Carrot cried for the first time since he could walk when Pickle died. Pickle didn’t die in battle, and though his spear flew true and terrifying, Pickle was always ever a diplomat. A growth in his belly got him, and so one twin outlived another, though twilight already cast its red light on Carrot too.
Carrot was happy. Some children returned from the East and the South, and those who didn’t were reported to be happy and thriving. The child of his own beloved sister stood stalwart between the cursed sky and the living earth.
Still, he could no longer climb on his horse without help from younger hands, and sometimes he forgot things. He was fifty three years old and his skin was pale tree bark and laugh lines and scars in which dwelt both joy and regret.
He hoped he would live to see the face of beloved sister Aule’s son. He’d heard that he’d looked a lot like Pickle had, long face and melancholic patience. Carrot would’ve loved to die with a war cry on his lips and knowing that the Taralindi and the once-horde live on, changed, but healthy and thriving.
in other news I watched the first episode of ASOUE and
like it’s very dry and deadpan and the kids awkwardly use a lot of big words, and the characters feel very… stiff I guess, like they’re intentionally sounding like they’re reading from a script and yeah I have like no emotional investment from the story whatsoever. Like, not one of the characters feels remotely human and it’s so weird.
definitely a lot of focus on the “humor” (the troupe isn’t intimidating in the least and Olaf isn’t really threatening or sinister, more incompetent and hamming the “I’m a bad guy muahaha” aspect than anything) and describing things without the characters actually feeling the things. Also feels very Klaus-centric instead of all three, at least in the first episode.
patrick warburton is the best part even though he’s completely the opposite of what I expected Lemony to be (some melancholic person with a face always hidden and a very depressed/lamenting tone, instead we get… warburton as a deadpan narrator)
now I have 7 more hours to waste as I avoid working on a game because of it
I thought this preference seemed fitting with all that has been going on for us and the boys. Stay strong, loves. Xoxo
You had just come home from the store, putting away all your groceries for the week. You hummed to yourself in the midst of the silence when you heard the door shut. You smiled and leant on the counter, just waiting for him to come into view.
Harry sauntered into the kitchen and sat down at the island. There were dark circles around his eyes. His body sagged with exhaustion. Overall, he looked tired.
“Hey, babe. How was your day?“
He sighed. “It could’ve been better.”
You watched while he fumbled with his fingers. He didn’t even look up at you since he came in. The melancholic expression plastered on his face told you that something was bothering him. And you planned to find out exactly what that was.
You swung around to the other side of the island. You wrapped your arms around his torso, laying your head upon his shoulder.
“Whatever it is…Harry, you can tell me.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Well, it’s something that is bothering you. And I’m interested in whatever that’s bothering you.”
Suddenly, he began to cry into the palm of his hands. He shook with each heartbreaking sob. I turned him in my arms, trying my best to console him.
“The band…everything is falling apart.”
I blinked back tears. Seeing him so upset made me upset too. I knew he had been stressed lately, but I never expected it would lead to me cradling him as he cried his heart out.
“You guys are going to work it out. I believe in you…all of you. No matter what you will still be the most important thing in some of your fan’s lives. You are going to get through this.”
He nodded in agreement. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“Can we go now?” Niall asked for the fiftieth time since you arrived at the mall.
He seemed to be annoyed and irritated. This little ‘façade’ has been going on since he woke up this morning. It didn’t concern you deeply before because you thought it was just another grumpy day. Now, it was beginning to make you curious as to what was on his mind.
“Niall, this is only the second store we’ve been to.”
“That’s only because you were in the first store for three hours. I want to go home, Y/N.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I just want to go home.”
“What’s so important at home? You promised you would take me shopping.”
“That was before,” He complained, rolling his eyes.
“Before I knew what people really thought of me. Before I found out how many people hate me.”
You put the clothes back onto the clothing rack, and you turned to face him. You were utterly baffled. No one around you heard the appalling revelation, but you chose to take Niall by his hand. You led him inside the dressing room.
“Sit,” You demanded.
He sat on the small bench with a sigh. You stood before him with your hands on your hips. The rage flowing through your veins was uncontrollable.
“What the hell are you rambling on about? Who hates you?”
“I was on Twitter earlier-“
“Niall, those people aren’t real fans. They’re trolls. Do you not know how many people love and adore you? I’m one of them. I love you so much it hurts sometimes and to hear you talk like that…it makes me upset. You don’t know how loved you are.”
“It doesn’t seem that way. Everywhere I look, there’s someone who doesn’t like my hair, my accent, or my voice. It sucks.”
You kneeled down in front of him. “I love all those things about you. Your family and friends love all those things about you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because the important people love you the most.”
He smiled. “You’re right. I’m glad I have you by my side.”
“I’m happy to be right here. I never want you to feel insecure about other people’s opinions. They’re not worth it.”
“Okay. Thank you, princess.”
“Jesus, Nick Jonas is so hot!” You admitted, biting your lip as you watched the television screen.
Your best friend, Y/B/F/N, hummed in agreement. The two of you were watching the Kid’s Choice Awards together. It wasn’t often that you checked out other guys but when you did, you sure did mea every word you said.
“I’m right here, ya know.” Liam said.
“Yeah, so? Nick is still hot, and I’m still intrigued by what’s underneath his shirt. If you catch my drift…” You joked, laughing.
“Are you kidding, Y/N?”
“Not in the slightest. I mean, look at him. His abs are peeking through his shirt.”
You heard a door slam and saw that Liam was gone. You looked at Y/B/F/N, who just sat with her mouth agape. Your heart sunk at the thought of really hurting Liam’s feelings.
“I’ll be back.”
You got up from the couch. Then you went up the stairs to you and Liam’s shared bedroom. You entered the room to see Liam sulking on the bed.
“Liam, I’m sorry.”
“Go apologize to Nick Jonas. I’m sure you would like that.”
You chuckled. “Come on, Liam. I love you. Nick Jonas doesn’t even come close when compared to you. You ruined me for anyone else.”
“So, you think I’m hotter than Nick Jonas?” He asked, picking with the fluffy pillow.
“Yes, I do…way hotter.”
He smiled, and that was all you loved to see. Liam’s smile could cure cancer if that was possible. It never failed to make your day. All that you wanted was for him to be happy.
“Lou, I’m home!”
You hummed as you walked into the apartment. You took off your jacket and placed it on the coat rack by the table for your keys. The room was absolutely silent. You walked further into the living room to see Louis sitting in the dark. The lights and the television were off.
Your heart accelerated. You slowly approached him, holding back tears. “Louis, what are you talking about? I thought we were fine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s fine. The game is over, and Doncaster lost…badly.”
You felt this huge sense of relief. You almost wanted to burst out laughing, but you could see Louis was seriously upset over this.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Can you go back and make Donny score the last twenty points we needed?”
You locked your eyes on his. He sighed and kissed your lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just hold me?”
“Now, that I can do with no problem.”
“I came as soon as I heard. Is she going to be alright?” You asked one of the boys, running into the waiting room.
“She’s not doing so hot, but the doctors promised she should fine after they do some surgery.” Liam offered, smiling softly.
I ran up to Zayn once he entered through double doors. He melted in my arms, sobbing lightly. I rubbed his back up and down to sooth him. I had never seen him so upset and vulnerable.
“It’s all my fault.”
“None of this is your fault, Zayn. Your sister is going to make it through this. She’s so strong, and she has her wonderful brother by her side.”
“Y/N, what if she doesn’t make it? She is everything to me…How would we survive without her?”
A tear slipped down your face. “Don’t talk like that. She is going to come back better than ever. And she’ll you have you to thank for it. If you hadn’t called the ambulance as fast you did, then she would not have made it this far. Zayn, you are her hero.”
Every art object has a story—not only of how it was made, but of how it changed hands over time until it
found its current home. That story is provenance.
Adolphe Joseph Thomas Monticelli might not be as well known as some of our previous
#ProvenancePeek artists, but he has his own claim to fame. Monticelli was born in the southern
French town of Marseille and lived in Paris, studying under Paul Delaroche at the École des Beaux-Arts
and befriending the young Narcisse Diaz, whom he accompanied on trips to the Fontainebleau Forest,
home of the Barbizon School of painters.
Monticelli’s work prefigured Impressionism. His loose, painterly style was admired by artists
such as Van Gogh and Cézanne, and his heavy use of impasto set him apart from his contemporaries. In
this fête champêtre, or garden party, his figures emerge from the darkness in groups of two or three,
the melancholic looks on their faces belying the festive title.
This painting was purchased by the Phillips Memorial Gallery from M. Knoedler & Co. in October 1922. The Phillips Memorial, now known as the Phillips Collection, is one of the great impressionist and modern art museums in the country. Pictured here are pages from the stock and sale books in the Knoedler archives at the Getty Research Institute, which track the painting’s inventory and sale.
The stock books of the Knoedler Gallery have recently been digitized and transformed into a searchable
database, which anyone can query for free.
Fête Champêtre, not dated, Adolphe Monticelli (1824–1886). Oil on wood panel, 9 ⅛ x 12 ⅞ in. Acquired 1922. The Phillips Collection, Washington, DC
Yesterday’s first corset OOTD involved this dress I made awhile back (because we were set to have a warm day here in Colorado), but I barely made it out the door before taking a tumble down the concrete stairs at my apartment. Mild road rash up my leg means no dresses for a bit, but the corseting continues. See here “Take 2” of yesterday’s outfit (plus my melancholic face regarding the whole situation).
I’m disappointed that this prevents me from getting my usual endorphin fix, but EXTREMELY thankful that I didn’t twist an ankle or sustain any really severe damage. It all came down to clumsiness for me, but for those of you in cold places, careful on that ice!