#c anne

[choccy-milky]

smooth, seb 👍 ((redraw of this scene from the goblet of fire))

[forsapphics]

If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho

translated by Anne Carson

[natequarter]

the debate over 'is the doctor a romantic [in the love sense of the world]' and 'does the doctor fuck' is so fucking funny because it usually looks something like this:

the classic doctors DID NOT do this and NOBODY thought this way at the time and the doctor was a WHOLLY ASEXUAL figure

eight kissed grace and it's been downhill ever since

nuwho doctor is obsessed with romance[/sex depending on who you ask] :(

which misses a) the fact that two entirely different debates (does the doctor fuck and does the doctor fall in love) are going on here and b) fitz kreiner

[90s-2000s-barbie]

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Anne Carson (Translator), Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides/ C.S. Lewis

[georgeromeros]

Dracula 2000 (2000) dir. Patrick Lussier

[pdouwes]

WILLEMIJN VERKAIK as ANNE HATHAWAY in & Julia - Das Musical (Hamburg, 2024)

[derangedrhythms]

I’ll hide your name in every word. 

Anne Carson, Decreation: Poetry, Essays, Opera; from ‘H&A Screenplay’

[psykopaths]

Love and other drugs, (2010)

[paladinbaby]

a patch of white anemones

the iliad, tr. emily wilson / electra: a tragedy, tr. anne carson / the lathe of heaven, ursula k. le guin / @insomniac-arrest / the first bad man, miranda july / what resembles the grave but isn’t, anne boyer / rabbit heart (raise it up), florence + the machine / burrows end, @dimension20official / the burglar of babylon, elizabeth bishop

[Image Description: Ten images of text. The first image is a photograph of a book page but the rest are black text on a pure white background.

1: “You already know this story. You will die. Everyone you love will also die. You will lose them forever. You will be sad and angry. You will weep. You will bargain. You will make demands. You will beg. You will pray. It will make no difference. Nothing you can do will bring them back. You know this. Your knowing changes nothing. This poem will make you understand the unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.”

2: “Electra / And I know there is something all wrong about me - believe me. Sometimes I shock myself”

3: “The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means.”

4: “The first rule of tragedy is to be yourself. The second rule of tragedy is to be literally anyone else. The third rule is that however much you try there is no escaping being yourself forever.”

5: “Then I realised that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.”

6: “Always falling into a hole, then saying “okay, this is not your grave, get out of this hole,””

7: “I must become a lion hearted girl / Ready for a fight / Before I make the final sacrifice / We raise it up, this offering”

8: “i think for myself, when I go back to that time, the number one emotion associated with it is tremendous shame and embarrassment which is the emotion it would take to never mention that to anybody”

9: “You were good to me, and I love you, / But I’m doomed” End ID.]

[diioonysus]

art + hair pieces

[sam-reid]

Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but a shadow of this. And it seemed in a murmured pulse of thought he gave me to know that I had been very foolish to think it would not be so.

Assad Zaman and Sam Reid as Armand and Lestat INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE SEASON 2 (2024).

[weirdlookindog]

Anne Gwynne in publicity photo for the House of Frankenstein (1944)

[90s-2000s-barbie]

Vitamin C (1999)

[sbbarnes]

well, I just got polls and thought I would experiment with what that's like and now I regret my choices because now I actually want to know the real answers

(also I would personally choose Patricia C. Wrede as a gateway despite having been read Lewis and Tolkien before I turned seven on the grounds that Wrede was what made me want to read more of my own accord)

[anika-ann]

For the ask game, "I will take what I can get", with Steve x Reader 😘

Oh hello my dear Vidra 💕

Thank you for taking part in this ask game 🥰 but not for teasing me in a way I CLEARLY do not deserve like AT ALL

I took the liberty to change the 'title' into a 'line' and keep the fic with a temporary title of Match Made in Heaven. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Type: blurb, fluff, recently established relationship WC: 990 words shhh, shhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhh, don't say it- Warnings: fluff, mentions of flu, one swear word 'cause I can

“Steve no-“

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out exasperatedly through the speaker, probably sending a figurative sympathetic pat on the Bucky Barnes�� shoulders all the way back to the 1940’s, where the poor brunet had to face an equally stubborn and a lot sicklier creature – Steve Rogers.

But you, you were entitled to your stubbornness.

It wasn’t that you wanted to argue with him; quite the opposite. Should you have your way – the way you actually wished for – you’d be snuggling your gorgeous, warm, golden-hearted hunk of a boyfriend on the couch, getting distracted from a holiday movie by the twinkling Christmas lights and tinsels you had so carefully decorated your Christmas tree with a few days ago. Perhaps getting distracted by his presence, his fingers carding through your hair absently, lips pressing to your forehead, the lovely planes of muscles shifting against your body…  

No. You couldn’t.

Because.

“I love you, but-“ you tried to argue, accidentally breathing in too deep.

Which naturally resulted in another coughing fit.

Because the universe hated you, and instead of Christmas cheer and peace, you were sick. Sick with flu in a way that made you wander your apartment at the speed of a snail and with aches in joints as if you were the one actually born in 1918. And so instead of a lovely pre-Christmas with your boyfriend of three months, you got isolation and arguments apparently, because he thought he knew better, while you knew the opposite was true. You knew better.

He could not come see you; you had your reasons. He might not be able to get sick, but you were sure that if he saw you like this, he would get sick of you real quick. And you could not have that. You could not have your ultimately perfect man who somehow hadn’t got sick of you yet, see the mess you were right now, because he would run for the hills and have himself get frozen for another seventy years just to avoid ever setting eyes on you again.

Perhaps you should use that argument; a stealthy version of it, wrapped in a neatly tied Christmas bow. After all, your boyfriend was practically a spy, and stealth – at least where his stealth suit was concerned – looked exceptionally well on him.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry, maybe I could-“

“As I was saying,” you rasped, nearly jumping out of your skin when a sharp knock sounded through your apartment, causing you to move from the slow lane towards the kettle to the even slower and irritating lane towards the door – who would even bother you at time like this? “I love you, but… I’m sorry, but if you came here now, all you’d get is a lot of barky cough, icky tissues and a grumpy, cold-sensitive me and honestly, I like you too much to have you have to deal with that-”

Another insistent knock on the door. You sighed, not wanting to waste the remnants of your voice on shouting at the impatient lout, even if you wanted to. Kids these days. So rude. Or maybe it was your 78-year-old Mrs. Cheery-Next-Door-Neighbour bringing you another batch of her disgustingly addictive cookies…

“Ugh, sorry, Steve, that’s all I have to offer, and there’s someone at the door, I gotta-“

Your hand fell heavily on the door handle, snapping it open as far as the safety lock allowed.

And perhaps the way you nearly dropped your phone served you right, because your boyfriend – stealthy spy and soldier and Captain – would be thoroughly disappointed in you if he saw you opening your door without checking through the peephole first.

And the joke was on him; because he did.

Your uninvited guest stood there, snowflakes melting in his golden hair and on his dark navy coat with creamy scarf, cheeks slightly pink, a gorgeous smile on his lips. His eyes crinkled with mischief as he lifted a paper bag like a peace-offering – no doubt consisting of spicy chicken broth, pain meds and flu meds, and treats just to get a foot in the door – a distant sound of a call ended pinging from your phone.

“If that’s your offer, I will take what I can get,” he said with a grin, his eyes already scanning your slouched and messy – and now perfectly tense and apprehensive – form. Oh no. Oh god. Shit. He was about to run for the hills in 3, 2, 1- “That is if you’ll have me. Would you let me take care of you, sweetheart?”

The notes of humour remained on his face, but his voice wavered with vulnerable sincerity, gaze softening.

Your shoulders slumped. Further.

The gorgeous, loveable, stubborn bastard.

Perhaps you were the one who should send a sympathetic pat on the shoulder to the past Bucky Barnes; when it came to pigheadedness, much like in many other qualities or sins, Steve Rogers had simply no competition.

As you sighed and let the man in, his hand instantly reaching for your cheek with tenderness that would make angels weep, the softest press of his lips to your burning forehead, you felt tension melt from your shoulders completely – though not quite the ache – and made peace with the thought of finding real-life Bucky to bond over Steve’s personality in near future.

But before that, you’d snuggle on the couch with your gorgeous, warm, golden-hearted hunk of a boyfriend, getting distracted from a holiday movie by the twinkling Christmas lights, by his presence, by his fingers carding through your hair, his lips pressing to your forehead and the lovely planes of muscles shifting against your body, dozing off to the soothing sound of his breathing, his heartbeat the most comforting lullaby in your ears; and a quiet realization that had your roles been reversed and you had you been told off by small, sickly and endlessly stubborn Steve Rogers, you would fight your way through and held him with love all the same.

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

Thank you again for the ask @murdock-and-the-sea and thank you, whoever read this. If you enjoyed, let me know 💕

You can find my other works in my masterlist, should you be interested 😇

HOW DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP THIS GAME ON ACTUALLY JUST 5 LINES, HOW-