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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

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Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eug��nie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

#sansa stark #jonsa #eugénie grandet #honoré de balzac

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shiroandblack · 3 years

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Heike Monogatari: A Commentary (not a very serious one)

Disclaimer: I have not read the Heike Monogatari due to 1) My insufficient Japanese for a Modern Japanese translation of it, and 2) The difficulty of procuring an English translation copy in my country. I have, however, been told the story and history by people who have read the modern Japanese translation and have done some internet research on it. Oh and there will be SPOILERS.

So after raging when I saw this post. I was raging because there was an anime on the Heike Monogatari and no one fucking told me. Was anyone gonna tell me about this? SIR, THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE STORIES HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME -

[Image ID: red background, girl facing sideways with eyes closed, she has white hair flowing backwards and cream skin, red background blends into kimono with pale yellow patterns. There is red kanji writing on the white hair saying 'Heike Monogatari']

(My first time making an Image ID, I apologize if it's shitty)

Right from the very first episode, I was like: these people are doomed narratively, I know how this goes, but why am I getting attached?

Oh yes, I probably should mention that I will be using Heike and Taira interchangeably. They both refer to the same clan, 'Taira' is their actually surnames but they are called Heike as the characters in their name can be read this way.

I have to admit at first, I was rather surprised by the addition of Biwa and her adoption-but-kinda-not by Shigemori. I was surprised because Biwa isn't in the Heike Monogatari text as far I can tell, and I sort of wondered on her purpose narratively until I realised that the reciting-singing of actual quotes from the Heike Monogatari was done by her (because I'm damn unperceptive) and in the later episodes when she realised she was gonna stick around and observe so that the Heike would live on in the memories of people through stories. Biwa is the viewer, Biwa is us if we were there. She was in a perfect position for a narrator, close enough to know each of them personally but distant enough that she wouldn't be implicated as Heike during the Genpei War. She was for all intent and purposes a beloved attendant to Shigemori, but an attendant nevertheless (not a vassal, who is oath-bound to serve), who was allowed to leave whenever she liked. The idea of her father being unjustly killed and Shigemori taking her in as repentance and also because of her future seeing abilities was not very common in the Heian era, but it did happen sometimes. This sort of ward relationship usually happened with political hostages/assets or in the very rare case, if a child showed enough promise and talent to be well, a pawn. Biwa was the latter, she had an ability which was incredibly useful and at first we see Shigemori try to get her to tell him, by saying "hey you're not alone, I have an ability to see things too. But I see the souls of the departed". But eventually he accepts that she wasn't going to tell him and I think he knew the reason she wasn't telling him was because they were all fucked.

The art was gorgeous and I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that they kept the fashion and hair relatively period accurate with the men and women, whether they were nuns/monks or not. And that they kept the war paint/face paint was wonderful.

About the Heike, they were assholes especially Kiyomori and Munemori but you can't help but feel for the others like Shigemori's sons and Tokuko. You can't help but feel for Biwa who has to watch everyone die. I was actually surprised by how graphic some of the deaths were, not in the sense there were lots of blood and all that, but how they actually show people committing suicide. I was very surprised that Emperor Antoku and Taira no Tokiko's death was shown on screen, because Antoku was a five year old. Don't get me wrong, I knew it was coming, but reading about it and watching it get brought to life is different. It was haunting the way almost all the Taira flung themselves into the sea to drown within a sea filled with whirlpool. I was up there with Yoshitsune with regards to my expression when I watched all this happen. Kiyotsune's suicide was tragic, because you can see this person who feels as if he is cornered and he has no way out and it's true, the Taira were cornered and had no way out. But the thing with Kiyotsune was that he felt that he was alone, he thought he could rely on Atsumori as a fellow musician who dislikes violence, but Atsumori was trapped in this fantasy of glory in battle whereas perhaps because Kiyotsune had watched how battle changed Koremori, he's not as enchanted as Atsumori. Atsumori was another tragedy as he has his fantasy about war shattered and yet his wish for a glorious death was granted to him. I'm not sure who he fought, but I think it was Benkei who was a warrior-monk of great renown for his battle prowess. This guy got his ass kicked by Yoshitsune 2 or 3 times (I can't remember) and so decided to serve him because in Heian Japan, Asskicking Equals Authority. Which was why Shigemori had so much authority, he kicked ass in a previous rebellion.

TOKUKO GETS ENTIRE FUCKING PARAGRAPHS BECAUSE SHE DESERVES IT. Tokuko was a tragic character, not because of what happened to her (though it plays a role) but because her whole life is about her making the best with her misfortune. She was married to a boy 6 years her junior as a duty to her clan, took care of his needs as was her duty as his official wife, lobbied for him with her father and in court because it was once again, her duty. She had a strong sense of duty, I think, it reflects in the way she doesn't argue with her father despite his plans for her (until the last) and the way she continues to do what is expected of her despite her personal feelings. I mean, Tokuko was by all means, Takakura's caretaker and companion and she was his main wife but he still visits the children from his concubine more than he does their son together and yet Tokuko was the one who took care of him during his final illness. She takes the fact that the man she is in love with (and yes, she admits that she eventually fell for him) spending time with another woman with such grace when people around her say they would have fully understood if she showed bitterness. And even on his deathbed when Takakura did not tell her he loved her, she accepts it and moves on. He was fond of her and did admire her, but ultimately did not return her feelings and was more grateful for her instead, she takes it so well. I love that she admits to Biwa that at first she was bitter he didn't tell her he loved her, it shows that Tokuko is willing to accept her feelings rather than deny them but at the same time being very human in her bitterness.

"I am grateful that His Majesty can find comfort in someone other than me."

Is such a poignant line to say. Because if you say it with enough spite, it can turn into a completely bitter line but Tokuko says it with such calm and genuine gratitude that it becomes kind instead.

I think Tokuko's moment of defiance started when she said "uh hell no" to marrying Go-Shirakawa her late husband's father and it continued until Antoku's sorta suicide sorta murder. Why I say she was defiant because Tokuko knew she was screwed, if she didn't think she was screwed then she would have written to Go-Shirakawa when Sukemori asked her to. There's something both beautiful and sad about someone fighting an inevitable fate, Tokuko knows very well that she's just delaying the inevitable but her devotion as Antoku's mother is what keeps her going. She's very aware that if Yoshitsune catches her and Antoku, Antoku will probably not be executed but he will be forced to live in a court with no political support because the Heike are done by that point. And in Heian era Japan, if you were a prince in line for the throne, the backing of your wife or mother's family matters a whole lot. Takakura was able to be emperor over his elder brother because Tokuko's powerful clan was backing him. Let's say Antoku did live, then he would most likely die early or get sent to a temple because he has a Heike mother in a court where the Genji (who are the Heike's archenemy) are dominant so court would have been a snake pit for him and the Heike do not have the resources to back him up as they did before.

I know a lot of people will think "but why did Tokuko allow her mother to drown her own son?", I'm not well versed in Japanese traditions or values but there are many cases in Japanese history where people of once prominent clans would rather die than be captured because being captured was much more of a disgrace than dying. Running away was more of a disgrace than dying, which was why Koremori running away to be a monk and then drowning himself was considered very cowardly. It's why even Biwa said that he ran away until the very end, because death was considered a consequence and running away was considered to be fleeing those consequences because honour had a higher value than self-preservation. And plus, I think Tokuko at that point realised there really was nowhere to go and that it would be better for her son to die with his honour preserved than live as a disgraced second-class prince in a snakepit. Maybe by our modern values this was a huge "what the fuck?" moment, but back then it was considered a pretty logical and common decision to make.

Moving onto the Genji. I gotta say. They did Yoshinaka and Yoritomo dirty in the anime. I mean, yeah Kiso mountains was basically the Japanese Alps and was kinda in the middle of nowhere by Heian standards but Yoshinaka was still a nobleman and he was still trained in swordsmanship and politics and other things warrior noblemen were generally trained in. Yes, he might not have had as opulent a childhood as Yoritomo and he might have spoke differently but that doesn't mean he was dressed in rags or didn't wear his hair properly and went to war without armour because he was too broke to afford it or for countryside aesthetic ™. I felt a little robbed on this side because Yoshinaka had one of the most badass generals in Japanese history which was Tomoe Gozen and I think the anime portrayed her devotion to Yoshinaka properly but again, she would have worn armour to battle and by the way, was famous for decapitating important lords and bringing their heads as prizes for Yoshinaka. No, really, this lady was famous for grabbing people by the fucking helmet or hair while they were on horseback and just chopping their heads off like butter.

Moving onto Yoritomo. The anime did go for the wide face that he was remarked on having by many people in history but he was not that wimpy. Yes, his wife Hōjō Masako was a strict badass, but Yoritomo was kinda badass too. Yes, he was hesitant to attack the Heike but that was because Kiyomori had spared his life as a child when he had full rights to execute Yoritomo and his brothers right up there with their father so he feels kinda indebted. I agree that maybe he was a little more lax than Masako because historically he took his son hunting and his 12 year old son shot down a deer and he sent a messenger to Masako to tell her about the wonderful news and how he's throwing a feast to celebrate their son's successful hunt but Masako sent the messenger back and here's what she said basically;

"A military commander's son being able to shoot a deer is nothing to celebrate."

I get why people would interpret that as Masako being the one with the iron fists but Yoritomo was not indecisive or "shit what do I do?" during the Genpei wars. Yes, Masako definitely advised him but he was more Shigemori and Kiyomori in terms of personality. But then again this is the Heike Monogatari which would probably be more sympathetic to the Heike.

Despite doing Yoshinaka and Yoritomo kinda dirty in the anime, Yoshitsune was great. He was historically good-looking and a badass general, and is also very famous probably more famous than Yoshinaka or Yoritomo despite Yoritomo eventually becoming shogun. I mean, he grew up in a temple which had some kind of sacred text on martial arts and they told him at 14 that when he becomes a monk he'll have access to this text. But Yoshitsune was like "nah, I ain't becoming a monk ahahahaha" and stole the text and yeeted off into the night. The Lion, the Witch, and the Audacity of this Bitch. Also, he kicked Benkei's ass twice or thrice.

But man, when Shizuka's friends said that she was lucky that she had Yoshitsune's affections I was like: y'all won't be saying that when you find out what happens to her later on. Spoilers, but long story short - Yoshitsune pisses Yoritomo off, like massively pisses him off and he sends people to kill him and Yoshitsune's forces were defeated and he commited seppuku which is an honourable form of suicide.

Anyways, back to the Heike. I would talk about Kiyomori but he's honestly an asshole. I mean, everyone has a redeeming quality or two but Kiyomori is an asshole. Though I admire his tenacity and ambition (not the burning temples and killing people and being asshole to people in general), considering he was not in a high position when he entered court and yet he was able to get his clan to basically the the number one clan during that time.

All in all, it's pretty clear early on that this story isn't going to have a happy ending and most of these characters are going to die but you can't help but get attached to them because beneath the high and mighty persona of the Heike, these are all actual people. They have emotions just like the rest of us, and a lot of their fates are not 100% their own fault because they are also pawns of powerful courtiers or more powerful members of their clan. I thought the anime adaptation did a good job of serving the Heike Monogatari in a way that normal audiences could digest, because the tale itself is an incredibly complex story and while knowing of it certainly helps with the finer details of who these characters are - I think people could comprehend it easily enough.

Also, let's not forget the banger opening lines to the Heike Monogatari itself that is spoken at the end of the anime;

Look at that fucking magnificent opening line.

"The sound of the Gion Shōja bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sāla flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline. The proud do not endure, they are like a dream on a spring night; the mighty fall at last, they are as dust before the wind." — Chapter 1.1, Helen Craig McCullough’s translation

#heike monogatari #the tale of the heike #taira clan #heian era

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g0ttal0ve101 · 3 years

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Eddie in Wonderland (Part 1)

[This is based off of the 1951 film of Alice in Wonderland. I will be skipping some parts and characters, since the cast is pretty small. Please excuse any errors I make. This art is NOT mine, but it goes along with the story.]

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A meadow of beautiful daises looked to be dancing as wind blew through the luscious green grass. It was a warm day, a day where animals would be roaming about, a day where children would be playing together, a day where everything was at ease. A woman's voice calmly read out words from a page of a history book, slowly and particularly gentle to make sure each and every word was pronounced correctly. Soothing, but awfully boring.

Above the woman sat a boy in a branch, who was supposedly listening to the words she read. He picked daisies from the meadow and began making a flower crown, holding his dear kitten, Sadie, in his lap. The young boy's foot slipped off of the branch, close to his mother's face as she read. Her blue eyes drifted off the page as she looked at his shiny black shoe, then up at him. "Edward, would you please listen to your history lesson? It's rather rude not to listen."

His ginger hair fell into his face a bit as he placed the daisy crown on his kitten's head. "Sorry, mother. It's very boring to read a book with no pictures."

"Edward, there are plenty of interesting books out there that have no pictures." His mother gazed off at the meadow for a moment, knowing her son wouldn't be listening anyway.

"That can't be true," he tells her, watching as the crown fell to the ground. "In my world, books would only have pictures!"

"In your world? Edward, please. That's absolute nonsense. Now, from the beginning." His mother began to read once more.

"Nonsense? That's it, Sadie!" He sang, scooping Sadie up in his arms. "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because it would be what it isn't! And contrary wise, what it is, it won't be! And what it wouldn't be, it would! You see?" Eddie puts the grey kitten down, jumping off of the branch without his mother noticing. Sadie let out a mew, still on the tree. "In my world, you wouldn't say "meow." You would say, yes, Mr. Edward." The kitten lets out another meow as Eddie picks her up, holding her close to his chest as he began to walk towards the woods. "Oh, but you would! You'd be just like people, Sadie. And all the other animals too."

Eddie sets Sadie down in the meadow, patting her head softly with a smile. "Why, in my world..." Eddie began to sing,

"Cats and rabbits would reside in fancy little houses...

And be dressed in shoes and hats and trousers..."

Eddie lays in the the flowers, almost disappearing into them. He gazes up at the sky, seeing that the blue moon was already beginning to show.

"In a world of my own...

all the flowers, would have very extra-special powers.

They would sit and talk to me for hours

when I'm lonely, in a world of my own..."

A blue bird then passes him by, causing an even bigger smile to rest upon his cherry cheeks. It reminded him of their small bird at home, who looked very similar.

"There'd be new birds,

lots of nice and friendly "how'd you do" birds.

Everyone would have a dozen blue birds,

within that world of my own..."

Eddie grabs Sadie and began walking down towards the wooded creek. The water was rushing by quickly, so the boy made sure to hold onto his little friend tightly as he skipped over a few rocks.

"I could listen to a babbling brook,

And hear a song that I could understand...

I keep wishing it could be that way,

because my world would be a wonderland!"

Eddie crouched and touched the cool water with his hand, feeling the stream go through his pale fingers. Sadie sat next to him, staring at the liquid as if it was a monster. Eddie's ginger hair was very clear in the reflection of the water, which made him sigh. He never liked how it looked or framed his freckled face. Suddenly, it began to look different. The reflection twisted and turned, showing Eddie's shocked face and a man standing right behind him. He turns quickly, only to see a tall gentleman with black hair, two white rabbit ears, bandages all up and down his body, and wearing a fairly fancy outfit.

Eddie turns around slowly, only to realize that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. There was actually a man, a rabbit man, standing there behind him. Before Eddie could speak, the rabbit man looks down at a huge golden watch then points at it with a sickening smile.

"You made me three seconds behind. Now you have three seconds to run. That's only fair."

Eddie's green eyes grow huge and his kitten ran away as quickly as possible. He then saw the bloody knife in the man's hand, falling into the creek, but immediately getting up and running away. "MOTHER! MOTHER!"

The rabbit-man chased after poor Eddie, hysterically laughing as the boy had tears streaming down his face. His panic got the better of him, making him become lost in the forest. Eddie was nowhere near the meadow anymore, but he could just barely recognize where he was. His heart was beating out of his chest, feeling his foot fall through a hole and dropping him down who knows where. He let out a terrified scream for his mother, but nothing came from it.

However, his body felt light. He wasn't falling, rather, floating. His white dress shirt fluttered around a bit as his blue tie flew in his face from the unexplainable gravity. "Wha...? What's going on...?" Eddie mumurs, fixing his tie. The hole grew darker and darker, leaving a pit in his stomach grow. However, he could just barely see something that looked to be a lamp on a table. He reached out towards it and flipped the switch, illuminating the area. Random things were around him as he slowly fell, such as tables, chairs, and potted plants. They all seemed to be items that would be in a house regularly, but definitely not in a rabbit hole.

Eddie passes a mirror that catches his horrified expression, then a nightstand with books on it, then a rocking chair, all the way until he fell right on his bum. He was then in a hall with odd coloring floor tiles and weird doors. At the end of the hall stood the rabbit-man again, who held his golden watch. "I'm late cause of you, brat." He then showed Eddie's mask that was supposedly fell out of his back pocket as he was running. "I got this from you, lil-shit. Thanks."

Eddie gasps, knowing that was one of the only things that weren't a hand-me-down from his older brothers. He stood up and chased after the bandaged man in a fuss, forgetting how dangerous this cold be. "Hey! Give that back! It's mine!"

The man ran through a door at the end of the hall, Eddie racing after him in a spur of anger and fear. The door seemed to get smaller when he came closer, but blamed it on his imagination. He opened it, only to see two other small doors behind it, he had to crawl through it into a large room where there was another door the rabbit-man went through. He stood up and grabbed the handle, only for it to wail.

"Oh!" Eddie cried, lifting his hands up and touching his face. "Oh, I'm ever so sorry!"

The doorknob wiggled around like it had a life of it's own. "It is quite alright, young one. What is it you need?"

The voice sounded like a sweet elder gentleman, which comforted Eddie a little bit. "A man has something of mine. I must get through to get it back! It's very...important to me."

"Why, you're much too big to get through."

"I don't understand how he got through when he's taller than me."

"This is Zack we're talking about," the doorknob muttered. "Oh, but you could get through if you drink that substance in the bottle. There is a wooden table over there. It will have a bottle with liquid in it and a key underneath. Drink the liquid and use the key to enter."

Eddie followed the instructions, grabbing the bottle and key on a wooden table in the spacious room. He looked at the both of them, feeling a bit uneasy.

"Uhm...I'm sorry to be rude, but I'm not sure I should trust a liquid such as this...and this key has blood on it!"

"The blood must be from Zack...forgive it please. I have known Zack since he was a mere child. I cannot see, but I am sure the substance is safe as well."

Eddie felt naïve, but he truly believed that the voice was telling the truth. "Alright, I surely do hope I won't get sick from this."

The ginger then took a drink of the blue liquid, tasting the delicious flavor it had. Cookies, now bubblegum, now cake, now caramel. However, after it was all gone, the bottle became bigger and bigger, in which Eddie couldn't onto anymore. This is when he realized that it was not the bottle that got large, but he had shrunk!

"You should be short enough to go through now," the voice exclaimed. "Be careful, young one."

"Mhm! Thank you for the help!" Eddie gushed, opening the door and going through.

He was now in a forest-like area again, seeing the rabbit-man, supposedly named Zack, further in the woods than he was. Eddie hurried to catch up, but it was difficult to keep track of where he was. The trees were so thick and dark that it ended up confusing his eyes to thinking it was the man. "Stop! Please, wait!"

Eddie was then stopped by two pairs of hands grabbing him and pulling him back. He quickly spun around and fell over, in fear of whoever had touched him. There were two gentlemen with long black hair and strange tattoos on their faces. They looked identical, standing next to each other while gazing at Eddie.

"Oh! Why, hello there...!" Eddie nervously giggled, backing away from the two. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble, I was just looking for a man named...Zack? He was running around just a moment ago. Again, sorry for the bother...it's been nice meeting you! Goodbye-!"

The two gentlemen then stand in front of Eddie, blocking his way from leaving. Eddie chuckled nervously before backing away a little.

"You're doing it backwards." One of them says.

"Yes, you go, 'how do you do?' and shake hands." The other completes the thought.

Eddie gasped, putting his fingertips against his lips. "Oh! Pardon me! My name is Eddie, how do you do?" he giggled, shaking their hands.

"We're splendid!" One says.

"Splendid!" The other adds.

"What are your names, if you don't mind me asking." Eddie puts his hands neatly behind his back, standing on his tip-toes.

"Our name is Shin." They both say with a smile.

"Ah! That is a lovely name! Uhm...I need to get going now, bye...!" Eddie goes around them, trying to speed off and catch Zack. However, the two jump in front of him again.

"Want to play hide-and-seek?"

"Or who has the button?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I really must get going." Eddie tries to walk around them again, but they both grab each of his arms to hold him back.

"Why?" They both ask together.

"I must catch up to a rabbit-man who has something very dear to me." Eddie says in a tender and loving tone, trying to convince the two to let him go. "Please, allow me to find him."

The two look at each other with a smirk, grabbing the boy and pushing him onto a small log to sit on. "We will tell you a story first." They both say together. Before Eddie could reject the offer, the two begin dancing around and singing.

"There once was a boy who made graves and got nothing of his own,"

"The only thing he got was the smooth and flat stone!"

"And over the trees,"

"And over the hills,"

"Laid a grave-robber at work."

"He took all the bodies,"

"It was his hobby,"

"And began to sing this song! Ohhh,"

"These bodies will make me rich, my boy! These bodies will make me rich! Take them and hurry, runaway, scurry, and watch him go berserk!"

"The young boy decided enough was enough,"

"Knowing what the man had done!"

"Grabbing his hand,"

"Pushing him in,"

"And began to sing! Ohhh,"

"This grave will be ugly, with no beauty at all! I'll put the robber in the casket with no one else involved!"

"The robber screamed,"

"And wailed,"

"And cried,"

"But no one came along!"

"This is why you never steal from a grave-keeper's son! Hurrah!"

Eddie stared at the two with complete confusion, looking genuinely concerned. "That story...has a moral to it, huh?"

"Don't steal from a grave-keeper!" The two shouted with a twisted grin, almost implying that Eddie would know this.

"...Well, I ought to be going."

"We have another song!"

"Yes, about a girl who stitches people up!"

The two began to sing about another odd topic, Eddie sneaking away when the two weren't looking. He saw a glimpse of bandaged rabbit ears behind a huge tree in the distance, regaining his composure and chasing after the man. "Wait! Please, wait! Wherever are you going?!" Eddie soon finds himself running down a dirt path, leading towards a garden of flowers. Since he was still so small from the drink, the flowers looked huge and out of the ordinary. He entered the flowerbed as he looked around for Zack. "Where are you?! Please, come bac-!"

Eddie was then met eye-to-eye with a flower, which had a face. It clears its throat, lifting up a small stick and beginning to orchestrate a song piece for the other flowers to sing. They all sounded wonderful. Eddie couldn't help but to watch them all flutter around gracefully with their petals in the air. His eyes then lock onto the most humanoid looking one; White petals, beautiful golden hair, and two big brown eyes. She laid by many spider webs underneath the sunset, the dew on her making her look so angelic. She was by far the prettiest, the most talented, and the most separated from the other flowers.

Eddie and the flower made eye contact, only for her to blush a rosy red and look away sheepishly as she continued to sing. The young boy was then stopped by the other flowers who surrounded him, seeing that he was the only one not singing. He nervously giggled and looked around to see all eyes on him.

"My, you are all so wonderful." Eddie praised their performance with a gentle smile. The girl flowers all swayed over him, whispering about his looks.

"Thank you very much, dear." The orchestrater rubbed her petals against Eddie's cheek before pushing him a little closer to the rest of the flowers. "Now, may I ask what flower you are?"

"Oh, why, I'm a steady-ready-Eddie flower!" He sang, causing the girls to swoon again.

"A steady-Eddie-what?"

"Look at that stem!" One flower exclaimed, grabbing his suspenders and yanking them a little.

"And those petals!" Another shouted, running their leaves through his ginger locks. "They smell like pumpkin spice, not very much like a flower though..."

"I think he's gorgeous," the white flower girl spoke, only to be hushed by the others.

"What flowerbed are you from?"

"None, ma'am."

"Are you a wildflower?"

"No, I'm not a flower at all!" Eddie finally told them. He didn't know that their response would be negative to that answer. Everyone began to whisper about him and the white-petaled girl looked a bit distressed. He was going to ask what was wrong, only to be grabbed and thrown away.

"He's a weed!"

"A weed!"

"We don't want weeds in our flowerbed!"

"I'm not a weed!" he cried, landing on his hands and knees. The flowers then began throwing water on him that was stored in their petals above. Eddie clenched his fists and stood up, now soaking wet. "Well, if I were my regular size, I could pick each and everyone of you!"

"Get out of here, weed!"

Eddie huffed, dusting himself off and looking back at them. The white flower girl gave him a small smile and waved, causing Eddie's anger to dissolve as he did the same. He then turned away to see that the dirt path led into a meadow that looked like a jungle, since he was so small. Each strand of grass was as big as a tree and all of the mushrooms were almost as tall as Eddie himself. He began his way through, knowing that the white rabbit must have gone this way. His black shoes that his mother had just polished grew muddy as the path grew wet. This was awfully annoying.

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I will post Part 2 later today~❤

#angels of death #angels of slaughter #eddie mason #edward mason #isaac foster #zack foster #Eddie in Wonderland au #fanfic #alice in wonderland au #art is not mine

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mosquitogirl · 3 years

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im an artist n i get so anxious thinkin abt when this aesthetic wave tht we're "in" (think pale avant archive fashion, liminal spaces, white ink tribal flame tattoos. it's all over tumblr and creeping onto ig u cant miss it) will end. i followed my own ideals without thinking abt if it was the zeitgeist or not to this point, trying to not look at contemporary influences. and now that i'm here i can sense it will be seen as corny and get co-opted very soon. idk just seeing if anyone else feels this way or advice? ig my advice to myself is just let go, stop coping, just research all over again to establish new ideals or whatever...

hiii thank you for your question!! i guess i should start by saying that i feel like im not really aware of any of these trends you mentioned?? i mean liminal spaces yeah but idk about the other two. but like maybe that just goes to show that everyone has their own “bubble” online (sorry i know thats trite but its also technically true lol) and trends can be hyper-concentrated on certain platforms and in certain communities. its possible that because im not on tiktok at all that i completely miss certain trends that everyone may be tired of at this point. with that said i do think with there are certain trends with tattooing now lol. the one ive noticed a lot lately are the symmetrical intricately-designed spiky gate things. or like black metal band logo style abstract designs

as far as making art goes, i really only know my own experience and what my friends have told me about their own processes. for my own purposes, i think my best work comes out when i am consciously not thinking about what im going to draw and just following wherever my brain takes me. most of the stuff ive made that was gimmicky or trendy (ex: buff garfield shirt if youve been following me for a while) ends up being something i regret down the road lol. as an artist it doesnt feel good to be tied to one thing till the end of time and especially if its something people will look back and cringe at like 2012 pizza pop punk shit.

having said that i do worry that the stuff im drawing right now is too much like things that are trendy, especially as im trying to get into tattooing and there are certain styles that are very popular. ultimately all you really can do is be true to your personal influences and never let anything youre doing be a cheap copy of just one of them. not that everything should be a pastiche, but rather your art should be a unique reflection of you and the blend of influences that only you could have, if that makes sense.

i hope this helps!! feel free to ask me follow ups anonymously or you can just dm me on here <3

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peppermintquartz · 3 years

Text

minific, Playroom!verse / White Collar crossover

Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Tyler Breeze, Finn Balor

"For the record, I do not like how you're making me spend this holiday," Peter Burke repeats as they get into the car - a Ford, how plebeian - and Neal does what he does, which is smile prettily, nod, and say, "I know, Peter."

It's Hollywood they're headed to, all porcelain veneers and big parties and backstabbings and beautiful people, and if not for the bright sun that threatens his complexion, Neal would have liked to move here.

Well, a younger, more reckless Neal.

(It's not been the same for Neal since Peter's caught him for the final time, the two of them reconnecting in Florence, both of them finding each other where Galileo's preserved middle finger pointed right at the heavens. Then they had nights of accusations and arguments and pleas, followed by angry sex, followed by makeup sex, followed by 'come home with me' sex, followed by 'we love you and want you here' sex.

It was a lot of sex, to make up for the years Peter couldn't have Neal, not while Neal was his CI, and somehow between the fucking and the promises that Peter will not try to resurrect the dead Neal Caffrey and instead be satisfied with Geoffrey Neil Anderson, professional art restorer who sometimes travels for work but is based in Brooklyn, they have found an equilibrium together with Elizabeth.)

The address they have is in a very nice part of town, but not in the flashier districts. Mansion after mansion, but nothing too ostentatious as to be gaudy. It is clear that everyone in this neighborhood has old money. The security at the gate scrutinizes Peter's credentials and even calls to check, which earns him Peter's grudging admiration, and Neal hands over his name card. The actual address is for a mid-century modern, its black roof and pale cream walls almost plain and modest, if not for the huge estate it is situated in, and at the door are two men, one blond and one dark-haired, of about the same height. The blond man is in a white shirt and tight pale blue jeans, while the brunet is wearing an all-black suit with a black shirt.

Neal lights up in recognition. "Oh, my god, it's him!"

"I didn't think seeing Tyler Breeze would get that out of you."

"No, Finn!" Once the car stops, Neal hops out and practically runs up to the dark-haired man and hugs him. "Finn! Oh, sir, I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Likewise," says the man named Finn, and from his accent Peter knows he is Irish. What bugs him more is the sir that fell so easily from Neal's tongue. Then Peter's eyes widen when Finn tips Neal's chin and kisses him, hot and passionate, right out here where everyone can see-

"Mm, sorry, sir, but, uh, I'm spoken for these days," Neal murmurs as he pushes away - not quickly enough, if Peter's glare is anything to go by - and Finn just smiles that beatific smile of his.

Smiles like an angel, fucks like a demon. Neal's mind drags some very pleasant memories of Tokyo and Bullet Club from the depths, and he locks eyes with Tyler Breeze, who has a mischievous smirk on his lips. Princess. I haven't seen you in ages.

"Hello, Geoffrey," Tyler says with a wink, despite remembering Neal as Nicholas back in the day, and shakes hands. "It's been, what, ten years?"

"Eight, at least," says Neal, "and please, call me Neil." The names sound the same, but when Neal says it, he thinks about the different spelling.

Peter fumes politely. "Well, it's nice how everyone but me seems to know everyone else but me."

Neal laughs, quiet and fond, and goes to take his lover's hand. "Peter, this is of course Tyler Breeze, whom you know, and this is Finn. Finn, Tyler, this is Peter Burke. He heads the White Collar unit at the FBI."

Neal leaves out Finn's last name. Peter definitely has noticed, but it's okay; Neal knows that Finn erases all his digital footprints on a regular basis.

Finn's smile doesn't alter in its wattage as he shakes Peter's hand. "Nice to meet the man who's tamed Neal." The way he says the name indicates that he knows it's Neal, not Neil, and that he knows a Caffrey, and Peter suddenly knows in his gut that Finn is a criminal of some sort. Not a con man, not the sort to hurt any of them, but now Peter is itching to dig for the truth.

"Oh, that sounds naughty," Tyler says, teasing, and then jerks his head at the door. "Come on in. What would you like to drink?"

"Vodka, Ketel One," says Neal.

Peter says, "Water. I'm driving later."

"What? Of course you're not. I have six guest suites and Finn is only using one of them, so you two are staying here." Tyler sounds affronted.

"But Neal already made reserva-" Peter's protest dies out when he sees Neal's apologetic grimace. "You planned this. You had me take a holiday all the way across the country to be stuck here."

Neal holds up his hands. "El said you needed a proper break of at least two weeks after that gruelling La Monte case, and I can't keep you from your work if we just drove upstate, and I know you'd be pissed off if I had you fly to a different country, so getting you here and into Tyler's mansion is what I can do."

Peter restrains his temper. "That's it. We are flying home right now-"

"You can't leave if you don't have your keys," Finn remarks, and holds up a set of very familiar keys.

"Or your wallet," Neal chimes in. Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Neal must have lifted his wallet when he wasn't focused earlier, damn that charming bastard.

"Neal," Peter says, a growl in his voice.

"Ooh, now I see why you were tamed by him." Tyler bites his lower lip and flutters his lashes at Finn. "I oughta learn how to pick pockets. Roman would totally do that growly voice at me."

"Or you could just go to your Daddy Joe and beg for it," Finn replies, but his gaze is on Peter, who suddenly feels very exposed under the scrutiny of jewel-blue eyes. The Irishman takes the wallet from Neal and passes both wallet and keys to Tyler. "Lock these in your safe immediately, gorgeous."

Peter wants to grab the wallet back; his badge is in there and he can't risk someone copying it. But Neal was the one who insisted that they come here (although his initial claim was to meet a client for some restoration work on a portrait) and he deliberately stole the wallet and his badge and handed them over, and if Neal trusts them...

Tyler practically skips away with his prizes. Finn walks around Peter and Neal, head cocked, like he's studying something. Peter squirms inwardly, wanting to turn and watch him, but is also reluctant to show that he's unnerved.

"I can see the appeal," Finn finally says to Neal, though he is still looking at Peter. "You've found a good one."

"He found me," Neal demurs.

"I caught you," Peter corrects, almost on automatic, because he can't look away from Finn, or from his indecently red lips.

Said lips curl into a languid smile, and now it is a smile that is the downfall of saints and angels. "Mm. Catching is easy. Owning, now, owning is difficult." He pauses. "Would you like to own him, Peter?"

Neal's breathing picks up. Peter's gaze flicks over to him, concerned, but Neal only licks his lips, as if mesmerized.

Finn walks up to Neal and runs a finger along his shaven jaw. "Have you submitted to him?"

"Not yet," Neal admits.

"Do you want to?" Finn's voice drops lower. Peter has to strain to hear what he said.

"Not until... not until he learns how to handle me," Neal whispers. His eyes dart over to Peter. "How to control me."

Finn looks at the older man again, his eyes as startlingly blue as Neal's. Another slow smile. Finn then murmurs, "I can teach him. But I want you to show him what it is to submit." Then his voice hardens. "Neal."

Neal goes to his knees instantly.

It takes a second for Peter to realize that what Finn said was a command and not a name, and then his eyes take in the scene properly and his mind processes what just happened, and his breath catches.

Neal falling to my knees at one word. Neal never running again because I can stop him, with one word. It's a heady promise of power. Neal, finally listening to me and obeying me.

Finn has a very eloquent smile. It's arrogant now, amused. "If you'd known about me, back in the day," he tells Peter, "I could have handed him to you in chains within three hours. And he'd have thanked me for the honor."

Something hot and hungry unfurls in Peter's gut. He smiles back, like a shark. "What would be the fun in that?"

"Oh, so much." Finn winks. "This is going to be a very educational two weeks."

#neal caffrey/peter burke #shipfic #finn's playroom #white collar #yeah i just binged a whole ton of White Collar fics so

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shleepys · 4 years

Text

AYYYY I hope you all were safe over the holidays and continue to stay safe over these next few months! Right now my state is dealing with record high covid numbers and a bunch of snow, might be different for you guys but hey, even though we're kicking off the start of a new year we still have to be aware of what's been going on and continue to push through it. But yeah!

We can finally reveal for the @harringroveholidayexchange, so I hope you enjoy what I made for the amazing @catharrington! I don't know how everyone else is formatting theirs if they did fic and art but I'm going to put both here! 💕

- - - - -

Overlooked

prompt! - I’ve always loved the differences in the two boys while growing up, I imagine Steve having huge Christmas parties with champagne flutes and the works and Billy being invited and happy to spend time with Steve, he really is!, it’s just a lot he isn’t used to. All up to author interpretations: make as fluffy or angsty as you want ;)

summary! - Steve forgets they were supposed to hang out elsewhere while his parents threw their annual Christmas party and agrees to stay.

Luckily, Billy doesn’t mind!

The only problem is, they don’t get to hang out... and Billy starts to feel overlooked.

- - - - -

Billy couldn’t be more out of place.

Parties were his thing, don’t get that wrong. He could get drunk, smoke, fuck, do whatever and if Steve was with him, only then it was infinitely better.

But this wasn’t a party. Not the party he knew. It felt more like a corporate gathering or a birthday for someone he didn’t know and he only ended up on the list because his boyfriend’s involved. Which wouldn’t be a problem if everyone around him wasn’t two to three times his age and he actually got to hang out with said boyfriend.

But it’s fine. It’s been fine so far.

Crystal champagne flutes and ugly holiday sweaters just aren’t necessarily Billy’s forte. He can’t fathom how much Steve’s parents spent on this party alone and can only bet that it cost more than the monthly payment for the house on Cherry Road. Not that he has much resentment towards what Steve’s parents do with their money but it just seems… unnecessary.

He takes a sip from his flute, rustling the jacket resting on his lap before leaning further into the sofa to try and wait this out despite already being here for what seems like hours. Billy gradually looks up again and stares into the other room where he can see Steve and his parents.

He can’t see their faces, but he can see Steve’s. Their backs are turned to him - Steve’s off to the side - they’re merely silhouettes so he can’t tell if his parents are just being gregarious or snobby. Then again, neither of them really talk about their parents so Billy has no clue.

Billy watches as a couple leaves, the discomfort continues to overrule Steve’s face as suddenly another appears and the cycle starts over again for what seems about the hundredth time. He huffs, kicking the shagged carpet beneath him before lowly cursing himself out. Should he have reminded him what they were going to do tonight? Or would Steve have rather stayed here?

He can’t tell whether or not Steve’s just over some of the pretentious attitudes and comments he’s overheard in the past hour or that he’s trying to break the chain and get over to him so they can do something together. He could always get drunk and wait for Steve to get done, he knows where the brunette keeps a bottle of scotch that he stole from his dad’s liquor cabinet in the office.

He blinks, lips sucked in to form a seal as he thinks. “Should I go home?” Billy whispers, soft and hurt. There’s not really a point in staying and maybe he can see if Jonathan has anything new to smoke. Deep, contemplative breath.

Billy stands up and discards his glass on the side table next to him before throwing on his coat and grabbing his scarf. Everything from then to going outside flashed by like a blur, nothing of importance really stricken in his mind other than colored sweaters and the sheen of champagne glasses hitting his eye. His breath is almost heavy as he opens the door and a wave of ice rushes over him. It bites at his nose, almost makes him want to itch it but he ventures out regardless. Billy slowly closes it behind him.

Billy sighed softly, eyes falling to the ground. It’s been snowing all day. Coming and going with the wind and dusting every road, house, and tree with freckles of white. Granted, everything was coated before it got too dark and hopefully, the roads weren’t iced over for any of the poor drunks inside. Steam rolled from his mouth as he exhaled before taking a deep breath. Billy threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder and looked out where his car should be, a somber smile passing his lips but twisting into a frown. Steve told him he could park where his family parks.

His feet felt like they were superglued to the deck, that, or like boulders had been tied to the ends of them. Billy bit his bottom lip and fidgeted with his coat pockets, sort of kicked the snow from under him.

He swallowed hastily, a lump bouncing in his throat as he looked out again. Couldn’t pinpoint the emotion to anything else but a pang of burning guilt. Maybe he should have just gone up to him, shouldn’t have made a big deal out of feeling left out, taken him away from his parents so they could go upstairs or leave.

Someone jerked open the sliding doors. Light poured from the inside, Billy twisted around to identify the backlit figure expecting a drunk only to find a breathless, seemingly worried Steve. Billy wanted to furrow his brows and walk off into the snow where he knew damn well Steve wouldn’t go into with house shoes on, but for some reason, he stayed put. Watches as Steve shuts the door behind him and rubs at his arm.

“What are you doing out here?”

Billy doesn’t respond.

Steve seems to catch on, and their eyes lock.

There have been times when Billy goes outside during a party to catch his breath, maybe sneak around back to talk to Steve about one thing or another, maybe drunkenly make out and hope no one was watching or Tommy had their back. But they hadn’t been to a party for a long while, not since September. And, Billy doesn’t just bring his car keys with him to ‘catch his breath’.

Billy broke contact with a sharp ‘huh’. “Did you forget about me?"

“What? No! Why would you think that?” Steve shuddered, pulling his hands into his sleeves.

Billy looked back up with dagger-like eyes, “Because it seems an awfully lot like you did.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

He could bite back, the very opportunity hanging in front of his nose. But he didn’t. Instead, a familiar quiver caught his lip. Lingering feelings creeping up and forcing his hand to itch at his pocket. Billy shook his head, eyes falling to the ground.

Steve frowned, aware of the events to follow. He’s known the other long enough to recognize the outline of Marlboros in any pocket. Deep down wishes there was some other habit Billy bid in, but that’s a matter of discussion that needs to be saved for later.

Eventually, the pack came out. Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Billy, his lighter flaring until the end emitted a pale red before shakily tucking it away. He shook his head again slow and somber like.

“I’m sorry.” Billy started, hands moving along with his words. “And it’s not that I don’t want to be here. You’re just,” he sighed, “busy.”

Steve’s lips sealed tightly at the comment. He saw the discomfort present in the other’s sentences, could feel guilt churn in the pit of his stomach. Thing is Steve wasn’t the slightest bit spiteful, he was pissed at himself for not taking action to check up on the other. Not considering bringing another friend with them in case something like this happened. He’s upset because they were supposed to do something together tonight besides this but he forgot and agreed to be here. Steve watched him take a drag, self-spite running through his veins.

The corners of Steve’s eyes pinched, his throat tightening as he spoke, “No, I’m sorry! This sucks, this whole thing has sucked. I stressed myself out over decorating for the party and was so excited to hang out! I didn’t mean to agree but I forgot! And mom and dad keep introducing me to people. I- I wanted to spend time with you! I didn’t want to be here!” Steve took a step forward before shaky inhale. “This is my fault, this shouldn’t have happened.”

The next few seconds were the two boys staring at one another, each waiting on the other to say something. Billy was at a loss. Steve had a million thoughts streaming through his mind, hoping that the blonde wouldn’t just turn away and leave.

Eventually, Billy glanced at the door, peering through to check if the blinds were shut as a faint smile appeared. Billy’s lips pressed against Steve’s before he could protest, his hand meeting to cup the brunette’s jaw and brush over the apple of his cheek with his calloused thumb and cigarette in the other. Steve’s tears wetted his cheeks, he didn’t mind it all that much. The shock melted into comfort as Steve cherished the kiss, pouted when Billy slowly pulled away from him. The slight tinge of champagne lingering on the other’s lips, the heat of their bodies giving them a little warmth.

Billy craned his head - albeit Steve was taller - until their foreheads met.

“Don’t apologize. I get it.” Billy whispered. Steve gave a small, dismissive ‘huff’.

“My boyfriend should come before a stupid party. I should have told them otherwise.”

Billy shook his head. “The party’s nice. You beat yourself up too much over this kind of stuff, I forget things too. Remember the creek?”

Steve giggled, lips twisting into a smile. “In July when you were supposed to meet me there and didn’t show up? And I stayed there all night?”

Billy frowned as he thought into it, the bitter call at one in the morning that turned into a week of not talking to one another. It ended nicely though - if ‘nice’ was drunk car sex in the middle of the woods. There wasn’t much of an apology there but hey, they’re still trying to work on things and figure out how exactly relationships work because they aren’t exactly a sixty-year-old couple with forty years of experience behind the boy’s backs.

“I still owe you for that. Sorry.” His eyes fell to the deck as he pulled his head away, bumping his cigarette against his finger and watching the ash fall.

After Steve noticed the shift he got quiet, frowned, and eyes followed Billy’s to the wooden boards below. “Don’t apologize,” Steve echoed with a light smile. Gently Steve grabbed Billy’s scarf and drew him in for a slower, deeper kiss.

People forget things, that’s human nature. And sometimes they can be a bit dumb about it too. But this was going to be the boy’s first Christmas, granted it wasn’t exactly Christmas yet, but it was important to them both. Spending time with a significant other on a holiday was amazing even if they can’t shout it out to everyone they know.

These moments always have a sort of energy to them. When the boys share a wordless amalgamation of self-deprecating thoughts after ‘messing something up’ and those little habits come out to bite to express those thoughts oh so clearly. It’s a ball of weird energy that shines in self-hate that the two have been working to eliminate and hey, they’ve gotten pretty far! But, it’s still there. Smiling in the corner of the boy’s minds. Ready to strike at any moment. It’s just a lot smaller now.

Because again, don’t have the forty years and that’s perfectly valid even if the two don’t seem to realize it.

Billy leaned into the sweet kiss before Steve drew back. Billy chuckled and wrapped his arms around the other as he tucked his face into Steve’s neck. Steve shook again, this time cuddling up to the other and ravishing in the heat and short breaths coming out of them both.

“I wanna go inside,” Steve mumbled, rubbing at the other’s back.

Billy laughed and slowly pulled away to look at Steve. “Too cold?”

“I’m in a sweater and sweatpants,” Steve pulled on his scarf again and toyed with the frayed ends. The grin Billy responded with brimmed with bliss, his hand roaming up and held the other’s with a firm hold,

“I’ll meet you inside.”

Steve had ventured back into the party while Billy snuffed his cigarette into the deck, eventually, the two found one another next to the food Steve’s parents had catered instead of cooking this year. Only thing that wasn’t in foil baking trays was the Christmas cookies that Billy had been dying to try ever since Steve brought them up at the beginning of December. Drinks clattered in group cheers from the surrounding areas, the smooth music now bearable. He never expected that a party this foreign to him would turn out for the better. Never thought he would feel… like a part of it? The crystal flutes, richies, and overall appeal still don’t rock with him, but with Steve, he has someone there for him. And that’s all Billy could ever ask for.

Thankfully, he didn’t feel like he was going to projectile vomit champagne anymore… the nausea sort of faded after Steve kissed him outside. Billy turned to Steve, noting the rosy shade still dancing on the apples of his cheeks from outside.

“Your sweater isn’t that ugly,” Billy emphasized, chewing on an ornament-shaped cookie.

Steve shook his head with an amused sigh, sweeping the crumbs from his shirt. “This isn’t that kind of party, if it was I would’ve had you help me make one.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t think Karen from Fiance got the memo.” Billy pointed into the crowd at the woman in question. Her sweater took the cake for one of the ugliest, tensile hangs from her torso, lights strung all over, buttons on the brink of falling off. “You think she beats her kids over the head with a bible?” Steve rolled his eyes. Billy smirked at the little glare he’d received. “You should have pulled out your grandmother’s cat vests.”

Steve gagged, eyes wide and ridden with disgust. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me throw up. I never want to see those again.” Billy snorts and Steve shoves him with a laugh, “It’s not funny!”

“But you’re laughing!” Billy remarks and lightly bumps him back returning the bubbling laughter.

A woman seems to overhear their laughs and spins around with the biggest and brightest grin Billy’s ever seen. It kind of startled him. Doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t care to know until he recognizes the cat vest and how familiar those brown, round doe eyes are. She runs up to them, curls bouncing on her shoulders as she approaches with a drink in hand. Mrs. Harrington gasped, grabbing onto Steve’s sweater with eyes darting between both boys, “Is this Billy?”

Steve smirks and rolls his eyes again. “Hi, Mom. I’m back Mom.” She lightly wacks him in the arm. “Yes! This is Billy.”

Her eyes lit up, dazzled with happiness as she stuck her attention on the blonde as he snuck another cookie in his mouth. “Steve talks about you all the time!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Steve’s eyebrows knit together as he tried to defend himself but deep down knew there was no hope, especially after Billy gave him that smug but appreciative little look as his mom went on her story-telling rampage.

Billy laughs, almost in disbelief, “Really?”

“He talks about all of his friends, really. But, oh! When it comes to you he goes on and on and on, he really thinks you’re something.” Billy watched as the tips of Steve’s ears tinted themselves red and smirked. An interesting conversation for later. “I’m so upset that I haven’t been able to meet you until now! You two are always out or asleep by the time I get home.”

Billy’s brows quirked in an expression of sarcasm. “Well, thank you for not waking me up at two in the morning to introduce yourself.”

Mrs. Harrington chuckled, shaking her head before putting her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to go get another drink. Oh, and Billy!” She paused and made eye contact, “If you want to come over for Christmas, you’re more than welcome too! Just tell Steve so I know.”

Billy’s brows flew upwards, blush rising and Steve picking it up instantly. She waved goodbye before walking around them and going off on her journey into another room. The boys stared again, each waiting on the other to say something until the brunette spoke up.

"She likes you," Steve muttered, ears still red as ever.

"You talk about me to her? I think that's cute."

He huffed. Had to stop himself from leaning against the other to hide his face. "Mom likes knowing what friends are up to."

Billy loosely smiled, slowly bumping into Steve with his hip before getting a light bump back. “You look a lot like her.” Steve shook his head.

“Not as much as my dad,” Steve turned to see if he was there and frowned when he didn’t see the other but slowly faded into a smile. “I don’t know where he is, he would have loved to meet you.”

The boys got quiet again.

Billy cleared his throat, his head tilted down as if to duck away to hide his blush and the movement didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. “About coming over for Christmas-”

“I want you to.” He softly tugged on his jacket to get his attention. Eventually, Billy made eye contact, grinned with a chuckle following behind. Christmas with Steve? His caring boyfriend, twenty million cookies, a few possible presents, and… some loving parents?

Billy couldn’t be happier.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #st #strangerthings #harringroveart #fic #art #harringroveholidayexchange #happy holidays #happy new year!

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eddie-redmayne-italian-blog · 4 years

Text

Eddie's interview from Style Magazine

By Valentina Ravizza

Photo: Boo George

Styling by Fabio Immediato.

Translate by me from Italian to English

HE WOULD HAVE had to spend the holiday in Italy,” I have a real obsession for your country “,Eddie Redmayne responds from a gray London,” more suited to my pale complexion”, and tells for the first time (and I try to collect my own thoughts) of his next character, the American activist Tom Hayden, protagonist of the protests against the Vietnam war in 1968 and 77e trial of the Chicago 7, the new film by Aaron Sorkin, arriving on Netflix from October 16. "Democracy is something extraordinarily beautiful and complex, nothing comes easily, we must defend our freedoms if we don't want them to be taken away from us."

It can be risky for an actor to take a public position, Aren't you afraid to undermine your popularity?

“The truth is, I'm not afraid to take sides, we all should. I feel a social responsibility as a human being: today more than ever we should ask politicians certain questions. I'm not one who particularly likes to take risks unless it's for something I deeply believe in.”

For exemple?

To play Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything I met several people affected by ALS and doctors who helped me to learn more about the disease, and now I am among the supporters of the Motor Neurone Disease Association. During the lockdown in Britain was made a list of vulnerable people and I found it shocking that patients with motor neuron disease were not part of it, so I spoke to several politicians and went to help them. As an actor my voice has more chances to be heard and I can bring more light on this topics, I have to do it.

Also politicians as in the case of The Trial of Chicago 7?

This film tells how we got rights by changing wrong laws and remember that progress could have gone in one direction rather than another.

Is there any similarity between the protests of the 1960s and those of movements such as Black Lives Matter ?

There are moments in history when people ask for society to really represent them and that's exactly what happened then and what many people are doing in these months. The demonstrations mentioned in the movie were against the Vietnam war, but also supported the claims of the civil rights and feminist movements, the one against which they are protesting today has it’s roots in systemic racism, so the similarities are many.And there are also several other parallels between the two political situations: at the 1968 Democratic convention there was a former vice president, Hubert H. Humphrey, right-hand man of Lyndon Johnson, who ran for the White House, as today former Vice President Joe Biden is in running, and there was a Republican candidate for president who was betting for “law and order” , then it was Richard Nixon, now the same campaign is being carried out by Donald Trump.

Today there is social media, what would have happened if Tom Hayden and the others from Chicago had it?

Hard to say, myself I don't use them . While they represent a great tool of democracy that gives everyone a voice from the shore to power, they also contribute to exacerbate and amplify the falsehoods and prejudices of those who listen only to what they want to hear, in a sort of echo chamber, and they can be used to manipulate things in a very pervasive way.

Is it more difficult to play a figure you esteem like Hayden or one you despise?

I try not to judge, to dissociate my sense of reality to recreate hers. I do as much research as possible, accumulating a lot of information and then throwing everything away and play only what's in the script, hoping that all the prep work has been absorbed somehow into my body, And knowing that that movie will never be. a documentary: I am creating a painting, not a photograph. For this I must accept that I will never be able to be exactly that person, that in something I will necessarily fail.

And when the character is a pure author’s Fantasy product?

It’s like when you were told at school to make a free written essay: I hated it, I said “please, give me a lead!”, In these cases I try first of all to understand what the boundaries are, to find some elements of truth: for example, in the saga of the Fantastic Beasts to become the "Magizoologist" Newt Scamander I started by observing the work of zoologists.

How is it divided between entertainment and committed movies?

In my choices I have always let myself be guided by instinct: I read a script that my body reacts, I get excited, I laugh, I am touched to the point of seeing myself in the role of that and than understand that I really have to do it.

Did the same happen with Tom Hayden?

They first told me about it three years ago while I was on vacation in Morocco, when told me it was Sorkin who wanted me it was like a dream come true. I read the script and it not only ran , but it had a kind of syncopated rhythm I immediately loved it. Then when I got better informed about the project, I found out that it had been written years ago and I couldn't believe he hadn't seen the light yet.

In fact, the first draft is from 2007.

We wondered if this movie had an audience, if it was current enough.Instead with what’s going it has become more and more pressing

So much so that in order to release it this year, given the health emergency Paramount Pictures has decided to sell the film to Netflix (56 millions of dollars) to be distributed directly via streaming.

There could be no better way than Netflix to reach as many people as possible. And I say this as a passionate cinemas’ lover . Unfortunately in the last 20 years I have witnessed a general loss of attention span: there is always a new story to know, we are constantly being pulled in different directions, and instead find ourselves in a cinema hall being forced to sit there for two hours and half even when our attention tries to escape, it’s a kind of pleasant claustrophobia.

And theater, is it still part of your life?

I know that more years go by without me returning to the stage more what I’ll say l’ll sound insincere, but yes, my career started from there, I spent 5 o 6 years working in London theaters. I knew almost nothing about cinema until that world began to open its doors to me, I had to learn a lot on the set. I’ve been looking for a theatrical project, but so far what has been proposed to me are works by the greatest authors, and instead I’d like do something new, fresh. Maybe I found it, but I still can't say anything.

Have you ever thought of letting yourself be taken one day by another passion besides acting?

My other great love is art, but if I ever have to work on it, I imagine myself more as a curator than as a co-worker. But I honestly think that being an actor is extraordinary: whatever part you encounter on your path continues to grow:although sure it’s a wild life and it's a drug.

Are you a workaholic?

In the beginning I was because I had no alternative: I was constantly auditioning and once I got a part immediately got to work, Until in this unfair world of acting there came a moment when I was suddenly successful and overnight I finally had the opportunity to choose. Many people are looking forward to retirement, I hope I’m offered roles even when I’m 80 years old.

At that age maybe you will also be behind the camera?

I'm a bit of a control freak,so yes, I could potentially one day go directing, even just out of curiosity But only if I had to find the right project, something in which I feel safe,

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artsyxloner · 4 years

Text

Not Just a Monster

Warning: severe Bullying, death, violence, very sad, eating disorder

[ So this Chapter is going to talk about some parts of Min Soo-Nico's past and leading up to what happened. I think you guys deserve some insight. Chapter 18 will return to normal. ]

17: Past Time Revealed

To be honest, the school was a place for kids just to be Terrorized and shrunken down to their little last fuck. I had walked out of the art class gripping my Sketchbook in hand.

I had bowed to my teacher Mrs. Choi before going. Just to be polite most kids weren't here. She smiled and waved me off, it was lunchtime and I had brought my Dosirak ( packed lunch) with me.

I had to stop by my homeroom to put away my sketchbook.

I decided not to eat at the canteen because it was too crowded. Plus I didn't like certain people that were there. So I eat outside it was much prettier not to be eating in.

Sitting down on a bench, I opened my container there was Tofu kimchi, white sticky rice. Taking my chopsticks I began to eat. It wasn't much because my mom has been limiting my portions.

She wants me to be like one of the skinny girls that didn't have to wear a large size skirt. Munching slowly, I heard a group of kids laughing Hysterically behind me.

Maybe they were laughing at something funny. Turning around to see what it was, there was nothing I got confused about? Where was it? But they continued to laugh.

The thing was they were staring at me laughing. But why? Their phones were out too. Like they were taking pictures or videos I didn't know for sure.

Calling to them I asked what was so funny. " what are you guys laughing at?" I yelled, they whispered to one other ignoring me. Soon they ran over to where I was.

" I think if you see this, you'll understand why we are." It was Kim Ji-Mun the new girl with the best visuals in our grade. " have a look." She turned the expensive phone towards me.

And what I saw next made me drop my chopsticks. My eyes were stuck on the screen I couldn't take my eyes off of it. " delete that!!" I begged to get up, trying to fix myself.

" Now why would I do that?" She scoffed, " no way, I think we'll be posting them?" I shook my head. " no you can!" I yelled my body started to shake. It was a picture of my skirt it had been brought up showing my underwear.

Students gathered around, seeing what the commotion was. I gulped, staring at the ground, " please, don't show anyone." I mumbled not able to take the embarrassment. If the others were to see I would the laughing stock of the whole school.

" wow this is embarrassing, fatty I just" she paused, " can't pass up this opportunity." She then took a photo of me either the flash on and posted the two pictures together to show the person with their skirt up was me.

There were some Notification alerts, everywhere, people looked up at their phones and busted out laughing. Show it to each other. My face was red hot, not knowing what to do I took off feeling my Chubby thighs jiggle as I did.

That was the day it all started.

....

I laid down on the ground, in one of the empty classrooms the teachers don't use. I was hugging myself breathing hard, they were all around me my body stiffened my eyes frantically looking up.

" awe, she looks so pitiful poor thing let's give her some food." Ji-Mun announced as the students came over. " this should cheer you up!" She implied as they dumped all of their lunch over me.

" come on eat it fatty!!" they all chanted, but I didn't even touch it. This seemed to make them angry because Ji-Mun came up to me grabbing a first full of my hair pulling my hair yanking my head back. " what did we fucking say?!"

She took some food trying to stuff it in my mouth. But I jerked around preventing her from doing it. I think she was having enough of my Resisting because she Signaled others to come.

I screamed out, wanting help but knowing no one would come it was after school plus someone was outside blocking the door. I was then pulled up by one of the boys, " if she won't do as we say they she needs to get beaten!" Ji-Su walked over to the classroom room closet.

Coming back out with a thick wooden stick. " it didn't have to come to this Soo-Nico, do worry everyone will get a turn." She grinned evilly, rising the stick I closed my dark eyes waiting for the impact.

And it came down hard and fast, sucking in my breath as it made contact with my stomach, tears leaked from my eyes one after the other. I was hit in different places with My skin busted opened, and bloodstains in my clothes.

This wasn't even the worst of it.

....

I Ignored my family when they would ask about the bandages I had put on myself. I couldn't talk about it though. It would just cause more trouble for me.

I've lost a lot of weight since a couple of months ago. My mom was proud thinking I was working on myself to look better but no I wasn't. It's We're I haven't been eating it's gone so far to where I made myself puke up my food if I ate.

But I gained it all back and more, my mother noticed and even made side comments. I knew she was just wanted me to be like the other girls for once and feel good In my skin. But She didn't realize how much it hurt that she didn't see me for who I was.

She did it with good intentions but the outcome well not much.

I was tired and numb. I didn't want to deal with anything or anyone even my family. I stayed in my room not coming out. I went as far as to say I hated them and I wish they weren't here.

I hated everyone from that point.

....

I walked down the hallways of the school, I glared at everyone that looked at me. I had lost so much sleep that the eye-bags under my eyes were so huge and dark it was hard not to miss.

I had gone to my homeroom, sitting in the middle of the class, everyone was staring, I Knew they eventually talk about me they gave me little papers with messages that said.

worlds fattest pig

Let see your underwear again

Must suck to be poor

I would find them in my bag, them sticking out of my locker. Even one was written on the homeroom Board. You can guess which one it was.

Ji-Mun arrived, in-class noticing me she stood in front of the Podium. " as you know if there's a rumor going around that one of you has talked to Soo-Nico?" Everyone that was in the room got quiet.

She must have found out about the new girl that had come, I dumped into her. She was sitting in front of me. One was loud to talk to me.

" I better not catch you because if anyone and I mean anyone who talks to Soo-Nico is dead!" The bitch threatened right before the bell for school starts ringed.

....

I couldn't be myself anymore, all I wanted was to be a decent person but they screwed that up for me. I was fine before all this even I still didn't like my weight I was working on it.

It was late and I was waiting for my bus to take me home. I wore a thick coat because it was cold out, as the wind whipped at my red-fleshed cheeks.

My nose ran a little, I think I was getting sick. But I didn't care, at least if I got sick. I wouldn't have to go to school I think I'll wait here for the next bus that comes to make sure of it.

Taking out my phone I put one earphone in listening to my song Magic shop from BTS. My bias was namjoon, and my bias wreck was Taehyung, Bobbing my head to the music I heard a commotion on the other side of the street.

It was Ji-Mun and her gang, they were standing around someone that was sitting on the ground on their knees. Who was she tormenting now?

Getting up I checked before crossing the road, making my way over. I saw it was the new girl, I could hear her squeaky voice from here. " this will teach you not to talk to Soo-Nico again."

" no please I didn't know!!" She cried, but Ji-Mun just gave her an irritated look. Stepping on her hand I Hearing a crack the girl screamed out in pain as she dug her heel in further.

I couldn't take this anymore watching this girl tormented others just to have control, " why don't you-" before Ji-Mun could finish her sentence I punched her right in the face.

She fell to the ground, holding her bleeding nose, " what the fucking hell!" Her eyes glared recognizing me. " why don't you!" I suggested, knowing what she was going to say to the girl.

The next day my parents found out and told me I had to write an apology letter to Ji-Mun for almost breaking her nose. I was lucky enough they didn't press charges.

But What about the poor girl they were bullying? Did they have to apologize no! That's how the system works.

You get bullied they don't say anything, when they bully others, you try and Stan up from them but all you get in return trouble for doing so. Fuck them fuck everyone!

I told my parents to fuck off.

I didn't want anything to do with them at least that's what I thought.

....

It's been two weeks since the incident and I haven't gone back to school since. I laid on my bed with the lights off. I wasn't feeling good. Soon my mom came to the door knocking on it.

" Please just go away!!" I yelled hitting the door with one of my pillows. " please just come with me to the airport to pick up your brother. He wants to see you." She spoke of Jin-Woo.

I haven't seen him in forever since he aboard in the states. He was the only one that I didn't hate, at the moment. Groaning I got up getting off the bed, as I did I felt faint.

Steadying myself I went on and changed into a new pair of clothing. Opening the door. I was faced with my mom for the first time in a while. She had a worried look on her face yeah right?

" Are you feeling okay? you look, pale honey." But all I responded with was I'm fine. Sitting in the back seat my mom kept glancing at me asking questions.

Trying to start up a conversation, but I stayed quiet. " please god just leave me alone." I mumbled, but my dad heard, "your mother is trying to talk to you, stop being a little brat!"

He was turned in his seat facing me. " you haven't talked to use two weeks, when we get to the airport, you better be on your best behavior!"

Little did I know that would be the end of There's and my world.

Parking the car we got out and headed into the building. The places were crowded, with different types of people mostly Korean but there were some Foreigners.

Waiting nearby the gates, Jin-Woo should be landing anytime now. Sitting down I felt like I was going to throw up, I was sweating like crazy.

My mom noticed but didn't say anything afraid I'll fuss at her. I wondered where a restroom was in this place getting up I was stopped by my dad.

" where do you think you're going?"

I rolled my eyes, but he didn't see because his eyes were too focused on the magazine he was reading. " just to the restroom," finding out he shooed me away.

I had to ask some people where the restroom was. As doing so I passed a man, that was standing in one place, with some cotton balls up his nose. He was Turing his head side to side looking weird.

Getting away I finally found the restroom, standing in the stalls, I began to puke, rubbing my stomach as I did. I was sick I should have stayed home and waited for my brother.

After I was done, I wipe my mouth off with a sheet of toilet paper, I made sure that I was finished. Getting up I went over to the sink Turing it on splashing my face with cold water.

Looking up I was surprised at my reflection, my skin was ghostly pale, my eyes well they had strange veins in them, but I didn't think much of it probably just a symptom of this virus I have.

It wasn't long before I got more symptoms. My body got a cold rush feeling, as shivers went up to my spine. This is probably the flu, shaking my head I went on.

The weird man I noticed before was acting normal, maybe he's on meds? But he saw my eyes wide and hurried over to me. " you have the symptoms to right?!" He asked grabbing my arm shaking it.

"It is starting!!"

I look at him strangely jerking my arm away. " No, what are you talking about?" I backed away leaving the crazy man. Not knowing he was the first Infected.

As I went on it felt like the area was tipping, I staggered a bit trying to steady myself trying not to fall. My brain had that swelling feeling it seemed like I was being dragged into my head.

Not understanding what was happening I felt my body move but I wasn't the one moving it, I felt like I was stuck in my head and couldn't get out.

I then soon heard some gasps as something wet gushed out of my nose, It was blood and a lot of it. I looked into the window of the airport. That was right beside me.

And was horrified at what I saw was my reflection smiling back at me with pitch-black eyes. It waved slowly blood all over its mouth and neck.

Is that what I looked like to people right now? Because if I did I would be scared shitless. " you know you want to!" My reflection spoke to me. Grinning evilly. I felt my body backed away not believing what I was seeing.

What was this?

" what are you?" I breathed out scared. I covered my nose trying not to get blood everywhere. " I'm you but much worse." It giggled. Coming out of the window standing right in front of me.

" This was you're own doing Soo-Nico, 'tsk tsk' I'm not going to be enemy here." That is when I started to feel funny like I was losing my grasp on my mind it began to fade.

Then hearing inhuman sounds I began to dash towards people for no reason. Hearing them scream trying to get away, jumping over stuff pushing each other down.

It was all so quick and fast, that I didn't recognize the people standing before there was an older man, a woman, and a teenage boy. Their faces had a pure shock but I smiled creepily at them.

Then lunged for them.

Waking up my head hurt, slowly getting up, I looked around me seeing blood everywhere. My heart began to beat fast. Why was there so much blood? And why can't I remember a thing?

I almost screamed when I looked down. Not believe who was dead on the ground, I covered my mouth as tears immediately began to fall.

" No... No, God No!!!" I cried getting down on the blood-soaked floor seeing my family lay there lifeless. I grabbed my mom putting her head on my lap. " what I? –What happened? How—" I then remembered my creepy-looking reflection.

It was the last thing I saw before going Berserk. More eyes began to unfolded realizing I'm the one who killed them. And I didn't know why? My body shook not knowing what to do or who to call?

" I didn't mean to! I didn't– I wouldn't!! I'm sorry!" I screamed into my mother's shirt. Beating the floor with my fist, " I'm sorry for being mean to you!!"

I sucked in a couple of breaths, feeling my lips and chin quiver. As I sob from there on out, I had to live with the guilt of the death of my family never forgetting that moment.

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maraudererasmut · 5 years

Text

Black and White (Part XXVIII)

((Remind me again why I chose to use Roman Numerals for the chapters?! Anyway... ENJOY!!! <3))

Remus arrived at Black and White early in the afternoon, wearing his one and only suit. He was clean-shaven, his hair was brushed, and he looked as presentable as he could manage, all things considered.

As he entered the gallery, he noticed that there were already a few people there. James and Lily were walking around, organizing tables with food and pamphlets. There was a makeshift bar set up, where a server was sorting the alcohol and setting out glasses. Sirius was talking with a member of the waitstaff, giving directions and explaining what needed to be done throughout the night.

Still feeling the weight of anxiety pressing heavily on his shoulders, Remus headed over to the bar.

"Hey…" He managed to get out, smiling at the woman behind the counter. She gave him a confused look. "Oh, uh… I'm one of the artists. I'm… I'm allowed to be here, I promise."

"Oh!" She said, beaming at Remus. "Well, your work is very beautiful!"

"Ah… thanks…" Remus felt himself smile, despite the whole Sirius situation; it was really nice to be complimented on his work and it happened so rarely in his life. The bartender returned his grin, a slight flush falling across her cheeks.

"You'd better get used to people saying that. This night is all about you and your art."

"Heh… yeah," Remus answered awkwardly. "I suppose it is."

"You look like you could use a glass of wine…"

"You know what…" Remus eyed the collection of fancy wines behind the bar; wines that he was allowed to try for free thanks to his art. He had worked hard to get to this point, and regardless of how his personal life was looking, he knew he should still take a moment to be proud of himself. He had come so far in just a few weeks. "I think I will have one. I deserve it."

The bartender poured Remus a glass, which he graciously accepted and brought with him as he walked through the gallery. He paused in front of his most recent work, taking in the depth of the painting, remembering his emotions as he had brought it to life. He was still experiencing the same turmoil, still struggling through the same complex feelings.

"Do not get drunk tonight," a voice said from behind the artist.

Remus froze, feeling his stomach tighten and his shoulders tense. He turned around to face Sirius, hardening his expression.

"It's a glass of wine, Sirius. I think I'm entitled to it," he spat, glaring at the gallery owner. Sirius was purposefully causing trouble at this point.

"Yes, well, we don't want any mean old gallery owners taking advantage of you when you pass out." Sirius had a sneer on his face as he taunted Remus, and the artist clenched his fists in fury.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sirius?!" Remus' voice was louder than he intended and it rang through the gallery, echoing across the walls.

Sirius was about to retort, most likely some snide comment, when James approached them.

"Office. Both of you. Now!"

Remus had never seen James that angry before. His voice was sharp and aggressive, paired with a deep crimson glow spreading across his cheeks. The dark umber of his eyes flashed with intensity. Remus shrunk before his penetrating glare, feeling surprisingly small before the other man.

"This is my gallery, Potter! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Sirius, you're embarrassing yourself," James growled, stepping towards the gallery owner. "There are people here. Act professional. You and Remus need to go into your office and sort this shit out, do you understand me?"

Sirius looked like he was deliberating, considering his retort, before he changed his mind and turned around in a huff. He marched himself straight to the gallery office and Remus dutifully followed, feeling like a child that had just been scolded.

Once the two of them were in the office, James stuck his head through the door.

"If this isn't settled by the time the show opens, so help me—"

"Yes, James," Sirius grumbled, acting more like James' son than his brother.

James left Remus and Sirius alone in the office, closing the door behind him. Once they were by themselves, Sirius turned to Remus, glaring at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Remus snapped angrily. He was tired of Sirius playing games with him. He understood that he did something wrong, but the gallery owner had no right to provoke him and try to draw a reaction. "You're the one who came up to me!"

Sirius crossed his arms and let out a pfft while rolling his eyes.

"I was just making sure that you knew not to get drunk this evening, so as to not repeat past mistakes."

"Fuck off!" Remus yelled, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing his frustration to take over. "You know what? Yeah! I thought we hooked up while I was drunk! Is that such an absurd thought?! Is it really so farfetched that I thought I had sex with you?!"

Sirius looked taken aback.

"Yes, Remus! You were drunk!" He was clearly upset, his pale skin turning a bright shade of red across his cheeks and ears.

"So what?!" Remus shouted, finally putting words to the feelings that had been boiling up inside of him. "I thought we fucked! I've spent the past three weeks thinking about it, of course I'd assume that Drunk Remus would act on it!"

Sirius' mouth was hanging open. He blinked.

"You…"

Sirius was at a loss for words. Remus rolled his eyes and continued his tirade.

"Yeah. There it is. The whole damn truth. Pathetic little Remus had feelings for Sirius! Laugh it up! Tell me how stupid it is that someone like me could even fathom being with someone like you! I know it's insane! I get that! And I know I'm an idiot for thinking it could actually happen! And I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I thought we had sex! I'm sorry it felt like I thought you were a bad person! I didn't. I just assumed that… maybe… I just…"

Remus cut himself off. What did he assume?

"... you're not an idiot." Sirius muttered, his eyes drifting down slightly.

"Shut up, Sirius! Just… shut up! I don't need your pity! I don't need everyone's pity! I don't need people feeling bad for the pathetic artist who isn't good enough to make it on his own!" Remus didn't even know what he was yelling about at this point, he was just yelling. He was getting all of his feelings out, the ones that didn't fit into his paintings, and he seemed to have broken the damn.

"I don't think you're pathetic..."

"God dammit, Sirius! I just… I thought maybe… just maybe… there was a chance that… that you liked me too. That's why I assumed we had sex. I just… part of me… and it's so stupid, I know that. I see that now. I just didn't realize it at the time."

"... you're not stupid."

Remus stared at Sirius, completely floored. What was Sirius playing at? A moment ago, he had been inexplicably rude to Remus. Why would his tune change so suddenly?

"Don't patronize me! Don't you think you've made me feel bad enough?! I never meant to accuse you of anything! It was a mistake!"

"...I know."

Remus stopped. He stared open-mouthed at the man before him, whose face was crestfallen and… guilty?

"You know?! Yesterday you yelled at me about this!"

"I didn't know yesterday. But… I get it now."

"What are you talking about?!"

"I— I hadn't realized…" Sirius looked up at Remus, stormy grey eyes clouded with remorse. He looked lost, sincere, authentically apologetic. Remus felt his breath catch in his chest as he stared into Sirius' eyes, remembering their night together talking in the gallery. It had been so honest — a different side to Sirius that rarely came out.

"What hadn't you realized, Sirius?" Remus' voice was quivering. He was still upset, but he wasn't shouting. He didn't feel like he needed to yell anymore in order to be heard.

"I— I didn't know that you— that you wanted— " Sirius' body moved forward the slightest amount, an infinitesimally small step that brought their two worlds that much closer together. "I didn't realize that you had feelings for me."

"Fuck off," Remus swore, rolling his eyes. "Of course you knew. You've spent the past few weeks shamelessly flirting with me! Only now I realize that I was just a plaything for you." Remus didn't notice how harsh his words were until he saw the hurt painted across Sirius' features. "Is— isn't that what you were doing?"

"I… I flirted with you because I liked you, Remus… I just assumed you…" Sirius eyes flickered away for just a moment. "You never flirted back, I just assumed you weren't interested."

Remus stared at Sirius, confusion written across his face.

"The fuck? Sirius, you're… you're the gallery owner. Of course I couldn't— I just— what the hell is going on?" The artist ran a hand through his curls, trying to think, trying to sort out the past few weeks in his mind. "Then what was that out there?" He gestured wildly towards the rest of the gallery. "What the hell was that?"

"I was mad, Remus! I thought… I thought you had blamed me! I thought that you thought that I took advantage of you!" Sirius scrunched his face up in frustration— still looking surprisingly attractive— before brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "I was mad when you left and assumed we did it because I thought you thought the worst of me. I was hurt."

"I told you—"

"I know! I just… it never crossed my mind that… that you thought we hooked up because it was something you wanted to do… it just… never occurred to me that— that you'd even want to!"

"Of course I'd fucking want to…" Remus mumbled before he caught himself. "Shit… I mean… not that… I just—"

Before Remus could explain to the gallery owner why he just admitted to wanting to have sex with him, Sirius was suddenly there, in front of Remus, raising a hand to brush an errant curl from the artist's eyes. Remus blinked up into swirling blues and greys, wondering what the hell happened in the last few minutes that caused this.

"Sirius, I—"

"Remus…" Sirius muttered, barely audibly, the name lilting off his tongue. The pad of Sirius' thumb grazed Remus' cheek, an almost imperceptible touch of skin on skin. "Remus, I fancy you. I have for a while now. And I probably should have told you sooner."

"B— but…" Remus stammered, trying to make sense of everything. "But you were so mean out there… and— and— and you were so mad at me!"

"I was an idiot. I didn't think someone as perfect as you could ever care about someone as broken as me. And I built up barriers between us... I am so sorry."

Sirius' voice was tender, affectionate, paired with such an earnest gleam in his eyes. Remus felt himself melting before Sirius' smouldering gaze, felt the wall between them finally shatter.

"I'm not perfect…" Remus mumbled. It was all he could think to say in response.

"I want to kiss you…" Sirius' words were barely a whisper, and Remus' heart was racing. His mind flashed back to the previous weekend, the feeling of Sirius' lips against his own, the way their mouths moved. Remus wanted this, more than anything, but he felt a tug in his stomach. The voice in his head was warning him against this, reminding him of their dynamic, of gallery owner and artist. Sirius was in a position of power over him, and yet…

Sirius hadn't moved. He was waiting for Remus to respond. He refused to act on anything without Remus' express consent.

Remus closed his eyes and closed the gap, pressing his lips into Sirius'. He felt Sirius' hand cup his face, the other one weaving around his body. He felt Sirius' lips moving in sync with his own. Remus could have sworn that he was floating, his feet lifting off the ground. He felt fireworks in his stomach, exploding and crackling and causing a ruckus so loud, he was sure Sirius could hear it.

This was exactly where Remus wanted to be— where he wanted to spend the rest of his life— right there in Sirius' arms.

Knock knock knock.

Remus almost yelped, he was so startled. He immediately pulled away from Sirius, breaking their connection and the magic that tied them together. The expression on Sirius' face told Remus that he was equally as surprised and dismayed.

"I don't hear yelling. Should I be happy, or is one of you dead?"

Sirius cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"N— No one's dead, Potter. Don't worry." He turned to Remus and offered a sheepish smile before straightening himself up and adjusting his tie. "I think… I think things are worked out."

Sirius gave one last glance over to Remus, who was still standing there, mouth agape, wondering what was going on. Sirius reached out and gently brushed his fingers against Remus' arm, offering the artist a timid grin filled with emotion. Then, as if transforming into a different person altogether, Sirius turned around and threw his Gallery Owner smile onto his face.

Sirius opened the door and nodded at James, who was waiting just outside of the office.

"Not to worry, Potter. Remus has assured me that this misunderstanding won't happen again."

The artist stood in the office for a moment, briefly considering staying there all night. He shook his head out, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, and took a page from Sirius' book. The man who emerged from the office was Artist Remus: feigning confidence and ready to perform the song and dance required of him to sell his work.

((So? Was it all worth the wait? ;) ))

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ariparri · 4 years

Text

The Camping Trip

Written by cursedautumn on Instagram. We did another story for art trade and she wrote out another scenario I had in my drafts for a couple of months now. As mentioned in the Flowers Fic, English is not Autumn's first language so she apologizes if there are any mistakes.

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Veruca stepped out onto the summer sunlit porch of a small house in a Scottish forest, closed her eyes, and stretched. It was summer, the wet, green, cool Scottish summer of 1993. Under a sky as blue as Wedgwood porcelain, the emerald plain was spread out with a delicate lavender pattern, and in the distance, there could be seen the Balmoral castle, where their group went on a tour a few days before. In the air hovered a sleepy morning haze, still pale sunlight slid through the trees, the fields and the wooden house, and Veruca, despite the fact that she was dressed in her pajamas, and early in the morning in Scotland wasn't always warm, so it was a little chilly, with pleasure has substituted her face under the breeze and, looking out over the yard, still turned to the door and slipped into the cramped hallway and from there into the kitchen.

The first thing Veruca saw when she entered was a bare swarthy back, and then tousled chocolate hair and funny pajama pants with rabbits on them. The smell of melted cheese and coffee wafted through the small, uninviting kitchen, and there were three pairs of plates on the table covered with a white tablecloth, presumably for him, her, Carson and Tulip, and Autumn with Talbott. Diego was humming to himself and deftly manipulating cups and pans, and he didn't notice Veruca coming up behind him.

"Good morning," she purred. Diego turned around, his handsome face with dark, hot chocolate eyes lit up with a gentle smile. "Good morning," they hugged and kissed. "The others are still asleep. Would you like cheese toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee? We've got a long way to go home today, and we could use a good meal." "You're right, "Veruca agreed. Today they were going to return home from a two-week camping. "Should I wake the others up?"

"Uh-huh," Diego said. "I don't think they're awake yet..." Veruca left the kitchen and climbed the creaking wooden steps that made up the somewhat rickety staircase. The house they had rented while roaming the Scottish castles was quite old and a little out of keeping with the conditions and weather around them, but there was a strange sense of unity with nature, calm and peaceful — that's what this old building could not take away. Autumn had found the house, and at first Veruca had been surprised by her friend's choice: why would the granddaughter of a French count, the heiress of several pureblood families, and a half-aristocrat prefer a lonely old cabin to a posh cottage or hotel?

Autumn was always full of surprises, though. That's probably why she and Veruca understood each other so well and were so close friends... As she went up to the second floor and down the narrow corridor, Veruca couldn't help but remember how, just before the hike, she had come to Coby and told him that she was going to Scotland with her friends and her boyfriend. Coby, who was already wary of Diego, became concerned, and when Veruca made fun of him and told him that she was "already grown up and ready for things that couples in love usually do," he began to look like a madman in his nervousness and worrying. She had expected to just play on her brother's nerves a little, but now, leaving him there, restless and alone, she felt a gnawing sense of guilt. Well, it was a kind of revenge for the real paranoia of the eighties, a major period of her life that had been taken away because of him and R.

"Hey, you!" called Veruca, coming to the next room; Talbott and Autumn were sleeping in the left room, and Carson and Tulip were sleeping in the right. The door on the left immediately opened, and a girl with disheveled dark, almost black hair, beautiful pale skin, and thin hands appeared on the threshold. Autumn hill narrowed her sleepy, transparent eyes and murmured, “Good morning to you, too. What time is it?"

"Almost eight," Veruca told her friend. "Is Talbott up yet?"

"Yeah," Autumn nodded. She looked happy and rested, and it seemed that the reason lay not only in a good two-week hike, charging mental strength. "He's washing up."

Veruca knocked on the door to the right-hand room. A few seconds later, it also opened, and Carson appeared in the doorway, fully dressed in a shirt and shorts. "Oh, you're awake! Come down for breakfast right now!"

At Breakfast, everyone, barely able to fit at the table, chatted casually, pushed each other with their knees at the table and exchanged memories; Tulip rememberd some fun school story and almost made everyone choke. Veruca looked at her friends and thought about how well they had spent their time here — swimming in the forest lake, frying sausages by the fire, walking around Scottish castles and attending fairs and dances.

Here, in nature, Veruca was able to relax a little, forget that her parents had neglected her, that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, that until recently she had been all alone — in general, about all the bad things that had happened to her over the past two years. Here, in the company of friends, where she was her own and familiar, it seemed to become easier to breathe, and the muscles of her face stopped straining, forever making her serious and sad. With Diego, Carson, Talbott, Autumn, and Tulip, she could be as much herself as she liked and not be shy about it.

"Thank you for breakfast," Veruca said to Diego after everyone had eaten their fill of cheese toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee, washed the dishes, and gone to their rooms to change, and kissed him. Diego immediately responded to the kiss and did not let go of her for a long time. "That's it, that's it," Veruca laughed as he tried to get his hands under her T-shirt. "So, get ready, Romeo! We have to apparate several times to drop everyone off before Coby."

"Oh," Diego drawled in mock displeasure, hugging her. "Alright. But I promise you, you won't get rid of me when we get home, my beautiful green-eyed Juliet." Veruca laughed and threw a pillow at him. Half an hour later, everyone came down to the porch: Carson and Tulip, both wearing identical white shirts with lettering on them: "I'm hers" and "I'm his" in blue shorts and caps, Autumn and Talbott in loose sweaters and light trousers, and Veruca and Diego — she in a dress with a leather belt, he in shorts and a T-shirt with a strange pattern. There wasn't a lot of luggage, so no one was worried about possible problems with apparating. Veruca took one last look at the lush and vibrant Scottish landscape, sighed, and asked, "Home?"

"Home!" Tulip answered loudly, and six people joined hands and disapparated with a pop sound, leaving only an empty house with keys under the rug, the smell of morning in the cramped kitchen, and the sense of human presence in the damp woods near Balmoral castle. Carson and Tulip were the first to drop off. They were saying good-bye to the others for a long time, then held hands and headed for their home. Looking at her happy friends, Veruca thought that the wedding was just around the corner. Then it was Autumn and Talbott's turn to say their goodbyes even longer, because they were planning to leave to Italy indefinitely due to the escalating situation in the country and it was not known how soon they would see each other.

After watching them go, Veruca and Diego finally apparated for the third time, finally to Coby's house. Her brother lived on a lonely Irish island, in a cozy modern cabin, simple and bright. When Veruca entered it, everything inside her immediately became warmer and calmer. She didn't come here very often, but now she and Diego had a little idea for a prank that they were going to put into practice. Veruca didn't expect to frighten her brother too much, but as she walked up the path to the cabin, holding Diego's hand, she chuckled nervously, knowing that Coby would not be indifferent to this "news.”

Diego remained on the narrow stone path that wound up to the house and was surrounded by low green bushes; Veruca went to the low wooden porch with a flowered rug and pulled the chain that hung from the canopy. Somewhere inside the house, a chime sounded like a trill, then there were slow footsteps, and a fewseconds later a dark-haired man appeared in the doorway with a cup in his hands. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans, and his face was pale and sleepy, as if he had just gotten up, though Veruca thought he probably had. Coby McQuaid stared at his sister for a few seconds, then smiled, "Oh, Veruca!"

"Coby!" Veruca dropped her duffel bag and took a step toward her brother. "As you can see, I'm back!"

"I definetely do!" Coby said exaggerated-loudly, as if she'd interrupted his peaceful awakening. "Come in, don't stand on the doorstep." They went into the wood-paneled living room through the hall. Here everything was the same as before: wooden furniture and walls, chequered sofas and the same chequered curtains, a cozy atmosphere and the smell of wood. She sat down on the cushioned sofa opposite Coby, who poured a cup of tea from a small teapot on a low table and handed it to her, "Here you go."

"Thank you," Veruca said, and looked at Coby. He was looking at her. There was a hint of concern in his eyes. "You know, I have so much to tell you!" Over the next thirty minutes, she hurriedly, almost excitedly, told everything she could remember: how Tulip had fallen into the lake, her feet tangled in the grass (she had a special ability to fall out of the blue, or, like that time, getting tangled in places where it was impossible), how Diego had hidden in the tent because a butterfly was flying outside, and yelled when it sat on him, and Veruca fell down the stairs, and Talbott almost burned his hair by the fire, so she told her brother about the whole trip.

Coby listened with genuine interest, but Veruca could see that he was waiting for her to mention something about "adult stuff." Finally, Veruca decided to do it. When she finished telling them how Tulip and Carson had tried to fry sausages and ended up burning them, she giggled, "You know what else happened?”

"What?" Coby asked too quickly. Veruca laid her hand on the back of the sofa, smiled, and said: "Diego made me a woman."

The room remained silent for several seconds. Then Coby dropped the empty cup and it hit the carpet with a thud. Then her brother screamed and threw himself on the floor and rolled around on it, and Veruca heard a muffled cry and mutter; she got up, put the cup down on the table, and craned her neck to see Coby sprawled on the floor, howling inarticulately, beating the carpet with his weak fists. He seemed to be cursing Diego and the whole world for what had fallen on his poor head; Veruca knew it wasn't real grief, just shock, so she didn't rush to reassure him. Coby slammed his fist down on the floorboards. She was both amused by the sight of her brother and somewhat disturbed by the shock that had overtaken him.

Coby muttered, "How so?.. how?.. You're still a little girl!" Veruca decided not to mention that she was nineteen. Coby continued to howl and roll listlessly on the floor. Apparently, he wasn't going to stop, because his torment didn't get any quieter or even a little calmer. The girl slipped past her brother, who was lying on his face, went out into the hall and found herself on the street, hearing a surprised, muffled cry behind her. Veruca ran quickly down the steps, feeling a rush of laughter, and ran down the paved path toward Diego. Coby's screams subsided a little, and then he suddenly yelled sharply, “VERUCA CARLYN MCQUAID, COME BACK HERE NOW!".

"High five!" Veruca laughed, running up to Diego, who was waiting for her where she had left him some time ago. He dutifully gave her a five and looked cautiously towards the hut from which came Coby's cry. "What a reaction!"

"Let's go quickly," Diego laughed, "before your brother decides to cut off our heads."

"Yeah, the main thing is to write him a letter later and explain that this is just a joke," Veruca chuckled and looked around. They joined hands and disapparated with a bang just as a distraught Coby McQuaid threw open the doors of his cabin and ran out; he ran down the winding path, but found neither his sister nor her boyfriend, and cursing, turned and trudged back, feeling as if someone had hit him very hard on the head. And his "little" sister, returning to her home, immediately went to her cabinet, hastily took out parchmentand ink, sat down at the table and began to write a letter, simultaneously remembering the white face of her brother and how he rolled on the floor, learning about her growing up, and laughing heartily.

"Dear Coby,

I hope you're not too nervous...".

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live-laugh-lesbian80083 · 3 years

Text

La Vie en Rose

1 - Don't Forget About Me

Summary: Everything about her is perfect. Her grades, her looks, her personality, everything. Desiree Hale is known as little miss perfect all throughout middle school. But when she makes the transition from being in eighth grade to being a freshman, everything changes. Not because of the change in her surroundings, but because of a girl. A girl with gorgeous brown locks and stunning eyes to match, with a voice that sounds like an angel and a smile that could melt anyone's heart. The moment Desiree laid her eyes on the girl, she knew there was something different about herself.

Word Count: 3,205

Warnings: None

Please do NOT copy, rewrite, or translate onto another site. Permission will not be given if asked for it.

Water splashes on the light gray concrete, soaking the people nearby. Meat sizzles on the grill, sending a delectable aroma through the air. Adults and children cover the lawn, chatter fills the surrounding space. The Sun's rays beat upon everything it can reach, making anything hot to the touch. This is what a Fourth of July party looks like. People having fun interacting with each other and forming relationships with people they had just met.

But not me. I've been sitting in the corner underneath an enormous oak tree with my journal full of short stories and other random notes. No one has bothered talking to me. It's not like anyone would want to talk with the girl who has her face buried in a journal. They're too busy enjoying the sun and partying. I'm not a big fan of the sun. Or parties. I'd much rather sit inside and read or write all day.

I turned the page in my notebook and began jotting down random thoughts that pop into my mind. As I looked up to relax my eyes, I noticed a girl my age approaching me in a bright blue two-piece swimsuit with a bright smile on her face. I smiled back and watched as she sat next to me on the grass.

"So, what brings you to this miserable party?" She asked, her smile not fading.

"My parents are friends with the hosts." I deadpanned. "You?"

"My parents are the hosts." She chuckled.

Silence. We stared into the distance and watched my little sister -who's only six years old- jump into the pool with a bright pink ring sitting around her waist as my dad caught her. I smiled when I heard her screams of joy.

"What's your name?" The girl said as she cleared her throat.

"Oh, it's Desiree." I stuttered, clearly being thrown off guard by the sudden question. "What's yours?"

"Zoe." She replied.

More silence. That's enough of our conversation. It's obvious neither of us gets out there or talk to others often. We've only said six things to each other. And every time we try to converse, it always starts with her asking a question.

"Wanna come to the pool with me? I think it's a lot cooler than sitting out in the sun." Zoe comments. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Actually, that sounds nice. I'll be right back." I said, standing up as my arms naturally spread to the sky to release tension.

"If you're changing, I could show you where the bathrooms are." She commented.

"That's alright. Your mom told me where they were when we got here." I replied, grabbing my bag and hurrying into the house and towards the bathroom.

Once I was inside, I quickly stripped off my clothing and changed into my black two piece. I turned to look at the mirror and pulled my dark brown hair into a high ponytail to prevent it from getting wet. Smiling, I made my way out of the bathroom and found Zoe standing by the door, waiting for me.

The two of us ran to the pool and dove into the deep end with grins spread across our faces. Fully submerged in the water, I opened my eyes and looked to my right to see Zoe watching me. I smirked and began swimming to the surface. As I broke the fine line between the water and air, I felt my lungs gasp for air and my wet hair stick to the back of my neck. There was no point in that ponytail. I quickly stroked to the edge of the pool where I met with Zoe and got greeted with a splash of water to the face. I let out a dramatic gasp and pushed water towards her as well. Before we knew it, we made our way back out to the middle of the pool again in a huge water war. The two of us looked up to see my dad running towards us from the surface. I took in as much air as possible into my lungs and dove under the water just before he got to the pool. Zoe continued swimming in place and tried to protect herself from the oncoming tidal wave, but it was no use. Dad hit the water, and I felt myself get pushed towards the other side of the pool. As I felt the water calm down, I quickly resurfaced and swallowed a breath of fresh air.

"Dinner's ready, girls." Dad laughed as he swam over to us.

"That wasn't necessary." I said, brushing loose strands of wet hair behind my ears.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you heard me." He replied as he stepped out of the pool. "I was also extremely hot."

Zoe and I glanced at each other and laughed, making our way out of the water. We hopped in line and draped brightly colored towels around our shoulders to dry off a bit. I grabbed a paper plate and collected a hotdog, some condiments and a small bag of Doritos. I thanked the man standing by the grill for the meal and scanned the yard for Zoe to find her sitting under the tree we met at. Smirking, I rushed to the grass. Standing at her side, I placed my food onto the ground and lay the towel flat next to where Zoe had done the same. I then sat criss-crossed on the fabric and dug into my meal.

"Tell me something about yourself." I prompted, breaking the silence.

"Oh, I uh, I play guitar and bass. I'm planning on trying out for the Jazz Band at my high school at the beginning of the year." She replied simply.

"What school are you going to?" I questioned.

"James Madison. You?" Zoe answered.

"Wait, no way, me too!"

"Really? What classes are you taking?"

I told Zoe almost every single one of my classes. Art, choir, French, and theatre for my electives. Earth science, honors language arts, secondary math one, and world geography for my core classes. Zoe's classes were a lot more complex than mine. Band, creative writing, and debate for her electives. Earth science, honors language arts, secondary math two, and AP human geography for her core classes. Not to mention if she makes it into the jazz band she'll have an extra-curricular.

We talked about our friends and lives in middle school. How I was perfect with grades and had little to no issues while she had to deal with drama and barley passing classes. Why we both made such big changes for high school is a significant question that neither of us know the answer to. The conversation dragged away from school and ventured into our home lives. Zoe told me about her brother Connor, and I told her about my little sister Brooke. She talked about how Connor has changed. How they used to be friends and would play with each other when they were younger and how they've drifted over the years. How much she wishes they could be close again and how it can't happen because of things he's done.

Zoe has dealt with so much shit throughout her life. From fights with her brother to being ignored by her parents, all she wants is to be seen. Usually I'd say the two of us are different people, but in reality, we aren't. After Brooke was born, I felt lost. My life took a sharp turn I didn't see coming. But yet again, doesn't everyone who has younger siblings been through the same thing I went through? I bet it doesn't last as long for them as it did for me. The rejection, I mean. It's been six years. Six damn years and my parents still give Brooke the attention they gave her when she was born. And what have I been doing? I've tried getting them to notice me, but it never works. I learned how to paint and made them something for their anniversary. It ended up in the basement. I drew my dad something for his birthday and it ended up in the basement. I learned how to sculpt things out of clay and made a sculpture for my mom and it ended up in the basement. Everything Brooke makes gets hung up or put on display. Everything I make gets put away. On the outside, we appear as a happy family. On the inside, we appear as a happy family. But it doesn't feel like it.

I finished eating quicker than I had expected and offered to throw Zoe's trash away for her. After many tries, she gave in and let me, telling me to grab her a Dr. Pepper while I was by the drinks. I complied and grabbed myself one.

"Thanks." She said as she popped the tab on the can, sending small droplets of the soda into the air.

"It's no problem." I replied, doing the same.

Everyone at the party had resumed their activities before the meal in no time, which meant Zoe and I had returned to the pool. We were floating on a raft together, chatting about anything that came to mind, when we suddenly felt someone flip the raft, throwing us into the water. I screamed and accidentally swallowed a bit of water. Zoe did the same. We both resurfaced, coughing the liquid out of our lungs while diabolical laughter rang through the air.

"What the hell was that for, Connor?" Zoe yelled, continuing to cough.

"Your screams were hilarious!" He laughed, falling dramatically into the water.

I eventually caught my breath and finally got a glance at what this Connor character looks like. He has pale white skin and unruly dark brown hair. He's incredibly slim with little to no meat on his bones. I brushed loose strands out of my face and tucked them behind my ears. A wave came from behind me, water splashing across Connor's face. I turned to see a wicked grin on Zoe's face. I know exactly what's happening. A water fight. I quickly dove under the water as the fight began, the siblings splashing each other with water. Reaching the concrete wall of the pool, I swung my leg onto the ground and popped myself out. I cautiously ran over to a bucket of water balloons and grabbed one, chucking it at Connor's back. He turned around with a playful glare, paddling himself towards me.

"Shit, shit shit shit shit." I muttered under my breath, grabbing as many balloons as I could, sprinting onto the grass.

I heard Connor leave the water and his wet feet against the concrete. I turned around to see Zoe climbing out of the pool herself, rushing to the pool house. Getting distracted with Zoe's actions, I felt a balloon hit the back of my thigh. My head whipped around to see Connor running in the opposite direction.

Zoe ran up next to me and handed me a super soaker, saying, "Those balloons aren't getting you anywhere."

I gladly took the gun and searched the yard for her brother when I saw an arm disappear behind a bright green bush. Pointing at the bush, we nodded at each other and sneaked up on the boy. I verged left while she went right. Slipping into the groups of people, we approached the bush with smirks on our faces. Zoe held up her fingers, silently counting us down from three. Three, two, one! Both of us blindly fired our super soakers at the bush, hoping we hit Connor. Swifter than we expected, he emerged from the bush and threw his hands into the air in surrender.

"Okay! I surrender!" He yelled.

"We'll forgive you if you get us popsicle." Zoe said, not putting her gun down.

"That's not how surrender works." Connor fought.

I squirted him with water. "Well, it's how it works around here."

"Jesus, fine." he replied, walking over to the cooler with his hands remaining in the air.

"Keep your hands where we can see them." Zoe called out.

"I am." Connor said. He grabbed three rocket pops and headed back over to us. "Have we made peace?"

"Yes." Zoe and I said in unison, each of us taking one popsicle.

As all of us peeled the wrapper off the cool treat, Connor and Zoe's dad approached us. "We're starting fireworks in the front if you'd like to join us."

"We'll be there in a minute." Zoe smiled.

She snatched the wrappers from all our hands and tossed them into the trash. I hurried over to my bag and slipped on my pair of blue shorts, completely disregarding my shirt. No one will care if I'm wearing a swim top and shorts. And besides, it's way too hot. She held out her arm to me to which I took, hooking my arm around hers. For only knowing each other for a few hours, I think we're getting along well. I've never clicked with anyone so easily before so this feels too easy. Maybe Zoe's being forced to hang out with me. It doesn't feel forced, though. Or maybe our personalities function perfectly together. Whatever it is, I don't think it matters. The bond we have is like a friendship that started many years ago. But it's only been hours. And hopefully, it lasts much longer than hours. Maybe we can have what those friendships that last for years have.

Skipping towards the gate that separates the backyard from the front, I grinned and started humming the theme to The Wizard Of Oz to myself. Zoe must have heard me, for she began singing the song. I laughed and sang along as we joined the rest of the party. Glancing around the area, I found an empty spot on the grass. I pulled Zoe to the spot with me and noticed it was right next to my family.

"So that's where you went." My dad commented, throwing a handful of glow sticks at me.

"Did you not just see me chasing Connor around with a squirt gun?" I questioned, taking a seat on the grass, pulling Zoe down with me.

"Apparently not." He replied.

Zoe, Connor, and I each grabbed a handful of the glow sticks off the grass and cracked them in one snap. Light illuminated in our hands and I took one of my red sticks and poked Zoe's shoulder. She poked me back with a blue one. And the war began. We poke each other back and forth with the glow sticks, breaking into a fit of giggles.

"How about you two use the glow sticks for something other than poking each other?" My mom recommended.

"No, I don't think we will." I replied, continuing to poke Zoe.

"Yeah, this is a lot more fun." Zoe added, poking my arm.

After poking each other for way too long, we tired of it and grabbed those plastic connectors and connected the ends of the glow sticks, forming bracelets just in time for the sun to set, putting us into darkness, the glow of streetlights illuminating our surroundings. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright white light appear. My head snapped to look at the light to find it was someone handing a sparkler to a small child. I smirked and turned to Zoe to find her looking at me. Her cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as her gray eyes flickered away from my blue ones.

"Hey, wanna go get some sparklers?" I asked.

"Sure!" She smiled.

We headed over to the table that held all the fireworks and grabbed a few sparklers. A man neither of us knew lit them up for us, and off we went into the middle of the street. We waved the sticks around in the air, creating patterns with the sparks. I tried spelling my name in cursive, but spelling Desiree in cursive isn't the easiest thing, and neither is Zoe. Instead, we drew pictures like hearts, stars, and cats. Yes, we drew cats in the air with sparklers. Why would we not? Is that not something that everyone does? Eventually the flammable portion of the sparkler was no more, and we had to toss them into a bucket of water on the curb.

The rest of the night was full of laughter and pure joy, something I sadly haven't experienced in a long time. Fireworks were exploding around every corner you turned. People were running in the street with explosives in their hands, with no fear in their eyes. Zoe and I quickly tired of the noise and went inside. Zoe dragged me upstairs to her room. And it looks exactly what you'd think it would look like. Periwinkle bedding with pink decorative pillows and a white chunky knit blanket displayed across the foot of the bed. The walls are a lighter shade of blue with pink flowers painted on top. White panels cover the bottom half of the walls, creating a sense of contrast. Above her bed sits a display of all the pictures she's taken with her friends and boy, is there a lot.

"Sorry, it's kind of messy right now." Zoe apologized.

"It's alright. My room is in worse condition right now." I laughed. She laughed too.

She began explaining to me how she discovered her bedroom was the perfect place to view fireworks. By simply flicking off the lights and pulling up beanbags to the window, it gave us a front-row seat to a firework show with no noise. You can see the explosions of bright colors for miles and miles across the city. Some are mere specs of light, while others are large bursts of color that illuminate the room. The sounds of the explosions are small pops, some being more powerful than others. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence for quite a while before a pair of feet came down the hallway and towards the bedroom.

"Des, it's time to go." My mom said, cracking open the door.

I groaned and stood up. "Thanks for making this party a lot more tolerable." Zoe said.

"It's no problem." I replied. "So, maybe I'll see you at school?"

"Yeah, maybe. It was nice meeting you." Zoe stood and followed me out of her room.

"You too." I smiled.

Once downstairs, Zoe joined a group of people in the backyard while I headed out to the front door behind my family. I slid into the backseat and pulled my phone out of my backpack to see multiple texts from my friends. I responded to them one by one and quickly resumed my quiet and reserved personality I had at the beginning of the day. Eventually all my notifications had receded, and it left me staring out the window of the car, watching as buildings and fireworks sped past us in blurs. Suddenly I gained the feeling you get when you think you forget something somewhere, but you don't know what it is. After sitting and thinking about it for a bit, I realized what I had forgotten. I forgot to ask for Zoe's number.

#dear evan hansen fanfic #dear evan hansen #deh fanfic #deh #zoe murphy #oc #connor murphy #larry murphy #zoe murphy x oc #bisexual fanfic #pansexual fanfic #lgbtq fanfic

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