “or perhaps a loan, then feel free to keep in touch.”

She gently pats his shoulder, then gets up and leaves.

February 12th, 1953

In a dimly lit club in Pigalle Timothée is writing a letter. Smoke surrounds him and the dim light shining through gives the illusion of a halo around his head. It’s a bad place to conduct letters in. People around him are cheering and talking, singing and howling with laughter while a modern band plays experimental jazz. It is rowdy, and it is wild, and it’s the perfect distraction.

It’s a shabby sort of place, where the floors are sticky with god knows what, the music is loud and the liquor comes cheap. Timothée thinks it’s heaven.

A man sits down next to him in the bar and orders a Gin Rickey.

“Terrible, aren’t they?” He questions in a broad American accent, gesturing toward the band as the bartender hands him his drink. Timothée nods in agreement and gestures with his empty glass to the bartender, implying need of a refill of his whiskey neat. The barman catches his gesture and pour him a new glass of Glenlivet and hands it to him just as the band begin a new tune.

“Hardly Duke Ellington” he says to the stranger and nods to the scene. He folds the unfinished letter and puts it in his pocket for later. The other man snorts in response, “that’s putting it kindly” he says, amusement in his voice. Timothée takes a good look at the stranger. He looks to be about his own age and is wearing a nice grey suit and hat tilted to the side. With a square jaw, a tall stature and piercingly blue eyes he could pass for a movie star. Lighting a cigarette, the man then offers one to Timothée, who gladly accepts the offer in a gratified manner. He’s been running low on his own stash these last few days.

They start talking. Discussing the differences in American and French jazz, the best drinking holes in Paris and who really is the great American writer. Timothée claim it’s Hemingway (“mark my words, he’ll win a Nobel price one of these days) whereas the stranger argues for F. Scott Fitzgerald (“the way he writes about the promise of the American dream, no one can rival Fitzgerald” he proclaims and Timmy wants to argue that surely he writes about the failed promise of the American dream, but they move on to a less dividing topic). The discuss bourbon and whiskey and rum as the bartender refill their glasses and the liquor no longer burns his throat and his eyes have adjusted to the smoke in the room as they mindlessly chat on. Timmy finds out that the strangers name is William and that he’s originally from California though went to boarding school in ‘good ol’ England’ but that he’s spent the last year in New York. Also, that he’s just separated from his wife. Timmy in turn tells him of his own life in broad strokes, his American mother and French father, art school and life as a painter in Paris. A few drinks later still and they get a hold of an old, wooden table at the far back of the room and so they cross the room, avoiding collision with the dancers, all in various states of drunkenness, and they begin a game of cards. The jazz band plays on.

William turns out to be quite the gambler and Timothée, who’s been walking around for months now with a feeling that he has nothing more to lose, can’t help but bet on the few things he has. They laugh and play and share stories of their youth while the jazz band play louder and louder. Perhaps the good company and distracting surroundings goes to his head, because a couple games in and Timmy is indebted to the American. He has had a bad hand overall as of late and he tells his opponent as much. The man in turn laughs and leans back in his chair, his cards in one hand and a cigar in the other. He takes a long drag from it before blowing out smoke across the space between them. Around them people dance to the chaotic music.

“Hell, I’m feeling generous tonight and you’ve been good company. Not many people I can talk to here in France, my French is terrible. So, you’re a painter, how about a painting, then? And I’ll write the whole thing off.” he suggests and smiles broadly.

Timothée hesitates. His apartment has been unusually empty of paintings as of late. The few ones he had he sold just last week in order to meet rent. Inspiration to paint new ones had not been with him. Not since you left. Everything he had managed to paint had come out drained of colour and bleak and he ended up losing interest in it.

He only has one painting left. But he couldn't, could he?

“Alright” Timmy agrees. Because what choice does he have? Maybe it’s time to put this ghost to rest, once and for all. Your gone and no wishful thinking or practices in gratefulness can change that simple fact. You’re married and there’s nothing he can do about it, despite madame Marguerite’s words of your misery ringing in his ears. There’s nothing he can do to save you now. You’ve made your choice, and all there is now is the aftermath. The post mortem. You have to live with that decision and so does he. Even if he doesn’t want to. So, why should he keep the painting? The baron got to keep the real you after all, and the only thing he has is the picture of you. A picture that can’t talk or laugh, can’t smile or play with his hair or touch him or dance to Chopin or lecture him about classical music. A painted image that he has stared himself blind at for these past few months, grieving that he cannot bring it to life, while the baron got the real you.

His unfinished letter burns in his pocket but he ignores it.

And so they leave, on unsteady legs and heads swirling with liquor, and the jazz band plays them out to their worst tune yet as they exchange the smoky club air for a cold night’s breeze.

“Fuck” William mutters as they enter the night. “Fucking freezing” he adds and shivers in his nice suit. “No worry” Timothée slurs “not far”. They stumble their way across the cobblestoned streets. “You damn Frenchmen” the other man mutters after some distance, “always got to fucking walk everywhere, taxis where invented tor a reason, you know!” Timmy snorts and points to a building just a couple of meters away. “Live there, yeah?”

And with a lot of effort they help each other up the stairs to the loft. Once inside William asks if there’s any brandy, for ‘recovery purposes after their hellish journey’ and so, they drink some more. They start discussing politics, a bad idea all around, before venturing into the less dividing topic of French cinema. It’s not long after that they’ve both fallen asleep, William slung on the sofa, his long limbs hanging over the edge, and Timothée’s sprawled out on the carpet, the bottle of brandy clutched firmly in his hand. (For recovery purposes.)

A few hours later and Timmy’s hurling down the toilet. He wants to check his head for bullet holes, that’s how bad it’s aching. After having cleaned up, although there’s nothing to be done about the mess of curls that is his hair, he joins the American in his living room.

William is sitting up on the sofa, but it looks very much as if he’s just woken up, hair a mess and a 5 o'clock shadow, his expensive suit all wrinkles now. The sun is shining mercilessly bright and its rays lights up the room as he rubs his eyes. “Coffee?” he requests in a gruff voice. Timothée nods, before realizing that any movement of the head is a terrible idea as pain shots through it.

“What a fucking night” William mutters some time later as they drink their coffee. “And I’ve got a meeting with the lawyers this afternoon, not the sort of thing one should do hungover.”

“Oh yeah?” is all Timothée manages to get out, head still too sore to put any thoughts together.

“Yeah, divorce proceedings”

“Rotten business” Timmy states and the other man laughs. “Rotten business, indeed” he agrees and cheer him with his mug of coffee. “Still, a necessity that must be endured.” He looks around the loft. “But I’ll have a new painting to hang in my bachelor pad, that’s something to write home about!” he says, more cheerful now.

And fuck, he’d forgotten that part.

Feeling nauseous again he puts down his coffee cup. “Yeah, you’ll have a new painting” he agrees, mostly to fill the silence.

“Haven’t seen any of your work yet though” William considers. “You might be shit. My five-year-old niece might be a better painter, and I’ve just promised to write off your debts to me” he adds and laughs. Timmy gets up, there’s no putting this off. “I’ll go get it and you’ll decide” he says and heads for his bedroom.

The paintings leaned against the wall. He doesn’t turn it, doesn’t want to see it one last time. There’s not enough brandy in the world for that recovery. Something inside his chest is rioting against the very idea of handing the picture over to anyone else, but he pushes down the feeling of nausea and heads back to the living room, canvas clutched firmly in his hands.

“Well” he says and holds it up, so the other man can see. “Here’s your winnings”.

William looks up at it and then, the strangest thing happens. His entire being freezes, his mouth ajar, stuck mid-movement as he had begun to say something before having seemingly been struck by lightning. Bells are ringing alarmingly in Timothée’s head, going off like sirens. Somethings wrong.

He observes Williams glossy eyes taking in the portrait in front of him, mouth still agog in chock. He places to painting on the dingy little table but William still doesn’t take his eyes off it. He gets up slowly and walks over to the painting, as if in a trance, like a man bewitched, and he reaches out a hand to touch the painting and with hesitant fingers he gently touches your cheek. The nude portrait of you, the one Timothée had painted on the day that you left him, posing slung on the very same sofa William’s just slept on.

And it hits him then, like a collision.

That this is William. The William. The man who broke your engagement and sailed across the Atlantic with his new bride. A bride he’s apparently already separated from.

“How, how-” William begins but he seems unable to finish the sentence.

A sudden feeling of being a side character in somebody else’s story settles inside of Timothée. Words like destiny and star-crossed comes to mind as he observes the other man and his wide, wild eyes, the way he looks at the painting in absolute wonder.

“Is, is she still here? Is she still in Paris?” and his voice is weak but full of hope. Slowly Timothée shakes his head. “She’s left.” He confirms, and the crushing disappointment is so clear in the other man’s face that it feels cruel to continue, but he does. “She’s married now. To a baron”.

William’s head snaps away from the painting for the first time since he saw it. “Freddie?” He asks, voice bitter and Timmy nods. “That fucker” he swears “he always was sniffing after her” he adds resentfully. He looks back at the painting and his expression soften, but he looks sadder too.

“That’s why you came here, isn’t?” Timothée asks hesitantly. “To look for her?”

William nods, seemingly unable to look away from the picture. He reaches for it and an overwhelming urge to stop him, to remove the painting from his sight washes over Timothée. To hand this portrait of you away to a stranger had seemed like a sad but unavoidable thing to do. But to give it away in due for his debts to your ex fiancé… It felt dirty and cruel.

But what choice did he have?

And so, he watches William take the painting and watches him leave with the only thing he has left of you.

Because Timothée is 26 and he still hasn’t got any money. And he can’t compete with handsome William, or to Freddie the baron. Because Timothée is 26 and all he’s got to show for it is an apartment he can’t afford anymore and a broken heart.

He runs to the bathroom and hurls in the toilet again, unable to ignore the feeling of nausea and guilt any longer.

That night you come to him in his dreams. Like a vision you appear at the end of his bed, drenched in water. White, wet silk clenching to your body, hair slicked to your face and such a haunted look in your eyes that he involuntarily reaches out for you, to hold you, to help you, to save you. He’s not quite sure. But before he can reach you the scenario changes. Because suddenly – as is the way of dreams, you’re the Tate museum watching John Everett Millais Ophelia. Your standing next to him, water dripping from your drenched body down on the floor. He looks at you, but you keep your eyes on the painting.

And when he looks back at it, it’s no longer a portrait of Ophelia lying dead in the water. It’s you.

He wakes with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat, gasping for air. It feels like he has to force fresh air into his lungs, like he’s been under water for too long. He feels around himself, automatically, to feel for your body, make sure you’re safe.

Bur you are miles away.

February 14th, 1953

Timothée writes a new letter.

It’s 5 am and I'm drunk and I am thinking of you and in a few hours it’ll be 12 am and I'll be drunk and I'll be thinking of you. And so the story goes.

I met your William, charming bloke, shame about his wife. He came here looking for you, you know? Don’t worry, I told him you got married to a baron. Your wedding pictures looked lovely in the Tatler, by the way. Diamonds suits you.

I haven’t painted much since you left. I have no inspiration. For anything.

You know, we've made a beating heart out of my pain. It’s a living, breathing creature and it walks with me everywhere, hidden somewhere under my ribcage. Like a second heart. Where I go it follows. What I feel for you, it’s a Frankenstein's monster kind of grief, bits and pieces cut out from us both, turned into a living creature. Can you hear it beating for you? Can you hear it screaming out for you? Saying ‘where did she go? Where did she go? Why can’t I follow?’ Like a child begging for its mother. Come back, come back and collect your second heart, take it out of my body, remove it from me, I cannot stand its begging. I'd kill the monster, but it’s the only thing I have left of you now. Don’t think I could stomach the loss.

I’m not the same I was before I met you. This love has made a different man out of me. This love has made a bitter man out of me. This love sure feels a lot like drowning. In my dreams you come to me, all Ophelia-esque and suffering, and I want to pull both our bodies out of the water, but you’re determined to sink and I don’t want to let go of your hand and so – we drown.

I know it’ll pass, this longing I have for you. It must. I cannot keep walking these streets wrecked with grief. One day at a time. That’s what I tell myself each morning as a watch the sun rise over Paris, my head and heart pounding in revolt, one day at a time.

There’s a Swedish saying that goes ‘a lot of water shall run under a lot of bridges before I forget you’. What it essentially means is that it’ll take a lot for me to forget you, or the way you made me feel.

But I'm sorry. One mustn’t be morbid. I won’t write you again. I’ve tried to be grateful; I am trying. I hope married life is treating you well. I hope you’ve gotten all you ever wished for. I hope you’re happy. I honestly do. You deserve the best life has to offer. I’m just sad I can’t be the one giving it to you. Being without you is a hard thing to be grateful for.

One day at a time.

Yours,

Timothée

The next morning, he calls the model agency. Later, just as his headache is subsiding, a blonde model named Lucy knocks on his door. She’s chatty and friendly and moves around too much when he paints her. Her laugh is loud but childlike and she keeps the conversation going. He plays a Benny Goodman record and her hips gently swing along to the rhythm almost involuntarily and she sings along in a sweet voice to ‘The Sunny Side of the Street’.

Outside the sun is shining and the whole world seems at rest. It’s not the same – God knows it’s not the same – but for the first time in months it all seems, not alright perhaps, but bearable.

Later that night as he washes himself clean from the yellow paint that’s stained his fingers, he tries to push the feeling of guilt down from where it seems to be stuck in his throat. When that doesn’t work he tries to wash it down with absinth but as he lays down on the livingroom floor, too tired to make it into the bedroom, he watches the golden painting of Lucy gleam even in the dark, he wonders if perhaps absinth is what makes guilt grow.

1st of Mars, 1953

Timothée wakes to sunlight streaming in through the large and unwashed windows. For a long while he lays there completely still, sprawled out on the white linen sheets, curly hair draped over the pillow; trying to force his eyes to get used to the light. His head is pounding, and his body aches, but the sensation feels as familiar as the scent of turpentine and oil paint. Slowly he moves his limbs, first wiggling his toes and his hands; as if to count them all, and then, with monumental strength of character, he gets out of bed. Naked as the day he was born he walks over to the window. Far down on the street Paris is already awake, cars and passer-byers chasing down the streets. Some have changed out of their heavy, winter jackets to lighter coats as the bustle off to their individual destination.

It is the first day of spring.

He turns away from the window, in search for some clothes but stop in his tracks. As if seeing the room with new eyes he takes it in. Around the bed lay bottle after bottle of liquor, the sheets are old and dirty, the room hasn’t been dusted in months, and various pieces of clothing lay scattered everywhere.

He can’t go on like this. It’s time, whether he wants it to be or not. He has to go on.

He pours down the absinthe, the rum, the whiskey and the brandy down the kitchen sink and watches as it disappears. He cleans and wipes the floor, washes his sheets and clothes and then carefully folds them and puts them away in his closet. He finishes his painting of Lucy and then starts on another. He calls his delighted art dealer and informs him of the progress, tells him that he’ll have more ones in no time. He then swallows his pride and calls madam Marguerite, asking for the loan she offered. Pride won’t keep him warm if he loses the apartment due to not paying rent. She too sounds delighted and tells him he can pay her back by coming over for dinner. They both need the company.

And so, he walks to her apartment, a bouquet of daffodils in hand, smelling like clean laundry and with his newly brushed hair it all feel an awful lot like going to church. Upon arriving at Marguerite’s home, a maid opens the door for him and he tries not to smile when she wrinkles her nose and takes his old and patchy coat. The apartment is palace-like in grandeur, white marble everywhere, and decorated with expertise. She leads him into the lounge and announces him.

“Mr. Chalamet, madam”.

“Yes, thank you Louise” Marguerite answers and the maid leaves them.

“A cocktail?” she asks, holding up an empty martini glass. He politely accepts and looks around the room as she prepares it. “Is that a Picasso?” he asks astonished, pointing at a blue portrait of a woman on the wall opposite.

“Yes” she says and hands him a martini.

“How- how?”

She smiles at him indulgently. “I knew him in my youth” she explains and takes a sip from her own drink. He stares at her in amazement. “You know Pablo Picasso?”

She scoffs. “Oh, don’t be jealous of that, man’s an absolute fool”.

And so, they talk, all through drinks and then dinner. About art and music. About both of their childhoods, different though they both may have been. She tells him stories from her long and impressive life. About dahling Humphrey. After dinner, which had been a superb affair of duck confit; served on the finest of porcelain and paired with the finest of wines, they’d gone out on the terrace for drinks and smokes. He sticks to his old Lucky Strikes and she to imported Russian cigarettes, (a habit she’d picked up during the war, she’d told him).

“Darling Humprey would have liked you, he would have rooted for you” she says and leans back in her chair, a Hermès blanket in her lap to keep her warm.

“Oh really? Was he a good gambler?”

“Oh god no, he was terrible better. And a sore loser.” she says and smiles in the fond way she does when she thinks of her late husband.

“How reassuring for me” he says dryly.

“Dahlinh” she begins in a drawl that would have made Betty Davis proud, “what should be reassuring is that I’m fighting in your corner, and I don’t believe in a losing hand”. Then, changing the subject she says “My niece is quite right you know, your knowledge of classical music is subpar, so I'm educating you. Next week, I'll take you to the opera.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, indeed. Gianni Schicchi. I have a spare ticket so feel free to bring someone along with you”.

“Puccini?” he says with a grimace.

“Now boy, I'm fond of you but if you say bad word of Puccini I will throw you of this balcony myself”.

He smiles, but she reminds him so much of her grandniece in this moment and something in his chest is calling out for you

Later that week he calls Lucy and they go out dancing. He doesn’t take her to Pigelle, wants to keep away from its smoke-filled rooms and sticky floors. Escapism isn’t heaven. Not anymore. Instead he takes her to La Noyade, a nice place where nice people go to have fun. And they dance, and she makes him laugh and it’s not world-altering or butterfly-inducing but it’s a good way to pass the time. They mindlessly chat about movies, and music and film stars over glasses of Champagne and they never once wade into personal territories. She wears a nice and tight dress in a sunny color, her golden blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and as he watches her seductively move her hips to the live band's music, he finds himself thinking ‘why not?’ And when she kisses him with painted-pink lips under a streetlamp he kisses her back. Because why not. And when he takes her to bed that night and fucks her into the mattress, her moans ringing in his ears, and her yellow hair sprawled over his pillows he nearly manages to forget you.

Nearly.

He holds her as she falls asleep and he tries to get used to the unfamiliar scent of her hair, the unfamiliarity of her body next to his. One day at a time.

(In his dreams you come to him, through the haze of a misty beach. You take his hand and guide him into a boat. And there you lay, as the boat drifts away and you watch the stars. You hold him close, and breathing feels easier. The rioting creature inside his chest finally at ease.)

Walking of the stairs of L'Opéra Garnier one can’t help feel anything but small. The supreme grandeur of the palace is designed to make you feel inferior after all. The high ceiling, gloriously painted by Isidore Pils, is enough to knock the breath out of anyone, and then white marble and gold for as far as the eye can see.

Timothée is wearing a tuxedo, the cheap rental kind, and the collar hasn’t been starched properly. It itches, and he fights the urge to scratch at his neck, and so he keeps his hand occupied by taking Lucy’s hand in his, and they make their way forward.

They make their way down the grand foyer. All around them people are dressed up to the nine’s in evening dresses, furs and tuxedos and more diamonds than he’s seen in his entire life, and god, Timothée misses Montmartre. Through the crowd he can see madam Marguerite, fitting her surroundings perfectly.

“Madam” he greets and kisses her cheek.

“Timothée” she responds, and she sounds fond. However, before he can introduce Lucy to her Marguerite looks over his shoulder and excitingly exclaims “Oh, there you are darling!” Without thinking he turns around to look at whomever Marguerite is greeting.

His body reacts before he does and goes completely still and for a moment he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.

It’s you.

With your hair up in an eloquent hairdo, wearing a black velvet gown that he bets costs more than his apartment, and diamonds around your neck, you’re walking towards them. Arm in arm with you walks a man Timothée recognizes from the Tatler, Freddie, with blond hair and upturned nose. He’s certainly not wearing rental wear. “Timothée?” you ask in a weak voice as you reach him. You’re seemingly unable to believe your eyes. “Is it really you?” And with your painted blood-red lips you lean in to kiss his cheek, but they never touch his skin. You pull away and he sees how Freddie’s arm tightens around your waist.

Then you look at Lucy.

“Oh, yes of course, this is Lucy she’s my, uh” he halters.

“Muse” Lucy fills in and Timothée wants to protest, wants to catch the word midair and change it for something else, something less familiar. But he can’t. So, he watches in silence as she stretches out a hand for you to shake, which you elegantly do and even though you’re politely smiling there’s a frozen look on your face that unsettles him. With effortless grace you introduce yourself.

Then, “and this is my husband, Frederic”. You smile up at him and something inside Timothée chest is wreaking havoc. Freddie looks bored.

“Should we move along?” Freddie says in a drawling, posh voice that makes Timmy’s skin prickle in displeasure.

“Of course” Marguerite says, and leads the way, calling out ‘hello’s’ and ‘dahling’s’ to various familiar faces as she goes. Lucy crosses arms with him and they follow the older women's lead, you and your husband at your heel.

Timothée feels disorientated, head swimming with thoughts. There are too many feelings at once inside of him, too many different emotions fighting for dominance. But somehow, he continues to put one foot in front of the other and before he knows it, they’re in the auditorium. They’re in one of the boxes, and Marguerite places herself front row, next to an elderly gentleman she greets with fond familiarity. In the row behind them Freddie guides his wife and then sits down next to her. He and Lucy take the two seats behind them, Timothée ending up in the seat right behind you. He sees how Freddie leans in to whisper something in your ear, but he can’t hear his words. All he can see is that you stiffen, and slowly shake your head.

He looks at you, you’re perfect updo, not a hair out of place, the immaculately painted lips, the swan-like neck and perfect stiff posture. Your face still with that unsettling frozen look, as if you’ve retracted somewhere far inside yourself and he remembers how you used to dance in his studio, unguarded and free. Laughing and dancing while he painted you. A sudden urge to take your hand grabs hold of him. To take your hand and lead you away from all of this, away from the man sitting down beside you. To loosen your hair and limbs. To take you home and play Chopin and make you laugh again. Erase that frozen, still look from your face.

The lighting dims in the auditorium and then the orchestra begin the dramatic first chords of the opera but Timothée finds it hard to concentrate. Lucy has her eyes set on the stage, her hand on his knee. He feels like a trapped animal.

He thanks his lucky star that it’s at least only a one-act opera he tries to focus on the performances, but his eyes keep moving back to your neck. Your dress is backless and if he reaches out his hand, he could touch your skin. But doesn’t. Knows you wouldn’t want him to.

When O Mio Babbino Caro starts playing he sees how you lean forward, mesmerized by the beautiful voice of the soprano and he smiles, for he remembers you telling him it’s your favorite aria. But he sees how Freddie puts a hand on your arm, making you sit straight again.

‘Huh’ Timothée thinks and looks at your husband, ‘so this is what pure hatred feels like’. He digs his nails into his hand, leaving little half-moon shaped marks.

Eventually the wretched thing ends and after having applauded the performers and the orchestra you all rise up to leave. You turn and look at him and he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch your cheek, tell you how beautiful you are, how brave and wise and kind, and how undeserving the man next to you is. But he doesn’t.

Once outside it’s decided that you and your husband are going back to George V with your aunt for drinks. Politely you invite him and Lucy but he reclines with a bad excuse. He observes you, and even with your perfectly polite manners it’ like you’re walking around half-asleep, still with that frozen look in your face that’s beginning to scare him. And Christ, you’re just so guarded. You bid your goodbyes, and kissing her cheek he thanks Marguerite for the tickets, but when he tries to say goodbye to you, he can see Freddie’s arm tighten around your wait again. So instead of leaning into a kiss on the cheek he politely bows his head and you and in a gentle voice he says “goodbye then, it was nice seeing you again”. You smile back, eyes glossy and for a moment he wonders if you’re about to cry but a moment later you’ve pulled yourself together and politely bids goodbye to Lucy. And then you’re walking away, Freddie’s arm still around your waist.

* The next morning he goes to visit madam Marguerite, a book in hand. Louise lets him in, looking down on him as usual. “Would you like me to mend this, monsieur?” she asks, both sarcasm and contempt clear in her voice, as she looks takes his coat, indicating the big tear in one of the sides. “If you wouldn’t mind” he answers cheekily and walks past her.

Marguerite is sitting on the terrace eating breakfast, Le Monde in front of her. He puts down his copy of Jane Austen’s Emma in front of her.

“There” he says and sits down in the chair opposite her “your literary soulmate”.

She scoffs “Mr. Knightley really isn’t my type”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles fondly at her “No I shouldn’t think so. And I meant Emma, not Mr. Knightley. You and Emma are the same”. “Oh what utter nonsense!” She burst out, indignant, “I’ve never meddled a day in my life!”

Timothée stares at her in disbelief.

“Honestly!” she defends herself “I didn’t know they were coming to Paris until the day before and then, well, it seemed unnecessary to tell you”.

“You should have warned me she’d be there” he says sternly. “If nothing else then because then I wouldn’t have invited Lucy”.

She has the decency to look ashamed. “Oh, I dare say I should have warned you. But I was afraid you’d cancel, and I needed you to see it with your own eyes.”

“See what?”

She looks him dead in the eye then, a grave look, “the change in her, of course”.

He stays silent, doesn’t know what to say, drags his hands through his hair in distress.

“So” she says after a few moments of silence, “what do you make of Freddie?”

“The words princeling comes to mind”.

She observes him for a second, a sceptic look on her face, “I’m sure that’s not the only word that comes to mind”. He can’t help but smile at that, because she’s right. “True, but those are not words I'd use in front of a lady. She bursts out in laugher. “Darlinh, I practically invented swearing, no need to hold back in front of me.”

“What do you think of him?" He asks instead.

She huffs. “I prefer Picasso”. *

14th of Mars, 1953

Timothée is painting. Specks of yellow and gold adorn his hands and white shirt. The afternoon sun is lighting up the room and Chopin is playing for the first time in months on the record player. The knock on the door startles him, and since he was in the process of painting the details of Lucy’s eyes a stroke of dark paint ends up on her eyebrow as his hand jerks in surprise at the sudden noise.

“Fuck” he swears, and with a great deal of annoyance does he go to open the door.

You look surprised as he flings the door open.

“Sorry” you say, apologetically. “Is this an inconvenient time?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t seem to find his voice, just steps aside, inviting you to come in. You do, and move into the studio. He walks after you, seemingly in a daze.

“Drink?” he asks eventually, interrupting the pressing silence.

“Yes please” you answer. He looks at you, your hair is elegantly styled and your wearing another expensive looking dress. You’re not looking at him though, but instead at the golden portrait of Lucy he’s in the process of making. You don’t say anything. There’s still that still look on your face and it unsettles him.

He hands her a glass of gin. “Where’s dear Freddie then?” he asks, in a feigned nonchalant manner as he offers you a cigarette. You step closer to him so that he can light it. You’re so close he can smell your familiar perfume, and feel the heat from your skin. He looks down on you as you try to get the end to gleam. He can count your eyelashes from this distance, see every single feature in your face, every crook and corner. In the beginning, when you had first come to this studio, he had felt obsessed by the idea of painting your perfect likeness. But the closer he looked at you, the more impossible it felt. “Freddie is at a business function. I was not required” you answer and steps away from him, blowing out smoke into the room. “And where’s your muse?” you ask, and there’s a certain amount of resentment in your voice that you can’t seem to keep at bay.

“Right here” he answers simply, looking at you.

“And Lucy?”

“I don’t know” he responds truthfully. “I got your letter” you say, calmly.

Ah,

“Sorry” he says. “Shouldn’t have sent that. I was drunk”.

You keep looking at him, seemingly deep in thought. And before he loses all courage he asks, “may I paint you again? One last time?” “In what colour?” “In all your colours, just as you are” he answers, and then “I don’t have rose-colored glasses when I look at you anymore”. The room goes very still for a moment. “Do you still want me?” you ask, voice small. And with sincerity clear in his voice he answers. “More than ever”.

“No” you say and put down your drink, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray. “No, I don’t want you to paint me”.

Something twists painfully in his chest.

“That’s not what I want you to do to me” you continue and step closer.

And then you kiss him.

He grabs hold of you and kisses you back, trying to express every ounce of longing he’s felt since you left into the kiss. But he can tell part of you is holding back. “Don’t do that” he says in a low voice, pulling away from you. His eyes are bright and shining. “If you’re with me, you’re with me. Don’t keep foot out the door. If you’re with me; be with me. If you don’t want to be, then you have to leave. I don’t want you half-heartedly. I understand you can’t stay with me longer than today but if you’re with me then don’t keep your mind on him.” You stare at him, taken aback. “Well?” he asks “is this what you want?” Your answer is a red-hot kiss. Your answer is your hands, trying to tear his shirt off of him. Trying desperately to get your hands on his skin and he wants to cry from the sheer relief of feeling you touch him again. Frantically you’re tearing at his clothes. He grips your hands to stop you. “Slowly” he whispers in your ear. He can tell that you’re worked up from your labored breathing, chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes gleaming as you look up at him. The frozen look finally gone. You look alive again. He can tell that all you want right now is for him to lay you down and fuck you as hard and fast as he can. But he doesn’t want to rush this, knows this is all the time he’s going to get. And he feels like a man living on borrowed time. He kisses you, languidly, and your lips taste like gin. He leads you down, so you’re lying on the soft carpet, hovering above you. For ages all you do is kiss, your hands roaming his body, like you can’t stop touching him. Eventually he starts to remove your clothes, the silky material of your dress soft like water in his hands as he takes it off you, sneaking in kisses all over your body as he does so. You in turn help remove his dress shirt and trousers. Until eventually there’s nothing but air separating you. He looks you directly, deep into your eyes “Sure?” he asks, because he must hear it. Couldn’t live with himself if you ended up regretting this. “Yes” you say, voice barely louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t waver. The last rays of golden sunshine lights up the room and maybe it’s his overactive imagination, but he swears the light forms a halo around your head. He’s prowling over you, settled in-between your legs. He thinks you must see, surely you must see, all the wonder in his eyes that he feels when he looks at you. He kisses your sensitive nipples and you shiver in delight. Your hands in his hair and you move up against him, desperate for him to touch more of you. He bites, nips, licks and sucks your breasts, leaving wet traces as he goes and god, he’s missed this; missed you. The taste and feel of your soft skin, your gasps and moans, your hands tugging at his hair. Some part of him, a particularly cynical part of him, thought he’d must have made it up, that in the aftermath of you leaving his brain had beautified the memories of you until you’d reach almost divine proportions. But it was all real.

He grinds his body against yours, fill his hands with your breast, kisses you everywhere he can. He reaches down a hand to the wetness between your legs. “So wet” he murmurs against your skin “have you been thinking about this all day?” He pushes a finger inside you and you buckle up against him in response. “Mon cœur” he continues as he presses wet kisses against your throat, and adds another finger inside you, touching you with expertise in just the way he knows will send sparks of pleasure all down your spine. He remembers exactly how you like to be touched. “I asked you a question”. “Yes” you moan. He looks down on his fingers, moving in and out of you, glistening with your wetness. “Have you missed it?” he asks, voice low, and he speeds up the pace, his thumb moving over your clit. Your head thrown back you let out a deep moan and in a breathless voice you answer “yes, yes, missed it so much”.

Your hair has fallen out of its elegant hairdo, your cheeks flushed and wet and lips swollen from kisses. You look wild and free.

“I’ve been thinking about this, touching you; fucking you, ever since the opera” he leans down and kisses your clit, fingers still moving inside of you. And then he sucks on it and you explode around his fingers, cramping down around them, hips bucking and moans falling freely from your lips.

He strokes your cheek and kisses your face as he lets you catch your breath. Eventually you start kissing him back, softly at first, then ardently. He so hard he feels he could self-combust but as he lines up at your entrance, he looks you in the eye and asks “sure?”

“Never been more certain” you reply, voice like honey, and you wrap your leg around his waist, trying to guide him inside you.

He lets you get used to him, adjust to his size, before he starts moving. Your hands are in his and he can feel your wedding ring against his skin.

You try to incite him to move faster, bucking your hips against him, but he doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t want to go too hard on you.

“I’m not made of porcelain” you hiss, frustrated “you’re not going to hurt me. Fuck me like I'm yours”.

He’s starts fucking you with more force then, grinding where he knows you like it. Your nails are scratching his back, pulling at his hair. Sounds – moans, whimpers and begging's of more – escaping your mouth uninterruptedly. You can’t seem to stop them. He looks down on you and he swears out loud. The good damn sight of you like this, he knows he’ll never get the image out of his head. Knows that in months from now – when you’re back in good old England with your husband and he’s all alone here in this apartment – that he could paint this moment with picture-like perfection. Your glossy eyes filled with bliss, wild hair and flushed skin, lips still painted red and formed in a moan. But he won’t. He’ll let it be a memory, the thought of anyone else seeing that painting too unsettling for words. You come again then, eyes tight shut and head thrown back, mouth wide open in a silent scream. He feels your orgasm, can feel you spasm around him and he swears he’s gone to heaven. And as the final rays of sunlight disappears outside, he calls your name – half prayer half cry– and releases inside you, white hot pleasure racing down his spine, and then the whole room goes dark. The only reasons he knows the world hasn’t ended are your warm and sweaty body beneath him. The only sounds in the whole, wide world are both of your breathless gasps. * After, you put on your clothes in silence, avoiding the others eyes. He feels almost shy. The thing inside his chest is crying, knowing that you’re minutes away from leaving again, that this time it’s forever. How do you do something even though it kills you? “I’m sorry, for everything” you say and it startles him. “For everything?” “Yes. I’m sorry I came back” you avoid his eyes as you speak “well, I’m sorry but I don’t regret that part. And I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’ve never meant to hurt you.” Because it’s the right thing to do.

You are staying with your husband. This is your decision. He can’t force you to leave, or stay. He can’t save you, no matter what Marguerite says. Not when you’re determined to drown. “I’ve loved you wholeheartedly and I have no regrets. I’ve loved you of my own free will. You don’t owe me anything.”

The frozen look is back on your face and your spine straight again, hair fixed in place. You’ve put your armor back on. And like this, you leave.

* 18th of April, 1953

It’s a fine morning in April and Timothée is headed over to madam Marguerite’s apartment, a box of treats from her favourite patisserie in one hand and bouquet of magnolias in the other. Later this week she’s taking him to the opera again, Rossini this time, and he wants to give her something as a thank you.

Outside on the street an ambulance is parked. He walks past it and starts climbing the many stairs to her apartment. When he gets to Marguerite’s floor he’s taken by surprise. The apartment door is wide open and in the doorway stand a sobbing Louise, being comforted by a medic. Dread settles in his stomach.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and he can hear the panic in his own voice. “Where’s madam Marguerite?”

Louise starts sobbing even louder and the kind-looking medic pats her sympathetically on the shoulder.

“She passed away in her sleep last night. This woman here found her this morning”.

Something falls inside Timothée and is lost forever. The ground feels unsteady under his feet and for a second, he waivers. “Have you notified her family?” He asks.

The man shakes his head, “no, not yet”.

“I’ll do it” Timothée says firmly, letting it be known that this isn’t up for discussion.

* “Frederic Fairfax speaking” Freddie’s drawly voice answers when Timothée calls your London address.

“Hello, it’s Timothée Chalamet, could I speak to your wife, it’s urgent”

Silence for ten long seconds.

“No, anything you want to tell her you can tell me” Freddie eventually answers and there’s tension in his voice.

“Is she not in?”

“Yes, she is, but I'd rather you take this with me, Mr. Chalamet”.

“I see” Timmy answers, and he somehow manages to keep the rage he feels out of his voice. “But I have some very distressing and urgent news I have to pass on”.

“Then I suggest you share them with me”

Timothée wants to bang his head against the wall. But he keeps his voice calm. “You see, her greataunt Marguerite has passed away.”

“I see” the other man answers in a cold, unfeeling voice. “Well, if that was all, Mr. Chalamet, good bye.”

And he hangs up.

* May 1st, 1953.

In a red brick building on Chancery Lane, London, Timothée is sitting smoking in an armchair. The solicitor’s office looks like you would imagine a solicitor's office to look like, with oak furniture and cabinets full of files with important documents, outside busy men in suits hustling by and secretaries in pen skirts tapping on their typewriters’.

Madam Marguerite’s solicitor Mr. Lancaster looks on the crowd gathered for the reading of the will.

There’s Timothée, lounging in his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and avoiding looking at you. There’s you, perfectly poised and wearing black, hands clapped in your lap to stop them from shaking. Then there’s your parents, your black-clad mother sniffling into a tissue and your father, with a grave look on his face.

Freddie is nowhere to be seen, and this surprises Timothée.

“Shall we begin?” the solicitor starts, organizing the papers in front of him. There’s a general hum of agreeing from the crown and Mr. Lancaster clears his throat. “Very well then. I had the great fortune of knowing Mrs. Beauchêne-Wright and I considered her a personal friend. She was a remarkable woman” he clears his throat again and Timothée shuffles with his feet, still not understanding why he’s been called to be present at this occasion. “An extraordinary woman” he repeats and look down at the papers in front of him. “Very well then” he says, before beginning to read from the will. “This is the last will of me Marguerite Beauchêne-Wright of 55 Rue de Châteaudun 75009 Paris -”

* It’s raining outside, a gentle but persistent drizzle. TImothée stands under his umbrella and observes as your mother storms off, her husband at her heel, into a taxi. She slams the door and they drive off, water splashing up on the sidewalk. His head feels foggy. The whole situation feels unreal. He’s standing outside the red brick building smoking, trying to get a grip on the situation. In a few hours he has to get back to Victoria station to take the night train back to Paris.

You walk out of the solicitor's office, a dazed look on your face, seemingly not even noticing the rain falling down. You seem him and walk up to him and he lifts his umbrella so you’re under it too.

“Gotta admit, didn’t see that one coming” he states and hands you his cigarette. You take it gratefully and inhale deeply.

“No” you say, some seconds later, “no I didn’t quite see that coming either”. A homourless laugh escapes you. “They’re furious about it” referring to your parents. “Asked if they could contest the will. Mr. Lancaster told them they didn’t have a leg to stand on”. “So” you say and look up at him. “What are you going to do with the money?”

The money. Marguerite’s entire estate divided between him and the woman in front of him. There had been a few smaller bequests to various people and charities, but the absolute majority of the fortune where to be split between you. Even after all the death duties it was by all consideration a fortune.

“Dunno” he answers. ”Haven’t really thought ahead that far”. And then, because he can’t contain his curiosity anymore. “Where’s dear Freddie then?” You’re silent for a moment, avoiding his eyes as you watch the rain create patterns in the puddles. “Freddie’s left.” you say eventually. “He’s seeking for a divorce. God knows he’s got grounds for it.” the cigarette shakes in your trembling hand. “I’ve been a terrible wife all things considered.”

He’s stunned into silence, too much life-altering information having been dropped on him already today. Eventually he gets a hold of himself and states, because he already knows it to be true, “he knows about us, doesn’t he? About what happened in Paris.”

You nod, and two tears fall down your cheeks. “They’re furious with me.”

“Who are?” he asks, confused.

“My family” “Why?”

A grimace, then “doesn’t matter”. Drop the cigarette on the ground and stomp it out. “Mr. Lancaster says we have to go to Nice. Apparently, most of her possessions are there and we need to go through them. He says that since we own the house now, we can live in it while we do so”.

He observes her for a moment. “I have an exhibition in Paris this month, I can’t leave before that’s done.”

You smile, but it’s still devoid of humour. “And I have a divorce to settle.”

The rain keeps falling around them.

“How about this” you say “we’ll go there in July, a summer on the riviera doesn’t sound too bad, and we’ll...” you trail of for a second “and we’ll settle everything then”.

Gently he puts his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up so that you look at him. You look as if you’re bursting at the seams, like you’re at your last straw. “Alright” he says and leans in to gently press a kiss on your forehead. “Alright, sounds like a plan”. And then he looks you in the eyes again “Everything will be alright, you know. Everything will be fine”.

You smile again, and this time it’s more genuine. Then you lean in, and place the softest of kisses on his mouth.

Then you leave. A/N: jesus christ, I spent a good 25 minutes of my life googling the rules of aristocratic titles in England. Freddie’s father is an earl, that makes freddie as the oldest son a baron and his wife a baronet? Right? If that’s not correct then, well, sorry, but those rules are mind boggling.

Other things I've googled a lot is the language of flowers and what different flowers symbolizes.

That ‘Swedish saying’ timmy refers to in his letter is not a saying but in fact from a song by Veronica Maggio called Stopp and very badly translated by me.

Also. I know that timothée’s letter is a bit... disturbing, but the thought of it wouldn't leave my mind so I had to write it.

I am planning on writing the last part, but this story always takes a lot of effort to write so it’ll be a while.

#timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee x y/n #timothee chalamet x reader #timothèe chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée x you #timothée chalamet #timothee imagine #timothee fanfic

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kailedger · 4 years

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for all the YOI fanfic author, p.2

Oh wow, let me tell you, I really didn't expect the previous post on Russian culture to blow up ahaha (Here’s the link to it, in case you’re wondering: https://kailedger.tumblr.com/post/621351027189350400/for-all-the-yoi-fanfic-authors) But since it did, I decided to make a part two, sort of? It's not gonna be about mistakes in fanfiction, but more about things English-speaking authors don't mention simply because they don't know they exist.

I’ll give you the general info and then maybe throw some thoughts about how specific YOI characters would relate to that info in my personal opinion.

HOLIDAYS. We have a lot of those TBH, but I'll mention the most important ones - the ones for which we have official days off. I mean, yeah, you can find a list of those in Wikipedia, if you want, but it doesn't actually tell you the reality of things. I've already mentioned the New Year in the previous post, so let’s skip it.

23rd of February is the Defender of the Fatherland Day. It's actually for those who served in the army, but the tradition is to congratulate everyone who's male. Must have something to do with the fact that on 8th of March we have an International Women's Day, when we congratulate everyone who's female. Doesn't really make sense to me, since, you know, there are women in the army too. And a lot of men haven't served a day in their life, what the hell do I have to thank them for? (Here's an example: my dad used to be in the navy, submarine's captain actually, and every year when I congratulate him, he says something along the lines of "Why? There was no war conflict when I served". That's him being humble, but still, the point is there).

ANYWAY! We're not very big on celebrations of these two holidays, most of the time you just give a call to your respective male/female friends and relatives, give flowers to the ladies and just... enjoy your day off?

Next one is the May holidays. Those are usually on the 1-3 of May, the official name (as Wiki states) is "The Day of Spring and Labour". Honestly, no one uses it lol We just say "the first May holidays" (since we also have the second, that's how much we don't wanna work in May; kinda ironic the holiday is called "the day of labour").

You don't congratulate anyone on this day, usually you just have a couple of days off. If we're lucky, the weather would be nice and then people go to the countryside to have a (oh my god, this is gonna be a mouthful) SHASHLYKI. We'll get back to this thing, and you know why? Since if you want someone to embrace the real Russian culture, you would make them go to shashlyki, trust me.

The second May holiday is the Victory Day, and it's kinda... controversial in a way. It is a big celebration for the victory in World War II. Soviet Union suffered a lot during the war with the Nazi Germany, St. Petersburg was under the siege for more than TWO YEARS. And this holiday is both somber and happy since thanks to our ancestors we survived this hell and are now able to live in peace. The celebration is pretty big on official levels - there are military parades everywhere, concerts, people thank the war veterans (there are precious few of them left by now). When I was still in school, they made us visit those parades every year. Guess what? I've never been to a single parade since I graduated. It's not that I don't value the heroism of people who fought in WWII, it's that I think our government uses this holiday to brag how great we are (or, rather, THEY are), 'cause they haven't done anything worth of praise since 1945, which is... depressing, when you think of it. The ridiculous thing is the parade was canceled this year due to coronavirus, but GUESS WHAT? They've used BILLIONS OF DOLLARS to still have it on 24th of June. While the rate of people getting sick is still abnormally high. All because on the 1st of July we're having a vote on the constitution amendments and our government needs an extra boost in patriotism from our people (should I mention some of the amendments are homophobic? Yeah, it sucks).

Well... that was a rant completely offtopic lol. But, you know, this is the opinion of the most people below the age of 35. Also a huge problem here in Russia. Anyway, as I was saying. Used to be a really great holiday where we thanked the veterans and were reminded of the price they paid. Now it's just a sad excuse for the government to waste money sigh

So, a day off. Some fireworks, a hell lot of traffic problems due to parades. Not much else, if you're from the younger generation.

Same thing goes to the 12th of June. Officially a "Russia Day", but since up until the point I graduated from the uni I had summer holidays, I barely even acknowledged the holiday, cause I didn't have to study/work anyway. So like... I lived my whole life here in Russia, and I have no idea why we celebrate this holiday on the 12th of June. I can google it right now, but that kind of would contradict my point here lol.

The last one is on the 3-4 of November. I think it's called something like "Unity Day", but, again, no idea why. Most of the time we just call it "the November holidays" or even "fall holidays". Honestly, most of the time we just care about the days off, especially if the holiday is supposed to be "patriotic". (When I put it like this, we kinda sound like assholes. Probably cause we are lol).

Birthdays mainly depend on the specific person. I used to love my birthdays and it was a big holiday for me when I was a kid, but then I turned 18 and it kinda lost its charm. You still celebrate it, especially if the date is something like 30, 35, 40, 45 and so on. But it gets less and less exciting over the years. I gather my friends at home and just have drinks, my fiance goes to a bar on his birthday. Not very... celebratory, ya know?

So. YOI characters. ALL OF THEM would definitely celebrate New Year. They would probably send some congratulations on 23rd of February and 8th of March. It you think of the Russian rinkmates as friends, they can go the countryside together on the first May holidays, but not actually do anything on the Victory Day (Yakov may attend the parade since he’s from the older generation). Nothing specific to do on 12th of June or November holidays, most likely the rink would be closed, so, like, just a day off.

And now to the important stuff. SHASHLYKI. Oh my god guys, I’m so excited, cause this is one of those things that is AWESOME in Russian culture. And also makes most of the foreigners really confused. But it has some similarities with the American barbeque gatherings, I think.

First of all, many of us live in big cities (like I live in St. Petersburg for example), but we still have countryside houses. Sometimes it’s where our grandparents live, sometimes we buy it specifically. The thing is – we usually go to these places we call “dacha” to have some rest from the noise of the big city and enjoy the fresh air. Usually dachas have gardens, my mom is crazy about all this greenery stuff (I personally don’t see what’s the big deal with taking care of the plants, but I was told it comes with age ;D).

And to enjoy the experience even more we have shashlyki. It’s usually grilled meat (chicken, pork, whichever you prefer) and vegetables, but the process is what makes it really fun. Most families have their own recipes for marinated meat, you prepare it beforehand. Then, on the day, you make some snacks (salted pickles and fresh vegetables come to my mind immediately; pickles are like a must-have, it’s almost an obligatory food since it goes really well with vodka lol). While some of the people sit around the table, have drinks and catch up, there’s usually one person responsible for grilling meat. And this process is very important – it’s gotta be cooked on the brazier with actual flame (or, more like, coals). You put pieces of meat on a metallic skewer and then grill it (I think there’s the word “kebab”, but we usually use it to describe an entirely different meal, so, shashlyk it is). And let me tell you – having a freshly grilled shashlyk with some vegetables and a drink like wine (or vodka if you’re into it) is the best feeling in the world.

So you’re enjoying the fresh air, really tasty meal, have some drinks with family or/and friends. A pretty common thing (not for everyone, but I personally love it) is having someone play the guitar and sing songs around the campfire. The songs we sing are usually either stupid or old, and you would never just casually listen to those on your own, but when the time comes and you sit with the guitar, somehow EVERYONE knows the lyrics. The point is to have fun, not make a concert out of it :)

I actually think that Victor and the rest of the gang would at least try to give Yuuri (and other non-Russians, who knows) this kind of experience. I also headcanon someone (Otabek or maybe Victor himself) knowing how to play the guitar. But I wouldn’t trust Victor with the grilling, honestly, it requires a lot of attention, and… well… you all know what Victor is like ;D

And since we’re on the topic of music, let’s discuss it. Me and a dear friend of mine @clarie-foster, who also happens to be both Russian and a YOI fan, had a lot of headcanons on this.

What you need to know, is when it comes to music, here in Russia we’re pretty flexible. The popular music is the one you can here everywhere, it’s on European and American charts, like, I dunno, Beyonce, Ed Sheeran, Gaga etc. There’s Russian pop-music and, honestly, it sucks lol. Most of the time I listen to it cause it’s dumb and catchy. There are some good artists, of course, I can throw you a couple of name bands like “Ночные Снайперы”, “Сплин”, “Би-2”, but the songs are in Russian, and although the lyrics are pretty damn good, they’re kinda hard to understand if you don’t know the language (I mean, just reading the translation won’t give you the whole experience). And those bands are… depressing? In a way? Not that the songs are extremely dark or something, but you kind of listen to those in a melancholic mood. Me and one of my best friends used to go out on the balcony in summer, sit wrapped in a blanket and listen to those songs. Great experience, if a little sad.

BUT. There’s the old pop-music. We have some of those artists, who were really popular when my parents were young and somehow still popular these days. Their music is honestly average – the tunes might be catchy, the lyrics are mediocre at best, but… when you have a little bit to drink, you get in that mood, where you start singing those old pop-songs. And it’s not like listening to ABBA or, I don’t know, A-ha, since those are classic and still good these days. Russian pop-songs SUCK, they’re horrible, but somehow that is the best kind of music when you’re drunk.

I personally think Victor is one of those people who would totally jam to the old Russian pop. It’s funny, since most of it is from female singers (There’s literally a song from a Russian singer Irina Allegrova called “Go crazy, wild empress”, no kidding). I just can picture him so clearly being drunk and singing those old songs with abandon lol.

Mila would probably join him while laughing hysterically. Georgi too, since he’s a drama queen. And Yuri would make all kinds of disgusted faces.

Two facts which I have never seen being mentioned in fanfiction, which is really weird. So Victor lives in St. Petersburg, as we all saw from those last scenes in the anime (in the background you can see actual places from St. P like our sports stadium). And St. Petersburg is mostly known for two things: bridges and white nights.

WHITE NIGHTS OH MY GOD. I don’t want to go to deep into the details since I don’t really understand the nature of this thing (something to do with sun not really going down? I dunno), but in summer, especially in June and July it basically doesn’t get dark in St. Petersburg. I mean, the sun does go down, you can see the sunset and everything, but the sky stays like… white-grey, almost as though it’s midday, just cloudy. Like we’re in the middle of white nights right now, and the darkest hour is around 1 am, but even then it doesn’t really get dark at all. A lot of people from other cities and countries get confused by it, like, there was this time when Stephen Colbert was a guest on a Russian talk-show and he had a hilarious convo with the host. It was something like this: “So I’ve been in St. Petersburg for one day. It has lasted for 46 hours. Please tell me if the sun will ever go down, ‘cause I’m going crazy”.

For us common people white nights can get really annoying, if your curtains are not black-out, you can have a hard time falling asleep (since, you know, it’s too freaking bright outside). But it’s actually really great for late-night walks and is considered really romantic.

And, speaking of romantic, the bridges! What’s so special about those, you’d think. So St. Petersburg is built on the river Neva – it’s like really big, has a lot of tributaries and distributaries and flows through the whole city. Hence why we have tons of bridges.

And those bridges are drawing bridges, meaning they are separated in the middle by a special mechanism and are being lifted in the air so that the trade ships can pass underneath them. The most impressive one is the Palace Bridge – it’s one of the main sightseeing spots in the city. For most tourists it’s obligatory to visit St. Petersburg and see the drawing of the Palace Bridge. It happens at night, around the time of 1 am or 2 am. It’s really pretty, cause there are lights everywhere, you can see the ships passing by and the view of this huge structure being lifted in the air is really magnificent. Combine it with the white nights and you’ll have one of the most romantic dates you can have here in Russia.

(On the more realistic and depressing note: despite the drawing of the bridges being really beautiful, it’s SUCH a pain in the ass for the regular people. Like, because of the drawing you can’t really get from one side of the city to another. For example, I live in the northern part and if for some reason I couldn’t get to it from the center of the city before the drawing of the bridges, I’m stuck till like 4 or 5 am. Subway only opens at 6 am, and although we have a couple of bridges which never draw, those are on the outskirts of the city, so taking an uber and driving there would cost you a lot of money and also would take like and extra hour or so. Thankfully, the drawing of the bridges lasts only from April to October-November, while the ship navigation on the Neva river is possible).

Last, but not least, SOCIAL MEDIA.

So, like, Instagram is pretty popular in Russia and so is Twitter. But what people rarely mention is our own social media site – Vkontakte (www.vk.com, if you’re interested). It started to become popular in like… 2008, I think? Basically it used to be and knock-off from Facebook, even the color scheme is the same. It became more and more popular over the years, since Facebook was never really a thing in Russia (like, I had a profile there, but I’ve never used it). Now it’s like… if you don’t have a VK profile, it’s super weird lol. I communicate with most of my friends through it, since it has a lot of really cool features: chats, group chats, communities, music, videos and photos. It’s gotten so big that VK even hosts its own music festival each year with a lot of popular Russian artists.

Victor is a social butterfly, so he would definitely have a VK profile. So would Mila, Yuri and Georgi, I personally think most of their communication would be through it. Maybe they would even force Yuuri to create a profile, but he’s not really into social media much, so he wouldn’t really use it.

I think that’s it for now. Like I said, if you have any questions, feel free to ask, I would be happy to answer! ;)

#yoi #yuri on ice #yuuri on ice #victor nikiforov #viktor nikirofov #yuuri katsuki #victuuri #viktuuri #yuri plisetsky #mila babicheva #georgi popovich #and all this russia-related stuff

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soupyboysforlife · 4 years

Text

The Little Angel

Summarry: An AU where Dean transfers to Castiel’s school. They quickly fall in love with each other but keep those feelings hidden out of fear that they won’t be reciprocated. Dean winds up in a terrible accident and goes into a comatose state in which Cas cares for him anonymously.

This fic was inspired by the song Class Clown by Anthony Amorim.

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Chapter 1

An attractive boy with black hair sat in the back corner of the semi-crowded class. He was staring out a nearby window. There was a look of disinterest shrouded on his slightly stubbly face. He was the first thing Dean noticed as he walked into the noisy and crowded class. Some students looked his way when he entered the classroom. The teacher cleared his throat to introduce the new student. They quickly silenced, turning to the front to face the pair. Dean was nervous but he smiled at them confidently. He was used to moving around and going to new schools. Dean’s gaze wandered over the other students before returning to the attractive boy who hadn’t bothered looking towards the front.

“Everyone I’d like you to meet Dean Winchester,” the teacher said, gesturing towards Dean, “Please take a seat.”

Dean sat in the empty seat in front of the boy hoping to strike up a conversation. Before he got the chance some other kids by him started to introduce themselves. Dean introduced himself to them.

Castiel’s morning had been uneventful as usual. He didn’t have any friends in his first-class today. Instead of gossiping about the new kid, he stared out the window listening to the hushed whispers of girls debating about what he would look like. Cas finally glanced at the front of the classroom when Mr. Shurley cleared his throat. By his side was a boy. His eyes were scanning the students. Cas looked back out the window. Sure the boy was cute but Cas had no intention of talking to him. Not at the moment at least.

Mr. Shurley introduced him, “Everyone I’d like you to meet Dean Winchester. Please take a seat.”

The name registered in the back of Cas’s head just in case he needed to know it. Cas only moved when Dean sat down in front of him. He looked at him in surprise. There were a lot of other empty seats in the classroom. He dismissed the thought creeping up in his head. Cas’s heart was beating quickly.

After Dean was done talking to the other people in front of him he turned around and smiled.

He was even cuter up close. Cas tried his hardest not to blush, though he was sure some of the heat made it to his cheeks. Dean had beautiful green eyes that were crinkled with his perfect smile. His cheek and jawbones were sharp. There was a light sprinkle of freckles brushing his face.

“Hi, I’m Dean,” he said, reaching out his hand for a handshake.

“I know. I’m Castiel.” Cas responded as he gingerly shook the other boy’s hand. Sparks. He must have imagined that.

“Castiel, huh? Weird name” Dean said with a slightly confused look on his face.

“Yeah, like the angel. My family’s religious.” Cas shrugged.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Cas.” Dean said with a wink before turning back to the front of the class as Mr. Shurley began the lesson.

Cas was sure his face was as red as a tomato. He spaced out for the rest of the day, thinking of the green eyes and calloused skin that belonged to the new kid.

And so the crush began.

“Cas’’ a whisper.

That smile.

“Cas.” slightly louder.

Those green eyes.

“Cas!” a yell, this time he was being shaken.

Cas had been lost in his thoughts of Dean Winchester. He finally snapped back to reality. Gabriel, Castiel’s best friend, was shaking his arm.

“Dude, you okay? What’s wrong?” Gabe asked.

“N-nothing.” Cas managed to get out.

“Is it the new kid? Did he hurt you?” Gabe interrogated, this time with a look of concern and rage.

“No! Nothing like that.” Castiel assured him. It had been a couple of weeks since Dean had transferred to their school. He’d started a few weeks after the second semester began. Cas had noticed the air getting warmer. Spring was on its way along, bringing along Promposals and a new set of gossip.

“Well, what the-” Gabriel started, his face quickly changed from confusion to realization, “Ooooh. You like him.”

Cas’s only response was his face turning a light pink. Gabriel and most other students at Heaven’s Gates High had known that the blue-eyed boy was gay for years. His sexuality wasn’t a secret. Luckily, no one seemed to care about it.

“D’aw, you two would make the cutest couple.” Gabe teased, earning a glare from Cas, “You should ask him to prom.”

Somehow that thought made Castiel’s face impossibly redder. He glanced over to where Dean was sitting with some of the school jocks. He was laughing at a joke one of them made. Dean made eye contact, making Cas look away quickly. Heat radiated from his cheeks as he felt the green eyes staring at him. Instead of looking back he turned to Gabe and leaned his head on the table.

“I can’t. He’s probably straight, even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be interested in me.” Cas sighed sadly.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cas. I’m sure he’d like you if he wasn’t straight. Hell, I would like you if I was gay.” Gabriel stated with complete confidence, making Castiel chuckle.

“Thanks, I think,” Cas answered.

“Anytime,” Gabe reassured him.

That conversation helped Cas get through the rest of the day with a relatively peaceful mindset.

It had been a few weeks since Dean had started at the new high school. He was already pretty popular, though he doubted that he’d be able to maintain the popularity for much longer. That’s how it has been so far in his high school career. This was his, 4th? Maybe 5th high school. Luckily, this was his senior year and he wouldn’t have to worry about school much longer. His plan was to pass high school and carry on the family business.

Dean’s thoughts made their way back to the group of jocks he was sitting with. Dean was relatively good at football. He had just joined the school's team and was now attempting to bond with some of the players. One of them, Benny, had just made a joke. Dean hadn’t been paying attention to it but he laughed anyway.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Sensing a pair of eyes watching him, he quickly scanned the lunchroom. He quickly found the source. It was Castiel, the cute boy from his pre-calc class. Dean quickly decided to take a shot at flirting from a distance, but the other boy had already looked away. Dean’s face fell a little. He sat, staring in disappointment for a moment longer, hoping the blue-eyed boy would look at him again. When he didn’t Dean rejoined his teammates’ conversation with an awkward chuckle.

Lunch was over too quickly but he only had one more class for the day.

Dean never paid attention in Economics. It had to be the most boring class that he had. Lucky for him it wasn’t hard to distract himself from the seemingly eternal boringness of the class. His eyes dragged across the board at the front of the room. They picked out every small detail, eventually coming to a stop at the date on the edge of the board. Wednesday, February 12th. Two more days before the weekend. He sighed in defeat. The only thing he had to look forward to was pre-calc in the morning. Dean’s mind wandered to the handsome boy who sat behind him.

A smile crept along Dean’s face as he thought of the details on the boy's face. How he turned pink when they saw each other.

Dean imagined cornering the smaller boy, trapping him between Dean’s body and the wall. He pictured those perfect blue eyes staring up at him innocently as he leaned down and pressed his lips against the plump, pink ones. Moistening the chapped lips with his tongue. Maybe he’d run his hands along the boy’s hips and back. Kissing the scruff along his jaw and neck. Fingers slowly exploring every nook and cranny of-

Fuck

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He took a few deep breaths. His mind searched for other things to think about.

Dean heard the chair behind him squeak over the monotone script of his teacher.

“Hey, Dean.” a low voice said behind him with a nudge to his shoulder, “You going to Adam’s party?”

He turned his eyes and head slightly to put a name to the voice. It was Kevin.

“Dunno man, when is it?” Dean responded.

“This weekend. You gotta ride?”

“Yeah man, text me the address,” Dean said. Maybe he’d be able to pick up a chick or two to take his mind off the blue-eyed boy for a while. Dean’s cell phone pinged with the texted address.

“Thanks.” Dean smiled.

The next day Dean stumbled, tiredly, into his pre-calc class. Usually, he didn’t arrive so early but his Dad had an early meeting and a busted tire, so he and his little brother, Sammy, were dropped off at school early. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Finally noticing how empty the room was. The only people there were Castiel and Mr. Shurley. Cas was at his desk using his hands as a pillow. While Mr. Shurley graded some papers.

“You’re here early, Mr. Winchester.” the older man commented without looking up from his papers.

“Uh, yeah. My dad had an early meeting and had to borrow my car.” Dean responded with a chuckle.

This time Mr. Shurely looked up from the paper and folded his hands before answering. “I don’t recall asking. Now have a seat. I need to finish grading these.” He gestured towards Dean’s desk before going back to his writing. He made his way to the desk in front of the boy.

Cas still had his head resting on his hands. Upon closer inspection, Dean realized he was asleep. Cas’s back was rising and falling steadily under the large, blue-grey sweatshirt he was wearing. Dean leaned a little over his desk while putting his bag down to look at Castiel’s face. His usually blue eyes were closed gently. His long lashes reached for the bags resting under them. Dean’s eyes wandered down towards the man's plump, chapped lips. They were slightly parted. A small trickle of drool ran out from between them, getting caught in the light stubble on his jaw before trickling onto the back of his hand. A light snore emitted from the parted lips with every breath.

Dean smiled and let out a small chuckle at the sight. He had to force down the temptation to reach out and wipe away the spittle. Dean’s chair creaked loudly when he sat down making him wince. Castiel immediately sat up. His ocean blue eyes looked dazed from sleep. They stared directly at Dean for a while, not fully registering what was happening. Dean felt his face start to heat up as he tried to hold back a laugh. Cas made a sudden gasp of realization. His eyes cleared and widened as his cheeks began to turn pink. He wiped the drool from his cheek and ran out of the classroom.

Dean sat, unmoved, at his desk. Wondering if that actually happened. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the other boy’s messy bedhead and dazed out, sleepy face. If that wasn’t relatable he wasn’t sure what was.

Mr. Shurley let out a ‘tsk’ of annoyance as Castiel ran out of the room. Dean stooped down and unzipped the front pocket of his bag, grabbing some cash from it before zipping it back up. He stood and walked out the door. Dean tugged on the bottom of his ridden up T-shirt as he wandered down the hall to the Cafeteria. His eyes quickly scanned the lunchroom in search of some kind of vending machine. He finally spotted one and bought two Gatorades. One was purple, the other light blue. He wandered haphazardly around the halls, looking for Castiel. He gave up after a few minutes and went back to the classroom. It had a few more kids in it then before but it was still pretty empty. Dean looked over towards his desk. He smiled when he saw Castiel sitting in the desk behind his. Cas looked a little more cleaned up. His hair was more controlled and his eyes were more alert. The dribble remains from his nap earlier had been washed away. Upon seeing Dean his face grew red once again as he tried to sink into his seat further to hide from view. Dean chuckled. Damn, this boy was cute.

Once he reached his desk and sat down he turned around. Castiel had his long sleeves pulled up to his fingertips. He held his hands in front of his eyes in embarrassment.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” Dean teased, hoping for a reaction out of the other boy, “I got you something.”

He set down the two bottles on Cas’s desk. Cas peeked out from behind his hands curiously before reaching out and taking the purple Gatorade with a muttered thanks. He struggled to open it for a second and Dean hid his smile by taking a sip of his own Gatorade. He smacked his lips loudly and inspected the bottle, wishing they sold something stronger. They sat in silence for the rest of the class.

Stand by for part 2!

#destiel smut #destiel fluff #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel feels #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #cas #i love these idiots #its unhealthy #i spend way too much time on this #this is a cry for help #someone love me or i might write the forever to fill the emotional void in my heart #supernatural #spn #fanfic

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blxxdyvalentine19xx · 3 years

Text

Internet Killed The Rockstar - Mod Sun Album Review by blxxdyvalentine19xx

Derek “Mod Sun” Smith’s 11 track Album Internet Killed The Rockstar debuted at midnight on February 12th, 2021, compared to his usual Hippy Hop as he calls it, IKTR is a much more Punk Rock sound. It opens with the lead single “Karma”, followed by both “Bones” and “Flames” I woke up this morning and hopped onto Spotify to give it a listen to.

Karma: The opening track to the album, Angry and loud. I didn’t much care for it at first, It took me a while to love this one. His ex girlfriend was quick to jump onto youtube with a storytime video, in which she suggests it’s about her, some believe it to be and others believe it to be about Bella Thorne. I was under the impression that Mod and Tana were on good terms last year so I don’t really know, I’m more convinced that it’s about Bella. It’s a banger of an opening track though.

Bones: There’s a lot to this song, I remember the teaser he released for this piece. I’ve listed to the song almost as i have to that teaser. He explains in the breakdown of the track that it sounds like what the first few seconds before a car crash feels like, calm. This song absolutely put me through it, I lost a family member to a motor vehicle accident a few years back and never really moved on from it. Somehow through this song, Mod brought me the ability to heal from it and move on from the weight I carried with the accident. So thank you Mod Sun for a track so beautiful.

Flames (Ft Avril Lavigne): The only feature on the entire album and it’s a literal piece of art! It starts out with Avril’s melodic voice before jumping into Mod Sun’s explosive screaming vocals in the post-chorus. His vocals on this track doesn’t make me love it any less, in fact i’m in love with the track. Mod threw all he had at this track and gave us something that will hopefully stand the test of time. As many times as I have heard this song, I never tire of it.Avril has been the voice of a couple generations now and It’s amazing to see such a powerful collaboration as this one.

Betterman: I don’t know, I’m not really feeling this track so I don’t have a lot to say about it. He does say in it that someone makes him want o be a better man and that the same person saves him.To be nice about it I’m saying little about it. He does say at one point that he doesn’t want to die lonely, that’s a line i can vibe with, being lonely is one of the worst feelings in the world. It’s a beautifully worded track.

Prayer: I just listened to this song again, there’s a part of me that feels the message Mod puts out. I’ve saw what those white lines do to people, I nearly lost a friend to them in high school so Mod hit me with a load of built up emotions here. My life had been impacted by someone who hit their worst on drugs and I carry those thoughts everyday. The way he delivers this track is melodic and gives you a way to look positively on your future. Every action is a reaction. I know i’m rambling but I don’t know just how to word what this song does to me, it makes me feel numb as I reflect on things I’ve been through. 2020 was my year to find my a better path and jut like Mod, I’m trying desperately to try on it.I wasn’t in a good place and this song feels like what my past was in words.

TwentyNUMB: It sounds to me like it starts out as a rap track before quickly reminding me of ‘Circles” by post malone mixed with an early 2000��s track that I can’t remember the name of now. As of right now I don’t have a clear explanation of the track. It’s good but it’ll have to grow on me. It may to chaotic for me as I’m neurodiverget and there’s so much to try and focus on in this that I start to get panicky and can’t focus on the lryics of it at all. it’s upbeat though so that’s a good thing.

Smith: We know this is about his father from the voice intro it carries. The lyrics carry you through a mostly negative father - son relationship, as it progresses, Mod goes on to say there will always be a room in his house for his late father. It’s a tough one for me as my relationship with my father is beginning to fade and this song brings up the pain that i’ve endured the past few years seeing the father I once knew and loved change into a man I no longer know. I can’t help but cry hearing the pain in Mod’s voice when he delivers this track, even though my father is still living, i’m tasked with having to grieve the man I looked up to and that’s what this song does for me, it’s started the process of me letting go of what I have to for my sake. I don’t know how much longer I have with my father due to his health but this sing will forever make me think of him. No matter what a parent puts us through, there’s still that little kid locked inside us that loves them no matter what.

Rollercoaster: I’ve linked the song. The lyrics explain themself. Noting I can really say about it aside from being proud of Mod and the effort he’s made to staying sober.

Annoying: Shit’s cute! I will definitely be dancing around my kitchen to this song. It’s such a feel good song. My one qualm about it though is the “ for your eyes only” line, the One Direction fan in me only ever hears “ass” instead of “eyes” I can’t do much else but laugh over the line because of it. The song sounds as id Mod is declaring unrequited love to whoever this mystery girl he speaks of in numerous lyrics across the album. Whoever she is, she must be pretty damn special. The bridge make sit sounds as thought she makes him tongue tied when all he wants to do is tell her how much he loves her. Overall, Annoying is a really cute song.

Pornstar: This song starts out with Mod portraying himself as a really kind of shit guy, from missing his girls birthday to not being there after her surgery, like man, that’s low. The lyrics later sate that he’ll make up for his dickish behavior and fuck her like a pornstar, now we can assume he’s referring to himself as the pornstar here. He also talks about her sending him a paragrah every morning, he barely reads it and sends the ever dreaded one word answer, I’m a guy and that boils my blood, i’m a romantic at heart and a poet, one word answers are my least favourite thing. The chorus to Pornstar is damn well catchy almost as catchy as herpes, thank you to @triplexdoublex for that golden line. it’s been out a little over a day now and it’s already my fifth most listened to song, that’s saying something.

Internet Killed The Rockstar: I was in a dream driving in my Ford Explorer at 16 years old by myself. I snuck out of the house, not to go fucking spray-paint the side of a building or go meet up with a girl. No, so I could go ride around my city and scream the lyrics of a song and pretend that it was my song. That’s literally what I did as a kid. The song that was playing was ‘Internet Killed the Rockstar.’It painted the story of when the kid inside me essentially died and turned into a person that was living in a new age. I grew up quickly, but I’ve remained able to be in touch with this childlike sense inside me. [The song] is my tribute to the kid who literally thought he was never going to make it. And guess what? You made it! You made it. Direct quote from Mod’s Genius Music page. Nothing more to be said here other than I feel this on a personal level, I was in a place once where I never once thought I’d see my senior year of high school let alone where I am today. I’ve had to grow up quick lately and this song gives me comfort.

#mod sun #internet killed the rockstar #moive #album review #my thoughts #avril lavigne #punk rock

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rachelroams · 4 years

Text

I HAD COVID-19. THIS WAS MY EXPERIENCE.

Important note: my story is just one story. There are many people experiencing coronavirus, and each one of those narratives is valuable.

And, while each of our stories may provide a window into an individual experience, together—as compiled by experts—those stories allow for vetted, reliable data.

Please look to the tried-and-tested knowledge from medical professionals as you navigate this health crisis.

And remember: I’m just a regular person who had an experience and wanted to invite you into the fold.

***

THE BEGINNING

That photo was shot four days before my symptoms began. It was March 10th, and I was on assignment in South Carolina. I had just wrapped a public speaking engagement in NYC. The U.S. was still figuring out how seriously to take the Covid-19 threat, so storefronts, mass transit, and most of the world as we knew it was still open for business.

By March 12th, as I traveled home to the West Coast, Trump had announced a travel ban on flights from Europe, and things were starting to get serious in the States. I made a plan to self-quarantine for 14 days so that any potential germs I might have brought back from NYC didn’t get passed on to others.

THE ONSET

On March 14th, I noticed I had a light headache and muscle aches. I attributed them to post-travel fatigue and went on with my day. Within a few days, however, my body aches grew notably worse, I was constantly exhausted, and I was starting to have trouble sleeping.

By the 18th, my body was in full decline, and the pile-on of symptoms got scary fast. I had the symptoms that most of the news stories list—fever, aches, cough—plus a whole bunch more. (A full list of symptoms is in the next section.)

Between March 18-25, I fell into the void that is Covid-19. I ran a 102-degree fever for seven days. I had chills. Shivering. Fever dreams that looped, and looped, and looped again. Body aches severe enough that extra-strength acetaminophen did nothing lessen them.

One day somewhere in the middle of that time frame, a cough came on so strong and fast that I had to avoid talking, sitting up, or even moving. Those actions agitated the coughing to an extreme. My body became fatigued enough that I eventually couldn’t stand, walk, or even sit up for longer than a minute or two at a time. I wanted to sleep constantly, but never got past 4-5 hours without waking up in need of more pain or cough medication.

THE SYMPTOMS

Here’s the full list of symptoms I experienced. They’re not all pretty, but they were all present.

Fever Cough Body aches Headaches Exhaustion Chills Night sweats Fever dreams Diarrhea Loss of appetite Clammy skin Red ring around eyes Loss of sense of smell Inability to sit up, stand, or walk Sensation that joints weren’t connected Sensation that knee caps were going to slide off my legs

(Yes, those last two are strange. Yes, they were part of my experience.)

THE TEST

My symptoms were notable enough that on March 19th, my husband called Urgent Care and asked what they would advise we do. After an interview about my condition and travel history, nursing staff said we should come in that afternoon.

At the staff’s instruction, my husband Todd put on a mask and gloves, and entered the hospital to register me as a patient. I was asked to stay in the car so that I didn’t come into contact with more people than necessary. After Todd returned to the car, a nurse called my cell phone and interviewed me about my symptoms and recent travel history. Based on my answers, we were waved through to the drive-through testing tent.

Nurses in gowns, face shields, masks and gloves approached the car and asked me to remove my mask. They took my temperature, listened to my lungs, confirmed my symptoms, and called a doctor to the tent. While the doctor ran through my list of my symptoms, triple-checking what we had described to the nursing staff, he inquired about my travel history. When I listed New York, he paused, turned away from us, and yelled, “We’re gonna need a Covid test here! This one’s been to New York.”

First, I was given a conventional flu test, and informed that it would be processed within the next few hours. If it came back positive, the hospital would assume I had the flu. If it came back negative, they would assume it was coronavirus and ship my Covid test out for processing.

The Covid-19 test was… uncomfortable. To test a person, medical staff inserts a 6-inch swab deep into the nasal cavity until it reaches the nasopharynx/upper throat, rotating it several times over the course of 10-15 seconds to gather a sufficient sample, and sometimes repeating the procedure with a new swab in the second nasal cavity. Normally fairly stoic, I had to be reminded to breathe during this process, wiping tears away as the doctor dipped my swab into a sealed pouch and passed it to the nurse.

The image below shows the handout I received following my test.

THE RESULTS

Within a few hours of our drive-through experience, we received a call from Urgent Care informing us that my flu test had come back negative. Next, they would be sending out my Covid-19 for processing. We were told that we would have to wait 5-10 days for results. The national average for results turnaround was five days at the time of testing (March 19).

In the meantime, we were instructed to stay home and treat the symptoms ourselves. The only exception would be if I started experiencing extreme shortness of breath (as per the nurses: “[feeling like I had run a marathon while sitting still, or feeling like I was suffocating]”), at which point we were to return to the hospital seeking intensive care. Barring that, we were to continue self-quarantine until both my husband and I were symptom-free for at least 72 hours. (Thankfully, Todd never developed symptoms.)

Over the next two weeks, we had a series of follow-up calls with nursing staff. On March 25th, I was told my test had been sent from Oregon to a North Carolina LabCorp facility, where it was “in process.” At that point, I was informed it would be closer to 12 days before I would receive results due to an inundation of tests needing processing at East Coast facilities.

Over the next couple calls, however, it became clear something strange was happening. On call two, my test was no longer showing “in process” in the lab records, but it was also not marked “complete,” which is the next stage. On call three, the nurse said my test notes now read “future,” indicating the swab had not begun processing, even though we were nearly two weeks past my test date.

THE MISSING TEST

On April 1st, 13 days after testing, the test was suddenly, inexplicably, not in the system. It was not listed in North Carolina. It was not listed in Oregon. It was not listed anywhere.

That day, I received a call from the Head of Nursing at Urgent Care. He informed me that I would not be receiving my Covid-19 test results… ever. He conferred, “[The staff here feels confident you had Covid-19, based your on symptoms and recent travel history. That’s why we gave you a Covid test. Unfortunately, there’s no way for us to confirm your positive results, because we don’t know where your swab went. We can no longer located it in any lab’s computer system.]” He continued, “[Unfortunately, this has happened a number of times now, with a number of different patients. Swabs have gone missing, and we don’t know why. At this point, I can say with confidence that we will never find those tests.]”

Somehow, between my Covid-19 test on March 19 and the swab’s transit to a LabCorp facility, my test disappeared, along with a number of others. In a nation with an already-limited number of tests, an unknown number of them are now afloat, unprocessed, and uncalculated in the national totals.

THE HEREAFTER

Regardless of official results, I believe I can safely say I’m on the mend from coronavirus. It has been exactly four weeks since the onset of symptoms, and I’m feeling mostly human again. While I still need to sleep 10-12 hours a day as my body repairs (my husband says I’m “sleeping like a college student”), I’m finally able to walk farther than the distance between the living room and bathroom. In fact, I made it beyond the mailbox this week. All things considered, that’s a victory.

As I take each day as it comes, I’m thankful to the body I normally take for granted. The partner who supplied me with Gatorade, prepared me miso, and noted my temperature three times a day for two weeks. The community of friends and family who sent love notes, funny gifs, and encouragement as I faced the fire.

As I place my trust in the healing process, I’m grateful for the opportunity to reflect on life’s small pleasures. Who knew it could be so exciting to watch a daffodil bloom? To note a Cooper’s Hawk outside the window? To get a good night’s rest, play a board game, or walk the whole length of the driveway? Who even remembered, in this wildly busy world, what a gift it is to simply listen to the breeze?

As I look forward, I send gratitude to the people deemed essential workers, whose employment at hospitals, grocery stores, restaurants, and more, requires them to show up at the front lines daily to keep our society fed and functioning.

As I acknowledge the vast unknowing that all that of us face, I encourage everyone (yes—even YOU!) to stay home if you’re not an essential worker. To get to know not only the inside of whatever building you’re calling home, but also the inside of your mind, your heart, and the wide expanse of space that is Not Knowing. To ask yourself what you feel today—every day a new day for asking—and grant permission to yourself to experience whatever natural, beautiful, and challenging feelings this whirlwind may ask of you.

THE AMA (“ASK ME ANYTHING”)

Do you have questions about my experience? Please let me know in the comments below. I’ll do my best to provide an answer.

I’ve had friends ask what supplies to keep on hand in case they get sick, what mindset I adopted during the healing process, what shows I was watching on Netflix when I was down for the count… whatever you’re wondering, let me know.

Thank you, as always, for sharing this journey with me.

You are appreciated,

Rachel

#covid19 #covid-19 #coronavirus #health #medicine #wellness #virus #pandemic #corona outbreak #outbreak #travel #newyork #nyc #new york

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rosedalemike · 5 years

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The Mood: Blog #13 “The Taco Tuesday Theory/updates”

Very few people know this but Tuesday has been kind of an inside joke (...hence why very few people know this...) amongst the revolving door of Rosedale team members. "Wait until Tuesday, They'll probably reply on Tuesday...Follow up on Tuesday...ask them on Tuesday...hit'em up! For it is Tuesday" etc.

I don't mean for this to come across as cynical, but Tuesday has kind of become the day where everyone is more likely to get things done. Based on nothing but statisticless experience, people are more likely to say "yes" on Tuesday for whatever reason. Humans are more willing to ignore all distractions and Crush It on Tuesday.

Come to think of it, this is probably the same reason why there's $1 bowling on Tuesday. And movies are half price on Tuesday. And EVERYONE knows about Taco Tuesday! A little closer to home, In Canada, I remember a bunch of fast food places had "Toony Tuesday" advertised on their windows (a Toony is a $2 coin). These leisure-y businesses probably recognized drastic dips in sales on Tuesdays because everyone was too busy Crushing It to go bowling, watch movies, eat tacos etc. So they made Tuesday specials.

I still haven't totally figured out why a day of the week has such significance as to why we perk up and Get Shit Done. But the most reasonable explanation would probably come from our counter-motivation to the general perception of weekends. Here's what I invision: Friday night is social/party night (ie.Tacos and Movies), Saturday maybe you'll beach/golf/mimosa (.../more tacos) or maybe you’ll get stuff done around the house during the day then more social events (like bowling...and tacos) at night, then Sunday is so chill that Chick-Fil-A is straight up closed (I know about religion, don't worry).

But then why not Mondays, right? Well Monday becomes most people's time to just get back into the groove; they'll get some stuff done, ie. reply to some of the workaholics who filled their inbox over the weekend. I'd guesstimate that the average normy gets 20% of the amount of work done on Mondays than they do on Tuesdays. Maybe it's also because on Monday we're all simultaneously subconsciously thinking "I can watch that viral thing that Mr.Normy was talking about at the water cooler...I've got the rest of this week to get the thing done".

Anyway, that's what generalization looks like from the guy who once assumed all dogs are male and all cats are female. So now that you're all in on my Tuesday theory (and know what a Toony is) I guess I'll try to finish out this here blog and give you some updates:

Rosedale is still in the re-branding stage. I've been tossing ideas around with friends. Some like/hate certain names, other friends are on completely different pages (hating/liking what was liked/hated...if that makes sense.) But overall I'm still just trying to figure out what to do from a branding standpoint in general! Do I assemble a band finally? Keep the one man show going but give it a clever name? Have a couple different projects with different names (one with a band, one solo with video screens, maybe even one more chilled out piano/acoustic??) I feel like the name’s will be narrowed down if I can organize the overall brand plan first.

I guess I've been more focused on writing songs (and parts for those songs) than anything. I've got about 30ish songs that I'm happy enough to keep working on. Many others have been scrapped but might make their way back somehow. So that has me juggling a lot of computer files and lyrics messaged to myself randomly throughout my days. It has been nice to focus on creating songs and recording demos as opposed to spending hours grinding away as a small time booking agent for a project whose name is nearly unsearchable.

But yes, it is really time to buckle down and figure out what to do with these songs/project/name/podcast/YouTube ideas. So if anyone has any suggestions feel free to send them my way and I'll put them in the ever-growing vault of ideas. And I promise to start making some moves soon.

Speaking of moves, I recently moved to San Diego and am currently living out of my trailer and a rehearsal studio in El Cajon. That has been a throbbing idea of mine since around the time I spent Christmas 2015 in Time & Distance's rehearsal room in Charleston, WV and edited the entire video for Written By The Artist. I've always wanted to live in SoCal since I started skateboarding at 12 years old. Now I'm 30 and I still love this scene so I finally just did it in the most cost efficient way possible and I’m glad I did. Big thanks to Vocal Eze for helping me make ends meet with getting down here for NAMM (namm is a big music trade show). It has been really fun working as an artist ambassador for that amazing throat spray and I’ve been learning a lot. Check out some of the #ShareYourVoice vids I make too!

In the midst of all of that I got very show deprived from going to see the many great bands down here so I picked up some acoustic shows thanks to Nick from Mainsail. We've been accompanying each other's songs along with some covers - half-jokingly calling it "MainDale". I also started filling in on bass for Mainsail. Check them out asap they're great and super good dudes. A lot of big things to come for that band for sure.

Then I randomly took a gig for Rosedale this Friday April 5th at Himmelberg's in San Diego (cus why not) so if anyone wants to see that it starts at 8pm PST this Friday April 5th. Rosedale is on last at 11pm so please stick around, tell some friends it'll be worth the late night. Here's the flyer:

Mainsail has a show at Blonde Bar on April 8th which is also a headlining set. From there I'm driving 38 hours back to Toronto to re-import all my gear back into Canada and renew my work permit (as both my bond and permit expire April 12th). Not gonna be fun, but has to be done. I'm technically not aloud to work or bring my gear into the United States until my new permit starts (May 3rd). But Mainsail has some more SoCal shows in April that I might fly back for... or just help make BassDale tracks for. We're not sure what we're doing about that yet. I really need to figure out dual citizenship though.

Most of this + more was already covered in the @Palapalooza podcast I did on my bday. Here's the link for that.

actually here it is:

youtube

Shout out to Troy from Ready Set Survive for spreading his passion for music/new bands and having me and Mainsail Nick on that.

One last update; I was working on video edits and mixing for a live hometown Rosedale show that I multi-tracked with Zedpromedia on my last tour and I was working off my 2T hard drive (because the files were so massive) and it crashed the other day while transferring that Palapalooza video onto it. I had so much on that hard drive (old videos, shows, pictures etc) and I've been trying to recover the files but it has not been very successful. I got most of them back with a $90 app but they're all re-organized and renamed or Corrupt and the sessions won't even open. The drive is still sitting about 90% full of files but I worry there's no way of getting any use out of it. Unless I bring it somewhere and pay a bunch of money for someone (that knows something I don't) to do their thing. Which I'm thinking I should probably do.

I guess that's all the updates for now. What have you all have been up to? I really miss seeing friends at shows and hearing about what they have going on in their lives. So feel free to reply here or message me anytime even if you feel like you have NOTHING going on (we all feel that way sometimes). Any new music/Podcasts you've been listening to? Blogs or vids I should check out? And of course, the perfect band name for me?? Let me know!

Thanks again to Vocal Eze and Westone and Ernie Ball for helping me out so much over this re-brand transition! I'm extremely lucky to have such great support from these awesome companies.

I also wanna give one last special shoutout to an awesome fan/friend who has really inspired me to get back to writing these blabbering blogs. Mellyssa Woodward recently started a blog that exposes new bands via very interesting interviews. She was hesitant to do it because she wasn't sure if anyone would care. Then she just decided to do it for herself and I assure you that they are so good because she is right in her element with these! I think we can all relate to that on so many levels with the many ideas floating around in our heads. Just go do it for yourself however you would like it to be done! That's what Mel (@AssyllemNaej on insta and twitter) did and here's a prime example of how it can only do good for yourself and the world...and of course my favorite Georgia band, LIKE MIKE: https://notesonnotes.tumblr.com/post/183814739906/notes-on-like-mike

Thanks for reading! Hope to see you in San Diego this Friday night or sometime soon :)

Enjoy your Taco Tuesday and GET’R DONE! If you’re not having any luck, TRY AGAIN NEXT TUESDAY ;)

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lothiriel84 · 6 years

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Only last night I found myself lost (by the station called King's Cross)

Here follows another of my long rambling travel blogs. You have been warned.

Saturday 8th September

It’s fair to say that I have a complicated relationship with Stansted Airport; on the one hand, it’s my default gateway into the UK (I’ve only ever landed at Gatwick Airport exactly once, and of course Edinburgh Airport on my one trip to Scotland). On the other hand, it’s stupidly far from London, and I’ve been seriously sleep deprived every single time I set foot in it. (Oh, and there’s also that one time when I actually missed my flight, but let’s not dwell on that.)

Still, it’s been way more fun than it had any right to be to stand on the train platform right outside the airport, and watch the music video of Single-Bilingual by the Pet Shop Boys on my phone. It’s quite a silly video, and it’s actually been filmed at Stansted Airport. I hadn’t been this much into Pet Shop Boys’ music on my previous visit, or, you know, at all; now they’re probably my favourite musical group, and a brilliant sountrack to my trip on top of that.

But I’m digressing. The thing is, rather than going straight into London from Stansted, I took a train to Cambridge instead. As it turns out, Cambridge is relatively close to Stansted, and as I had recently watched (and fell in love with) James Ivory’s Maurice, I was really looking forward to seeing one of the main locations of the film/novel. Given how I was planning to go on the Ghost Bus Tour in London that same evening, I was on a rather tight schedule; still, I managed to visit King’s College and its chapel (which is one of the locations where Maurice was filmed), and Queens’ College with its Mathematical Bridge.

After that, I had to rush and take a train to London; and as it happened, my train arrived into King’s Cross station, which is not only the title of a Pet Shop Boys song (yeah, I’m going to bring up PSB a lot throughout this post, I’m not even sorry), but also the location of a statue dedicated to Sir Nigel Gresley, of Infinitely Bad fame.

In the end, @smegandtheheads and I both succeeded in reaching Northumberland Avenue on time for the first Ghost Bus Tour of the evening (sorry again, Lizzie, for making you dash all the way there at such short notice). Neither of us had ever been on that specific tour with Peter Davis as the conductor, so it was quite brilliant; Peter is such a sweetheart, and terribly funny on top of that. Here’s a picture of the man himself, looking as if he’s some kind of ghostly gentleman. (Sorry.)

On a side note, I’m absolutely sure he added the final “Get out of my bus” specifically because he knew Lizzie and I were on board. I really can’t wait for the re-release of the old Monster Hunters episodes, and the new ones to follow.

(Peter also hinted that there might be a fourth season in the cards, which would be absolutely amazing.)

I was really quite tired after that - not only I had had very little sleep prior to, or even during, my flight, but I had been carrying my cabin baggage on my back all day long, both in Cambridge and in London. I’m so glad I eventually decided to accept when Lizzie invited me to join her and her boyfriend for dinner, along with their podcaster friends. I had such a fantastic time listening to Max talk about all of Definitely Human’s past, present, and future projects - including the Monster Hunters re-release, which is probably the one I’m most excited about at this moment in time.

(Well, that, and the final few episodes of The Infinite Bad. I’m so going to die before it’s over, the one thing that still needs to be seen is whether that will happen out of dread, grief, or both of those things at the same time.)

Anyway, for those of you not in the know, The Monster Hunters is an absolutely brilliant comedy/horror podcast, set in swinging London in the early 1970s; written by and starring Peter Davis and Matthew Woodcock, featuring (among others) the incredibly talented voices of Simon Kane and Laura Marshall. All existing episodes will be re-released under the Definitely Human label, each one featuring a short commentary from the creators themselves; there will also be additional Patreon-exclusive content, and new episodes coming up in due course.

(And, well, sorry Max if I sounded much more excited about MH than any of the other projects you’re currently involved in, but I’m so grateful that DH stepped in to make the rest of series 3 happen, and so much more.)

Sunday 9th September

Sunday was a rather quiet one, as I was still tired from the previous day. Passing through Brixton I accidentally discovered they have a David Bowie mural there, which I hadn’t known in spite of having very nearly walked past it on two previous occasions, and it was a nice surprise to find out.

Eventually, I did reach the Festival of the Great North Wood in Sydenham Hill Wood, which I think I had previously heard about from one of Carrie Quinlan’s tweets. It was a relatively small event, but they did have a few birds of prey on show, including this lovely little chap.

They also did guided walks through the wood, and it was lovely to be able to join one of those. Our guide talked us through the history of that particular wood, and the railway that once ran through it; it was quite nice, even more so as I do tend to spend quite a lot of time in parks and green areas whenever I’m in London.

After that, I headed to Crystal Palace Park, which is not very far from there. I had already been there before, but it’s always nice to see those big dumb Victorian dinosaurs loitering in the shrubbery.

Monday 10th September

After spending quite some time on Google Maps trying to work out whether it made any sense to attempt a day trip to Ottery St Mary (for much obvious Cabin Pressure reasons) or anywhere else in Devon, I had eventually settled for Dorset as a much more feasible option. Quite apart from some rather specific associations that I’m not going to mention here, Poole was the perfect place for a Jurassic Coast boat trip; and given how the stunning Durdle Door is quite a difficult place to reach, that was the next best thing, at least as far as I am concerned.

The coastal cruise, sailing from Poole Quay, allowed a really stunning view on Poole Harbour and Old Harry Rocks; and after a brief stop at Swanage Pier, it circled back, giving us passengers another chance to admire the chalk cliffs on our way back to the quay.

Once back on dry land, I went to visit Poole Museum, and also stopped by an old sweet shop which somehow reminded me of Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. It’s even called Truly Scrumptious, which is - an interesting coincidence, I guess?

And then, back to London, where I had a bit of a random walk, ending up in the approximate spot - facing the Palace of Westminster across the Thames - that is featured at some point during the music video for West End Girls. Which I then proceeded to watch on my phone. (Nothing to see here, guys - just a completely normal human being, doing completely normal stuff. Yep.)

Tuesday 11th September

Having worked in a mail centre for a little over two years, I thought it would be fun to go and visit the Postal Museum, even more so as they give you the option to ride the Mail Rail, which was basically an underground railway used to move mail between sorting offices. The museum was nice, and the ride was quite cool, albeit rather short.

On my way back to my hotel I made a detour to St Pancras Gardens, where the tomb of Mary Wollstonecraft is, and also that rather curious landmark that is the Hardy Tree. Plus, I very cleverly accidentally located the Mornington Crescent underground station, which is apparently the subject of a game I literally know nothing about, save for its name.

In the evening, I went to the first preview show of An Execution (by invitation only), which was the actual reason why I was in London in the first place. I will probably try and write a proper (-ish) review as a separate blog entry at some point; for now, suffice to say that it was weird and brilliant in equal measure, with quite an unusual set design combined with decidedly intense performances from all four actors.

(The cast included Simon Kane, Tom Lyall, Greg McLaren and Shamira Turner. I assume most of you will at least be familiar with Simon’s voice as featured in John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme; as for Tom Lyall, he played a rather magnificent Oberon in last year’s Mighty Fin musical A Midwinter Night’s Dream, as well as the delightfully over-the-top boss of a record company in The Devil Gets All The Best Tunes.)

After the show, I took a detour in order to get a few pictures of the Post Office Tower (yeah, I do realise it’s mostly referred to as the BT Tower these days, but to me it will always be the Post Office Tower of Monster Hunters fame) and King’s Cross too, despite having already been there on Saturday.

(Sir Nigel Gresley still hadn’t turned into a mass of writhing hands, which I decided to take as a good sign. I still hadn’t listened to the episode of The Infinite Bad which was due to be released the following day, which definitely had me screaming at the unexpected turn of events. Well.)

Wednesday 12th September

As I was planning to go to the Wellcome Collection, I decided I might as well have a walk through Regent’s Park first. The weather was a bit changeable, and it even rained for a bit; still, it was nice, and I accidentally stumbled upon the Frieze Sculpture 2018, which included some rather curious works by contemporary and modern artists. The malevolent looking penguin was quite a treat, giving off such powerful Infinitely Bad vibes - though there were no carcasses of supernatural stags knocking about, much to everyone’s relief.

(On a side note, how long has the Wonderpass under Marylebone Road been there? I’m pretty sure I’ve been in that area at least a couple of times before, but I might have simply failed to notice it, I guess?)

In order to gain further dread, I then proceeded to visit the Teeth exhibition at the Wellcome Collection; it was a must see for a fan of The Infinite Bad, and I had been hoping to be able to just sit outside the exhibition area afterwards, and listen to the new episode. As it turned out, data roaming was just awful inside that building, and as it was getting late I was forced to postpone the listening.

(Which I then ended up doing whilst packing my bag for my flight back home, much later that night. Not exactly ideal for such a detail/reveal-packed episode, but still.)

That evening I went to the second preview show for An Execution (by invitation only); it was still as good as the first time around, with the added bonus of a rather - shall we say, interesting? - poem about a spider, which had apparently been added in the space between the two shows.

And, well, that’s it for me this trip, I guess. Or, rather...

Thursday 13th September

As it turns out, there’s about one thing that can make a forty-five minute walk to Victoria Coach Station at four in the morning marginally more bearable, and that’s listening to Pet Shop Boys’ music.

What is rather less pleasant is having your flight departure delayed by over an hour - though thankfully with us passengers already boarded, or I would have literally fallen over - because they had taken too long to load the baggage onto the plane, and the flight plan had expired. Which, I’ll admit, is an interesting piece of information for a Cabin Pressure fan, but it doesn’t quite help when you’ve had no sleep and there’s no way you can actually manage to doze off on one of those contraptions that Ryanair insists on calling a seat.

(Arthur, dear heart, as much as I adore you, could you please stop referring to takeoff delays as ‘brilliant’? And we didn’t even have Monopoly to play, such a shame.)

#Cambridge #London #Poole #September 8th to 13th #2018 #An Execution (by invitation only)#Ghost Bus Tour #Festival of the Great North Wood #Old Harry Rocks #Swanage #Postal Museum & Mail Rail #Wellcome Collection #The Monster Hunters #The Infinite Bad #(this was such a good trip podcast-wise)#(in other news it's 1.14 am and I've only just realised 'Cambridge' has the word 'bridge' in it)

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capturedrook · 5 years

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Getting Way Too Into An Online Astrology Reading

So I decided to check out a full astrology thing with the Chaos Astology site, and while I know a lot of it is purposefully vague so as to apply to everyone...It's super fun. Now, here's a really long post of me commenting on some of the stuff it said about me!

Firstly, it's worth acknowledging that I'm a Cancer Sun. So the baseline is emotional, maternal, homebody type stuff. Nourishing and moody and all that. Post is sorted by quotes that relate to each other rather than by planet or house or whatever.

Atmosphere

There was a lot of stuff about 'atmosphere' and 'imagination'. "With the Sun placed in Cancer, you are very good at creating the receptive atmosphere and nurturing climate necessary for desires to grow and flourish." - From Sun in Cancer Well, I've kind of heard that my whole life. I think most people hear a lot of stuff about their sun sign growing up. I wonder how much that informs the way they act, knowing what's expected of them because of something like that? "A born creator of atmosphere, especially when it comes to the home and domestic surroundings." - From Moon Trine Neptune Cancer Suns are supposed to like, super love being home (and I do) so I guess that's fair enough...But doesn't everything kind of make atmosphere? Even no atmosphere or a clusterfuck is its own kind of atmosphere. "You have real vision and insight into the unity that ties this world together. Your brilliant imagination and enchanting manner transport all who meet you beyond the mundane and into the extraordinary regions where you spend a lot of your time. You are a seer, in the true sense of the word, and possess a waking experience of that part of us that is mystical and dreamlike. You find new ways to bring people together, to unify situations. Unusual music." - From Uranus Conjunct Neptune What a fuckin' swerve at the end there. Unity, brilliant, enchanting, transport, extraordinary, seer, mystical, but your taste in music is weird. "You tend to radiate a dream-like quality that draws others to you. You are also highly receptive to environmental influences and to other people. More positively, you have a keen imagination, intuitive and creative gifts, coupled with the power of inspiration." - From Neptune in the 1st House Again with the 'dream-like' stuff. You know what else "radiates a dream-like quality"? Head trauma. Sleepiness. Brain fog. Some medications. Any scene in a movie that has fog and trees. The room where you fight Dark Link. Music by "In Love With a Ghost" (especially "Flowers"). Rainy, sleepy days with blankets. Afternoon burn-out from an overproductive morning. Metronomes, sometimes? "A built-in sense of what the public wants and the ability to come up with just the right image." - From Moon Trine Neptune "You have great insights into what motivates the public, crowds, and the mind in general." - From Uranus Sextile Pluto I do?! That would be really handy, if it were true. "Yours is a lightning wit. You somehow know everything about everybody." From Mercury in Gemini Apparently I don't, since I didn't know that about me. Checkmate.

Intensity

There was also a LOT of stuff about me being, uh, intense. I did say there was a lot of 'imagination' type stuff but the amount of messages that had 'intense' in it or similar ideas is...Intense. Hm.

"You are a hard worker; however, you need to pace yourself well in order to avoid stress-related illnesses." - From Mercury in the 6th House Okay, that's not so bad. I know that's a problem I have and I can deal with it. That's fine.

"Ambitions are backed-up by the will to get things done, but can be very driven to the point of being too aggressive." - From Sun Semisquare Mars Yeah, all right. I've also been told that from being a Slytherin...But I never really seem to get anything done, now do I?

"Comes on strong and tends to intimidate." From Sun Sesquiquadrate Pluto (That's absurdly specfic) Especially when I'm excited. I try to keep a cap on it but when I get happy or excited about a New Thing, I tend to get loud and energetic. I also stand up during difficult fights in video games. "Not afraid of a good confrontation. This intensity puts self and others through a lot of changes." I am *very* afraid of a good confrontation, thank you very much! I don't even like going to the grocery store if there's too many people. Or talking to doctors. Or making phone calls.

"Big heart, big love, you are seldom petty. Given to grand gestures and dramatic scenes, you love freedom and greatness of feeling in your relationships." - From Venus in Leo This explains how dramatic absolutely all of my characters are but yeah, that can definitely come across as intense.

"Your drive to innovate, invent, and find new ways to use things is both well coordinated and intense." - From Mars Trine Uranus Intense again.

"You have a relentless drive to get at the heart of things, whatever is under the surface or behind the scenes. Your relentless pursuit of anything hidden or secret makes you a researcher or investigator bar none. Emotionally you are also hot stuff, rushing into areas and handling subject matter that others would never come near. Vulnerable issues, sensitive areas of the self, and psychology are the first places you head. This amounts to a passion with you. Those around you may find you just too intense to be around." - From Mars opposite Pluto More intense! Does this add or multiply?!

"You can work with sensitive and vulnerable psychological areas without batting an eye, and would be good at instructing others in these areas. Your keen mind and great analytical powers always manage to get at whatever motivation is beyond apparent behavior. You can see what is behind touchy and very personal matters." - From Uranus Sextile Pluto For all that I'm making jokes about this, this kind of is a problem that I have. I tend to just cut right into it with total strangers and most people...Don't want that. But then some of them do and seek it out themselves, and so I end up spending my lunch break at work talking someone through trauma from her childhood and we're both happier for it, and I'm still proud that I got to help someone. That shouldn't take precedence over the fact that it makes people uncomfortable, though; I need to take care to slow down, check signals, and start with just...Being chill. I need to chill.

"You work with real imagination and understanding in areas of the mind that are the most personal or private -- depth psychology. You are like a midwife of the spirit, assisting at the birth of each individual going through a spiritual or re-birth process. You accept the natural process of birth, spiritual and physical, and have dedicated yourself to helping it along. You would make a great teacher in these areas." - From Neptune Sextile Pluto That isn't chilling, and "Midwife of the spirit" is both a very cool and very unsettling phrase.

"An in-fighter, with animal-like instincts, you love being where the action is most intense. Your penetrating mind gets through the B.S. and straight to the bottom line." - From Jupiter in Scorpio 1. No, I don't like intensity! I get anxious! Bad! 2. Again, with the cutting to the core stuff. This is getting absurd.

"When you do enact a change, it is always at the deepest or core level and affects everything else in your life." - From Saturn Semisquare Uranus I think a core might have done something to me in a previous life because apparently I'm hunting them down systematically.

"You tear through appearances in an effort to get beneath, behind, and at the heart or essence. You may find psychology, initiation, mysticism and the occult of great interest. Intense personal change and inner growth are lifelong habits." - From Pluto in Scorpio See?? But really, the occult and mysticism are both pretty interesting to me, obviously, since I'm reading this to begin with.

"Scorpio is intense, passionate, and very personal. It rushes past superficialities and right to the heart of any matter." "Scorpio loves to get involved, going down deeper, coming up dirtier, and laying bare anything that lies hidden there." - From Scorpio on the 11th House Cusp How many things do this? I know 'intense' is a pretty vague direction for it to take but this is getting to be a really crazy amount of the same thing being said at me over and over. Can someone else do theirs and let me know how often it uses the word 'intense'? Maybe the writer just didn't have a thesaurus. Or had a list of buzzwords.

"Sagittarius is nothing if not direct, candid, and to the point, for this sign is always concerned with the absolute truth of the subject at hand." - From Sagittarius on the 12th House Cusp Is there such a thing as absolute truth, though? Truth is relative.

"You value personal contact, cutting through all the externals and getting to the heart of things. You understand and appreciate vulnerability and have no compunction about presenting your own sensitive spots to others. You enjoy working behind the scenes, getting at secret and hidden areas of the mind and psyche. Changes and transformative experiences are where you like to be most.” - From Venus Square Pluto I do actually really dislike small talk and love when people just act like we've known each other for years already. Show up and talk to me about some personal shit. Tell me if you want me to just listen, advise, or comfort. Tell me how you feel about dreams and space and stuff. Talk about how much you've changed since you were in school, and how that makes you feel.

"You have an inner need for communication of all kinds and may have too many irons in the fire at times. You can be all over the place, always trying to make one more connection. Speaking and writing are natural interests." - From Mars in Gemini Shhhhh. Let me have my irons. It's a very big forge, it'll be fine.

Philosophy

"Outlook is mainly philosophical, optimistic and content. " - From Sun Trine Jupiter If you have to tell someone they're content...

"You also have a great interest in ideas, the more true and lasting the better. Philosophical concepts will be a lifelong concern for you. " - From Mercury Trine Jupiter Gee, that doesn't sound fun. Can we not do that?

"You may fear the deeper, mystical side of life and need to give more freely of both your time and understanding, for you will find that giving out to others in this way helps to lessen your own burdens." - From Saturn in Pisces ...What did I *just* say?

Misc:

"Restless. Good memory and strong powers of recall." - From Moon Semisquare Mercury Maybe long-term; I can remember the pattern on the fabric inside my baby swing looked like. Short-term, I'm not even sure what I ate today, let alone for breakfast yesterday.

”You are well suited to dealing with the public and could enjoy professional success in personnel work, sales, the arts, entertainment industry, or the counseling fields.” - From Venus in the 7th House

The Seventh House: "The seventh house, the descendant - opposite of the ascendant - is connected with partnerships, relationships and 'significant others'. Here is where we learn to strike a balance - the art of give and take." Oh, okay. I wonder how mine contradicts with- Cancer on the 7th House Cusp “Cancer is the mother of the zodiac, always making a home, protecting and providing a foundation for others. A sensitive sign where feelings and real experience count more than cold logic, it doesn't get any more physical and emotional than this." I have doubled down, repeat, DOUBLED DOWN on feelings. "You have stable emotions and tend to form strong attachments to the past, perhaps to the extent of making you resistant to change." - From Moon in Taurus Does this lessen the other stuff? Are we bad to a x1 emotional multiplier instead of a x2? "Capricorn is the business head of the zodiac, for it is the very opposite of the emotional Cancer." - From Capricorn on the 1st House Cusp Is that...Is that bad for a Cancer Sun? Am I gonna split in half? Or, wait. Does that even it out to a 0 because of the Taurus thing?

"Magnificent willpower. " - From Sun Sesquiquadrate Pluto Roll to disbelieve. Also, can we acknowledge what ‘ Sesquiquadrate’ means? “An aspect in which two planets are separated by an angle of 135 degrees.” It’s like the pose in Bloodborne where you show the Great Ones you do, in fact, understand math. “-however, you may need to guard against dictatorial inclinations, as these will cause unfavorable reactions in others.” - From Pluto in 10th House I may need to WHAT "A special gift for spanning generation gaps; bringing older and younger spirits together." - From Sun Sextile Moon I know what this actually means, but I love the idea of it implying I’m some kind of ghost relationship expert.

Blatantly wrong, so wrong it offends me:

"You are very interested in tradition and tend to be dignified and conservative. You believe in an orderly society led by benevolent monarchs - those who can see what to do." - From Neptune in Capricorn No??? That sounds HORRIBLE. What?! Tradition is stupid, dignity is overrated, I am never conservative about anything, an orderly society is how people lose their spark, and monarchies are the worst decision you could make. Okay? Okay. "Voluptuousness and eroticism are implied." - From Moon Square Venus I'm 5'3" and 100lb, how "voluptuous" do you think I can be?? "An optimistic and charming nature; this is a very favourable feminine combination." - From Moon Square Venus This is just flat-out gross.

And then I reopened the page to check something, and now it says the Sun is in the 6th House, not the Seventh. Is this checking where it is now, not where it was when I was born? Next I ought to use a different site and see if it says planets are in literally any of the same places this does. EDIT: I went through and updated/removed the stuff that was out of whack. For some reason, sometimes it opened using one timezone and sometimes using another. I don’t know why. I changed it to only use info from the one with the accurate timezone. Disappointingly, none of the ones I really hate changed. Anyway, that’s it! If anyone who actually knows anything about astrology wants to give their take on it or talk about this, let me know! It’s been...Something.

#kit rambles #astrology #a completely unnecessary post #i wouldn't take any of this to heart but it's good for introspection #cancer sun #taurus moon #can't wait to see how tumblr murders my formatting

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200dumplings-blog · 7 years

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Commentator Bong

August 11th 11.42PM

I watched about 3 movies on the plane. I don’t know if you like musicals, I once watched Mama Mia when I was in China and it was pretty good.

I've watched it in Korea once, it was good! I don’t know if your high school ever made you watch plays like The Importance of Being Earnest, mine did and I always loved watching plays and musicals. Mine didn't haha

I was thinking about asking to see Jersey Boys, it’s broadway, and Lauren from the lab told me it was really good. There is also this cool movie about Van Gogh that is coming in November. Essentially it took many artists a long time to paint all the frames of the movies using the exact same style and most of the paintings are based on the masterpieces of Van Gogh’s. The storyline is Van Gogh’s life in France. I watched the trailer and it was so breathtaking I could fucking cry. I don’t think they will play the movies in the mainstream theatres, it’s more of an exhibition I guess. But it will be played in Toronto in November, and also in LA.

Unfortunately, I will just miss the movie by a week according to my travel plan, you said you’re going to LA right, when was it? but I might change my flight and hotel bookings. I don’t know if it is worth me to pay more money if I’m going with Boxin. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do with her lol. Well maybe you guys can still have a good time. Or you can just go and do separate things, travelling alone is a pretty good experience! If you end up liking me back, maybe I will ditch her and we can go watch the movie together haha. Then I kept on thinking what else I wanna do with you(no sexual pun intended), and I was stunned that I actually wanna do so many things with you hahaha. Maybe I’m more passionate about the idea that I like you than the event itself, so I don’t care too much about the entire hurting and getting hurt thing. I think… maybe you should watch out for your feelings more.. I know you said you don’t care and I understand that I’ve been there trust me lol I really feel bad I can’t give back the care and attention..

I always ponder the words you’ve said and the way you said them. I know that people, in most cases, will eventually lose sparks and the chemistry will die out as the catalyst runs out and molecules stop moving fast enough to collide. You’re so nerdy its cute hahah. Contradictorily, I also have some hope in love for a long long time. It could be the example my grandparents set for me, or that I read The Little Prince too many times. I just watched the movie a few hours ago, and I think I cried in my heart a little haha. It is one of my favourite books. What I like the most about the book is the deep talk about “taming” the fox and the little prince had. It is certainly true that we will meet so many great people in our lives, and we will fall for them, maybe full heartedly or maybe less. They are all people to us, just like all the roses in the garden on earth are the same species as the rose on asteroid B-162. HOWEVER, if you chose to tame or be tamed by your little prince or your fox, then everything is different. We might part at some point, but the memories we had were eternal. To me that is beautiful. That’s a beautiful thought :)

So my neighbours on the plane are a very old couple, and it’s their first few times flying. I tried to take really good care of them and escorted the lady to the bathroom. It was kinda hard because they speak this strange northern dialect, and I’m from the south. I used to dislike people who can’t help themselves lol…. but now I have more empathy. You’re so nice ;D

I’ve done a very good job keeping your watch at my body temperature haha, I fell asleep holding it. I’m so scared to lose it already because I can only hold it in my palm. Maybe I will tell you that I lost it and keep it with me. By the way you haven’t given me your lighter yet. Strange enough I stopped smoking after last Friday. I’m not addicted but I do smoke one cigarette once a week. I guess now I’m more addicted to you and you’re much more powerful and pleasing than nicotine.

Yeah its not good for you… don’t smoke if you can help it haha, also my lighter is nothing special at all lol i don’t even use is much. I’ve also been wearing ur watch haha even tho its hella big lol

I’m right above NK right now lol….. I used to be sort of a nationalist when I was in middle school. I low key disliked Japan and Korea a bit maybe, I don’t remember exactly, or I choose not to. Now I think the extreme thoughts people have on whatever topic are caused by ignorance. If we listen better and actually try to work on resolving conflicts, this world will be a better place. Ignorance is a fucking sin, don’t ever think it’s ok to be ignorant. Critical thinking is key and that’s what UBC science has taught me so far. Yeah I had the same feelings with China and Japan haha its just our upbringing. I don’t like stereotyping people but sometimes theres a lot of truth to those stereotypes because of culture and stuff so its hard to ignore.

Coincidentally I did the overnight letter writing thing again hahaha, it’s becoming a habit. If I do this for long enough maybe I can shoot a movie of this or publish a collection of letters. You will get to name the movie/book.

I’m landing in about three hours, and you will be asleep by then. I don’t think you can hear me but I wished you goodnight. I assume that you] have seen Truman’s World. Sorry I haven’t haha. I remember vaguely that he said something like “if I don’t get to see you again, I wish you good morning and goodnight for the rest of your life.” It was definitely much better worded than that haha, but that’s what I wanna tell you for the following three weeks.

I had so many questions to ask you lol and I rehearsed over and over again since Tuesday, but my brain went blank when I saw you. This always happens haha, that’s why I always rehearse before I meet someone I care about. I might talk to myself a bit too much. Sometimes I picture the the next time seeing you, picture how you smile, how you touch your hair, how you play with your rings on your left thumb, right index finger and right ring finger, and how you tilt your head when you get a bit shy. My god, you’re so observant haha. I feel terrible that i can’t reciprocate these attentions and feelings to you. I think you’re so caring and wonderful but like you know, I can’t control how I feel about things. Its amazing to be loved and cared for and be told im beautiful, it rly makes me happy but also i feel bad. Its very selfish of me but I prefer liking someone over being liked… I guess i’m also kinda like you and not afraid to get hurt at times. But it amazes me how you can express your feelings like that, I would never be able to do it even if im feeling it or thinking it. Cuz of my ego or sth lol. I think you’re rly brave.

Words fail me when I try to describe how charming you are. I’m no Sean, but I do want you. I want to hold you for a very very long time, or simply pause time. I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful skin with the most passionate tenderness, and submerge myself in your smell. And other things that I’m not gonna write down haha. Seriously, you should do arts hahaha you’re writing is beautiful.

1.05 AM

Aug 12th 5.19AM

It’s so hot in Guangzhou. I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds when I walked out of the airplane. I get the same feeling when I go to Korea in the summer haha. I forgot this feeling and kinda missed it actually. I kinda miss it too sometimes actually. The other day, it was rly hot and i felt like i was in korea kinda haha it smelled like korea if thats even possible. I got “pulled over” with my little cart that has 2 suitcases on it. Thank god they didn’t ask me to open them and there wasn’t any beeping from the scan machine. I was like phewwwwww. 🙏🏼

I told my mom about you, briefly. Idk why I said that, but somehow I felt like it was important. Haha what did she say?

She said that I should make more friends like you hahahhaha.

Summer is an odd season, half of people are falling in love, the other half are breaking up. Or maybe everyone is breaking up and then falling in love. People are always doing the same shit, looking for love and then fail, aren’t we fucking pathetic. I guess that’s why lone wolves are cool because they dare to break this cliche. I used to be cool, and then I met you. Oh well I will settle with being a little less cool. you’re still rly rly cool you know haha. I don’t think its a failure. Love is love and if it ends it ends. love doesn’t always have to be forever lasting.

Alrighttttt. Jet lag is a bitch! I’m gonna try to get some sleep because next time I wake up I will be with my siblings. I will send you a picture of the triple Yangs hahaha. I hope you miss me a little.

Btw we can always be friends hahahha no pressure

i can feel you’re innocence when i talk to you and i honsetly sometimes feel a little too jaded for you. I’m pretty honest most of the time but thats cuz the honesty usually says something bad about me or hurt me not another person. Its rly hard to say no to you because I don’t wanna hurt you but i know i should be honest now so it saves u from hurting later. Idk maybe you don’t actually care that much and wont get hurt that much. I kinda hope that. You’re such an awesome person and i’d like to keep hanging out with you if you’re ok with that.

relationship wise… I think that I need some time to figure stuff out with myself and the thing with Sean. I mean i know logically i should stop being intimate with him and move on but maybe im just not done. Its like a habit and i dont wanna sound sleezy but we usually end up banging when we hang out. I think theres still too much chemistry.

I feel guilty… Im just a selfish jerk caring more about my feelings than urs im sorry.

Don't apologize because there's nothing bad here Hahahaha. As you said we'll see and for sure we will hang out!!!!!

Ok study hard and write your paper hahahah and you're not a jerk lol

Thanks.. ;)

Idk about all this jaded thing. It can be part of my personality, I used to read a lot of fairytales when I was little maybe that helped hahhaha

Seriously tho.... it's not that I am always innocent or I haven't seen nasty shit that happens everyday. I just choose not to be overwhelmed by that. I choose to be innocent when I can, and it's not always that case.

Darcy wrote me a card in middle school, and it had a quote on it. It was in Chinese but I'll try my best to translate it. It went like "knowing the worldly of society and choose not to is the kindest way to be mature"

I'm working on that.

That’s awesome and i admire you’re ability to do that. I didn’t mean that you don’t know how the world works when i said you’re innocent. This is me not you, its my insecurities. I feel like a more jaded person when I can’t live a positive life when im around someone like you. But I also think a little bit of darkness makes life more interesting, im just kinda twisted inside haha. but i mean whatever makes your life worth living and enjoyable is what you should do. Its different for everyone.

I think you’re doing an awesome job at life.

Aug 13th 2.30AM

I’m always using Vancouver time. I have you watch and never bothered to adjust it. I don’t use it for checking time. I might have told you that I have been having trouble falling asleep. But holding your watch somehow miraculously cured my insomnia.

When you said you loved seeing my face, I was like hmmm… It’s really humid here and hot, my mom left the windows open and I couldnt figure out how to close them for a while so my face was all greasy… and the lighting was horrible hahah so idk why you loved looking at my face. but thats always a good thing to know. Nah you still looked rly cute i couldnt even see any difference

Whenever you told me that you didn’t wanna hurt me, I chose not to think about it. Human brain is truly magical, because if you choose to ignore something then theres a higher probability for you to not remembering it. Until I read what you wrote up there about 3 times, then I started to question myself if what Ive been doing is ok. I don’t wanna confuse you more, and I want you to be happy. So I thought if you really liked Sean that much, I should probably just lay back and let you guys do your thing. I even thought about talking to Sean about this, but it’s not my business after all. I only wish you happy. I definitely overthought this but for about two hours I managed to convinced myself that if I’m not what you want I should fuck off. So I had this post on this Chinese website, it’s kinda like the equivalent of Tumblr. I post stuff I write and photos there and also posted some thing on a group discussion. Some people liked my writing and potentially my face lol so they messaged me and asked me out.

I said maybe to all of them, which you know is essentially a No unless I really felt like it. But I'll always say yes to you.

Something I found funny was that they all commented on my smile. “You have a really warm smile.” Everyone commented on one of my photos. Then they said “you must be sweet.”

Well I mean I might be sweet and also have lovely smiles but really I wanna save them for you. At the same time I don’t think I am what you want so maybe I should just wast them on random strangers. Well I hope smiling means you are happy not just making other people happy so you should always smile when you wanna. Its limitless. Thats how I came up with the idea that I should party tonight and forget about you. For a bit I thought I was actually determined.

Then you said you wanted to see me, and the moment I saw your face, I knew I dont wanna go partying tonight anymore haha. I will write you something, read some papers and sleep early to deal with my jet lag. You got me again. I can’t think straight when I see you and I love that feeling. The rush is worth the pain. You stimulate the secretion of dopamine in my brain. (You will probably say that I should do arts lol, but I already do arts girls so I will be fine in science) haha you “do” arts girl ;) ok

About your watch. I never told you that I dreamed about you a few times. I have too. I’m still not gonna tell you what happened in the dreams haha. They belong to me. But for the past week, I always thought about holding your hand before I fell asleep. Holding your watch in my palm had the same effect, even though it has the opposite texture of your hand, but it did the job.

I really hope that you are gonna be chill with your parents, because I remembered how much I hated dealing with them.

Yeah I’m hoping to keep low and try to just please them if i can while they are here.

I’m probably gonna go explore a bit tomorrow, and get some post cards and small things. I also wanna bring you a souvenir, so I better get started now. I just found out that they have this super cool bookstore called United bookstore here!!!!! theres this cool exhibition going on I’m gonna check it out tmr and hopefully get you cool stuff!!!! I’m really pumped cuz I love bookstores!!! Sounds like a lot of fun!!! I hope you have a blast.

Again, I will be here for you if you wanna see me. You probably won’t be able to do that in the future 10 days cuz your parents will be around. But hey Rebecca Bong, I will be here.

I was listening to Nell. I think it’s cool. My favourite so far is Dream Catcher. I like the beat and the lyrics(I read the translation lol). I will keep listening to their songs and let you know how I feel about them.

That’s funny because the friend who introduced me to Nell likes Dream Catcher the best as well in that album. When we went to their concert after the album release, they played that song and the background light was rainbow ;) my friend loved it. I’ll try to find a picture haha.

My fav from that album is Home.

So this is the tower I snapped you that's super famous in Guangzhou. It's called the Canto tower but it has a nickname as "girl's tight waist" and somehow it's always rainbow at night lol....

there I drew this masterpiece of you and I visiting there :) goals

Awesome drawing skillz hhahah

Random stuff I thought about when I woke up as I was thinking about you at Browns. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to take your shirt off and kiss you bit by bit until I'm drown in your body and get wasted. You're so beautiful baby.

Well, I don’t know about the other stuff but we can definitely get wasted. Whatever happens after…. is out of my control.

I'll take this as the green light hahahahaha

August 15th 5.55 AM

I didn’t actually start until like 6.20 hahaha. I was trying to figure out my timetable and got kinda annoyed about getting waitlisted for BIOL 200, cuz it’s one of the pre-reqs.

Anywayssss. Something funny that happened today. I was mixing baby formula for my sister and kinda applied my bubble tea shaking skill haha. I wanted to take a snap and caption it “bartender skills on point” I thought it was funny lol

I liked when you pointed out the irony of me wearing a “mask”. I low key hate how this world works but I chose to play by THE RULE and be the type of person the society likes. I’m actually a pretty amoral person. That doesn’t mean that I am morally corrupted but that I have no moral standards. There’s a movie called Mary and Max. I feel like I’m Max to some extent. Max is a sociopath, he doesn’t have any feelings, but he tries to match people’s facial expression and their reactions to different events.

Most of the time I feel indifferent towards most of people and things that happened in my life. Really I don’t think it’s worth my time to feel anything towards them. That’s why I smile(politely) a lot, because I don’t want people to talk to me most of the time. I mean I don’t mind if they do, but I’d rather not. In that sense I might be an introvert. But if it’s someone I care I would definitely pour my heart to make sure they are happy and try to be there for them. Idk if that made any sense lol.

The reason why I always wear this mask is mainly that I’ve been an outsider my entire life. I told you that I went to a boarding school in another province since grade 2. The first day at school there, I kinda got bullied by this girl I later became really close friends with because of my accent. I didn’t cry at all though lol. Then two weeks late nobody could tell that I was from another province. It’s the good old Darwinian’s rule right, you either adapt or you die. Then I studied really hard and became one of the top students. People started liking me I guess. After that I signed up to get involved in all kinds of activities and got a whole lot of rewards. The girl who bullied me kissed me one night and told me that I looked beautiful hahahahaha. I guess that’s how I became popular? Since grade 2 I never got to stay home for more than 4 months every year. I traveled a lot with my parents, but never really stayed home. That only got worse after I came to Canada. And I just adapted again.

But I know that I’m always an outsider. I don’t know how to explain that feeling. I never feel home anywhere. It’s kinda like a voluntary exile. It means losing the connection with your own land to pursue something else. I actually belong to this minor ethnicity in China. Minor ethnicities are kinda like the indigenous groups in Canada. In our culture, we have this strange connection with our land and our water. I gave that up. Then I realized very quickly that I have to be a person people accept, otherwise it’s game over. I won’t belong anywhere.

It took me a very long time to start being ok with not belonging anywhere. It all started when I met Charles. He was sort of a mentor to me. I met him at this tutoring place in Beijing. My mom wanted to me learn English better before I go to Canada, so she sent me there. Charles was at his 40s, quiet, always looked a bit tired, and very wise. He studied literature and philosophy at Bard, and almost did his phD at Columbia University. We read about 90 books together that summer, from ancient greek epic poem and plays to late 20th century philosophical essay collections. We read books about Utopia, feminism, and existentialism. I loved Medea, Freud, Kafka, Virgina Woolf, Huxley, Herman Hesse, Sartre, Camus, and etc. That summer I understood what I felt when I woke up by myself in a strange bed in a strange building and a strange city that you cannot see more than 500 meters away from you. It was exactly loneliness. That might sound very dramatic, but it was exactly how I felt. I could go on and on about this, but let’s stop there hahah. Oh I’m taking PHIL 385! It’s existentialism! I can’t wait!!!! In fact I already purchased all the 4 texts we will be reading haha.

WARNING!!!

I think whatever I wrote below here can be a bit too dark, at least I don’t normally tell anyone about this not even my very close friends….. so idk if u wanna read this…..

I had a hard time dealing with the fact that we’re all fucking individuals are practically lonely. Maybe because of this I had eating disorder for a while. I used to take these Japanese antacid pills everyday so I didn’t have reflux all the time. That was my way of dealing with sorrow and other negative feelings I had. I guess it wasn’t as bad as being clinically depressed? This is the “fucked up” side of me. I don’t think mentally ill people are are fucked up at all, because I’ve been there, or I’m still there, but I’m coping and I know it’s not easy.

I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it. I didn’t feel like talking to my parents about my shitty feelings for obvious reasons. I didn’t have siblings. I was an outsider and really people would probably accept me more if I’m always confident, cool and have my shit together. I thought if I found a person who would understand me, and care about me then I’ve found the cure. I thought my ex(Boxin) was kind of like my family for the longest time. I was kinda dependent on her I guess, I thought she was the cure to my loneliness and me being an outsider. Truth is you never ever depend your identity or happiness on anybody hahaha…. thats shitty. She was mental and a bit violent, and I was kinda lunatic too lol lets not get into too much detail.

Ok, so that was a very toned down way to describe my negative side lol. if you wanted a picture of that, you would probably see me shivering in my bathroom at 3AM with red eyes tearing toilet paper into pieces (it was very comforting to me)and biting on my own index fingers. That’s why I like Breaking Bad so much, because I can be Walt hahaha, and 80% of the time I think like him.

WARNING ENDED … :) life is beautiful again :)

I will show you an email I wrote Charles last summer. I promised that I will tell him about all the girls I liked hahaha so I might have to write him an email about you.

“Charles,

Sorry, I think I mis-sent you an empty email.

I wrote something on my journal again, and mentioned your email. What I realized then was that I did not read your writing carefully enough until I copied some pieces down. The last piece talking about changes reminded me so much of our class together in Beijing, and also enabled me to generate some new thoughts about Romeo and Juliet. Chance, we have always talked about chance. Everything that happens is accidental and unintentional. I wrote that "our encounter(meaning me and Christina) is just an accident then. Nothing more special than you missing the morning bus, me spilling hot water on my tray, and that scientist who discovered urea in his lab."

What we have talked about in Beijing revived, and is now growing again in my body.

I described you as following:

"He is slightly heavier(emotionally), maybe due to all the experiences he had. Every time, when this lonely, miserable man talks about love, he tries to pretend to be an indifferent narrator, like the one in Camus' book, of his own stories, but if I look closer, I can always find the sparks and frustration behind his glasses, in his weary eyes."

I hope that you will keep sending me your writing. I will definitely get a copy once it gets published.

Love,

Amanda”

August 16th 8.45 AM

I felt super tired today. I guess I can be an introvert, cuz I can really use some me time to recover. I hung out with Amanda, it felt the same as we were still in middle school. Or maybe it was different in some ways. He asked me when I got my ears pierced, and laughed when we recalled that I had horrible bushy brows. I guess we all changed but we still kept something that we had in middle school.

It was strange. He is from my past, the part I don't like facing. But I choose to see him once a year for some strange reason that I don't know how to explain. It was chill and made me very tired and lost.

I ate so much lol, too much really. I haven't ate so much since university or even grade 12. I felt like I was 15 again, my eating disorder and shitty feelings all came to me and I got exhausted.

Now I'm playing Nell's albums, and they really are kinda healing. I knew this band from you and I appreciate it. I mean I don't understand a word but hahahha I think it's really good!

Anyways I'm gonna sleep now, god my ex was being real tiring... I just wish I could go back to my lab life and hang out with my teammates and you so my life will be much more cheerful lol

Tons of loveeee❤️❤️❤️

August 18th 926AM

Bong bong bongggggg

Ok so I cleaned my brother's piss and shit like 3 times today. Great time :)

Every time you told me you "talked" to you parents, I got a little worried. I don't know my words mean anything to you, but you are a good human being and you don't need plastic surgery physically or mentally. Everyone is fucked up in their own way and your way is kinda beautiful.

I've been watching Skam season 3, and you have to watch it lol.... I mean I highly recommend it. My ex girlfriend(Alex so the one before crazy Boxin) said I would love it and turns out she's right again lol. I guess it can be super relatable to any millennial who's trying to find who they are and what all the big words (aka. Love religion sexuality etc) mean. One person commented on this show and said something like "Love, especially young love, isn't really about getting wasted, smoking, or getting corrupted together in any way, but is about secretly listening to all his/her playlists" and beautifully sensitive things like that.

It's a super relatable show to me. Sarah (Addy's gf) and I got a bit drunk and went out to pick up sushi together on that Friday night we met. We talked about how for the longest time none of us knew how to explain homosexuality with Darwinian's views on evolution. We both had this panic phase for a very very long time, fighting it every time we open our biology textbook and even thinking about ATGC bases in genetics class. They talked about the exact same thing in Skam! Also so many other cute things I can't spoil... for example the main characters are super hot like I would date one of them lol

I miss you a lot and I hope every day gets a bit easier for you with your parents :)

Love,

Yang

August 23rd 3.20 AM

It was nice to talk to you again. I sometimes wonder if you forgot about me already hahahha clearly you haven't.

I don't wanna be overly positive. To be honest, I don't like overly positive people. All my friends are fairly positive, and we believe in good things. That doesn't mean we are TOO positive though?

It really hurts me when I can't help people I care with their confusion. I really can't practically help you and I think talking too much about it is utterly annoying and meaningless. I do believe in you though. It's different from the way your father believes in you, because he probably also finds it hard to accept "failure"(meaning anything other paths other than his expectation). I was talking to one of my ex girlfriends Alex, and she said something really smart like "people always feel obliged to pursue happiness, thinking that that's the only way to live. In fact, you have to make so many choices every day, and it's not easy at all. Most of the time you don't necessarily make those decisions for your happiness, but you're just doing it for living, living at this moment."

She's real deep lol, but it makes sense right? I trust you because I don't think you're hopeless. My cousin Wei is confused and hopeless. You're just confused. I'm confused too. Well fuck who isn't confused? Baby steps baby steps....

I'll be your support, I'll always be your support when needed.

Moving on. I never thought taking care of babies would be so hard and tedious..... my siblings both weigh 5kg now... it's arm day every day. Most importantly, it's my last year of being a teenager, I should be clubbingggggggg instead of being a part time nanny.... I guess you're being a part time nanny+chauffeur too😂😂😂 why do bad things happen to good people!!!! We used to say that a lot when there's a rush at PF. Good old timessss.

I got a bit confused a few days ago about my ex girlfriend. It's crystal clear that I don't wanna get back with her or have any emotional connection with her. But what about sleeping with her? We dated for three years and one thing I enjoyed was sleeping with her. I guess I'm still super young, so sleeping with someone consistently for three years really trained my brain to think of her as the default when it comes to intimacy. I have mixed feelings about offering my room to her. I told myself that I won't bring any girls other than my future girlfriend home to sleep over lol unless they are my friends. I don't wanna be friends with Boxin, I don't wanna be anything with her. Maybe friends with benefits minus the friend part. I don't even know if I want that, but people get horny it's human nature and people like convenience.

I tried to explain, not because I think you expect anything from me, but I expect myself to be focused. There's nothing wrong with fucking around, I simply like giving one person the special attention. Sartre and Simone fucked around their entire life, but there's only one Sartre to Simone and vice versa.

About school, we can always study together if you want, I'm a good study buddy I think. I could probably study Econ with you if I haven't forgotten all about Micro.

Turns out that I'll have to cab back to UBC on the 3rd, but somehow I liked it this way. I don't wanna owe her anything lol or I'll just bus back cuz I don't have much to carry anyways

I'm going for a walk. The typhoon could hit the city at anytime but I miss getting soaked. It's kinda EMO so you probably get it hahahah.

Love,

Yang

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