Spring. Taisho Era Japan, 1920. There is a small percentage of the population that is born with mysterious, magical tattoos. When these people find each other, an inexplicable feeling runs down their spine and they somehow know the other person is just like them—especially if the tattoos have a pre-determined affinity to each other.
That is exactly how Kageyama, the young noble, and Hinata, the blacksmith’s son, met.
That’s How a Moment Lasts Forever - Post-BatB Oneshot
“Why do you keep
so many tea sets?”
The old man
chuckled, leaning back in his armchair as he watched his littlest
grandchild. While her two older siblings had chosen to play outside
in the snow, she stared at his bookcase, which, instead of being
filled with books, was lined with teapots and teacups made of wood,
porcelain, and china.
“Well, you know
your father’s a potter; he gives me the ones that no one wants.”
“But do you even
use them?” the girl asked. “They’ve got chips and cracks in
them. They wouldn’t make good tea.”
definitely your mother’s daughter,” the old man replied. “I
suppose…I keep them because they deserve a home, a place to
The girl raised her
eyebrows. “You make it sound like they’re alive.”
old man’s voice took on a spooky tone. “Sometimes they talk to me
The girl laughed.
“No they don’t!”
“No, they don’t,”
he agreed, laughing in return. “But can’t an old man have his
hobbies? I like antiques! I’m a collector, always have been! You
see that?” He pointed at a tiny, intricately decorated box on the
mantel above the fireplace. “It plays a lullaby if you open it.
The king’s grandfather made that for me when I was a boy.”
tea sets were momentarily forgotten as the little girl ran over to
the mantel and seized the box in her hands.
man raised a gnarled hand, but there was no need; the girl set the
box down with the utmost care. She lifted open the box, revealing a
tiny, incredibly detailed replica of a rose. The rest of the inside
was gold and cornflower blue, with a castle painted on the inside of
the lid. She located the winding handle on the side, and with a nod
from her grandfather, wound it up and let it play.
At once, a little
melody, strong but sweet, began to emit from the box, causing the
rose to rotate slowly in place. The girl sat, entranced by the box,
while the man closed his eyes and hummed along.
“You won’t find a
box like that anywhere else,” he finally said. “That’s why it’s
The girl waited
until the last notes faded away, then looked up at her grandfather to
ask him a question. But what she saw startled her into concern
rather than curiosity.
Grandfather!” She rushed forward, drawing out her handkerchief to
wipe his tears away. The song was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t a
song that should be cried over!
He smiled and let her wipe away his tears. “You are very kind. My
mother used to sing that song for me.” He didn’t need to say the
“Oh,” the girl
whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know,”
the old man reassured her, smiling. “Besides, I let that old box play every day, and you don’t see me crying all the time, do you?”
“No,” the girl answered, grinning. “You’re very cheerful.”
“Well that’s good,” he exclaimed. “I’m glad I didn’t grow up to be an old grump like my father did.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes; she admiring the music box, and he gazing at the tea sets in the bookcase that he kept so well polished that the imperfections shone in the light.
“Do you want to know the real reasons behind the tea sets?” he asked suddenly, waking the girl from her short-lived reverie. “Why I look after them like I do? You have to promise not to laugh or walk away.”
The little one shrugged, but sidled up to her grandfather’s armchair. “Okay. Tell me.”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I promise.” Her eyes gazed up at him, wide and trusting.
“It’s because I used to be one myself.”
The girl sat there, eyes wide, lips parted slightly in surprise. She wanted to ask if it was a joke, but the old man looked completely serious. And she was just at that age where she was learning to take care of herself, but still young enough to believe in fairy stories, if they were spun the right way.
The old man’s lips curled into a real, genuine smile, one that only children would understand. “Magic.”
“What happened?” the girl’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Well…sit back a little, and I’ll tell you,” the man replied. “I was your age when this story took place. It started with a spoiled prince, an old enchantress, and a young farm girl who saved us all…”
“You used to work at the castle?” the girl said after he had finished his tale.
“Well, it was mostly my mother; she was the head housekeeper. I followed in the steps of my father, became a potter, and when I had your father, I taught him as well. Hopefully your older siblings will carry on the family business for me.”
“I bet they will.” The girl slumped in her chair. But soon she straightened up again. “Was the queen really an inventor?”
“Best in the world,” he replied. “She’s the reason why you have a fountain behind your house for laundry.”
“Is the Enchantress still alive?”
“I have no idea. Probably.”
“Were the musicians really world-famous?”
“Of course they were. Why would they lie?”
“Maybe to gain favor with the prince.”
“No, they’ve been in the paper before. I have clippings, if you’re really that skeptical.”
“Wow…” For a moment she was lost in her own daydreams of what it would be like living with famous people. But then another thought stole her mind away. “Could Plumette really fly? Like a bird?”
“Even after the curse she could float for a while, if she wanted to.”
“What do you want me to say about him? The man was an eccentric old codger right up until the day he…” The man paused for a moment, lost in the past. “Until he died.”
The girl pondered the word in silence, while the other sat in his armchair, thinking of times and thoughts that his granddaughter would never understand, no matter how much she listened, or how much she learned. She would never learn to appreciate time as he had, especially now, after all these years. And he was the last one, the one given the most time to contemplate what had happened. Everyone else had already passed on.
Sometimes, they would come to him in his dreams, as young as he remembered them that day: newly human and full of happiness. Lumiere would ask him how old age was treating him, Chapeau would clap him on the back and comment on his family, his mother would wrap her arms around him and tell him how proud she was of him. How proud they all were of him.
But Cogsworth always told him the time, how time was running out. Tick-tock, there’s not much time left. And though he always asked what Cogsworth meant, the old majordomo never explained himself, only kept repeating the same thing over and over again. Even now, Cogsworth was still as incessant as a real clock.
And yet…though he had time well-spent…it never seemed like enough. Well, not until now, as his youngest grandchild sat next to him, visions of magic and curses dancing in her head, the very age he was when the curse was cast. Filled with the wonder of a story that would die with him.
“I have a special task for you, little one,” he murmured, and the girl’s eyes lit up.
“What is it?” she asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t forget the story I’ve told you today. Not a single word of it. Write it down somewhere, make it a book. And tell your grandchildren. And have them tell theirs.”
“All right,” the child said. “Is it that important?”
“I don’t want anyone to forget them,” he continued. “They taught me a lesson; I am sure they will teach others too. You’ve probably been told that nothing lasts forever, haven’t you?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Mother told me that.”
“Well…this story only happened in a moment, out of all the time in the world. And when I die, the days I’ve lived will disappear. But now that I’ve told you, you can tell other people, and those people can tell other people, and the story will last longer than any of us.”
He wasn’t much of a storyteller at this age, but he could do this much for his family. He didn’t live his whole life just to die without people really knowing what happened all those years ago. It wasn’t just some curse; lessons were learned, and love was restored to the castle.
“Okay. I promise I’ll do it. And my children will do it too.”
Chip smiled and closed his eyes. He could picture them now, in the castle, carrying out their duties, royalty and service alike. Some would call them ordinary, but to him they were the most important people in the world. They didn’t deserve to be fleeting. They deserved to live on. Through story, through song, through legend.
That’s how a moment lasts forever…when our song lives on.
I just used this as an excuse to actually draw Drew as a hippo xD Now my mind is trying to figure out who would be which animal in this AU (and then I remember that I can’t really draw animals so… Yeah~ xD)
I hope it’s okey! :D //Finished version is worse than sketch… And that basically sums up my entire blog~ xD//
Okay, I’m sitting here having a moment to myself, and lamenting the fact that I have to go out later, so I can’t dig into one of my projects. But I don’t want to leave you guys hanging, and it feels super weird not to post something creative. So here’s a 100 word drabble before I get ready to go. Hopefully I won’t be gone long. I have work to do when I get back, but I’m hoping I can get some work in on that Kilgrave painting.
Rose Tyler glanced at the pile of dishes by the sink, shifting to angle her back towards the mess as she sipped her tea. Her hand roamed down to the swell in her abdomen as she felt the baby roll over. God, pregnancy was weird. All the crazy things she’d seen traveling with the Doctor somehow hadn’t prepared her for the sight of a hand or foot pushing at the walls of her womb, seeing the jabs and kicks, watching her stomach tighten and roll and squirm. It certainly seemed alien. And considering the father, she supposed that was fitting.
Hey city! Can I ask how you learned to paint digitally? I'm trying to teach myself how and I'm having a hard time figuring things out. All my knowledge is just odd information cobbled together with trial and error and whatever I can glean from like, speedpainting videos and I was curious as to your process? Gah I hope this question makes sense I just woke up from a nap and my brain is still a lil foggy
yeah basically trial and error. let me be clear, when i started, my digital painting wasn’t like. good.
this is the oldest attempt at digital painting i could find, from when i was 15? there’s elements that are bad (values, very unconfident touch in the clouds lol…), but there’s also good, how you can see a bit of blue in the balloon. the more you paint the more you can figure out what you like and don’t like, and kinda go from there
also i like to look at photography, or old school painting masters. i dont find it helpful to look at digital painters for some reason. there’s a slippery slope there of becoming too derivative
this is all w the caveat of “i still have no idea what im doing” btw