otp being dysfunctional!

listen. simon felt something when raphael held onto his hand a second too long to snatch the box and when he let him take his hand after. and once more immediately after raphael held it to open the box because simon jerked it back as quickly as possible with this look on his face that said what was that? within a few minutes, raphael walks in the room and simon can’t take his eyes off him both to see if he’s okay and because he’s damn pretty. these are facts.

Originally posted by samann98

November 18, 1969: This morning in the early hours, E gave me a savage mauling, coldly accusing me of virtually every sin under the sun. Drunkenness (true), mendacity (true), being boring (true), infidelity (untrue), killing myself fairly quickly (true), pride envy avarice (all true), being ugly (true), having once been handsome (untrue), and any other vice imaginable except homosexuality and being ungenerousness.

Richard Burton’s Diary

May 25, 1969: Elizabeth is an eternal one-night stand. She is my private and personal bought mistress. And lascivious with it. It is impossible to tell you what is consisted in the act of love. Well, I’ll tell you: E is a receiver, a perpetual returner of the ball!

May 26, 1969: Yesterday’s entry, as any man of discernment can tell at a glance, was written while under the strong influence of several vodkas. If I don’t watch myself, I’ll be lucky to see my late forties.

Richard Burton’s diary

November 6, 1969: I’ve got the problem of drink licked. Yesterday’s the fourth time in a month that I’ve had just a glass or two of wine at lunch.

November 11, 1969: My 46th birthday was a semi-drunken one for both of us. Today, we agreed that heavy drinking doesn’t suit us any more.

November 27, 1969: More drinking. By bedtime, we had a flaming and quite childish row. Twice, I stormed off to the alternate bedroom. Twice, I went back.

Richard Burton’s diary

At one point E, knowing I was in a state of nastiness, said to me at the lousy Italian restaurant we went to: ‘Come on Richard, hold my hand.’ Me: ‘I do not wish to touch your hands. They are large and ugly and red and masculine.’

After that, my mind was like a malignant cancer — I was incurable. I either remained stupidly silent or managed an insult a second.

What the hell’s the matter with me? I love milady more than my life.

I’m very contrite this morning but one of these days it’s going to be too late cock, too late. E has just said that I really must get her that 69-carat ring to make her ugly big hands look smaller and less ugly!

Nobody turns insults to her advantage more swiftly or more cleverly than Lady Elizabeth. That insult last night is going to cost me. Betcha!

October 2, 1969, Richard Burton’s diary


July 30th, 1969: I knew there was something wrong yesterday. I could feel it in my primitive Welsh bones. E had gone into surgery for her piles, and the first word I had was from her doctor, who made it blatantly clear that my baby child had nearly kicked it. Some doctor-idiot had allowed the ‘shot’ to leak into her blood stream and the fools were standing by with heart shots etc. in case she started to die, which they feared she was actually doing.

I’m still nightmared. What could life possibly be without her? Where would I go? What would I do? Everybody else pales by comparison. It’s no use picking up a mini-skirted chick of 18 — she wouldn’t last a week, if that.

I’d die, I suppose, a greatly accelerated death. Anyway, she’s all right. Bastards.

Richard Burton’s diary