#james grieve

[the-ephemeral-ethereal]

Life, as Proust tells it, is disappointment and loss - loss of time, as his title says, and loss of youth of course; loss of freshness of vision, of belief, and of the semblance it once gave to the world; and loss of self, a loss against which we have only one safeguard, and that unsure: memory.

James Grieve, from his Introduction to In Search of Lost Time, Book 2: In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower by Marcel Proust

[theblackestofsuns]

Swann's Way (2023)

Marcel Proust

Translated by James Grieve

New York Review Books

[amariram]

I never know if I should recommend this series or mind my own business because, you know, ✨trauma✨

[lunamarvels]

Appreciation post for my favourite seb look 🫶🏻

I need him I need him I need him I need him

[slowburningechoes]

Robert Sean Leonard as “James Wilson” in House, M.D. | 08x21: “Holding On”

(also, this is my first ever decent quality gifset! more to come!)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

It's him. Your beautiful scurvy riddled wife.

[yuri-on-crack]

Remus: You know she’d hate it right? You walking away from it all.

Mary: She’s not here to hate anything.

Remus: You think forgetting her will save you?

Mary: I think remembering her will ruin me.

[dyl-z]

269 | 270 | 271

cw: grief

[dionrevel]

Reminder that we were THIS 🤏CLOSE to having James Spader play a drag queen in "To Wong Foo" 1995

[riseriseleo]

i've been thinking about tim, lately. maybe he's so mad at jon for becoming a monster because he Knows that danny was also turned into one after he was taken (the assumption here being that tim, as an employee of the eye, has just a bit of extra knowledge). and. and do you think that tim wants to stop jon from being lost to him. because i don't think tim had a lot of friends in research besides sasha, drowning in grief as he was. danny is lost to him even as he can't accept that and now he's seeing, not a kidnapping where he doesn't know what's happening, but a slow transformation that he's unable to prevent.

he's already lost his brother and (though he doesn't know it yet) his best friend. he can't handle losing jon.

(and we see that in the season three finale, where he deliberately sets off the explosion in a way that he knows will take him with them.)

edit: because some people in the reblogs want to throw me into the buried for this, i instead encourage you to check out this post that i wrote earlier about jon and his grief over tim. enjoy!

[holyraconteur]

Okay, but here's a dark au where Spider drags Quaritch from the water and promptly kills him, and now no one knows what to do with this human child soaked in the blood of his own father. Blood is thicker than water, right? Why would a son kill his own father? Pandora's greatest enemy is dead. The scourge of the Na'vi is gone.

So, what is this feeling of discontent?

-) The moment Spider pulled Quaritch from the water, he made a choice.

-) The once-mighty colonel was barely clinging to life, his body battered, his strength drained. Weak. Helpless. A man who had terrorized Pandora, who had burned forests and spilled the blood of Eywa's children, now lay before him, gasping, vulnerable.

-) The knife in Spider’s hand felt light. The motion effortless.

-) One swift drag across the throat was all it took. Just like Neytiri would have done to him. 'Do you see me now?' Spider thinks. 'See me. See me. SEE! LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE MADE OF ME!'

-) Quaritch barely made a sound, just a wet, choked gasp as his lifeblood spilled into the water, dark ribbons mixing with the lapping waves. His body seized, his fingers twitching—but Spider only crouched there, watching, waiting. He waited for the flood of emotion. For the relief. The triumph. The guilt. But there was nothing. Just… numbness.

-) The monster was dead. The one responsible for so much suffering, for so much destruction, for everything—gone. And yet, Spider felt nothing. His father’s glassy eyes stared up at him, lifeless. Eywa’s grace had abandoned him long ago. And with any luck, Quaritch’s soul would never find peace. Never find acceptance. Spider exhaled slowly, running his tongue over dry lips, blinking at the bloodied body at his feet. His hands weren’t even shaking.

-) It was done. His brother avenged. The souls of Neytiri's family are avenged. His debt to the Sullys was paid in full. Everything is calm.

-) A soft rustling pulled his gaze upward. His father's Banshee crouched a few feet away, its golden eyes locked onto Spider with an eerie intensity. Spider tensed, half-expecting it to lunge, to attack, to avenge its fallen rider. But it didn’t. It simply watched. And then, without a sound, it lowered its head. Acceptance. Recognition.

-) As if possessed by something beyond himself, Spider stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His fingertips brushed against the creature’s snout, and for the first time that horrible day, he allowed himself a small, hollow smile. Perhaps it was a good thing that Quaritch never truly bonded to this one.

-) The rest of the Na'vi find him hours later, and Tonowari approaches first, his large shadow stretching over the scene, but he hesitates. The Metkayina chief has seen many battles, many bodies. And yet, this is different. This is a child, soaked in the blood of his own father. Why would a son do this? Spider meets his gaze, his expression empty. He waits for judgment. Condemnation. Something.

-) But when Tonowari speaks, it is not with anger. "The demon is dead." A statement. A fact. The warriors behind him exchange uneasy glances, but none argue. Some murmur in agreement; others simply watch. None move to comfort the boy who did the deed. Perhaps they do not know how.

-) The Sully are more horrified than relieved. Even Neytiri, who should feel the greatest relief of all, does not celebrate. Her bow hand clenches, fingers twitching as though her body is caught between two instincts. To praise him… or to fear him. She does not understand. She had thought she knew hatred. She had felt it burn through her when she held the blade to Spider’s throat on the Sea Dragon, her grief drowning out reason.

-) Jake had told her stories—of how humans could be cruel to their own offspring, how some children were beaten, abandoned, even killed by those who were meant to love them. How those same children woke up one day and decided to kill their parents. She had never believed it. Not until now. She watched Spider wipe the blood from his blade with mechanical precision, his movements too calm, too practiced. There is no triumph in his face, no relief, no sorrow.

Just a hollow emptiness.

-) Something dark and quiet has settled in the boy’s chest, a coldness that should not exist in one so young. The boy named Spider died on the Sea Dragon. Drowned beneath the weight of Neytiri’s hate, choked on the understanding that he would never belong. And what remains in his place is something else. Something Tonowari's people and the Sullys do not understand. Something they accept but fear all the same.

-) Jake takes a step forward, but Spider lifts a bloodied hand, stopping him before he can speak. "Don’t." His voice is hoarse, flat. "Your son has been avenged. The debt is paid. I am done. We are done." Jake stares, tears in his eyes, something unspoken hanging between them. "Kid, I never wanted this--" Spider turns his back, mounting the ikran with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. And then he was gone. The wind howled as the graceful creature lifted itself into the sky, carrying Spider higher, farther, into the unknown. Jake’s voice rose behind him, calling his name. Kiri's voice is the loudest, crying and screaming for him, but he hardens his heart. They call his name. Spider does not return. Spider does not look back.

[demon4dilfs]

so i rewatched episode 3 last night. and anyway it’s a lot of fun watching it through a fitzfranklin shipping lens.

man the scene where Francis comes back into the cabin following Sir John’s death is one of my faves.

it’s just. almost comedic that everyone seems highly uncomfortable with James openly crying

Blanky looking at Francis and then side eyeing over to James, like please Francis do something about this hysterical bitch.

and poor James, he really feels like he’s the only one who’s actually grieving his daddy Sir John

wE haVE LOSt siR JoHN!!!!

the camera panning over to Little looking so uncomfortable…lol

[egosdelirium]

On Losing James Potter

And on feeling his absence like an amputated limb - By Sirius Black.

("Stag", by Edwin Henry Landseer)

Nowadays, one single thought of James is a death sentence. Every stray memory of the way his glasses used to sit a little crookedly on his tanned face, every deconstructed image of his toothy smile feels like what Sirius thinks being shot through the head must be like.

At the slightest mention of his name, Sirius' brain starts to stutter, stumble, trip.

It shakes around his cranium aimlessly, trying to regain a semblance of balance after taking the hit. The sound echoes in his eardrums with a murderous roar and it defeans anything around him.

Once, a fleeting thought of James would've brought Sirius comfort on the darkest of nights.

Now, it's mutilation.

Since Sirius watched James die,

(No, he was already DEAD, you were late!)

his eyes have not registered any other image. In fact, neither Lily's corpse nor Harry's desperate crying frown come back to haunt him during day and night alike, because Sirius simply didn't see them.

It's just James

On the wooden pavement

With his brown eyes wide open,

And a pool of drying blood around him that sticks underneath Black boots,

And a hole underneath his sternum that was once leaking but not anymore,

And no glasses on his face.

There are no glasses on his face, no glasses... where are the glasses?

... And a pair of round spectacles with a shattered lense a couple of feet away from him.

Sirius had picked them up with shaking fingers and gently placed them on his unusally pale face.

For the first time, those damned glasses had seemed to sit straight on James' nose, maybe because of how his head leaned limply to the side.

Sirius had then kneeled in front of him, in death just like he would've in life, and gently placed James' head on his own lap.

He'd caressed his cold skin once, twice, before the tears had come to blur his sight.

Sirius had sobbed, retched, gasped for breath, and choked on it when he couldn’t get any air inside his lungs. Screamed into the blood-soaked pavement.

Sirius had dried the teardrops that had fallen on James' face - most beloved face - with the backs of his hands, as the palms were too dirty and bloodied.

He'd tried to fix the glasses again, then tucked a couple of stray locks of hair behind his ears.

Sirius had placed a trembling kiss on James' forehead, and that had been it.

Afterward, he hasn't been able to see anything at all.

[lunamarvels]

Remember when seb used his camera for ‘selfish’ purposes? because I do. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

His selfies make me so weak.

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

Harry Potter doesn’t know how to be a father, but he knows how to be a orphan — if there is a way to ‘be’ a orphan, thanks Daily Prophet — and so he remembers the constant, continuous search for any bit of his parents. Even now, nearly two decades after their deaths. Remembers constantly wondering and wondering whether his Dad cared about Quidditch less for the game but more for the feeling of the wind in your hair and feeling weightless for once — free. Or was he too accustomed to the feeling to think of it as such?

Did his Mum wrinkle her nose at strong smells, too? Did she scowl when first writing with a quill, too? Did his dad learn calligraphy? What did Dad’s handwriting look like? Did they like color changing ink? Did anyone know about them, before they were the Lily and James Potter dead and martyred?

He’s always wished that someone had known, that someone had remembered, that someone would tell him. And so, nearly hours after the war ends and Teddy is in his lap his hair as green as pickled toads and —

And —

Well, now it’s his job isn’t it? His job to make sure that if — when — Teddy asks if he looks like Remus or acts like Tonks or laughs like them, he has the answers. And so he writes down everything he can remember. Sometimes, watching pensive memories and noting them all down. He asks Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley and anyone and adds them all up.

Harry Potter doesn’t know how to be a father. He can’t figure out how to shush a crying baby. He doesn’t know what to do when they don’t eat anything. He nearly cries from frustration when he turns around for a second and Teddy had toddled off somewhere on his knees.

No, Harry Potter does not know how to be a father. But, to be an orphan, to live as one, and to feel that crushing loneliness bloom from your marrow, like the cells of your body were made for it. Made to be abandoned, time and time again. Born of love, but perhaps not made for it. Harry Potter knows that very well.

@silverbriseis, I’m back on my bullshit, again.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

4 years of this bitch 🙄