“What I thought was that if you—maybe just once a year—if we could come here at the same time, just for an hour or something, then we could pretend we were close again—because we would be close, if you sat here and I sat just here in my world…"
“Yes, as long as I live, I’ll come back. Wherever I am in the world, I’ll come back here—”
“On Midsummer Day, at midday. As long as I live.”
"And if we—later on— if we meet someone that we like, and if we marry them, then we must be good to them, and not make comparisons all the time and wish we were married to each other instead… But just keep up this coming here once a year, just for an hour, just to be together…”
“I will love you forever, whatever happens. Till I die and after I die, and when I find my way out of the land of the dead, I’ll drift about forever, all my atoms, till I find you again…”
“And when we do find each other again, we’ll cling together so tight that nothing and no one will ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you…”
*Phillip Pullman, His Dark Materials
I love His Dark Materials so much! I can’t wait to read the continuation <3 It’s one of the most beautiful stories and that damned last bit always makes me cry uncontrollably. I just can’t deal with the angst. I couldn’t decide which part of this conversation is more beautiful (meaning: makes me cry harder) so I’ve put both. I am literally in tears as I am writing this, omg…
I could really go for HDM AU that doesn’t necessarily follow the plot. Kingsman with daemons and witches and armoured bears I mean… I need it. Imagine last Kingsman test would be to go through Separation with their daemons… I have so many headcanons for that haha. I would love to make sense out of all of them one day.
Also, my cintiq is making me so angry recently. The colours are so messed up?? I have to balance them out on another screen and they are never correct. I’m so fed up with my art looking like poop after so much work ;__;
I got a lot of asks after the new season of R&M premiered from people wondering if my Janitors were okay. Good news is they spend majority of their day outside of the Citadel in other dimensions. Bad news is they got back from a long shift to find an even bigger clean up job waiting for them at home.
Richard is having none of it.
(I still haven’t decided if my aus are gonna follow s3 canon or branch off separate? This latest episode puts a bit of a massive canon hole in my fanon plotline at the moment.)
The first time Rose did it, it was out of ignorance.
The second was desperation.
The third time she did not do it. If she had, it would have
been purely malicious.
She resisted it the fourth time too, and the fifth, the sixth and the
The eighth time she never got the choice: she died first.
The first, though—the first was Adam. An eager and honest
bucktooth man with blond hair in ringlets that reminded Rose just a bit of her
own. Adam was the first human Rose fell in love with, and it was different. It
wasn’t her normal human love, that soft and gentle maternal kind. This love was
bubbly and effervescent. It was walks alone just the two of them that felt
giddy and new and anxious eager jolts in her mind of touching his skin and
investigating his lips and getting close, close like humans do, in a way that
And 58 was far too young an age, Rose thought, for Adam to
fade. He burst out in sores that corrupted his human form and could not heal,
would not heal, and no human could save him. So Rose did. Adam died, and Rose
shed just enough tears to bring him back into existence.
Things didn’t change all at once. For years nothing was
different than the novelty of Adam’s ringleted hair truly matching Rose’s. But
humans experience the passing of decades different from Gems. Adam grew solemn
when all his friends died. He made new ones. Then 50 years later, they all died
Adam’s body remained healthy. But it seemed the human mind wasn’t
equipped for centuries of life. Maybe humans had a finite amount of love
packaged into them, meant to well up from the soul for 70 or 80 years at most.
Adam ran out of love. He packed his things, just a single bag on his shoulder,
and he told Rose he would leave forever.
Rose let him go, but her heart still broke, because Gems
work on a much larger time scale.
Samuel was the next man in her life, a mere 30 years later,
and he was spry, bubbly, energetic, overflowing with a sort of giddy love that
Rose felt would last and last. She swept him up in her arms and spun with him
on the briny beach front, her bare feet molding in the sand as they swirled and
danced, day after day, year after year. She and Samuel married, as was a custom
among Samuel’s kind, and he gathered a batch of humans larger than Rose had
seen since the victory against Homeworld.
Samuel turned 75 faster than Rose could measure. He was gray
and worn, thin and knotted at the joints, senile and immobile when Rose still
wanted to dance with him on the beach. He did not wake up one morning, and it
was too soon for Rose. She wept, honest heavy wet tears that poured the life
back into a husk that dried too soon.
Samuel lasted another 75 years after that. But he burned
down, slower than Adam but still the same. His human light died. He wept too
hard for his family and friends, for the children of his first marriage and his
children’s children, and their children… He grew solemn, and cold, and
inconsolable, and one day he told Rose he wanted to explore the ocean with his
infinite age. Alone. Without her. His human love had burnt itself to the wick.
The heartache hit worse. Rose gave her hand and heart and
time to no other man for decades. Not the curious sailors who came hat-in-hand
to the Temple. Not the outcast townsfolk who came to investigate the myths of
the magical women out by the briny shore. She waited, and waited, until that
ache in her chest grew too heavy, and she let a young and spindly man named
Wilson woo her. He took her out to sea on a rickety hand-crafted boat, and he
pointed out the wonders of the vast sea to her, and Rose wondered silently if
ever they might cross Samuel’s path.
Wilson grew old when Rose was not paying attention. She went
to visit him one day, and found only a sickly man curled up in bed, breathing
in wheezes, blinking through milky eyes. Garnet found her that evening, Garnet
with the ability to see the paths laid out ahead of her. She warned Rose not to
follow through this time, and Rose did not. And Wilson died.
Mark with the thick orange brows was slowly whittled down to
thin scraggly gray hairs, like fuzzy caterpillars resting on his lip and brow
the day he died. Seth had only hit 30 when his carriage was lost off the side
of the road in a blizzard, his body found days after. Wallace made it to 76.
Jeremy to 64…
When she met Greg, Rose reached a selfish conclusion. She
would be the human this time. She would be the human wife that Adam, Samuel,
Wilson, Seth, Mark, Wallace, Jeremy never had…she would be the one to give him
And she would die first this time.
The other men had seemed so peaceful when they passed, Rose
thought in hindsight. A life well-lived. A life fulfilled. Not like Adam, not
like Samuel, whittled down to husks and then nothing but a puppet on strings,
in a body strewn about, too spent and stressed for a human. She wanted to know
that peace of a life lived to its end. She wanted to pass on her chance of
experiencing the world to a new human, a new generation, like all humans were
so happy to do.
Rose died first. Steven lived on.
Lars has not visited Beach City in centuries. Pearl, Garnet,
and Amethyst still live there, he knows that, but he never knew them well. He
never properly met the green and blue ones either.
He travels sometimes. Mostly he lingers. Wherever he ends
up. It’s all a blur. Where he’s been and where he’s going. Just not Beach City.
He’s visited those old homes too many times, and he saw them all demolished
over time. Nothing’s left for him there.
Lars does not quite know where he is. He does not
particularly care. It’s indoors, and dim, and a man is logging orders on a
holographic tablet one table over. It’s a restaurant of sorts. Lars doesn’t
need to eat, but if he orders a coffee, they will probably let him linger
Lars stares out the window. He does that often. He’s run out
of other things to do over the years. He’s gotten numb to most of it.
A shadow of a man slides into the booth with Lars. He takes
the space on the opposite side of the table. He’s wearing a rain poncho, a thin
and ultra-light orange material for maximum hydrophobic effect. He looks old,
eyes lined with wrinkles beneath the hood. Lars swallows the urge to ask him
what he wants as the man lowers the hood.
His hair cascades in ringlets, each the same pale and
luminous pink as the hair on Lars’ head.
He sticks a hand out, and offers a thin smile that doesn’t
quite touch his eyes.
“I’m Adam. I noticed your hair from the other side of the
bar. Sorry to intrude, but could we talk a moment…?”