Slow mornings
[RB]
YOU ARE THE REASON

Janaina Medeiros

@theartofmadeline
Today's Document
KIROKAZE
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@philosophicalchores
Slow mornings
[RB]
the only person who could pull of a movie of the secret history is david lynch and he’s dead so nobody even touch that book
mutual masturbation except it's just the two of you playing your guitars while face to face with one another
Pretty sure this is what the beatles did
Katara has many regrets in life but giving her boy the Jinshi Haircut is not one of them.
can i talk about how i dont think henry was trying to kill charles in the traditional sense? can i talk about how he was probably just setting charles up to do it himself? the pills, lending his car to a clearly drunk charles after a fight, giving him MORE alcohol after he was in the hospital due to it???
American Divorce
Pairing: Henry Winter x f!reader
a/n: I've been watching the show about Kennedys and listening to American Divorce by Frank Ocean, can you tell.
It was, by all accounts, an ordinary evening when you came down the stairs with your suitcase in your hand.
You didn’t set it by the door. You set it in the center of the hall, upright, like a sentence you had finally decided to punctuate. The leather was worn at the handles, a relic from college, from the years when your possessions could still be counted and carried. You had carried it into this house five years ago, and now you were carrying it out, and Henry was in the study with the lamp on, turning a page of something in Greek with a slowness that you knew meant he had heard you on the stairs, had heard the particular weight of your step, and was waiting.
He did not look up when you entered. His hand rested on the page, his index finger holding his place, and the light pooled on the desk in a way that made his hair look darker than it was. The room smelled of paper and the faint metallic trace of ink, and for a moment you felt the old and treacherous pull of it, the way this room had always seemed like the interior of his skull made physical, orderly and severe and beautiful, a place where you had been permitted to exist but never quite to belong.
“You’re going somewhere,” he said.
“I’m leaving, Henry.”
Now he looked up. He removed his glasses, folded them, set them on the desk. He did this with the same deliberation he brought to everything, as though objects deserved ceremony, as though the world was a liturgy only he could properly perform. His face without the glasses was younger, more vulnerable, and you knew he knew this, and you knew he had removed them on purpose.
“Leaving,” he repeated. The word hung in the air between you, unhurried and unclaimed. He put his glasses back on. “That’s an imprecise verb. It doesn’t specify duration or intent. You could be leaving for the evening. You could be leaving for a month. You could be arranging the syntax to alarm me.”
“I’m not trying to alarm you.” You stayed in the doorway, your arms crossed over your chest in a way that felt defensive even to you. “I’m trying to be clear. I want a divorce.”
He didn’t move. His hand still rested on the book, but his eyes were on you now, and they were the color of winter water, depthless and very still. You had loved those eyes once with a ferocity that frightened you, had felt seen by them in a way you had never felt seen before, because Henry didn’t look at people the way other people did. He looked at them like he was reading a text in a language he was still learning, patient and exacting and willing to be wrong. But you had grown tired of being read.
“No,” he said.
The word was so simple, so without drama or heat, that for a moment you thought you had misheard him. You waited for the qualification, the argument, the logical progression of clauses that would dismantle your position and reassemble it into something unrecognizable. Henry did not say no to things. Henry said let us examine the premise, let us trace the genealogy of this impulse, let us determine whether you actually believe what you think you believe. But he had said no, and he was still looking at you, and his hand had still not moved from the page.
“You can’t just say no to a divorce,” you said, and your voice came out harder than you intended, sharp at the edges where you had meant it to be steady. “That’s not how it works.”
“It isn’t how the legal apparatus works, I’m aware.” He leaned back in his chair, and the leather made a soft sound, a sigh of old material. “The state of Vermont doesn’t require mutual consent, and I have no illusions about my ability to prevent you from filing a petition. That’s not what I meant. I meant no, I will not agree to this. I will not participate in the fiction that this is a mutual decision arrived at through shared reasoning. You want to leave me. That is your prerogative. But a divorce is a severance, my dearest, a nullification, and I will not sign my name to the idea that our marriage has ceased to exist in any meaningful sense simply because you have decided to be unhappy.”
It was the my dearest that did it. He used it rarely, only in moments of particular gravity or particular intimacy, and he pronounced it carefully. It was the name he had first called you when you were barely twenty and trembling with the effort of seeming more sophisticated than you were, and he had never abbreviated it, never reduced it to my dear or dearie or any of the other diminutives. He had kept it whole, and he had kept you whole, or so he believed, and now you were telling him that the wholeness was a cage.
“It’s not that I’ve decided to be unhappy,” you said. “It’s not a decision. It’s not a rational thing, Henry, that’s the point. I’m not making an argument. I’m telling you how I feel.”
“Feelings are transient.” He stood now, and the movement was unhurried, unfolding, that tall frame rising out of the chair the way smoke rises, slow and inevitable. “Feelings are weather. I’ve never understood the modern insistence on treating them as though they were permanent geographical features. You feel restless. You feel constrained. These are real sensations, I don’t dispute that. But sensations pass. A marriage is not supposed to be subject to every shift in the emotional barometer. If it were, no marriage would last a decade.”
“You’re doing the thing,” you said, and your voice cracked a little, and you hated it. “You’re doing the thing where you take my feelings apart like a clock and show me all the pieces and then act surprised when I don’t feel better about being a clock that strikes true only twice a day.”
He stopped. He was standing in front of the desk now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of it, and there was something in his expression that you couldn’t read, a flicker that might have been hurt or might have been calculation. With Henry, the two had always been indistinguishable. He felt things deeply, you knew that, maybe more deeply than anyone you had ever met, but he metabolized emotion through the intellect the way other people metabolize food, and by the time it reached his face it had been processed into something else.
“I’m not trying to take you apart,” he said, and his voice was quieter now, the register lower. “I’m trying to understand. You’ve told me you want a divorce, but you haven’t told me why. You’ve told me you’re unhappy, but you haven’t told me what unhappiness means to you in this context. If I’m failing you in some specific way, I want to know it. If there’s something you need that I’m not providing, I want to provide it. But a divorce is a solution in search of a problem, and I can’t address a problem I don’t understand.”
Baby’s first moon landing 🤗
“Once, over dinner, Henry was quite startled to learn from me that men had walked on the moon.”
“No,” he said, putting down his fork.
[WIP]
My first winterpapen art!
I haven’t seen anyone comment on how many Bunny & Charles parallels there are in The Secret History…
Them both being the first ones to actively go against Henry— Bunny for the Battenkill murder and Charles for Bunny’s murder. Both for what we can assume are moral reasons, at least to an extent. While everyone claims that Bunny’s disagreement with the murder has nothing to do with the actual immorality of it all, it always appears that he does, especially with the whole scene where Julian says that Bunny’s been questioning him about Sin and Forgiveness, and that he thinks he’s going to go to church, when Bunny has stated to be one of if not the least religious out of the whole group.
Dare I compare the desperation and borderline insanity of Bunny and Charles towards the end (if we believe that the written note actually was from Bunny, because I’ve seen people argue it’s not and it’s actually a pretty convincing argument). Both of them thinking that Henry was going to kill them, both of them trying their hardest to live (Bunny being found with dirt under his nails because he was grabbing at everything while he fell; Charles trying to kill Henry).
Francis calling Charles an old friend just like how Charles (and Henry himself) described Bunny/Henry… okay… (pages 192, 62, and 457)
Also Camilla saying she knows Charles better than anyone just like how Henry says he knows Bunny better than anyone. (Pages 484 & 192)
Charles, after everything happens with Bunny and Camilla, bursting into rooms without knocking just like Bunny used to. (Pages 515 & 455)
Charles falling away from the intellectual/academic aesthetic they all have going on, the one that Bunny never fit, after everything happens. Especially on page 520 when he’s yelling at Henry…
Henry pointing out the he wouldn’t use the word “kidnap” when talking about Charles, just like he said the whole “I prefer to think of it as a redistribution of matter” when discussing Bunny.
At the end, Marion marrying Bunny’s brother (who looks just like him) and Francis marrying a blue-eyed blonde (just like Charles).
These are only the ones I can remember off the top of my head, but I find it very interesting!
richard papen
Everytime someone says Bunny Corcoran would love AI an angel dies. The man who wrote his paper mulitple days early on metahemeralism and john donne? The man who relied fully on Henry to correct him if he was wrong because Henry knows everything? Why would he use AI when he has his whimsiful brain and a human walking encyclopedia at his disposal???
Not to mention Richard says himself Bunny is far too original for his own good hence his paper being almost incomprehensible to anyone but him…
henry winter in a nutshell.
francis vs bunny
Nooo don't think of Francis' character as only his sexuality (both meaning his queerness and just. him and sex) you're so sexy ahaaaa
Nooooooo please talk about his relationship with his mother and his relationship with substances and his mother being an addict and how he was raised and how he didn't seem to have a stable home when growing up (summers in Switzerland and winters in France or whatever it was) and how he was sent away to school and how yes his sexuality was important to who he was but talk to me about how he was a hypochondriac during the AIDs crisis while going out into the woods and having sex and talk to me about how he was lazy but still stubborn enough to work through and finish that French book by I don't remember their name right now and talk to me about how he would sing to himself and how he had this idea that he was worth more than people that often stems from wealth and talk to me about how he thought he had bad looks and talk to me about how he was scared and how he was mean and how he was human you're so sexy ahaaaaa
Francis with an overbearing mother he had to hide everything from. Francis watching her spiral into addiction and stealing his own fix every so often. Francis who was packed off from private school to private school based on his family's whims and never really felt at home in any of them. Francis who suffered from hypochondria during the AIDS crisis but couldn't go to anyone about it out of shame. Francis who procrastinates on homework Francis who wonders if he has any real friends Francis with expertly masked crippling anxiety Francis being raised as superior to anyone else wondering why he feels like such a mess all the time Francis with traits and issues and
any female born in greek mythology can't cook...all they know is magic potions, launch a thousand ships, defy aphrodite, be bisexual, weave the narrative & lie
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