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Pic of the Day: @jamesmarstersof & some other fine looking fellows... in the play Incorruptible 1989 #JamesMarsters #CURLS™ #OKButThatLookShouldJustLookRidiculous #AndYet #PullsItOff #MustBeTheCURLS #BecauseCURLS https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf2sCSApRe-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
my mom is playing wow rn borrowing a friend’s account and skehskjehf I miss playing so bad
im having a LOT of emotions rn about philip being like 16/17 years old and bumping into his father
My body, 7 miles of walking later: * w e e p *
My brain, 7 miles of walking later: So many dogs. I am. Fulfilled
“And Yet”
So, I started writing a Lapidot human AU fanfic. I wanted to post it on AO3, but I’m still on the waiting list for getting an account. Therefore, I decided to post it here! Comments and suggestions are appreciated!^^ Thanks so much!
Summary: It’s been 3 years since Peridot’s roommate, Lapis Lazuli, left their small house in the countryside of Beach City without a trace. Now, years later, Peridot’s found her again, and demands answers for why she left the perfect life they had together, and whether or not Peridot is to blame. In trying to get Lapis to come home, both will have to face parts of their past, some of which they never wanted to relive.
CHAPTER 1: PAINTINGS
Beach City, August, Present
“Welcome to the the Sea’s Edge Diner, my name is Pearl. How can I help you today?”
Peridot stared down at her table, only half listening to her peach-haired, bird-like waitress as she chattered away.
“Uh...may I have the clam chowder?” she responded, finally looking up.
“Sure thing!” Pearl chirped before walking off.
Peridot took off her green-tinted glasses and rubbed her eyes. She had gotten only a couple of hours of sleep last night. Her blond hair stuck up, unbrushed. Even her alien-patterned clothing was disheveled. She would have tried to go back to sleep, but if she did, she knew that the same repeating nightmare would plague her. The same nightmares that hadn’t come back since Lapis left three years ago.
For the longest time, Peridot had been fine. Three years is a lot of time, after all. Three years is just the right amount of time, really. In three years, one can fund enough money online to open her own flower shop to distract from the constant loneliness plaguing her half-empty house. In three years, a person can finally give up looking for the love of her life and accept the fact that she will never come back. In three years, one can build the skill of hiding sadness. And yet, it only takes one thought to trigger what years of therapy and support had suppressed. She just couldn’t go back to sleep with the thought that she could relive her roommate leaving over and over again.
Peridot looked around. The small diner was painted a light blue with sunshine yellow curtains on each window. The smell of Chowder and chicken soup wafted through the room, making Peridot’s mouth water. The most noticeable detail, however, was the bright paintings on nearly every wall. With a name like “Sea’s Edge Diner,” one would expect paintings of the ocean and beach, and yet, sunflowers and rolling hills were painted across the large canvases. Every part of the paintings was in stunning detail. One picture towards the front of the building portrayed sunflowers against a setting sun so realistic that Peridot could almost smell the country air. Another near the chef’s counter was a red barn surrounded by yellow corn and sunshine. The painting to the left of her showed a small two-story house atop a hill, looking over the country and sea in the distance. The one behind her, however, showed a little orange dog. Her fur was fuzzy, and her eyes were the same bright green as a collar she wore. Peridot squinted at the writing on the collar’s tag: “Pumpkin.”
She gasped.
At that exact moment, her waitress arrived with a steaming bowl of clam chowder.
“Um, excuse me,” Peridot struggled to remember her name, “Pearl. Who made these paintings?”
Pearl chucked. “Oh, they’re made by some local artist that the son of the diner’s owner found painting in the park one day. Steven insisted that they display her artwork here. It doesn’t quite go with the place’s name, I suppose, but they certainly are pretty! She works in her own little studio downtown, I think it’s called the Blue Wings, or something like that.”
“D-do you know the artist’s name?” Peridot stuttered.
“Actually, yes. I believe that it’s Lapis Lazuli.”
If Pearl had said anything afterwards, Peridot didn’t hear it. Lapis! She’s really here! Her mind raced. Three years. It’s been three years since she left. And she was in Beach City all along. She isn’t dead. She isn’t in some other country. She hasn’t forgotten our dog. And she hasn’t completely forgotten her home.
After quickly devouring the chowder and paying for her food, Peridot raced to her beaten-up green Jeep. Turning on her phone, she quickly typed ‘Blue Wings, Delmarva,’ into Google Maps and followed the robotically-voiced directions through the brightly colored downtown Beach City.
Soon enough, she reached a chipped blue building with a painted sign haphazardly hanging above it: “Blue Wings Art Studio.” The windows had blinds pulled tightly over them, giving no clue to whether or not anyone was inside. In comparison to the other buildings in the area, this one was bland and gloomy, like a raven among a flock of parrots. Peridot’s hand shook as she reached for the teardrop-shaped doorbell.
Ding!
Peridot stepped backwards at the loud noise. After regaining her footing, she calmed down and waited, shaking uncontrollably. Five minutes went by, and no one came to the door. She sighed. “Maybe that waitress was wrong. I’m such worthless, cloddy—” Just as she turned her back on the studio, she heard the door creek open.
Standing there was a young, blue haired woman with light brown skin. She wore a paint-splattered crop top and sweatpants with a blue anklet around one of her shoe-less ankles. Her eyes were tired and dark, no longer filled with light as they had been three years ago. She opened her mouth as teardrops threatened to drip down her face.
“Peridot, is that you?”
Pic of the Day: @jamesmarstersof making for a pretty corpse... in #Millennium #3.11 "Collateral Damage" 1999 #JamesMarsters #PrettyCorpse #WhichIsAWeirdThingToSay #AndYet #NoWordOfALie #TechnicallyTrueOfAnotherOfHisCharacters https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc6t9tEJGbv/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Pic of the Day: @jamesmarstersof's #Piccolo looking weirdly supermodelesque from the film that shall not be named... #JamesMarsters #DragonballEvolution #SoILied #AlsoWhyPiccoloLookSoPrettyInThisPic #HeAintTheMostAttractiveOfCharacters #AndYet #WeirdlyCompellingInThisOne https://www.instagram.com/p/CT57_ySBQQ0/?utm_medium=tumblr
In the labyrinth of modern music, where genres often blur at the edges and mutate into forms as elusive as morning fog, “everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere” by And Y Et carves out a unique auditory experience that tantalizes and challenges in equal measure. At the helm of this intrepid voyage are Nic Jenkins and Kelsey Mines, whose synergy oscillates between haunting beauty and deliberate cacophony, scripting an album replete with multifarious narratives. The album unfurls like an intricate tapestry threaded with themes both urgent and introspective: mutual-aid sings a harmony to meditation while climate change’s discordant undertone […]
"everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" By And Y Et In the labyrinth of modern music, where genres often blur at the edges and mutate into forms as elusive as morning fog, "everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" by And Y Et carves out a unique auditory experience that tantalizes and challenges in equal measure. At the helm of this intrepid voyage are Nic Jenkins and Kelsey Mines, whose synergy oscillates between haunting beauty and deliberate cacophony, scripting an album replete with multifarious narratives. https://open.spotify.com/album/05uKU60AAmZqagQ3fIKdWn?si=WcmwTR8DRIGzA2A1T8pY0w The album unfurls like an intricate tapestry threaded with themes both urgent and introspective: mutual-aid sings a harmony to meditation while climate change's discordant undertone questions over commitment. It’s a reflection not merely on our external crises but also on our innermost caverns of solitude juxtaposed against the warmth of friendship—a poignant reminder perhaps best encapsulated in these pandemic times. Musically, "everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" refuses to be pigeonholed. The experimental pop foundation provides fertile ground for lo-fi textures to intertwine seamlessly with electro-acoustic embellishments. Herein lies its charm; it's collage-form composition bearing witness to genre-defying audacity which mirrors the chaotic yet harmonious existence we navigate daily. [caption id="attachment_53958" align="alignnone" width="768"] "everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" By And Y Et[/caption] Jenkins' male vocals interweave gracefully with Mines’ female timbres across ten tracks that feel less like songs and more like movements within a grander symphony—one penned remotely in isolation yet profoundly intimate. Their voices act not just as narrators but as instruments themselves, blending improvisation with structured part-writing that cultivates an atmospheric spaciousness brimming with possibility. Listeners will find echoes of Brian Eno’s ambient innovations beside Björk’s avant-pop spirit in this project. Yet it resists straightforward comparisons; akin to staring at clouds or interpreting dreams—each moment holds myriad shapes dependent solely upon one’s perspective at any given time. [caption id="attachment_53957" align="alignnone" width="1151"] "everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" By And Y Et[/caption] Drawing deeper into their sonic landscape exposes listeners to unconventional song forms animated by a harmonic language intent on exploration rather than resolution—akin to navigating bewilderingly beautiful terrain without a map or compass but led instead by sheer curiosity. Despite—or perhaps because of—the isolation-fuelled birthing process bolstered by remote collaboration during unprecedented global conditions, there emerges from "everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere" an essential truth about creation itself: art thrives amidst constraints. With every note played or sung, Jenkins and Mines articulate not just soundscapes but sanctuaries built from adversity wherein reflection meets connection. And Y Et crafts something both comforting in its familiarity yet joltingly fresh—a timely testament framed against somber realities yet imbued throughout with hopeful strands awaiting discovery amid its layers. Follow And Y Et on Website, YouTube and Instagram.
