thesongremainsthesame:Catherine Deneuve photographed by Francoise Gragnon wearing Yves Saint Laurent, Paris 1970.

你知道為什麼人類需要宗教和藝術？ 因為人類是可以多麼多麼邪惡，只有比人類龐大久遠的宗教和藝術，才給我們救贖的半個機會。 from Facebook https://ift.tt/2KnrcI8 via IFTTT

kalendraashtar:

Fanfiction – Scalpel & Needle

I haven’t used many canon quotes in this story and that has been a conscient decision. I made an exception for this chapter. 

I hope this makes sense to some, as it made to me.

Scalpel & Needle(Arc I: Incision), Previously

Scalpel & Needle II

Part III – Tethers

Slowly but surely Jamie started to come undone.

Claire had nonchalantly proposed that he took a few days to rest before going back to work at the Royal Infirmary, a dash of assertive-Chief-of-Surgery mixed with cool-but-concerned-girlfriend; undoubtedly the strains of a long trip, months of malnourishment and bone-deep tiredness called for a proper vacation. All those things were true, of course, but during that time Claire planned to watch him carefully for any signs of an impending meltdown.

At first it had been a small thing here and there.

Jamie had developed a furious distaste for any type of wasted food, becoming cranky and annoyed when some leftovers could still be found in the pan after their dinner. He ate with the frugality of a Tibetan monk, completely devoided of his previous enthusiastic enjoyment of food, managing to turn any meal into a tiresome task. Claire did her best to swallow every last crumb, even if it meant becoming indisposed afterwards and having to redouble her workouts.

He had barely gained any weight back since his arrival. Jamie paraded around his flat in his old clothes, looking like a child wearing his father’s shirt. The sight caused Claire tremendous heartache, but Jamie had forbidden any attempts at spending money buying him new things. So, he went on, a walking allegory for a man whose life had ceased to fit altogether.

When they went shopping together for supplies for their respective houses, he markedly pursed his lips anytime Claire grabbed for a slightly expensive hair conditioner or extravagant tropical produce. On more than one occasion, Claire had to bite the inside of her cheek and clench her teeth, counting to ten – or a hundred – inside her head, in lieu of bashing his head with a passion fruit. He was clearly troubled, yet uncapable of meeting his uncanny attitudes with proper words to explain himself.

Jamie slept fitfully with the lights turned off, spending the majority of the night getting up from bed, where she pretended to sleep, to look through the window or wander across the living room, adjusting picture frames or reorganizing perfectly ordered books. One night, Claire simply left the soft corner lamp turned on, pretending to have forgotten it by accident, and he managed to sleep almost the entire night, smoothing somewhat the deep dark circles around his disturbed blue eyes.

He toggled between meticulously avoiding any footage playing on the television relating to Syria and a fevered examination of newspapers and death counts. It was a duality that left her reeling, unsure about the right way to proceed around him. It seemed like a reluctant Adso had become his favourite interlocutor – possibly for the lack of any coherent response or human reproach – and Claire would sometimes hear the male surgeon in another division, speaking quietly in Gaelic to the unperturbed feline.

But his dreams – his dreams talked when he couldn’t. After making love to Claire with a distance that made her feel unseen, avoiding her eyes even if his touches talked about utter tenderness and worship, he would retreat to a land where he could punish himself freely. The small noises he made were the shards of words, broken inside him and struggling to get out, bleeding him until his skin was dead cold. The night seemed to have too may hours and the room too many shadows, all of them for each to endure alone.

The first time Jamie told her something significant about the past few months, he was inside the shower, his voice partially muffled by the running water. Claire was sitting on the toilet – it had been an imperative urgency, otherwise she wasn’t fond of sharing such intimacies – and he just started talking.

“There was a wee lad there.” He said above the splatter of droplets and shampoo. “He must have been no older than three years. His whole family was already dead – sarin, I think. I bagged him for over two hours, because the last ventilator available was under a pile of rubble. My arms were so tired, Claire. So tired. I tried to keep going for as long as I could. Eventually I had to stop. I stopped, aye?”

Claire had to put her closed fist inside her own mouth to stop herself from sobbing aloud. When she thought her voice might be steady enough, she whispered a gentle “But you tried. It wasn’t you fault, Jamie.”

The next revelation came late one night, when she was doing dishes, the kitchen lights dim. Adso was sitting on the corner next to his new feeder, looking partially hypnotized by her movements, his eyes closing and opening like a traffic light. The female surgeon knew Jamie was standing behind her, looking at her intently, as if he could plant all those memories inside her head for her to examine, without the need for him to actually verbalize them.

“There is no respect for civilian life there. No respect for life whatsoever.” He inhaled sharply. “The hospital got shelled quite a few times. One of those times I was in the middle of a surgery and refused to leave when they came to evacuate us. I took a bit of shrapnel.” That confirmed her suspicions about the scar under his shoulder blade. The glass she was scrubbing almost shattered under the force of her gripping hands. “It healed quickly enough.” A pause, just a little too long. There were moments I wished it didn’t.”

Claire’s breath hitched on her throat. She forced herself to remain composed, a neutral detachment that would keep him talking. “Is this why you are punishing yourself?” She asked delicately. “Because you are alive?”

“I’m not punishing myself.” Jamie retorted, his voice harsher than usual.

Claire turned to face him, absorbedly cleaning her hands on the yellowish dish towel. For once, his eyes didn’t shy away from her. “Really? Because it surely looks like it from where I’m standing.” Her voice came out soft, in spite of her bluntness. “You refrain from eating, you do nothing that truly gives you pleasure.” Her hawk-like eyes studied him intently. “You’re acting like a ghost. Are you pretending to be dead until it actually happens?”

Jamie clenched his jaw and Claire could have sworn she heard his teeth protesting. He breathed deeply – once, twice – and them most of the tension disappeared, leaving only his growing vulnerability.

“My car could cover for a new ventilator.” He whispered, carefully looking around him, as if such thoughts had been a recurring occurrence. “The stereo on the living room – a few rounds of intravenous antibiotics. That jacket there – enough sterile compresses to pack a few until they reach surgery.” Jamie’s eyes searched hers, a despair so great it made her queasy. “How can I ken such things and go on living as I must?”

“Your life didn’t cost them their own.” Claire tentatively reached for him, touching his forearm, where veins and tendons were visible under his skin. “It’s war, Jamie. It’s senseless. You aren’t killing them by allowing yourself a reprieve, or some small joy. You are not the butterfly causing the tornado on the other side of the world.”

“I want to touch ye.” Jamie admitted, his voice unhinged. “But I feel so guilty, Claire. Every ounce of happiness seems like a crime committed against those I left there. Like I’ve started to forget them, just so I can live in peace.”

Claire came around him, speechless, and hugged him from behind, her palms making sure his heart had truly come home inside his chest. They stayed there, swaying gently together – Jamie like an overbeaten tree crying to the skies and Claire his embracing wind, holding his branches in her soft breeze, her will the roots to keep him grounded.

But none of those pieces he reluctantly shed could compare to the one they came upon, one brisk afternoon, looking at a few pictures on his phone. Jamie had been sharing with her images from a couple of surgeries he did overseas, names whispered with devotion and respect, when the screen suddenly showed a different reality.

It was an innocent picture by all standards. He was still more of the man she remembered, with a kind of soft glow that always made her think of sunny days; the woman next to him was a brunette with gentle eyes, her face made prettier by the absolute kindliness that exuded from her smile. It reminded Claire of those sapient animals inhabiting ancient forests. His arm was loosely around her shoulders and they were smiling to the camera.

“Who is she?” Claire asked calmly. Inside her a sense of profound direness grew, but she couldn’t afford to break just yet. Without truly knowing. “She is quite beautiful.”

“Mary.” Jamie pronounced softly. Her name on his lips didn’t sound like an entire world, as Claire’s often did when he chose to address her so; it didn’t appear like a star he had just discovered and secretly named just for himself. Still, his quiet hesitancy gave her pause. “She is a nurse, went there with the Doctors Without Borders for a full year. She is a remarkable lass.”

Claire swallowed hard – saliva, bile, unshed tears. Her index finger nervously rubbed his knuckle. “Tell me about her?”

“Aye.” He nodded, closing his eyes. “I think I have to. We got along verra well, especially after we were both stationed in Raqqa. Mary was the only person I felt like I could talk to during those days. We leaned on each other.”

“Did you – sleep with her?” Claire asked flatly. She felt very distant from her own body, as if her lips were being maneuvered by a ventriloquist. A very masochist one.  

“No.” His eyes bore into hers, so she could take whatever she wanted from them. “But she did kiss me, Claire – and I let her.”

It wasn’t the wave of anger she had expected. Claire didn’t think of slapping him, screaming, scratching his face or even getting up and leave. She simply sat there, feeling like a vacant space, void. Robbed.

“Why?” She muttered. Her hands felt very empty and she suddenly craved the feel of a retractor and vascular clamp in her hands. “Were – are you in love with her?”

“No.” Jamie brushed his slender face, sounding thoroughly broken. Claire didn’t dare to look for moistness on his cheeks. “It wasna like that. It had been a very hard week for us, the city was getting hit almost hourly. We were losing patients even before we had time to triage them. I didna even ken the names of the people I was treating – there was no time for gentleness or to feel anything, really. Just loss.” He stopped, covering his eyes with his palms. “With Mary I wanted to feel – kind. I wanted to feel kindness and be sure I still could. That I hadn’t died without even noticing it.”

“Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss and sometimes a kiss is a tether to life.” Claire whispered, fidgeting with her fingers. Her eyes remained stubbornly dry. Everything felt dry, barren, desolated. “You told me that, once. Mary was your tether.”

Not me.

“I wanted to tell ye.” He promised in a hoarse voice. “But how can I tell you these things and expect ye to believe that I’ve never loved anyone but ye? How can I show ye how broken I am and beg ye to still want me?”

“Is that the reason why you can’t look at me when you touch me? Or why you stopped calling me?” Claire asked with urgency, raising from the couch and pacing around the room. “Because you were ashamed?” She looked outside, to the fog covering Edinburgh like a cloak of cold quietness. It might have reached her heart. “I thought you were dead!” Her voice broke just a little on that final word.

“Communications didn’t work most of the time.” Jamie assured her, pressing his hands together. “And when they eventually did – well, I thought it for the best that ye might presume me dead. I thought I might never come back, to expose ye to this wrecked thing I’ve become.” His breathing came out in a rasp. “I am sorry, Claire. For everything.”

“Rationally, I can understand everything you are saying.” Claire murmured, crossing her arms against the sight of him. “But I can’t be here right now. I need to leave.”

“Do as ye must.” Jamie looked at her with hooded eyes. Encouraging her to go, away away away from him.

“I need to know one last thing. Please, Jamie, give me your honesty in this.” She grabbed her bag and walked towards the door of his house. “Would you have forgotten me in time?” Claire asked, her tone no more than a whisper in the growing shadows between them.

Her hand was pressed against the doorknob until the metal almost marked her soft skin, erasing the lines of her palm.

“That amount of time doesna exist.” Jamie answered, tears moistening his eyelashes, before she closed the door behind her.

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back-that-sass-up:

truly i am weak

Disclaimer : This entire answer was actually directed at one particular question that I accidentally deleted ( crying ). But anon was generally asking about celebrity harassement and unfounded rumors. 

For some reason, it feels like my whole ‘’ career ‘’ as a blogger has been leading up to this moment. So here it comes 🙃 Let me just start by saying that what deleted anon ( 😢 )  mentioned is part of the downside of being a celebrity. It can be controlled ( more or less ), but almost inevitable. But let’s just remind ourselves that anyone can be harassed and stalked, it’s not just a celebrity thing. No one should have to go through that, and it is never excusable. But celebrities are public personalities and are thus subject to more risk, and obviously a lot of criticism. Normal phenomenon when you really think about. For some people, celebrities are almost friends. People care about them, about how they feel or what they do. And no matter how much you love with your friends, obviously you might not agree with everything they do.  Having a different opinion to someone does not mean that one is being disrespectful, it’s always a question of perception. So in my opinion, shippers have a right to ship even IF SC are not together and others might prefer to stay away from their private life.

Celebrities are not a different breed of humans. Being a celebrity does not mean that you always know what to say, or that you suddenly know all there is to know about life. It does not mean you won’t make mistakes, or won’t criticize people and situations. Being a celebrity means that you thankfully get to live of your art, and in bonus you get a platform where you can hopefully pass a message and help humanity. So you better use it wisely, but it’s a lot of work and comes with a lot of other things.

Excusing a bad decision because a celebrity is your idol is not doing them any favour. Idols can fail too at times, and it certainly does not mean that you must stop loving them or looking up to them. In a way, it makes them even more reliable. Obviously a failure free life would be good, but that is clearly unrealistic.  So Sam and Caitriona are not done disappointing some of you, and neither are they done from making you happy or from bringing the shouty caps.  

I love both Sam and Caitriona, no matter what decisions they might make. They truly are great human beings, and both should be recognized for their respective talent.

Cheers 💗