#Tender Nights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

canisalbus · 4 months

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Just wanted to tell you that your recent art of Machete looking after Vasco while he's sick reminded me of Nights at the Villa by Gogol. Only a small fragment of it survived, probably because it's straight up author's diary about falling in love for the first time with a man who is already dying. It's such a beautiful little piece and your art really reminded me of it's vibes. Anyway, I'm mentally ill about russian literature and I love your dogs <3

The longing and lamenting quite something, poor guy.

It's not very long so I'm just going to put the whole thing under the cut ->

They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!

I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.

"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me." "My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!" My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!

"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then… what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods… no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.

"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.

At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.

"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words. "My angel! Did you miss me?" "Oh, how I missed you." He replied. I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.

He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed. My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes. He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."

"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".

I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.

How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.

#its was so sweet to sit near him #to look at him #for two nights already we have been saying “thou” to each other #answered #alphaori #the pet name game is strong #my angel #my meek one #my savior #my darling #my precious tender flower

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

tender is the night [for a broken heart]

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: ex-boyfriend!joel miller x f!reader summary: a birthday dinner gets interrupted by a drunk ex, who still can't say the words you need to hear. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] jackson era, ex-boyfriend!joel, crying on your birthday, angst, insecurity, joel can't express how he feels, nothing is resolved at the end, a drunk teary dilf. word count: 2.6k masterlist a/n: ouch. was in the mood for angst and hopelessness apparently? it hurt to write so it very well may hurt to read. enjoy!

The table was a disastrous mosaic of dirty crockery and full glasses of wine. Countless empty serving bowls were strewn to the far edges of the wood. Plates crusted with sauces and relishes were framed by purple rings where wine had stained the table. A Victoria sponge with the words ‘another year!’ written across it in a cinnamon dusting—because “we couldn’t figure out how to make icing”. Amidst it all, candles rested on simple saucers, wax dripping down their sides as small orange flames sent plumes of smoke towards the ceiling.

Those glowing flares sent shadows flickering across the table. The light reflected shards of yellow and white on the faces of your friends, highlighting drunken smiles and heavy lids over shiny eyes. Hushed conversation on one end of the table mirrored by raucous laughter and jeering on the other; the people closest to you, come to spend an evening together in celebration.

You were happy. A tingling sensation resided within you, vibrating in the space between the tips of your toes and the top of your skull. And yet, you couldn’t shake the ever-present reminder of something being missing. Or, someone, rather. A large, person-shaped hole existed in the room – in the space beside you. A cold patch of air that should’ve been warmed by an additional body. An empty chair at the the table, with no one to fill it.

The sharp clinking of a fork against glass caught your attention. Sydney was perched at the head of the table, messy haired and wide eyed. Unbeknownst to you, she’d taken the time to retrieve a fresh bottle of wine from the kitchen, and now stood over the group, crooked teeth on show as she beamed in your direction.

“Sooo,” she teased, dragging the word out and wiggling her eyebrows jauntily. “We’re here to celebrate a very special person.”

A chorus of cheers and whoops rung out along the table, and that warm feeling of happy, I am happy simmered in your chest again. A—dangerously full—glass of wine was held in your hand, and you sipped the crimson liquid leisurely, savouring the taste as it swum down your throat and into your full belly.

“Our dear, dear friend,” she said your name softly. “You mean so much to us all. No words could describe how grateful I am to have found you in this disaster of a world, and how pleased I am that our paths crossed after so many years of solitude.”

Jesse leant in from the seat beside yours, circling a lanky arm around your shoulders. You dipped your head in his direction to offer up a shy smile.

“You deserve nothing but the best,” Sydney continued, her eyes softening. “Here’s to another wonderful year with you, my friend. Happy birthday.”

You raised your glass into the air, laughing as your friends lifted their own to meet it. Glasses clashed in a boisterous toast, wine sloshing over rims, creating a new pattern of imperfect blots on the table.

“Alright, alright,” you chuckled, motioning for them all to settle down. “This means so much to me, really.”

You paused, soaking in the sight of their faces. Soft lipped smiles and bright eyes, gazing at you with nothing but love. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for the cake, for the wine. It means the worl—"

A sharp knock at the door cut you off.

All heads ticked in the direction of your entryway. Eyebrows drew together, friends glanced around, assessing who was missing from the table. A short, wary giggle loosed from your lips as you placed your wine glass down.

“I’ll, uhh—” you rose from the table. “I’ll go see who that might be.”

Before you’d taken a single step, you noted your pulse quickening.

He wouldn’t, you thought lamely, walking slowly towards the door. Surely, he wouldn’t.

Not today, of all days.

Not after months.

But you were lightheaded from the wine, the critical thinking part of your brain thoroughly fogged. And so you gripped the handle and tugged the door open without properly preparing yourself for if it was him, and then—

He would.

Today, of all days.

After months.

He would, and he did.

You balked at the sight of him. The cool evening air rushed in through the open doorway, and you could see dried yellow leaves smattered across the front porch – victims to the Fall weather. You noticed his boots first, unable to drag your gaze from the ground. Bulky, black boots that stood on the faded wood of your porch decking, crushing those flaxen leaves beneath them.

“Darlin’.” That deep, ache-in-your-stomach-inducing, nauseatingly familiar Texan drawl.

You recoiled at the sound of it, instinctively taking a step back into the house and away from the door, away from him.

He mirrored your movement, feet dragging his body a tedious step forward, until he rested atop the welcome mat. The thick, sour smell of liquor wafted through the air, and the tip of your nose scrunched at the overbearing scent. You finally allowed your eyes to drift up his body; past the wrinkled blue jeans, the dark green flannel, to rest on his face.

His beard was unkempt, curly hair unruly and a little longer than you’d seen him have it in all the years you’d known him. Dark irises bordered by bloodshot whites rested in the middle of his face, framed by heavy blue under-eye bags that hinted at a blatant lack of sleep.

As you took in his appearance, Joel spoke again. “Happy birthday.”

His words had a slow, lilting slur to them, and as he stood there a soft, dopey smile stretched across his face. The crow’s feet by his eyes made your stomach twist into knots, and had you fielding an onslaught of memories of how you used to lay tender kisses against the wrinkled skin, whispering how much you loved those marks.

You were aware of how chatter at the table had died down, silence descending upon the house as your guests comprehended who was at the door.

“Joel,” you cleared your throat in an attempt to mask your tone of stilted surprise. “I—”

“How are you?” he took another step forward, scraping his shoes on the mat as if he were about to step inside.

Instinctively, you shot a cautious glance at your friends. Jesse had risen from his seat and was watching the interaction warily. He’d had his fair share of troublesome run ins with Joel lately and was on guard in an instant.

You ignored his question. “What are you doing here?”

“I was…” he paused thoughtfully, tongue darting out to wet his cracked, pink lips. “Could I come inside for a minute, sweetheart?”

The sound of glass breaking snatched the response from your mouth, and Joel’s brow pitched down in concern. The pair of you looked in towards the table, where a red-faced Sydney was clambering to collect broken shards of a glass that had been knocked to the floor.

“Oh,” Joel’s voice came quieter this time, sounding somewhat dejected. “You have guests, I-I’m sorry to, uh, to intrude.”

“We were just having dinner,” you said quickly, heat soaring through your skin as you noticed how his face had fallen, drunken smile nowhere to be found.

It hurt how much you wanted to reassure him. How you wanted to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, to tell him that you would never celebrate your birthday without him.

Except you couldn't say that. Didn’t reach out to touch him, or to reassure. Instead, you let your words hang in the air for him to interpret as he wished.

“Right,” he nodded quickly, eyes glazing over a little.

The air felt thick with tension, a heavy silence permeating between the two of you and the guests around the table. Everyone’s eyes were on you, trying to gage your reaction. Your chest felt tight, every breath painful as air clawed its way in and out of your lungs.

“Hey,” rough fingers grazed your cheek, and your breathing hitched. “Why're you cryin', sweetheart?"

You hadn’t noticed the tear falling until he swiped his thumb below your eye, brushing away the wetness. The feeling of his skin on yours after so long caused a thick set of tears to fill your eyes. You swallowed them down quickly, sucking your lips into your mouth as you tried to keep it together.

Through blurry eyes you could see the concern on Joel’s face. He still looked so handsome. Even when it was clear he hadn’t been taking care of himself, even when he was drunker than all hell – he was so beautiful that it hurt.

“Why today?” you cursed internally at how feeble you sounded.

His hand dropped away, lips forming your name in a soft exhale.

“Don’t,” your voice hardened. “Just—tell me why you’re here, why today.”

“Let’s not fight,” he said faintly. The breeze shifted towards you, carrying the heady scent of whiskey that coated his breath. “Not on your birthday.”

“We aren’t fighting.” Your fingers sought out the doorhandle again, using it’s sturdy weight to ground yourself.

He was practically swaying on his feet, broad torso tilting slowly from side to side. “Feels like we are,” he confessed, thick eyebrows drawn across his forehead. “Y’hardly look at me anymore when I pass you in town.”

The dull ache in your chest intensified as you noticed tears glistening on his waterline all of a sudden, poised to fall at any moment.

“Joel, I don’t…” you sighed softly, eyes glancing out to the empty street as you tried to steady your breathing. “There’s nothing to fight over anymore – it’s done. It’s been months… I have nothing else to say about it; about any of it.”

He was silent for a long moment, cracked lips pursed as he digested your words.

“I’ve missed that,” he finally murmured.

“What?”

He hiccupped softly. “You sayin’ my name. S’my favourite thing in the world.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, although your heart stuttered at the words. “Can I get someone for you? Ellie?”

“No, don’t—” another hiccup “please don’t tell her.”

“You’re drunk,” you admonished, quiet enough that your friends wouldn’t be able to hear.

His fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket, drawing it tighter around himself. He seemed shy beneath your gaze – almost unsure of himself, now that he was actually stood at your door.

“I miss you,” his low voice cracked and trembled. “Thought about you all day, couldn’t stop myself from comin’ over.”

You shivered, wrapping your arms around your torso to protect from the cool wind.

“And?” you rasped wetly. “You still can’t say it, though, can you?”

He stared at you, glassy eyed. His mouth opened, and the words, “I need you” tumbled out.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you scowled, eyes widening in desperation. “Why the fuck did you come here?”

“Where else would I go?” he implored. “Just wanna be wherever you are.”

You fell silent. Your heart thrashed inside your ribcage, striking rhythmically against your sternum in sharp jabs. It felt as though the crack down the middle of your heart, the one that you’d been working tirelessly to mend, was torn back open, a fresh wound once more.

“You know how I feel about you, darlin’,” he tried, taking another step forward.

“No,” you hissed, feeling almost hysterical as you held a hand out to stop him. “No, I don’t. For years I tried to figure it out, Joel, years, and I’m still at a fucking loss.”

“You’re the one who wanted time apart,” he bit, top lip curling in frustration.

“I never wanted whatever,” his hands gestured wildly between the pair of you. “this is. Never wanted to be away from you.”

You stared listlessly at him. “Yes,” you nodded. “I wanted time apart, because you needed to figure out what you wanted.”

“I know what I want,” his eyes blazed. One of his hands pushed forward and hovered over yours for a moment, dark eyes gaging your reaction before he allowed the digits to rest over yours. He squeezed your hand once, softly, and then held it. “You know it’s not easy for me to… to say these things.”

“It’s not easy,” you choked out. “To share two years with someone and then—fuck—to hold my heart out on a platter, to tell you that I loved you, over and over again, and never once hear it in return." Your chest heaved with jilted breaths, eyes widening as you spoke. "And it was okay, at first; I understood. I know what you’ve been through, but… it scares me, Joel, not knowing. And I trust that actions can speak louder than words, and that you have shown you care for me but… but maybe I’m weak – because I need to hear it. I need to know.”

A tear finally spilled, cutting a fierce line down his cheek, and disappearing into his beard.

It felt like you were baring your insides to him for the millionth time. Spilling your guts onto the ground before him and foolishly hoping that he would help to tuck them back inside where they belonged. Hot, red, pulsating matter that ached for him to take it in his hands, to caress it carefully, and whisper that yes, after all this time, he loved it.

You’d almost forgotten that a room full of people could hear your every word, and yet you found yourself uncaring.

Let them hear it, you thought. Let them see your love, your earnest, your honesty, and let them ache with you as it was not returned.

“Baby,” Joel squeezed your hand again, voice low like a warning. “I do, okay? I do.”

Please don’t do this, his eyes were screaming.

“I don’t want to have to beg you to love me, Joel.”

“Let me come inside,” he pleaded softly, through steadily falling tears. “Let me stay with you. I’ll show you, okay? I just need some more time, sweetheart, please.”

You smiled sadly and raised your clasped hands to your mouth, pressed a delicate kiss to his palm. A glistening streak painted his skin where it had touched your tear-stained face.

And then you let his hand go. Watched it drop down to his side, palm still held up to you. As if that were its naturally resting state whenever you weren’t holding it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said, voice thick.

His fingertips grazed your shirt as he reached out again, but you had already taken a step backwards, out of reach.

“Pleas—”

“I love you,” you murmured brokenly. He finally fell silent, wet eyes widening at the words; at the simplicity with which you’d spoken them. “Please get some sleep.”

Joel blinked, wiped tears away with a rough hand. Nodded twice, torso swaying precariously as he spun on his feet to leave. You watched his back retreat, a fresh set of tears spilling onto your cheeks.

He paused then, only once, at your letterbox. Fingertips trailed over the lettering that spelt your name, and he spared a single glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear over the soft Fall wind.

And as he departed, boots leaving your porch to stamp heavily across the grass and onto the road, that feeling of loss returned.

So short lived was its departure, and his return. Yet as Joel ventured into the darkness, avoiding the shining light of streetlamps, his absence curled around your being once more, greedily slinking into the space where he had stood.

You met it fondly, embraced the cool feeling as it floated over your skin, stroked your hands and face and held you in its grasp. Something to sit with – something to remind you, as you waited.

And you knew you would. Wait for him, that is.

As long as it took, you would wait, against your own better judgement.

For you loved him. Even when he couldn’t say it back, you loved him.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #tender is the night [for a broken heart]#joel miller angst #joel miller hurt #ouch #tender is the night

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