#van Gogh heart pin

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (IX)

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Hi! Here is another chapter! Saoirse is back, and our babies are making some evil plans…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1798

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Lilies

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful

as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face

of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

So, this was Pr. Hozier- Byrne…

H-B, or Hozier like everyone on campus seemed keen to call him. Saoirse understood the hype around the man though.

His voice was soft and lulling, his explanations clear, his love for his work evident. He seemed nice, answered all the questions, had something a little shy about him that seemed to quieten when he was teaching. He exuded confidence then, on the contrary, and despite the softness in his tone, it was impossible not to listen to him babbling away about Yeats. The fact that he was handsome was also a strong argument in his favour, Saoirse couldn’t deny it. Ridiculously tall, curls falling over his shoulders, trimmed beard and glasses over green eyes… She sighed as she stared at him, sporting a grey tweed suit, turning to write something over on the board. And that deep voice… damn…

She shook herself, focused on the lecture again, took note of the date her teacher was writing on the white board. The first class was an introduction to Yeats’ life and work, the study of his texts would start next week. For now, Saoirse was carefully writing down dates and historical events and the name of the woman he would spend most of his life pinning over. And she wondered if Hozier was pinning over a woman too, if he was married, if he longed for love, if that was why he seemed to love poetry so much, because he saw his own longing in other people’s words…

She shook herself again, wrote down something about Lady Gregory and the Abbey Theatre. She was projecting her own feelings over that tall stranger, she reckoned. A dangerous activity, if there ever had been one.

Apparently, more students had chosen the class about science-fiction, but Saoirse had definitely no regrets. If the topic seemed more complicated, her teacher was determined to pass on his love for poetry. She was grateful to Gabi for convincing her to choose this class, was already happy to have chosen his lesson about modernism for the second half of the year.

Indeed, she could see that Gabi had done well in recruiting for this class. Most of the students Saoirse had seen with Gabi during orientation week were now listening to H-B explaining the use of theatre to create a common Irish identity that worked hand in hand with the growing anger that would lead to revolution. And indeed, Sean and Donald were there too. If Donald had settled a couple of rows behind her, Sean was sitting next to her, actually. He had recognised her as soon as he had entered the room, had headed straight towards her and asked if he could sit next to her. And Saoirse was happy to have someone she knew in this class too, even if they had spoken but a few hours during orientation week. She hoped they could become friends, she felt a little lonely in this new adult world.

 The lecture went on and was over too soon, a feeling Saoirse had not been expecting for any of her lectures. As she packed up her things, she noticed that Gabi was at the door, eyeing the students inside, and she gave Saoirse a wave when their gazes met. Sean and Saoirse hurried out of the room.

“Hey! How are my wee students doing?” Gabi asked with a grin.

“Doing okay, so far!” Saoirse answered with a smile. “Didn’t even get lost this morning!”

“What an achievement!” Gabi laughed good-heartedly. “Saw that you were having a class with H-B this morning, my next lecture starts in fifteen minutes, just down the hall. Thought I’d come see you all, check on you.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sean nodded with a smile.

Donald joined them as well, and they chatted happily for a couple of minutes.

“There’s a party planned at the end of the week, to celebrate the beginning of the year. You should come!”

“Huh… sure! Sounds good.”

If Saoirse was feeling a little shy, Donald was already asking questions about the drinks and the music.

Gabi was about to answer him when she was distracted by someone walking behind Saoirse and Sean, and she immediately grinned.

“Good morning, professor!”

The younger students turned around and politely smiled at their teacher, while he beamed at Gabi.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t our favourite troublemaker…” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How are you doing, Gabi? How was your summer?”

“It was good! Busy, lots of things to plan to make sure I can turn all our new recruits into proper menaces!”

Andrew laughed, shaking his head playfully.

“Oh, I bet you have tons of ideas for that… but don’t scare our students away too soon, alright?”

He quickly checked his watch.

“Gotta run, but it was nice seeing you. Will I see you on Thursday then?”

“You know me… how could I say no to a class about protest poetry?”

Andrew’s smile brightened even more.

“Grand. I’m glad to have you as a student again this year.”

He excused himself then, bidding all four students a nice day, and they stared as he walked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the classroom and the exit of the building in mere seconds.

“He’s so nice!” Saoirse sighed. “Thanks for recommending this class to us.”

“He is. And Christ… he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

They all laughed at that, and went on to chat for a while longer, until Gabi had to head to her own class.

Saoirse could feel it, it would be a good year.

Andrew hurried back to your office, knowing that you were waiting for him. And indeed, when he arrived, you had already taken your sandwich out of your bag and were focused on your computer screen.

You greeted him with a smile when he quickly stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ran into a student I know well. Okay… what are our options?”

Andrew took off his vest, took out of his bag his own sandwich and his water bottle, before pushing his chair next to yours so he could look at your screen as well.

Frank was asking for advices about flower arrangements, for the wedding but also for a party they wanted to organise a few weeks before the wedding, some kind of huge get-together with family and friends to celebrate their engagement. Sam and Frank seemed to treat the event as some kind of rehearsal for their big day, and wanted to decorate the place in a similar way they would use for the ceremony.

A perfect occasion to raise chaos and mayhem…

“Frank has already narrowed down our choices… meaning that he took out anything with carnations or calla lilies, he doesn’t like those. I’ve tried to probe to know Sam’s taste, but he seems clueless.”

“Are we surprised by that?” Andrew mumbled under his breath, something bitter in his tone. “Sam’s favourite flowers are white lilies, and she hates pink and yellow roses.”

“Okay, so… can we find any pink and yellow roses in those…”

Andrew chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re kind of terrifying, Machiavelli…”

“One of my favourite books is about getting stuck in hell and watching people being tortured,” you reminded him, making Andrew laugh and glimpse over at the picture you had hung on the wall.

“Right… my bad. I shouldn’t underestimate your evil nature, clearly.”

“Unless you’re ready to face the consequences…” you added with false threat in your voice, while you were clearly struggling to hold back your laughter.

“Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural.”

You froze, turned to him.

“Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?” you asked with utter surprise evident on your features.

“Obviously,” Andrew smiled, something cheeky and cute at the same time, clearly pleased with himself.

“God… I love the Lord of the Rings!”

“Who doesn’t?!”

“Frank.”

Andrew huffed, but said nothing. He thought the words all the same… what a tasteless gobshite…

“Why am I not surprised?” was his answer instead, and you chuckled at his words.

“Yeah… he does have a few red flags,” you conceded.

“Hmm… but the fact that we’re plotting together against our exes is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? A scarlet one if I’ve ever seen one…”

“Is it worse than not liking the Lord of the Rings?”

Andrew couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“Nah, we’re good,” he joked, making you laugh.

And he liked the sound. Almost three weeks had passed since Sam and Frank had announced their engagement and Andrew and you were spending more and more time together. You had planned some things to get to talk to your exes, or just as you were doing today, to mess up with their wedding. Which meant seeing you outside the university, eating his lunch with you, talking over the phone sometimes…

And Andrew liked it. He liked that your dynamic was back on a friendly rhythm instead of something merely professional. You were nice, and hilarious, and so fucking smart. He hoped you would remain friends after all this. He hoped you would become good friends, with a bit of time.

“Oh, this one is so ugly…” you giggled at the picture on your screen, something pink and over the top, with a lot of roses…

“Oh, yeah… that’s the one. Send him this one.”

“Frank asked me for a favour by the way… he wanted me to go fishing for information about Sam’s tastes in flowers.”

“You mean… asking me about it?”

You nodded, and Andrew let out a wry laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask you today as our classes would keep us busy. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to play the perfect boyfriend and come to the rescue, and offer to use her favourite flowers.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course!”

You both laughed, eating your sandwiches. And then the conversation drifted away from Sam and Frank, settled on your classes, on work, on the movie he had watched on Sunday, on the walk you had taken with Siobhán and how much you would miss her when she would be gone.

And Andrew still felt a hole in his chest, the weight of something hollow, of a piece missing, because of Samantha. But when he was with you, the grief didn’t seem so heavy, the pain so aching. The emptiness in his heart seemed a little less empty when you were around. God knew he missed Samantha, that he wanted her back. But at least, you made him feel human again. He reckoned you were the only one to make him properly laugh these days.

[amplifyme]

Tag Game

I was tagged by @randomfoggytiger. Thanks for thinking about me!

Favourite painter: Oh, this is a tough one. I'm drawn to works from artists like Monet, Botticelli, Andrew Wyeth, Mucha, Van Gogh, Michelangelo. I'm all over the place. I'm not even going to try to list fandom artists. There are too many and I don't want to risk leaving anyone out.

Favourite writer: Again, more than one. Just off the top of my head: Stephen King, Justin Cronin, Chuck Windig, George R.R. Martin, Gillian Flynn. Generally writers who are really good at creating memorable characters who straddle the line dividing good and evil. As George put it so eloquently, stories that explore the human heart in conflict with itself. Bowing out on fanfic writers here, too. There are too many to list.

Favourite band: Now and for the last decade, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit.

Favourite meal and drink: At this point in my life any food that anyone other than me cooks and sets in front of me. But I do enjoy farm to table that's not too fussy or complicated. Keep it simple and clean and flavorful. Add a glass of semi-dry wine and I'm good to go.

Favourite outfit aesthetic: I don't know that I have one. If I must be pinned down I'll go with boho/hippie. There's nothing I love more than simple blue jeans or leggings with a t-shirt or flowy blouse. But I refuse to wear dresses unless it's a wedding or a funeral. I don't have legs one would want to show off. Genetics gifted me with, as my mom once put it, "peasant legs". Also the 14 inch scar on my left leg from numerous surgeries isn't very aesthetically pleasing. I prefer to keep it covered.

Favourite singer: Another one I can't cull to just one. Jason Isbell, Van Morrison, Bob Seger, Beth Hart, Amos Lee, Ray LaMontagne, John Mayer, Stevie Nicks, Joy Oladakun. That's just a start. Unique voices, I guess.

Favourite item I own: Well, those of us who have pets are often referred to as pet *owners*, right? So I'll go with Levon the Cat, though I'm pretty sure he owns me and not the other way around.

Favourite possession: My carefully curated fandom items. Mostly my collection of BATB fanzines and TXF memorabilia. All of those, as well as the things I've been bequeathed or were given to me by family members/friends who are no longer with us. Knick-knacks, art and pieces of antique furniture from my mom and oldest brother; an unreleased album of songs written and performed by my bestest friend in the world - all of which were written with me serving as muse. Other things that I don't like to think about too much because it's painful. But all of them cherished.

Favourite perfume: Black Opium. It smells like all my favorite scents combined.

Tagging anyone who'd like to play!

[yarnnerdally]

Original here

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x Iris (OC)

Rating: T

Tags: Fluff, smidge of hurt/comfort, they both hurt emotionally okay lol, soulmate au, soulmate-identifying marks

Words: 1.3k

“I heard that if your soulmate dies, it goes black.”

“What? I’ve never heard that!”

       Iris sighed as she tried to block out the noise of her tour group. They were at the Louvre and this was her third tour of the day. Thankfully the last, as well. When she was just 15, she’d learned to wear gloves on her hands. Granted, many people did. They felt their soulmate’s emotions were something private, just for them, and she didn’t blame them. And then there were people like her. People who’s soulmates had already died and they were left living. It had been a tragedy when her mark first appeared on the back of her hand at 15. To be a teenager and discover your soulmate was already lost to you? After a month she couldn’t stand the looks of pity she got from strangers. Yes, it was sad that she would never meet her soulmate. She understood that it was a tragedy, but that didn’t mean she’d never find love. Plenty of people still fell in love every day with people that weren’t their soulmates.

“I can’t imagine it, going through life with just a black blob on the back of my hand. At least I can see that my soulmate is calm right now. It goes light blue for me when they’re calm.”

       Different people had different experiences. So maybe… just maybe the black spot on the back of her hand didn’t mean death. It was entire improbable but not impossible. The tour finally ended and it left Iris with some time to wander the museum herself. She paused in front of Café Terrace at Night by van Gogh and smiled up at it. It was one of her favorites, next to her name sake anyways. It was on loan along with many other paintings done by van Gogh and his story pulled at her heart. It was rumored that both he and his brother didn’t even have soulmate marks on their hands. Iris made a small noise of surprise as someone bumped into her and she turned around to see who it was.

       “Pardon me, mademoiselle. Forgive me. I was quite caught up in Vincent’s new exhibition here,” the man smiled serenely. His looks were nothing like Iris had ever seen. Handsome, distinguished, an air of tranquility and intensity simultaneously surrounded him. He seemed from a different time, of gentlemen and high society. He spoke fluent French but there was a definite Germanic undertone to his words. His cravat was expertly tied with a gorgeous gold pin in it.

       “No, no. It’s more than alright, sir. The same could be said for me. I’m named after a van Gogh,” she said with a smile to convey she truly meant it. She looked down the hall and pointed. “Just a few down, actually.” The man smiled and tilted his head to the side, taking in her features. “My parents were obsessed with irises.” The gentleman hummed softly, looking back to the painting in front of them.

       “Iris is a good name. Faith. Hope. Wisdom. Courage. A good flower to be named for,” the man added. He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and frowned. “Alas, cherie, I must depart. It was lovely to have met you,” he smiled, inclining his head slightly in a bow before turning to leave. Iris watched him leave curiously, watching him leave through a door she didn’t realize had been at the end of the hall. Blinking, she looked down as she saw something glint in the fluorescent light and noticed that the gentleman’s cravat pin had fallen.

       “Oh! Monseuir!” Iris shouted after him but he was beyond the door. She picked up the pin and jogged over to the door, opening it and stepping inside. She tilted her head curiously as she spied all the artifacts in the dimly lit hall. “Monseuir?” she called again before stepping further in. Suddenly the room began to swirl around her and she shouted, closing her eyes tightly. “What the hell?!” Iris groaned a little as she fell forward, strong arms catching her instead of a hard surface.

       “Godverdomme,” A gruff voice greeted her and Iris looked up in surprise. Piercing blue eyes met her hazel ones and it took a moment before those arms let go of her. “Watch where you’re going, hondje.” Iris sputtered and looked indignant for a moment before realizing she had no idea where she was. This definitely was not the Louvre. She looked around him for a moment, and then behind her, and then at the door. “Wait, you-? You came through the door?” The man asked, seemingly distracted by his hand glowing a bright white.

       “What happened? Why won’t this open?” Iris did her best to not shout as she attempted to open the door she came through. She stopped and felt her breathing rate increase as anxiety built up in her chest. Theo looked between his hand and the woman that had just come through the door twice before shaking his head.

       “It’s not going to open for a while. Here,” he guided Iris away from the door and tried to get her to look at him. “I understand this is frightening. However, nothing will come from panicking, ja?” Iris nodded, her gloved hands holding onto the man’s forearms. She felt herself calming in his presence and finally took a deep, if slightly shaky breath. “I’m Theo,” he introduced himself, giving her a small, sympathetic smile. The space on the back of his hand was slowly transitioning into a light blue. His heart began to beat harder in his chest at that and tried not to focus too much on it. It was probably coincidence. Right? It wasn’t like his mark had been black until she literally came crashing down on him. Definitely a coincidence.

       “I’m Iris. It’s nice to meet you Theo,” she replied with a small smile, noticing she’d still been holding onto him and let go as she was suddenly embarrassed. Theo’s hand turned a lovely shade of pinkish red and he swallowed hard. “I-I’m sorry,” she said, realizing she had been staring. “I’ve just never seen a mark change so quickly before,” she laughed a little, subconsciously looking down to her gloved hand. She froze for a moment and blinked as she swore she saw… no. There was no way. Theo noticed the look in Iris’ eyes and how she watched her own hand. Feeling emboldened, he took his hand in hers and slowly removed her glove, both their hearts pounding. Iris took in a sharp breath as she saw color for the first time on her hand and it shifted from a pale yellow to an intense, crimson red. She looked up and hazel eyes met blue again. Theo swallowed hard before licking his lips. “This has to be a dream. Y-you’re-“ Acting on instinct, he brought Iris close and hugged her tightly.

       “I thought you had died by the time my mark came,” he admitted quietly, doing his best to hold back his instincts to feed immediately as endorphins rushed through his system. Iris felt herself melting as Theo held her in his arms and she couldn’t keep from burying her head into his chest. “Was yours black, too?” Iris nodded, clinging onto Theo’s back. Both of their marks now shone a bright orange, contentment filling their hearts.

       “God, look at us. I fell through a door and I don’t even know how to get back to my hotel,” Iris laughed, pulling away with a slight flush to her cheeks. “And when did it get this dark? My last tour was only done at four,” she said, checking her cell phone. 4:34. Theo straightened up and blinked, trying his best not to grimace.

       “That. Um. Well, I think we’ll need to sit for that conversation.”

Taglist: @jozhenji

[maryrouille]

Romanticization of drinking alcohol as a manifestation of  quasi-feminism

The inspiration to write this text was an aimed at women Van Gogh Blue vodka ad I recently came across. Its heroine is a shapely pin-up girl sipping a martini and the slogan next to talks about the benefits of not wearing underwear [see here]. The whole styling and its spicy-sexist nature are reminiscent of ads from the 1950s, but after deeper research I checked that it is from around 2010. This search and finding images on the same subject raised a problem in my head which I will try to raise here.

In the book Living Dolls: the return of sexism (2010), Natasha Walter discusses the recognition of activities such as pole dancing or photos of scantily clad women as quasi-feminist rhetoric. Let me borrow this concept, without going into the Walter's examples, in order to talk about the romanticization and feminization of drinking alcohol.

Illusory feminism in a full glass

The images in this post [I have to thank Pinterest once again for being a source of endless inspiration] show the wonderful, almost magical effects of alcohol. It turns out that having a drink eliminates all our sadness, worries, stress and heals a broken heart, sometimes even PMS. This perception of things as without flaws is romanticization. On the other hand, this content seems to be very feminist, because we see a strong woman who only needs a glass of champagne to know her worth, control her emotions and be confident. Alcohol is a woman's best friend, helping her to meet social expectations and and get through the day.

Drinking alcohol by women is also a symbol of emancipation, because it was only during World War II that they gained the ability to drink all types of alcohol without restrictions [from my unpublished work, 2023]. It also seems, looking at examples, that drinking is now part of the lifestyle of attractive and successful women. However, this emancipation is only apparent. What good does it do for women to escape from men's rule if they fall into another trap, which is alcohol addiction?

Roses are red, violets are blue, vodka is cheaper than dinner for two

So under the guise of feminism and emancipation we get freedom of choice in the liquor store, but we can lose control over ourselves, our health and our choices. Does this mean that alcohol + femininity is a bad combination? There is no clear answer to this. I personally love wine, its diverse taste, sweet warming effect and sexy culture, which I do not hide. I think that we should find a golden mean in everything. It is certainly not worth romanticizing alcohol and placing it within the framework of feminism. A martini or tea with vodka will bring a smile to our faces, but it will not solve our everyday problems nor replace relationships with other people. No matter how colorful the pictures will convince us of this.

In closing, no matter how beautifully dressed and made up women are, they still have beautiful little weaknesses for percentages. And the belief in their agency when they are drunk is merely quasi-feminist.

P. S. When I finish reading the book Living dolls, I plan to share its review with you here.

[boasource]

230206 BoA anecdotes from the GOT the Beat fansign events for Yes24 and SMTOWN&STORE

Hyoyeon was talking about members’ upcoming concerts and accidentally spoiled that BoA’s concert will be held this March. 

BoA: “Hyoyeon-ah, the article [with the formal concert announcement] hasn’t come out yet!” Hyo: “Really? Uh… there is no concert.” (x)

Taeyeon quietly said at the end of fansign that this was GOT the Beat’s first and last fansign event (x)

‘Rose’ is BoA’s favorite song off ‘Stamp On It’ (x)

Hyoyeon wore a backless top with a heart accessory pinned to the left side of her chest. When BoA pointed out her backless top, Hyoyeon replied, “I wore this because I wanted to show it to you, unnie.” Then she started singing “Sexy back~” (like the Justin Timberlake song). Everyone laughed, and BoA said that Hyoyeon should go to a wine bar after the fansign. Hyoyeon replied, “With my unnie. I want to go with my unnie.” (x)

BoA kept poking Hyoyeon’s heart accessory while their hoobaes were doing their parts of the fansign (x)

BoA gave a lot of restaurant recommendations in the Apgujeong area: Bat-Godong (a restaurant that she has been going to since she was a trainee), Dakeuro-ga (per Wendy’s suggestion), Young-cheon-yong-hwa, Songok, Cheongdam, Miss Saigon (x)

A fan told BoA that their dream was to see Seulgi become an SM director like BoA. BoA told them that the line of succession might be too long because Seulgi has many seniors, so she joked that she might as well give up her own spot in the Board of Directors for her. (x, x)

The word for “director” and “moving houses [residency]” is the same in Korean, so Hyoyeon joked that she thought BoA was handing out houses and that she wondered if she should ask for a house from her too. (x)

Wendy asked if Seulgi was within the next top 10 in line to become an SM director; to check, BoA began listing off the SM seniors who were probably next in line. Seulgi was 8th, so she said yes. Wendy said that as long as Seulgi is in the top 10, that’s perfectly fine. (x)

BoA forgot to mention SNSD in her list of seniors who were ahead of Seulgi in the line of succession. So Hyoyeon joked, “Should we join the queue as well?” BoA said, “Oh, you’re right, SNSD is missing on the list.” Hyoyeon replied, “That’s right, we have leader Taeng!”  (x)

A fan asked if BoA enjoyed herself during GOT the Beat’s activities. BoA replied that she had a difficult time (x)

A fan asked BoA about her health [presumably from long COVID-19?], and she said that she’s recovering well. (x)

When asked to give a spoiler about her March concert, BoA said, "이번엔 타이틀곡만 다 불러도 세트리스트가 ㅎㅎ 확실한 건 엄청 신나는 콘서트가 될 거예요!" [someone who speaks Korean, please take one for the team and translate this because my Japanese and Papago powers can only do so much, but she basically said it was going to be exciting!] (x)

A fan asked if BoA was preparing for Forgive Me, Stamp On It, and her own solo concert all at the same time. She said, “Yes, I’m going to die.” (x)

A fan asked BoA if she was interested in other artists aside from Van Gogh, since she’s been going to exhibits a lot recently. She said that she’s become interested in Park Seo-bo, a famous Korean abstract painter. (x) BoA said that she’s at the early stages of becoming interested in viewing and collecting art. (x) 

A Japanese fan mentioned that they were very thankful for BoA because she was the only one among the members who was able to speak to them in full Japanese. (x)

While waiting for their turns in the fansign, Taeyeon and BoA apparently kept talking to each other and seemed to get along really well. (x)

These anecdotes were all taken from from Twitter threads written by GOT the Beat fans who attended the event!

[writers-lack-of-craft]

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“VINCENT VAN GOGH: STARRY NIGHT.” The Van Gogh Gallery, https://www.vangoghgallery.com/painting/starry-night.html.

“Yoga with Kassandra.” YouTube, YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/@yogawithkassandra.

[nbenvs3000w24]

Nurtured by Nature

Hi everyone!

Welcome back to another week of blogging! I am very excited about this week's blog because I am able to write freely about any topic I would like and simply just write from the heart! 

After sitting here pondering about what to write, I took a moment to truly be at my feet and really check-in with myself and how I’m feeling to gain some inspiration and to be honest, the cold, gloomy days have been making me a little sad and anxious lately. It got me thinking about how much I miss the warm, summer days and how much of an impact the weather and being outdoors has on my mood and overall well-being. To be completely honest, I don’t think mental health is talked about enough even though it is something that all of us humans have and is so crucial to our overall human experience. 

The textbook shared some ideas about why humans spend their leisure time visiting nature centres or going on history tours and it all comes down to the simple human desire to gain meaningful experiences and improve the overall state of mind. The idea that, “True happiness produces more than temporary giddiness or some level of passing materialistic satisfaction,” could not be more fitting to describe the happiness gained from simply immersing yourself into nature (Beck, 2018). Something so simple that doesn’t cost a penny, but that makes us so infinitely rich. From improving mental and physical health, alleviating anxiety, increasing creativity, fostering inspiration and everything in between, the benefits of nature are endless and profound. So when I sit here and find myself merely existing in my own head or glued to the light on my phone screen, I am reminded of the beauty of nature and the world around me and how it feels to be immersed and grounded in such wonders. I’m also reminded of how important it is to take care of yourself and your mental health and to find those healthy outlets, whatever they may be. I will forever be thankful for the gift of nature and the joy it has brought me, even on the darkest days when all I needed was some light. If you take anything away from this post, it’s that I encourage you to find the simple things in life that bring you joy and that make your life better and to be patient with yourself as just like nature, nothing blooms all year. Keep going!

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/inspired-by-nature-vincent-van-gogh-quote--218776494384124175/

https://www.thegonegoat.com/inspiration-and-tips/hiking-quotes-caption

To end off this week’s blog post, I would love to know how you take care of yourself and your mental health? What are your healthy outlets? Do you also believe that nature improves and impacts your mental health? 

Looking forward to hearing back from you!!!

Natalie 

Beck, L., Cable, T.T., & Knudson, D.M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: for a better world. Sagamore Publishing.

[midnightrosepetals-onhiatus]

I posted 2,562 times in 2022

That's 1,892 more posts than 2021!

31 posts created (1%)

2,531 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@godtasteslikecherrycoke

@salvation-within-the-void

@lav3nd3rfag

@miceandmonsters

@a-lavender-boy

I tagged 1,890 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#q - 758 posts

#petals violation - 359 posts

#dark aesthetic - 320 posts

#lovecore - 250 posts

#tetra - 158 posts

#animals - 122 posts

#mental health - 122 posts

#nature - 120 posts

#midnight violation - 115 posts

#flowers - 95 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#was confused pre knowing system cause my family was made i kept changing and i woukd be like dafuq i went she/her to ze/zir thats 1 change

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

How beautiful

Is not a heart

Two hands joining

Together

Beating as one

4 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

#4

"Super pouty. I'd put him right in time-out."

Line art by @lav3nd3rfag

Season 1 episode 3 Life with Leo(h)

(Image id under read more)

[Image id:

Handmade pin pinned to black jeans. A brown floral couch is visabal in the bottom left corner. Drawn on the pin is a human looking android with yellow eyes, brown skin, dark brown hair, and dark reddish brown lips. The android is wearing a grey shirt and blue overalls. To the right of the android there is a whit speech bubble outlined in black with black text saying "I WANT TO EAT!" Underneat that is a pink and blue geometrical heart with lines through it. The pin's background is blue and pink scribbles.

End id]

5 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

#3

DNI if you're a shapeshifter, you're a clown, if you cry about everything, if you take everything personally, if you can't answer the phone, if you're the host against your will, if you're flight, fight, fawn, or freeze response is fawning, if you developed unhealthy attachments to unhealthy people, if you dont have a sense if identity, if people tend to use you for their gain when its convenient for them, if you didn't used to be a persecutor but the way you've been treated turned you into one, if you would do anything for your kids, if there is only one thing keeping you alive rn, if you're an age slider, if you just want to be loved and happy, if you like horror, if you're traumatized, if you have a hard time standing up for your boundries, if you don't know who you are cause who you are changes depending on who you are with, if you love floral scents and flowers, if you're allergic to a lot of flowers and heavy scents, if you're allergic to cats, if you have a cat, if you're obsessed with weird and/or unwanted animals, if the sight of bats makes you squeal and/or happy stim, if you are obssed with roses, if you write awful poetry, and if you get excited about projects and then loose motivation before finishing.

6 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

#2

13 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"You were trying to put a Van Gogh... in a coffee cup?"

Life with Leo(h) s1e3

14 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[chenyann]

yako and vil with a piano!

Ft.jack howl

Summary: I talk about little things in life and about a piano sing I heared near the end is where the vil and jack part comes in^^

Notes:idk what vils story had to do with mine but okay

Psst! Hey this includes child vil and jack!!

Yako

[2:06 am–3:02am]

I have yet to discover the little things in life.....That was until I discovered that one when doing the most random and unimportant things, can create life itself.

Let me explain; I was straighting my hair that started at 12am,listening to my phone play blissful tunes it was simple songs and I would frown in my mirror every-so-often thinking to my self 'why was I so foolish to do such a thing' but then a certain piano song comes on.

Chopin - Nocturne op.9 No.2

I often think back to a youtube video I saw it had Van Goghs 'starry night painting' yet Chopin was playing?, I decided that I would like to know what was the reason of this, I opened the description only to meet a beautiful description on why the creator did that.

"Vincent van Gogh painted The Starry Night one year before dying. Chopin composed his popular Nocturne when he was about twenty. it does not matter if you think that it is too late for you or that you still have a lot of time...you have to decide whether you are Chopin or van Gogh."

It made my heart go ablaze but not in a scalding way, but the same way one feels when taking a hot bath after being in the snow all day.It felt comforting in such a sweet way that made me think bback to my younger years, years that I can no longer have due to me already living them.

All of this started when I decided to straighten my hair, if I didn't decide to do it then I would have never gotten to experience that moment; perhaps it was merely chance that Chopin played?

I remember how my fingers paced against the piano, letting the feeling of its vibrations fall by my ears like how Ludwig van Beethoven felt when it hit his; I always found it strange how he could create such beautiful music with out hearing it himself.But that's probably what made him so special, he both composed and played music without a sense so important.

Vil

Do you think vil played piano?

How his fingers praced against the keys letting out blissful tunes,with a wolf boy listening to the tunes aswell.The room filled with evening warmth and light,letting the wolf and beautiful boy bask in it only letting the noise of the piano fill their ears; not even minding the noise of other children playing outside the big window.

The beautiful boy didn't take time to cry "wolf!" For vil knew that wolf didn't want harm, it wanted to protect the sheep in the pin not lead them to a untimely end.The wolf didn't intend to blow the three pigs house down, he was upset and scared so that was they only thing he thought to do,He didn't want to harm the little pigs.

That wolf was merely a fierce sheep taking on responsibility as the wolf since nobody wanted to be the wolf, vil opens his eyes looking at that quote on quote 'big bad wolf' to see that the wolf was tired;eyes that mimick bronze rest elegantly on his face with long lashes almost covering them, eyes that droop and lay half lidded flickering open at times."you are not falling asleep are you?" A hums leaves vil as he says that, his fingers still prancing upon the keys.The wolf boy eyes open a bit to ungraceful for vils taste, Jack takes times to remember his surroundings before looking at the stunning boy."No....well kinda? Certain piano songs makes my tired, it's not because I'm bored promise." Vil hums acknowledging his words, letting his fingers resume playing once more."Yes I'm aware, you would have told me if you're bored" Jack sits up and beckons vil to continue playing this time with Jack's full attattent.Vil was gonna do that even if Jack was gonna sleep,but he will humor him this one time.

[tsurangaconundrum]

Anyone can kiss me. Anyone can pin my face with two hands and kiss me hard. As with much in life, it has taken me a long time to understand this. I study so many things: the way a hawk’s wings when stretched allow them to dry faster; the way the extract of the foxglove reduces the results of a failing heart, can alter vision if taken in excess, something Van Gogh understood without understanding the exact mechanism. You would expect me, at this point, to reference something from Greek Antiquity, but I won’t. No need. Anyone can kiss me, but this does not mean anyone wants to, does not mean anyone wants to change my bandages when the terrible wings are decaying, the feathers blackening and falling off, the dark blood inscribed on the bandages and sheets. Who on earth wants a man more monster than angel? I lie face down while you remove the bandages and clean up the mess. Nothing a little rubbing alcohol can’t clean up, you say. And when you finish, when you bend and kiss the rotting wings between my shoulder blades, I have nothing to say. But I need something to say. Even now, I still need something better to say than this hush love creates between two people.

Hush by C. Dale Young 

[dreamywriterinthedark]

Museum Date

Pairing: Spencer x Reader (gn <3)

Part two

Resume: Spencer Reid confesses his feelings for you at a nocturne exhibition in a museum.

Category: too fluffy for my own good.

Trigger Warnings: not much just brief suggestion of death which never occurred.

I was thinking about making a part two where it takes place a year later. Is that something you’d want to see ? This feels very cheesy (i just want to see him happy lol). Any feedback (positive or negative) is welcome. Don’t hesitate to submit suggestions!

special thanks to @rigatonireid​ for being supportive and too sweet 💕

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

It started with friendship but was quickly followed by endless pinning over one another right under the nose of your co workers for the longest time. At first, they thought it was cute but after all the jokes imagine able were made by Morgan, it started to feel like torture. To a team of profilers it was as noticeable as an elephant in a room yet the two concerned were oblivious to it. However, it wasn’t your coworker’s exasperation that brung an end to the friendship coated romantic yearning you and Spencer had but your life being endangered during a case right in front of his eyes. 

He felt powerless, scared of losing you or making the same mistakes again he chose to not take your time for granted. Sure, you were young, your friendship was too precious to alter but what’s worse ? Make a beautiful mess or stay caged ? This almost tragic event made Spencer completely change his mindset. Time was limited and he was going to make the most of it. There was something about the rhythm in his body, like his heart strings were tuned in a tone he’s never explored before echoing within the marrow of his bones. He was now sure he was going to confess how he felt but he wanted it to be special. So he booked two tickets for a nocturne museum exhibition. 

All his life he was worried about not being good enough. Despite his thirst for perfection in the coldest sense of the term, that night, he couldn’t care less. That night by (sometimes) glancing at the paintings (and you, cause you’re the real masterpiece here) he realized that the more you looked closely the messier these paintings looked. They were worshipped for their imperfections, it’s what made them special. He realized that beauty may come from chaos, it was shown by how Van Gogh’s brush strokes mimicked small hurricanes when they were supposed to be a peaceful landscape. Stars were born from hurricanes and here you were the shiniest, brightest of them all. You’ve been through hell and back yet you were radiant, magical. We don’t love art because it’s perfect but because it gives life meaning.

Sometimes you’d just sit in silence, staring in the same direction with your head resting on his shoulder. Occasionally, you would intertwine your fingers with his. At some point you swore his voice was what lost souls would hear when they were welcomed to heaven. It’s like your heartbeat was dancing to his melodic voice too busy grasping its beauty to even hear what he was chanting. After all, you two were the art, you wished this moment could’ve been engraved in a canvas... and it was. It was written in the stars, everything you’ve been through, every shout, every piece of broken glass led you up to this moment of pure bliss. The sky was your canvas. And it was reflected in his eyes. As soon as that thought hit you, you lifted up your head to look at him, he was already staring. He knew.

“Why did you bring me here ?” you asked.

“Because I thought someone so beautiful should be surrounded by things equally as beautiful.” he smiled pursing his lips, proud of his own wittiness. His smile only grew bigger with a flutter in his chest after seeing you chuckle before rolling your eyes while slightly throwing your head back. You glanced back at him, an eyebrow raised at him.

“And to tell you that I’m madly and hopelessly in love with you.” he added as if it were his last breath. Your smirk dropped, a complete look of stupor invaded your face. His eyes traveled from your eyes to your lips in desperate need for the suffocating oxygen only your lips could provide. He looked at them as if they were his salvation.

“You love me ?” you asked, you were melancholically electrified which showed in your eyes, it showed in your voice.

“Of course, I do. I’ve loved you before I even met you. I’ve loved you before you saved my life on that autumn night. I’ve loved you ever since you spilled that dumb coffee on my shirt. Y/n, you’re my soulmate.”

You crashed your lips against his, he cupped your face in his hands and it felt like a revolution. There was something about hearing him say your name that did something to you. You felt alive, more than ever. You started to understand why people like this life thing so much after all. You inhaled sharply while his eyes searched for yours panting for air as well. They were dreamy as if he was in a slumber, his cheeks flushed like spring roses.

With a hand resting on his collar and his stroking your other’s knuckles you said: “I love you Dr Spencer Reid and I don’t want to love anyone else but you.”

 “Oh is that so?” he teased. You looked away, to get your attention he started kissing your face. Your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your nose, your lips using his eidetic memory each time he saw your face to remember every detail of it so it could be engraved in his brain just like your mere essence is in his soul, just like your story is in the sky.

[undercoverlesbian]

tag yourself: types of wlw!

1.) doc martens -

rlly good at eyeliner, ripped jeans, drinks monster 24/7, black clothes, probably owns a record player, makes their own earrings, goes thrifting, will actually fight you on anything, messy hair, dark circles, makes jokes about mental health to cope, and overall just chaotic as fUck

2.) modern day sappho -

tweed jackets, curious eyes, hair tied back, owns a pair of oxfords, writes/reads poetry, hopeless romantic, button-up shirts, unhealthy attatchment to history/english teacher, buys books faster than they read them, knit socks, falls in love with strangers on the train

3.) cottagecore whore -

loves fairycore/cottagecore/naturecore, names their plants, buys flowers for themselves, wide smiles, warm skin, The Mom Friend, barefoot most of the time, dirt covered knees, refuses to kill bugs, loose clothes, makes the best desserts, smells like the outdoors, obsessed with hozier

4.) actual fucking goblin -

collects random trinkets, untied shoes, cuffed pants, mischievous grins, uses text books to press flowers, catches frogs and bugs, looks for ways to bring up moss in everyday conversation, dirty glasses, rosy cheeks, excitable nature, messy handwriting in leather-bound journals

5.) classic vinyl -

band t-shirts, high waisted jeans, bomber jackets, oversized flannels, listens to classic rock, probably smokes, round sunglasses, worn down car, will be friends with anyone, long drives to no where in particular, knows every grease song by heart, a regular at record stores

6.) troubled artist -

v good at drawing, obsessed with van gogh, pins on their backpack, painted shoes and pockets, charcoal stained hands, dyed hair, baggy jeans, patterned socks, a million thoughts at once, shy laughter, uses lots of emojis, doesn’t open up often

[shookspearewrites]

Fruit salad, MC x Ikevamp

So you may or may not have noticed that I like to call people pet names - often related to fruit (Example, @cauldroncatx is my darling little lemon, hi sweetie hope you’re well!) And I got thinking about what fruit I would call some of the ikevamp suitors and how I think they’d react so I wrote this -

This is some major self indulgence on my part, no one asked for this but I simply had to write it. I’ve only written this for 4 of the boys no hate @ the others I do love them all!! but, I might do a part 2 to this one day if anybody would be interested in that??

Much love - JJ x

~~~~~~~~~~

Theodorus van Gogh:

My blueberry - Okay so my thinking here was based on three main things;

I believe I read somewhere that it is canon that Theo enjoys blueberry pudding so, there’s that.

His favourite colour is blue, so thats an obvious one.

Blueberries are tart, sour in some cases but, they often have this delightfully sweet aftertaste. I actually didn’t like blueberries for a long time before I started to eat them more and more, and now they’re one of my favourite fruits! I guess I kinda feel the same way about Theo as before playing his route, his brash exterior put me off of him but now, as we all know, he is my favourite of the suitors (or joint first place with Arthur).

To be honest, Theo would probably absolutely despise this nickname if he wasn’t extremely close to the person calling him it - Which is exactly the reason I’d call him it all of the time. I’m a bit of a tease so, if given the opportunity I would push all of Theo’s buttons all of the time, lovingly ofc. At some point, he’d probably snap from having the teasing tables turned on him, pinning you up against the nearest wall and kissing down your neck, growling against your skin and giving you deep purpley blue love bites reminiscent of blueberries themselves.

If it were his spouse calling him it, Theo would blush and grumble about it but, he’d secretly love it. If you were to call him it in front of anyone else though, he’d quickly kiss you before you could even finish the word, leaving you breathless. Honestly, sometimes it is the only thing he wants to hear - If Theo’s had to spend a few days away for work, or if he’s had a particularly long, hard day, he’ll slip into bed and nuzzle against your back, his nose burying itself in the crook of your neck, silently begging you to dote on him and call him that pet name which he loves so much.

Arthur Conan Doyle: 

My cherry - Because they’re somehow sweet and bright whilst also being deep and mature. 

Cherries are often used in euphemisms and things of the like so, I think that Arthur would absolutely take this nickname the wrong way at first, interpreting it as playful flirting rather than as an innocent little comment. But, as time passes, he’d pick upon it’s cute, innocent meaning and get rather bashful about it. It’ll be Arthur’s favourite thing for you to call him and Theo will absolutely tease him for it, but honestly Arthur couldn’t care less about Theo’s teasing. He’ll also go red like a lil cherry whenever you call him it, so if you wanna make him flustered, a casual little “I adore you, my cherry” will make that magic happen for you.

As much as he hates to admit it maybe not as much as Theo but he’s certainly a close second place, Arthur is a soft and genuine man underneath the flirty front he puts on. To know that you love him so much to share with him such a beautiful relationship and the world’s sweetest nickname absolutely warms his heart. After a while in your relationship, he’ll start to sign off his letters to you with something along the lines of:

“My love for you is eternal, 

Your cherry, 

Arthur.” 

Dazai Osamu:

My plum - Because they’re dark and moody but still manage retain that delightful, bright centre somewhere deep within. 

Okay so we all know that Dazai loves calling people nicknames, little pet names to express that he cares for them so, when you turn the tables and call him your  plum, I guarantee he’d be so flustered by it. It takes him a while to process it, honestly - Toshiko-san you really care for him enough to bestow him a sweet little pet name? Safe to say, Dazai is over the moon about it underneath his rather bashful response. 

I have a feeling he’d also give you a fruit-based nickname so the pair of you could match though, knowing Dazai, it’d be a really weird obscure fruit like kumquats or mulberries or something like that. He’ll write poems about beautiful fruits ripening in orchards as like romantic analogies for you, describing your relationship as the brightest summer when all the berries seem to be sweeter than ever before - He’s a romantic, for sure. 

Jean D’Arc:

My strawberry - Because they’re delicate, tender and pure, whilst also being vibrant, alluring and sensual.

At first Jean will probably hate this nickname to no end, after all, in his time, strawberries were considered “The Devil’s fruit” because they were overly sweet and tempting. The strawberry tree in the 12 century was seen as a symbol of sensuality, very much enforcing such sins as lust and debauchery which, lets be honest, isn’t really good Catholic Jean’s vibe. 

But when you explain that their symbolism has drastically changed over time to symbolise purity and enchantment whilst also symbolising positive, sweet sensuality, Jean will change his tune on the whole nickname a bit. He’ll eventually start to like it but, it doesn’t stop him from being a flustered blushing mess about it all - His cheeks look like lil tiny strawberries when he blushes!

[nafeary]

Napoleon, Theodorus, and le Comte’s Reaction to MC saying “I love you” first

Anon asked:

Hey there! I really like all the stuff on your blog, so could you do the suitors reactions to you saying I love you for the first time (like, if the route plots didn’t really happen). If all of them are too much, maybe just Napoleon, Theo and Comte. Maybe also include a little scenario? Thanks in advance.

✧✎ A/N: Heya, sweetest anon! Thank you so much for this request (and for including three of the daddy line), this was really fun to do~

Theo’s got... slightly longer than the others (almost a whole scenario by itself whoops). Don’t worry Napoleon. I have a WIP of yours. Thanks @juminly and @delicateikemenmemes for helping me out with Theo, and @marie-quentin for giving me a quick crash course in French. Drink water, y’all :))))

Warnings: slight suggestiveness, and implied sexual activities.

Napoleon Bonaparte

Pardon? Could you run that by him again?

It had been a morning like any other, welcoming the culprit who’d come to wake him up with his wonted kisses

However, this time around, he hadn’t met an interfering hand—which was by far his favored option. The other ones entailed pillows, fists, and even a certain someone’s foil

So when he met lips, molding together with his like a familiar imprint, he immediately shook off his fatigue, surprised to see his lover before him

His astonishment didn’t stem from the kiss itself (as you’ve done way more than just that), but you’ve never indulged in his habit before

Not only that, but it felt so much more...

Intimate. Passionate. Amorous...

Romantic. Purely romantic.

Your hands rose to his cheeks, cupping them in an ever so gentle embrace. Feeling almost weightless within your gentle expression, he sighed in the intimate comfort only one’s other half could provide.

“‘Leon?” The most idyllic melody made his eyes open, blinking a few times to adjust to the sun’s flaxen rays. He had to halt a few moments, for as his eyes managed to adjust, the golden glow hugging your form truly made you appear out of this world.

“Yes, nunuche?” Your loving and tender gaze almost made him melt, and it was a miracle that his question sounded as nonchalant as he was hoping for it to be.

“I love you.”

Napoleon couldn’t help the pounding of his heart. In all his years, no one had ever managed to make him feel so precious. Of course, he’s had his previous lovers, but as you stood before him like an angel of fortune, holding his head up in a pretense of it being the most wondrous diamond...

He couldn’t help the laughter spilling from his lips. At your affronted expression, he pulled you to his side, your cheek squished against his neck. Closing your eyes against his laughter’s shock waves—tens on the Richter scale—you couldn’t prevent the pout from conquering face.

Napoleon halted his laughter, although not completely, and his arms cocooned your midriff to lean in. Your toes curled as his lips brushed your ear.

“Je t’adore, nunuche.”

Theodorus Van Gogh

You might have to bring him to Isaac or Leonardo to fix, because you’ve completely broken this guy

He always expected to say it first, so he’s kinda mad??? But also really touched??? Fix him, please

It was no secret that Theodorus Van Gogh considered himself to be very domineering

Not because he wants the other person to feel save and protected... it was simply due to convenience pssst don’t tell him

Of course, he found it more than endearing when his girlfriend took the leash from time to time, and he genuinely enjoys her initiations of affection

Everyday, it took Theo all the self control he could muster up not to break into a smile at the sight of you, not to pick you up and whirl you around, not to throw you over his shoulder to carry you to his room...

Anyway, if you were to tell him the famous three words first, he’d be pure molasses in your hands

“Do you need more syrup, Theo?”

While the amount of liquid gold suggested the attendance of the entire mansion, it was only himself and his lover at breakfast. You had risen later than usual (due to certain nightly activities), and Sebastian was so kind as to allow you a day off.

“We’ll see,” he murmured, nevertheless thanking you when you brought him more with a disbelieving snort.

As you ate breakfast in the kitchen, not wanting to bother yourselves with setting everything up in the dining hall, he did not let your “inconspicuous” array of glances go unnoticed. Whenever he caught your eyes, you’d quickly avert your own, a faint blush dusting your skin. Perplexity marred his mind at your bashful actions.

Just when you stood up to do the dishes, he grabbed your arm, turning you around to trap you successfully underneath his form. Bewildered, you squirmed in his grasp, but that only made him pin your wrists in place. While this might not be your first time in this particular position, you could still only huff at his stern expression. “What did I do now? Do you always have to—“

“Quit your yapping, Hondje. Is there something on my face, or why do you keep on staring at me?” he spoke, as blunt and stoic as ever.

You chastised yourself— should have been aware that nothing could escape his detail-oriented eyes. Nonetheless, there was something... disparate about this morning: the hushed words of devotion, the warmth of nonchalant pecks—dare you say, it was almost domestic. It caused feelings of joy and felicity to ignite in your chest, and a certain sentence to cross your mind.

“...I love you, Theo.”

It was apparent that he’d been caught off-guard, a hand flying up to cover a short fit of coughing. And as his grip on you faltered, you flung your arms around his neck, urged by both embarrassment and closure.

“Y—you. Gadver...”

“Have I rendered the great Theodorus Van Gogh speechless?” You couldn’t help the teasing remark; eager to see his flushed expression, you peeled yourself out of the embrace. However, just as swift as he had faltered, his iron grip on you toughened once again, this time around closing the proximity to an intimate distance.

“Have you finally lost what little sense you had before?” His tone’s giddiness betrayed the harshness of his words, despite his best attempts to suppress that. As you tried to focus on anything apart from his breath caressing your neck, you espied the brilliant blush raging on his cheeks.

Deciding not to comment on his obvious joy, you pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Don’t you have to punish me, then? I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”

When you pulled back to look at you love, you were met with his wild cerulean orbs. You’ve heard of people comparing them to ice, but you likened them to the tropic’s water; it might look trifling at most, but once you dive in, it would tell tales of colourful facets. Just like a big misunderstanding, crying out to be revealed.

You couldn’t care less that you were in the kitchen, that anyone could walk in on you, as he pulled you closer to himself, your legs finding their way around his waist.

Comte de Saint-Germain

He’d definitely be shocked at first, widening his eyes at your forthcoming admittance

After all, these three words might seem minuscule to a lot, but they held enough power to truly cement a relationship

Whenever he looked at his chérie, he felt the need to tell them to you 24/7, but he reconsidered that it was only right to give you more time to grow accustomed to him (and his period)

After a few months of living together, and a solitary trip back to the past (which proved itself vain as his offer was declined once again), he resolved to tell her these fateful words

He heard his amour before he saw her, the sound of your steps hurrying down the staircase growing more and more pronounced. Ere he was able to turn around to greet you, you practically pounched onto him, fingers clasping by his waist as you embraced him from behind. You squeezed his middle section gently in an effort to breathe in his scent.

Shock subsiding, he enbosomed your hands with his own, having missed your warmth—your devotion—as it crowned him with more than the sun could ever wish to.

“I have something—“

“—to tell you.”

Both of you spoke up at the same time, prompting you to smile in delight. Hearing composed, albeit joyful, laughter spilling from your lover’s lips, followed by the incessant remark of ladies-first, you uttered the words you have been longing to say, “I love you.”

The gentle rising of his torso came to a sudden halt, and he twisted around to face you. He might not have been gone for too long, but you’d missed each other regardless.

You knew the feeling was mutual as his golden eyes burned with desire, his walls coming down bit by bit, exposing a rare sight of the count’s vulnerability. With his hands inching just above your lower hip, the not so innocent innuendo of their barely proper distance to your butt was duly noted.

“I’ve been hoping to tell you these words myself, ma moitié.” His mouth traced the shell of your ear, and you felt him smile against your skin—as gentle as flower petals, yet just as seductive. “Perhaps we could arrange my reciprocation in private?”

Tag list: @juminly, @kisara-16 (I totally forgot that you asked me to be tagged quite a while ago... I’m sorry (*´Д｀*))

[firstfullmoon]

“But still it isn’t over. Because later, when you’re home, looking out your window at the ocean, at the calm of the horizon line and the apple in your hand glows in that golden light that happens in the afternoon, suffusing you with something you’re sure is close to peace,”

— Kim Addonizio, “Quantum”

“But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness,

when it’s done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive.”

— Mary Oliver, “Poppies”

“There is a gold light in certain old paintings That represents a diffusion of sunlight. It is like happiness, when we are happy. It comes from everywhere and from nowhere at once, this light,”

— Donald Justice, “There is a gold light in certain old paintings”

“Praise the mutilated world and the gray feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.”

— Adam Zagajewski, “Try to Praise the Mutilated World”

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

— Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night”

“MEGARA: You love the light so much? AMPHITRYION: I do, I love its hopes.”

— Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

“Still, a great deal of light falls on everything.”

— Vincent van Gogh, in a letter to his brother Theo

“We know we are doomed, done for, damned, and still the light reaches us, falls on our shoulders even now,

even here where the moon is hidden from us, even though the stars are so far away.”

— Dorianne Laux, “Evening”

“there is a light somewhere. it may not be much light but it beats the darkness.”

— Charles Bukowski, “The Laughing Heart”

“We say pinhole. A pin hole of light. We can’t imagine how bright more of it could be, the way this much defeats night.“

— Kay Ryan, “Pinhole”

“Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light.”

— Mark Strand, “The Coming of Light”

“Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another And shared a blanket. A spark of kindness made a light. The light made an opening in the darkness.”

— Joy Harjo, “Once the World Was Perfect”

[thewildsophia]

.Art Project. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

Word Count: 2564

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the thought of the tiny Dutch artist out of your head. You weren’t even sure what about him it was that caught your attention. Perhaps it was his orange hair that almost looks red in the right lighting, or maybe his pale skin that mirrored the white bandages that you know he changes everyday (you also loved how his face would blossom with this gorgeous shade of orange-pink when he was complimented), or maybe it was just his hands. Yeah that was it. His hands, petite and delicate, that could paint such beautiful, exquisite paintings that told of many different things.

God you felt like such a creep. 

But you couldn’t help it. You were absolutely infatuated, -- no, that’s not quite right -- obsessed with him. 

And the worst part about it all was that the two of you have barely had any real interactions with each other. The last time the two of you had really talked was when you were assigned an art project with him. It was a collaborative project where you two were given a piece of art and two canvases and you would paint half the artwork on each canvas using styles and colors that were different, but still complimented the other half. 

You two had received the artwork The Kiss by Gustav Klimt, with you painting the man and Van Gogh painting the woman. You had used cooler colors -- blues, greens, grays and purples -- while Van Gogh used warmer ones -- reds, yellows, oranges and whites. You had focused most of the detail on the man, leaving the background somewhat barren with Van Gogh doing the opposite, focusing on the background and less on the woman.

It had actually turned out really well and the two of you had received a perfect grade, but what you liked the most about the whole thing was how much time you got to spend with him. 

You worked with him for a whole week and when the deadline was coming up he invited you to his dorm to finish it. You actually found it quite funny how much his room looked like The Bedroom, but you weren’t surprised. 

If you really thought about it, it was probably the second day when you started to become fascinated by him. The sketches had been completed and you two had just started painting. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t focus on your piece, intrigued by his painting. His strokes were quick, decisive, like he knew exactly what he wanted. It was difficult not to stare as he painted and you had barely gotten any work done that day. And he quickly picked up on your distracted state. 

“Is something the matter?” God that voice sounded just perfect to you. It was deep, but not too deep, and somewhat raspy, like he had a slight cold. You could listen to that voice for hours. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You remember him asking. 

“Yeah.” You had answered, “I’ve just never seen you paint before. It’s beautiful.” After those words had left your mouth, that beautiful peach color blessed his pale skin and he looked away with a bashful smile. 

“I-Thank you.” He had stuttered and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever heard. You wanted to get him to do that more often. After that the two of you continued to work on your project with the occasional chatter between you. 

When the two of you had finished, you didn’t really talk to the other. You’d wave to each other in the hallways while transitioning classes or offer a quiet “Hey” when entering Painting II. What you did find a bit strange is that if you show up first, he’ll sit at the same table as you and vice-versa, and neither of you seemed to mind it. 

Actually, it kind of worked to your advantage. 

You really couldn’t help yourself and often found yourself drawing Van Gogh in your sketchbook, ranging from basic sketches to full on ink pieces (of course you’d ink them when you got back to your dorm). It’s actually gotten so bad lately that you now have completed paintings of him, whether it be acrylic, watercolor, oil, gouache, you name it and you probably have it. 

You were actually about half way through painting another piece of him, although you didn’t like this one as much as some of the others since he looked a bit too feminine. While painting, you heard a knock at your dorm’s door. You quickly looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of a window. 

“It’s almost 10pm, why the hell is someone coming up here?” You thought before getting up and looking out the peephole in your door only to be greeted with nothing. You grumbled to yourself while opening the door just to make sure no one left something for you. 

Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with none other than the clone of Vincent Van Gogh himself, canvas and set of acrylics pinned at his side. You felt yourself straighten as you greeted him.

“Oh-Hey. It’s almost 10, are you alright? You need something?” You asked watching him shift his stance before answering, 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for coming by so late, I just needed a bit of help with the portrait project and you’re the only person I really felt comfortable coming to.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his. You felt your heart stutter at hearing that.

“It’s alright, what did you need help with specifically?” You asked leaning onto the door frame. 

“I’m having trouble with making a background that works with the subject.” He said. Weird. Backgrounds are usually his speciality. “Um, may I come in?” He asked. Your eyes widen slightly with realization of you forgetting to let him hit you.

“Of course! Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly, moving out of the way to let him in. 

“It’s fine.” He said. You closed the door before quickly jogging over to your desk, grabbing the still wet painting and placing it against the wall opposite the door, facing towards said wall. You cleared a spot on your desk for him to place his things. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got so far.” You said looking over his painting. 

You talked to him for about 15 minutes about how he could improve what he currently had before you got up to grab you painting to show him what you had done.

“That’s Frida Kahlo, right? If I remember correctly she’s from Mexican descent, so I would use brighter colors like greens, pinks and yellows.” You said while rustling with the huge stack of paintings you had looking for it. “I had gotten Aaron Douglas, so I stuck with more desaturated colors and focused less on details and more on the silhouettes of the subjects.” Once grabbing the painting you returned to Van Gogh, placing the painting onto the desk next to his.

Only…That wasn’t the right painting.

Nope, instead it was one of Van Gogh, specifically the one of him you had finished a few weeks ago of him looking at himself in a full-body mirror while painting a self portrait. You grabbed the painting, pressing it against your chest the moment you realized it was the wrong one. You stared at him a moment before turning around and scrounging around in the pile again for the right painting. 

“Y/N-” Van Gogh started, but you weren’t gonna let him finish. 

“Just! Give me a second.” You said, searching a bit faster. God seemed to be against you that night because when you started to look for it faster the whole stack fell and, of course, with it came the majority of paintings you had made of him. And…the painting of Douglas. 

You stood there a moment, feeling the sweat gather at your forehead and back of your neck. You grabbed the painting of Douglas before stacking all the other ones up. You turned back around, slowly walking back over to the desk and putting the right painting next to his. 

“So, um, like I was saying earlier…” But your voice died in your throat when you heard him speak.

“Y/N.” He said firmly. You felt yourself swallow thickly before looking over at him. “Come with me.” 

And you did. You really didn’t feel like arguing with him after what had just happened. He led you to his dorm room on the 3rd floor, unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in. You did before he closed the door and walked over to the corner of his room. He pulled out a bundle of canvas, separating them from each other. 

“You know, for the longest time I felt like such a creep doing this so often, but after seeing what you’ve been doing, I feel a lot less like one.” He said while revealing the paintings to you.

They were of you. They were all of you.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest as your eyes laid on the paintings. They were all different from the last, varying in size, color, style, much like your own. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we were assigned that project together, ever since…you said that about my painting.” He started, “At first you were just a passing thought, but as time went on, you started to plague my mind more and more often to the point where I couldn’t get you off my mind.” He finished, that stunning peach color returning to his cheeks. 

You walked over to where he had the paintings spread out over his bed, running your fingers over the texture in the dried paint.

“Oh, Van Gogh, these are…” You started, still stunned about everything. 

“Not my best work, I know.” He said scratching the back of his neck, “It was a bit difficult painting you without having you here to reference.” He admitted. 

“No, Van Gogh, these are beautiful.” You said stroking your cheek, “And not just because they’re of me.” You added with a laugh, to which Van Gogh also let out a chuckle. 

The room then when quiet, neither of you having the courage to speak up until you decided the silence had lasted enough. 

“I don’t know what it is about you,” You started, “But you’ve captured my interest, and ever since I got to watch you paint that day I also haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You paused, breathing in deeply. Well, it’s now or never you suppose. 

“Everytime I think of you, I can physically feel my chest tighten and I feel almost like I’m going to be sick, but in a good way.” You tried to explain, not meeting his light blue eyes once. “I’m not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, since I’ve never really been in love before, but…I know that I do like you. Like…really like you and…God, I don’t know what I’m saying; I’ve probably said too much.” You finish with a nervous chuckle. 

“No,” You heard him say, “You said just enough.” He grabbed your hand, making you look down at him.

“I’ve…I’ve never really been in love before either, but…I do know that I really enjoy being with you, even if we’re not talking to each other. Just being around you makes me happy. Hell, the whole point of me seeing you this late was just to see you.” Van Gogh looked up at you briefly before looking down at the ground. “Ah, I’m rambling. Look, my point is that I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, but I do know what it’s like to really like someone, and…I really like you.” He finishes, looking back up at you only to notice the glassiness of tears that clouded you e/c eyes.

“Oh, no, wait don’t start crying.” You heard him say, but you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that warmed your cheeks every so slightly. You collapsed onto your knees, embracing Van Gogh, soon feeling his arms wrap around you and the wetness of tears on the back of your shirt. You hugged him harder when you heard a sob rip from his chest, trying your best not to start sobbing yourself. After all, you didn’t look the most elegant when you cried. 

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours before finally pulling away from the other. You looked him in the eyes, rubbing away some of the stray tears that still remained on his cheeks. He returned the favor. 

“All this time,” he started, “I was so scared to tell you how I felt about you. Hell, I was scared to talk to you at all. I was so worried that I would mess things up between us that I decided to just stay silent.” He paused, sighing. “It’s…difficult for me to connect with people so…I don’t have many good friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

“I was scared too,” You admitted, “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me after we finished the project. I like being around you, so I was okay with just sitting near you in art.” You ran your hand through his orange hair, being mindful of his bandages. 

“I guess we're both kinda creeps.” You say after a minute. He smiles with a chuckle. 

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I guess we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Extended Ending: 

You let go of Van Gogh, allowing him to clear his bed and put the paintings away. He straightened his bed out, looking over at his own clock that read quarter til midnight. He turned to you, peach dusting his pale cheeks.

“Would you, um…” He stuttered, “Would you like to spend the night? I don’t mean like, you know, but just…sleep. It’s late, we have class in the morning and it’s a bit of a walk to your dorm.” He finished, gesturing to his bed. You blushed before smiling.

“I’d love to.” You answered. He smiled before opening the covers, patting the open space.

“Great! I-Um, I’ll get the lights.” He said, walking past you. You took your shoes off before climbing into his bed, moving all the way over to one side. He turned the light off, the room only being visible because of the moonlight coming through the curtains. You felt the bed shift, assuming Van Gogh had gotten in the bed with you. 

For a while, you both laid there stiffly, painfully aware of the other’s presence. You felt his eyes on you for a while before he spoke.

“Um…would it be alright if I…” He said, scooting closer to you. You did the same, until the two of you met in the center. You turned your body towards his and he did the same. The two of you simply stared at the other for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your neck. You, in turn, wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin upon his head. He pressed his face into your collar and you shuttered as you felt his breath on your neck. 

“This,” he started, “This is…” Leaving you to finish his sentence. 

“Nice.”