#i miss reading but my grief over my books is too strong

[tumbler-dot-com-user]

I MISS MY COPY OF JOURNAL 3 SO BAD AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it—my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2024, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“‘The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[carica-ficus]

"Harrow the Ninth"

21/02/2024

Reading progress: 507/507 (100%)

Read through since last update: 157

Didn't think I'd cram the last part into one post, but here we are anyway. These last 150ish pages were... All over the place. In a good way!

Final notes:

Oh, there she is!!! Talk about a monster under the bed.

Ok, but how casual is that scene? I know something like that was coming (I've seen some fanart, but knew too little to know who it was about, just that Harrow and Ianthe would be peeking under the bed), but it's just so normal. I like it. Kinda eerie because it's not presented as scary.

Of course Ianthe didn't see it. Don't worry Harrow, I believe you.

Yeah, ok. It makes sense that Ortus was just fulfilling other to kill Harrow. His reasoning for it just wasn't strong enough. "You're a liability." Just like everyone else.

Oho! Here we go! Epiparodos! (Whatever that means.)

NUNLET??? 🥺🥺 That's such a cute word.

Ok, the lobotomy. Right. Also saw a fanart spoiler for it, totally forgot it was coming. I thought it was gonna happen later on? In any case. Ok. Yup. This happened.

Harrow NOVA. There we go. The other Harrow finally revealed by her full name. Though I applaud Muir, I haven't even noticed we never got her last name. Gorgeous and genius writing, through and through.

HAHAHAHAHAHA love how Harrow did the typical "I am small. Therefore, I will be a quick and murderous machine" but Muir decided to break up the cliché by saying she discovered that at the ripe age of 5. Man, I love this book. And I love Harrow as a character.

"What's that, you egg?"

Dying. 😂

Ok, gotta say, chapter 40 lost me.

I think... I got it? I might need to read the remaining pages for all of this to settle down, but this is much less complicated that I thought it would be.

What is the meaning of love if not sacrificing every single memory of a person in order to save them? 😭

Of course, it was not a dream. That would be too easy. The bubbles make perfect sense.

I know I said Ortus was annoying when quoting the Noniad, but I really like him as a character. And by that I mean how Muir has given him more depth and allowed him to grow. Which also made the scene where he hugs Harrow so impactful. 🖤

Ok, the Ortus thing was unexpected. And I'm excited to learn what it's all about.

But first. The Sleeper.

UGH! I love how considerate Gideon is with Harrow's body. Sure, she's a little awkward in it and puts out a dirty joke or two, but she's just trying to be respectful and useful. Also the way she's so worried over any and all her injuries, even though she knows they'll all heal? So fucking cute.

Protesilaus took Dulcinea in his care when she fell ill. That's so cute. 🥺

Oh, hell yes! Gideon stepped the fuck up. Time for Ianthe to meet her fucking match.

(I love how protective Gideon is ggghhhgghggh)

Man, I missed Gideon so much.

MATTHIAS NONIUS!!!!!!! :O

(Such a cool scene!!!!!)

You know what? After everything that happened, my reaction to finding out Gideon is God's daughter was just "Ok. Cool."

Cue John's corny dad joke. Love it.

Also I wouldn't have guessed they were related based on their eyes. Sure, John's eyes were mentioned multiple times, but they're silver and Gideon's are gold, so I wouldn't have put two and two together just by that. But! It fits. It's foreshadowed. It works. So yeah. Sure. Love it.

I knew it! I knew that he had a cavalier! I knew that he was a Lyctor! Hell yeah!

So much stuff happens at the end. I just kept on reading, without spending much time on commentating. I needed to know what happens and tbh, I have no idea what I just read. But that's okay! It was fun!

Ok, all in all, the book was spectacular. I liked it even more than I did Gideon. I liked how Muir handled Harrow's grief. I liked the reveals, the mysteries, the tension and the stakes. I liked the characters and I liked how Abigail got a lot more page time. I didn't even care about her in the first book, but now I really like her. I liked Ortus too!

Now, I'm still confused... About a few things. Primarily Harrow Nona. So I'll have to read an explanation or teo about it (or you can comment on the post if you'd like to help me out). Did... Harrow Nonangesimus kept watch and narrated over what Nona was doing? As in, she was dissociating from her body after the lobotomy and experiencing everything from a distance? Or was that all Gideon? Because I feel like it wasn't. Gideon's narration style is totally different and clearly comes out at the very end, but idk. I feel like I'm missing something here or that I'm not grasping something ridiculously simple.

Anyway, I'll be reading a little more about it, but yeah. "Harrow" is done, so I'll have to get my hands on Nona! In the meantime I'll be writing out my review. 🖤

[eaingels]

Until I found you Part 1

Summary: Eloise, a human with Fae ancestry, moves to the Night Court in hopes of finding out where her family came from and why they left. Trough-out her search for answers, she meets the witty, brave and handsome Cassian. Even though, she thinks that she isn't worthy of affection, she can't help but crave his.

Authors note: hello everyone this is my first ever post here, so I hope you like it. English is not my first language so bare with me please. This will discuss topics like being self body shaming and having low self-esteem. If you are not comfortable reading about it, please don't read it. Please leave a comment so I can improve my writing.

Hope you enjoy it!!

"ppfpft" I tried getting the hair out of my mouth while crossing the bridge over the Sidra. There was so much wind today, I regretted my decision of not grabbing a hair tie with me. People around me gave me weird looks as I tried to get a hold of my hair before I gagged on it. I kept walking over the stone bridge hoping that once I was surrounded by buildings the wind would die down. My wishes were granted, I was past the bridge and my hair was done choking me for now. My mind turned to my impending visit to the library and my request to visit the library in the House of Wind. I was so close to finding my ancestors, I could feel it. Almost three thousand years ago some Fae moved from the Night Court to my hometown. And it wasn't until my grandfather and I started digging into our past that we were able to find a connection with the Fae and our family tree. A shred of grief that had found it's home in my stomach rose up of the memory of my grandfather. He had been my best-friend and had never judged me for wanting to have more knowledge. So when he passed away, I made a promise to myself that I would get to the bottom of it.

The big oak doors leading into the entrance hall of the library stood open, inviting everyone to come a take a look. The library itself wasn't too busy, but busy enough for there to be a line at the help desk. I looked around while waiting for my turn when I suddenly heard a loud laugh coming from inside the library. Two men and a woman were walking out the library. Both men had huge black wings at theirs backs and some kind of leather fighting gear on. The woman on the other hand, had glossy blond hair and the finest clothes I had ever seen. She was slim and absolutely gorgeous. Just looking at her made me wrap my coat around my torso to hide myself. Like anyone would notice me. It's like my mother always said, I blend in with the background. Nothing special to look at. I looked at the two men again. One was taller than the other with longer hair and the other had shadows flying around him. It was the taller one that I heard laughing. He was absolutely gorgeous. The kind of man you would read about in the books, the handsome, strong and kind man sweeping the herion of her feet. A spark starting burning in my chest. I had always dreamed of finding my handsome, strong and king man that would sweep me of my feet, but than again I wasn't anything remarkable. The spark in my chest died.

"Can I help you miss?" a soft female voice asked me. I turned forward again. In the time that I had been staring the line in front of me had gone.

"Sorry, yes, uhm... I'm looking for registration records dating back at least three thousand years ago" I said to her. Her eyes widened a little bit.

"I'm not sure if the records we keep here date that far back, but you could try in section four." Not feeling very hopeful I thanked the woman and made my way to section four. Section four was all the way at the back of the library in a dark corner. Clearly no one visited this part. The dusk caking the shelves was evidence of that. I took my coat off, throwing it on a dust covered chair along with my bag and got to work.

Time flies when you are having fun, or so they say. I looked back at the clock every once in a while to mark my progress. It had been three hours since I started looking through the books and so far I had found one name to add to the family tree. It was an exciting discovery, because it proved my ancestors did come from these lands. I was standing on the third bottom shelf trying to get a book trom the the top when my foot slipped and I lost my balance. I was prepared to let myself fall like a whale as there was nothing I could hold on to to save myself, when I felt two warm hands catching me. I looked up to find the handsome winged man from earlier starring down at me.

"It's been a while since a female threw herself at my feet" he said with a large grin on his face. My face must be red like a tomato, because he grinned even wider as he helped me stand.

"I didn't throw myself at your feet" I replied. I hoped he didn't think I did that on purpose. The man was almost two heads taller than me so I had to crane my neck to look at his face. What I saw took my breath away. Tanned skin, deep brown eyes and a couple of faint scars marking his face and neck.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked. I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I looked at his wings. Huge black membranes that were folded neatly on his back so they wouldn't bump into things.

"You are human" he suddenly said. The man looked surprised almost like he'd never seen a human before.

"Yes I am. But I listen to the name Eloise."

"Nice to meet you Eloise. My name is Cassian." We shook hands. His so much bigger than mine. "Do you need help with something?" Cassian looked up at the shelve I was, trying, to reach for.

"I was just trying to get that volume down" I pointed to the last book that might hold some information. With a smile Cassian grabbed the book from the shelve and gave it to me.

"Thank you Cassian" I said and walked back to my table. I was so engrossed in the book that I hadn't noticed Cassian sitting in the chair across from me. He himself held a book in his hands one leg crossed over the knee. I smiled at the picture.

"Good book?"

Cassian looked up.

"Very good"

"Quite an impressive skill reading upside down". Cassian grinned and placed the book he was holding upside down on the table. "Can I help you with something Cassian?"

"I'm just waiting to see if you need help with shelving the book". I looked at the open book in front of me. It was a stretch that something would be in here anyway.

"This is not going to tell me something. So might as well put it back" I closed the book and gave it back to Cassian, who took it back to it's place. Meanwhile I got my jacket back on and put my bag across my shoulder. Somehow I dreaded having to leave this place and him.

"Thank you for your help" I told Cassian when he returned to the table. The red stones on the backs of his hands shone in the warm light making them look like rubies as he rubbed his hands together.

"Anytime". His brown eyes held this softness I had never seen before. I made me relax a bit, a very strange feeling so I shook my head a bit. I needed to stay focused.

"Good day Eloise" he said and walked away. Something in the back of my head told me I was going to see him again very soon.

Like for part 2!!

[panlight]

Do you think Esme and Edward resent Carlisle for changing them and specifically because now they can’t go to heaven as humans and see their human families? Esme specifically killed herself to see her newborn son. Edward just lost his father and then his mother and seems to have strong opinions on souls and the afterlife. Why is it just Rose who is painted as resentful when Esme and Edward also have reason to be? Even Emmett, who was changed for something as arbitrary as his dimples? He was dying anyway from the bear attack but was he also thrilled to be turned into a supernatural?

Honestly I think SM wanted to have her cake and eat it, too.

She wanted a (mostly happy) vampire family. You can't have everyone resenting their vampiric creator to any meaningful degree AND have a happy vampire family. But she also wanted that sweet, sweet vampire angst. So they're all dying, they're all unconscious/unresponsive so can't give him a yes or no, he has to act as a doctor faced with a life-or-death choice. Edward mourns his vampiric fate but he also says several times, point blank, he doesn't blame Carlisle (whether you believe him or not is I guess up to personal interpretation). It seems like, to Edward, the problem is vampirism, not Carlisle or what Carlisle did. Carlisle used what tools he had available to him to 'save' Edward, and Edward can read his mind and see his "perfect sincerity," see his crystal-clear memories of Elizabeth Masen's request. Edward tells Bella in Twilight he doesn't regret Carlisle saving him because "my life was over." He wasn't losing anything except a soul. I think Edward sees Carlisle as like, a fellow victim of vampirism and they are in this together against their cruel fates or whatever. And in Midnight Sun, Esme and Edward have an exchange where they both say neither of them fault/blame Carlisle.

She causes you pain.

I shook my head. “I cause my own pain. It’s not her fault.”

It’s not your fault either. 

“I am what I am.”

And that’s not your fault. 

I smiled humorlessly. “You blame Carlisle?”

No. Do you?

“No.”

As an out-of-universe explanation . . . Carlisle HAD to change them. There's no story if he doesn't. And so the story can't fault him for doing what the story needed him to do. In fact, it's ROSALIE who is framed as grumpy and unreasonable for being so upset about it!

With Esme there's that weird layer where it's basically like her first celebrity crush swooped in and rescued her from death. My sense is that Esme just didn't have any support system in Ashland so when she lost her baby there was no one to help her through it so she just sort of acted on a whim; after she becomes a vampire, she bonds with Carlisle and Edward and has a support system to work through her grief and trauma and can move forward. I don't think she did it because she wanted to 'be with her son' again she just wanted to end her pain; she doesn't seem as concerned with spiritual matters as Edward and Carlisle. I think it was just sort of a reflex reaction and she's grateful she got a second chance so there's no resentment (as written by SM anyway. Fanfic usually has more nuance and layers).

Emmett likewise is just happy to not be dead-dead. The bear was what robbed him of his life; Rosalie and Carlisle did the best they could for him and he's just chill about it. Sure he misses his family, but that's the bear's fault.

And I don't think that Carlisle thinks he's denied them a chance at heaven. I know the movies muddled the issue in the way they cut the stitches scene in New Moon, but the extended version and the book make it clear that Carlisle doesn't think they are inherently damned (he just acknowledges everyone else thinks they are). He thinks they can be redeemed and keep their souls if they live a good life. So to his mind he didn't deny them a peaceful afterlife and reunion with loved ones, he just . . . delayed it indefinitely.

[cranetreegang]

In the Light of Death - Part 2

Sebastian x FemReader with former Ominis x FemReader

Also, I'm the worst and forgot to mention my girl @underthenightskydreamsneverdie cause i went to her and begged for her wisdom about Seb. So thank you again for looking this over waaay back when <3 I love you <3 (also i can't wait for you to read the spicy bit i added in part 4 hehe)

Summary: Sebastian helps her through her grief, and she starts to wonder if she can survive on her own without him.

Warnings: Dealing with death, mentions of depression, grief, mourning

Song to listen to: 🎶 A Nearly Peaceful Place 🎶

Word Count: ~1,900 words

Read Part 1 Here - Find Whole Light of Death Series Here

-----------------------------------

The days turn to weeks, then a month passes - with Sebastian still by her side. Not that she’s complaining. She’s grateful for his presence, even as it spreads all over the house. His various books have drifted from his room and are strewn about the coffee table in the living room, while papers of all sorts cover both her side tables. It smells like the library with how many ancient tomes he has lying about. There’s a new ink stain on the couch that she hasn’t bothered to remove, and he’s spent many nights up with her as they both quietly read.

He asks her for her thoughts on the studies he’s working on, and they end up in heated debates half the time. It reminds her of all the times they spent studying and researching, exploring and discovering, when they were at Hogwarts. In fact, there were several ruins back in the day they wound up exploring from their mutual burning curiosity - much to Ominis’ chagrin. 

Sebastian asks her to join him as he goes out to the field to explore said ruins. But, she can’t bring herself to go. It feels wrong, as if she’s not meant to be happy with anyone else. Even though the house is suffocating when she’s alone, and she has nothing to occupy her thoughts. 

But when Sebastian returns, it’s like he carries the light and warmth of the sun with him. He’ll excitedly prattle about what wondrous new findings he discovered, and he insists they go the next time. She can only nod with a slight frown.

He helps her around the house as well; keeping it tidy, cooking when she has no desire to, and even fixing many of the broken things she can never remember to do. But, most importantly, he’s there when she’s caught in the tight clutches of grief. He’s always there, comforting her, as she mourns. Sometimes, he cries with her, sharing in her pain. She’s grateful he understands, truly understands, the agony she’s in. Because he feels it too. This emptiness. This loss.

She reflects on all of this as she walks along the lake’s shore. She hasn’t been here in some time, finding it far too challenging at first. But now that she’s here, a bittersweetness envelops her, and she all but avoids the towering trees looming just out of her peripherals - as if even the briefest of glances would be enough to destroy her. 

Her and Ominis would walk along the shore for hours, talking about whatever was on their mind - or simply enjoying the silence. His hand would always tightly grip hers. As she walks now, she holds her own hand, trying in vain to mimic his grip. 

The setting sun casts a gloomy, yet colorful hue across the lake. She stops, taking in how the water reflects the vibrant sky and the soft crashing of the waves as they come to shore. The damp breeze ruffles her hair and she closes her eyes - imagining all the times they’ve been here. 

“I miss you. Every day,” she whispers. “They say it gets easier, and I guess it has… I don’t cry as much. You’ll have to thank Sebastian for that. He’s been… very kind. And patient. But, it’s only a matter of time before he leaves too. And… I don’t know if I can do it by myself, Ominis. I really don’t. I know you said I was strong, but it was only because you were by my side. I-I’m utterly pathetic on my own.”

Her burning eyes gaze up at the darkening sky and swirling gray clouds with a grimace.

“But, I’ll try. I know you’d want me to at least try.” 

With a deep breath she turns away, heading back to her house.

Music greets her before she even has to open the door, and as she steps inside she’s welcomed by the warm scent of spices in the air. She heads to the kitchen, finding it bustling and alive as Sebastian dances to the upbeat tune from the record player. His eyes light up when he notices her.

“Ah, there you are!” He exclaims. 

He flicks his wand to keep everything stirring and cooking while he dances his way towards her. 

“Enjoy your walk?” He asks with a grin. 

“I did-,” she gasps as he grabs her hand and spins her into him. 

He chuckles as he begins to dance with her. He’s spinning them all around the room, narrowly missing furniture, and he moves off-beat to the music. But, she can’t find herself to mind as she lets him spin and lead her, giggling along the way. Food smears his cheeks and stains his forest green wool sweater, but all she can notice is his freckled face filled with a warm, contagious joy. And once the song ends, he spins her several times before lowering her into a dramatic dip.

“You’re not too bad,” he winks as he pulls her back up to stand. 

“I would hope so. Ominis enjoyed all manner of dance lessons,” she smiles. “What’s got you so jovial?” 

Sebastian takes her hand and leads her back into the kitchen with a wide grin. 

He pulls out her chair and says, “I got some good news today.”

“Oh?” 

He prepares their plates, setting the steaming pile of curry in front of her. He pops open a bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass, and then sits down next to her. His knee brushes against hers as he smiles.

“To exciting news,” he clinks her glass.

She laughs, “I would like to hear the news first.” 

“Well, I got a letter today,” he says.

“And? What did it say? Come on, Sebastian. I’m dying of suspense.” 

Sebastian smirks, eating a huge mouthful of curry. His eyes flutter as he mumbles about how good it is. She rolls her eyes, taking a bite herself. It’s spicy and it warms her entire body, like a fire has been set within her belly, but it’s comforting. It reminds her of home, of a mother’s cooking. 

“So, the letter today,” he continues, “it’s about my research.”

She takes a sip of her wine, “And? What about it?”

A frown comes over her as she tastes the wine. 

It’s familiar… 

She looks over at the bottle and she turns it around to read the label. Her heart falls into a pit formed within her gut. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? What is it?” Sebastian wonders, his hand landing on her knee. 

“W-Why did you open this?” She hisses, hot tears already starting to fall down her cheeks. “You had no right to!”

His eyes widen, “W-What do you mean? What’s wrong? Tell me what I did wrong.”

“This wasn’t for you! This was for him and me! And you ju-just opened it!” 

“No, no, hey, I didn’t know. I-” he stammers.

“Enough!” She shoves his hand away as she bolts to her feet. The question on the forefront of her mind comes forward in a sharp hiss, “Why are you here, Sebastian? Why have you stayed? You could’ve left at any time. Why stay?”

Sebastian’s lips part in shock and he looks away from her with a grimace, “Because he asked me to.”

She gasps, “What?”

A storm brews outside, slowly forming and churning. Heavy droplets slap against the window panes like tiny stones. 

“He asked me to keep an eye on you,” he says as he looks back at her. “He had a letter sent to me the day after he-,” he closes his eyes, swallowing down the pain she knows all too well. “He wanted me to make sure you’d be alright. And to… make sure you keep on living. For the both of you.”

Her lip trembles and she shakes her head, “W-Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I never found the right moment. I’m sorry.” 

She scoffs, “‘Never found the right moment?!’ You’ve been here this whole time, all because you felt obligated to respect a dead man’s wishes, and you didn’t think it important to tell me!” 

“That is not the only reason I’m here,” he slams the table as he stands, towering over her with a heated stare. “You’re my friend. My best friend. Even if he didn’t ask, I would’ve came anyway.”

Lighting strikes almost on top of the house and the thunder which accompanies it is deafening. They both recoil, but it’s not enough to quell her fury.

“Why?” She seethes. “To take care of me? Am I really so pathetic?! I-I must be because now you’ve made me completely in need of you. Is that what you wanted? To make me spiral out of control every time I’m alone, because I can’t bear it! I can’t bear to be alone anymore, Sebastian! Is this what you wanted!” 

Her voice is hoarse and cracking as she screams and her whole body is flush from her rage. The thunderstorm outside is at full force, rocking and shuddering the walls with its mighty gales.

“That is not at all what I wanted, and you know it!” Sebastian hisses. “I miss him, just as much as you do. So don’t stand here pretending like you’re the only one who’s hurting, because I am too! I need you just as much!”

She rolls her eyes and storms away, stomping up the stairs until she’s able to slam the door of her bedroom shut. She paces around the room, fists balled at her sides. ‘Keep living for the both of them’?! How dare he? How dare he! 

She grabs the picture on her nightstand and hurls it across the room with a wailing scream. It shatters against the wall, but she doesn’t care. Her breathing is hard and hot, and she throws more things around their room - her room. The window seems to almost breathe with how strong the storm rages outside.

Glass breaks, vases shatter, memories are torn and shredded as she unleashes her fury on anything within sight. And when there’s nothing left, she collapses on the bed with a sob. The rage tempers and cools into a bitter sorrow she’s far too familiar with. The storm subsides until only soft rain patters on the window. Through her tears, she doesn’t hear her door open until a heavy weight makes the bed sag. 

She stops crying, her breath catching in her throat. A warm hand is placed on her shoulder and she gasps. It starts to retreat, but she quickly snatches it by the wrist. She holds onto the wrist, unsure of what to do at first, until she pulls the hand towards her. A warm arm drapes over her - the weight comforting. Her fingers tangle with his and she clutches onto his hand against her chest. 

A solid warmth presses against her back as another arm wraps around her until she’s fully engulfed in a tight embrace. She grips his other hand too, keeping it close to her hips, and presses her back fully into the inferno of his body behind her. And for a moment, she feels alive. His breath passes through her hair like a summer breeze and his arms are secure around her. He smells of spices, old books and ink, and all the things that are not her love. It’s something entirely new.

Her body relaxes into him, her breaths becoming gentle and soft. He holds her tightly, enveloping her in his warmth. She can’t keep her eyes open any longer and she lets herself drift away into a dreamless sleep.

--------------------

Read Part 3 Here

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AN: mhmmmmm analogies mhmmmm the storm is tied to her emotions and i'm def not on the nose about that at all mhmmmm cause magic mhmmm yes mhmmm i'm like a microwave now mhmmmmmm

anyways

Part 3 is when the spice starts >:)

im not the best at writing smut so uhhhhh forgive me

Feedback always welcomed <3

when i first wrote this, i had no intentions of splitting it up like this, and it probs shows. oh well. forgive me and my infinite sins.

[canadiansummer]

TITLE: A Matter of Traditions [18+] PAIRING: Dmitri Antonov x Fem!Reader / Enzo x Fem!Reader REQUEST: from anon: “I absolutely love how you write Dmitri, and since you are taking requests, how about: celebrating his first Christmas in the US with f!reader? He may or may not be the present :D (meaning: I also love how you write sexy times!) Additional details (but not required, really, everything is up to you!): no mentions of Stranger Things canon and therefore no Mikhail; reader is a neighbor who can speak Russian and that's why they start bonding, she's a book translator maybe so she works from home and instead of typing she spends her days looking out of the window as the Russian hottie paints his fence...“ WARNINGS: GRAPHIC SMUT, minors dni. There’s also mention of grief and grieving, and unprotected sex (the pullout method does not work, this is fiction lol) It’s 14 pages, so I’d pace yourself. NOTE: Firstly, I’m sorry for writing a Christmas fic in March. The idea was just too fun. Secondly, thank you to the anon who sent this! I tried to work with what you wanted, but I left some stuff vague. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this and the same to everybody else who reads it.

You weren’t used to not seeing snow around this time of year.

Granted, you had lived in California for years, but your family had dragged you across state lines to meet for Christmas every year. You had always dragged your feet about the drive, yet this year you found yourself almost missing that on top of actually seeing your family. There were lights, a few decorations that reminded you what month it was, yet there was a part of you that was hoping you would just push through the last week and move on from the holiday. Which was what had you throwing yourself into your work more this month, both translating and getting ahead in your lesson recordings.

Which is also how you found yourself leaning against the small brick wall of Joyce Byers’ walk up, a heavy cassette recorder resting in your arms as you waited for her to come back outside to collect it.

She lived a bit of a drive away from you, but your little friendship with her had you kind of running around in the same circle. Which you knew wasn’t intended, but given the neighbor you had, you found yourself asking after and being invited to things involving her. Still, your initial bonding over working from home stood strong, but you could admit that you found it nice to have more reasons to see her. Though, that was at odds with you being pretty withdrawn this month.

Still, it was nice to be outside for a bit, even if there was that exhaustion that lingered over you over the last couple of weeks.

You lifted your gaze from the worn brand name on the recorder in your hands to the front door when you heard it open, Joyce stepping outside with a grin. She looked…a little stressed, actually, but you found yourself returning her smile with a small one of your own.

“Thank you so much for letting me borrow this,” you said as you stepped forward to return the device to her, “Once I have my next book translated, I should have enough to buy my own so I don’t need to bother you every couple of weeks.”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry,” Joyce dismissed easily enough, setting the recorder on the edge of the steps. “How is that coming along, anyway? I…can’t imagine books in Russian sell all that well over here.”

“Well, it’s not something I’d say is flying off the shelves,” you replied, sitting yourself down on the step once Joyce had done so herself, “Though, there’s some people interested and I can get enough from selling stuff under the table. The language lessons might do better, once I’ve got them all together.”

“Dmitri is still helping you with that, right?”

“With pronunciation, mostly,” you replied with a nod, “He’s been…really helpful.”

In more ways than one, you supposed. Your interactions with him had steadily moved toward a more gray area in regards to what was platonic and what wasn’t.

You had formed a quick friendship based on your shared language, which had been a bit of a surprise to both you and some of the people around you. Then the eventual proximity of your living situations only made interacting with him not only easier, but more frequent. You had approached him with the recording idea, considering you could read and write in Russian easily enough at that point, but you were concerned about your accent and pronunciation. Having a native speaker living within walking distance was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Yet, it wasn’t hard to miss the fact that you had started to regard him in a way that wasn’t exactly neighborly or professional. You knew some things about him–he knew Hopper and Joyce, as you’d crossed paths with him a couple times when visiting them, though the nature of his relationship with them wasn’t completely known to you yet. You also knew he was a political defector, as he’d described, but pushing further into that only got you vaguer answers. As much as your curiosity wanted you to dig, you knew it wasn’t your place to. Regardless, a closeness had formed over the last while and you couldn’t help but regard him in a different way. If he returned that or not, it was hard to read at points. Sometimes it seemed so, yet other times it felt like you were reading into things a little too much.

It was a frustrating push-and-pull that often left you with more questions than answers.

As if reading your mind, you caught the look Joyce tossed your way. The touch of a grin on her lips, eyebrows slightly raised. You let out a small scoff but couldn’t help mirroring her grin.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Joyce replied, lightheartedly as she raised her hands up somewhat, “Just that if you’re worried about our reaction, you might not find much surprise…”

“He’s…helping me out, that’s all.” As much as you wished otherwise, sometimes.

“Okay,” she replied, still teasing but it was clear she was backing off the topic. For now, you supposed. She rubbed her hands on the tops of her legs, looking out toward the street as you noticed her demeanor change somewhat. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about…”

You shifted to sit toward her a little more on the step, giving her your attention as she glanced back toward you. There was a softness to her expression, one that put a bit of tension in you.

“I know that this will be your first Christmas without your family…” she started, that familiar pit of grief setting back into your gut that you had forgotten about for a few moments. “I hate to think that you’ll be alone, so if you wanted to spend it with us, we’d be happy to have you.”

“Joyce…” you started, feeling a small squeeze in your chest at her kind gesture, “That’s so sweet, but I think I’ll be fine. It still hurts, but…I don’t know, maybe I need to do it this way. Let myself grieve, things like that.”

“I understand. I just didn’t want you to feel alone, or…”

“I’ll be fine,” you replied with a light smile, “I’ll join you guys for New Years.”

“Okay,” Joyce said with a small, sympathetic smile as she reached out to squeeze your hand.

You returned it easily, despite the light choking feeling in your throat.

                                                             ***

At around noon, you got a knock on your front door.

You were sitting at your kitchen table, listening to the radio host talking–weather, traffic, it was something you could easily tune out as you finished off your lunch. However, the sound made you pause, your eyebrows furrowing somewhat before you crossed over toward the living room to subtly peer behind a curtain toward the front door. You immediately recognized the figure outside, though it didn’t quite quell the mild confusion in you.

Finally, you opened the door with a small smile–friendly, but you couldn’t ignore the small twinge of nervousness that settled in you.

Dmitri looked as collected as he usually did–it was interesting how friendly and attentive he could appear sometimes, while also still being as unreadable as he was sometimes. At the moment, however, he greeted you with a familiar grin, his body language relaxed yet almost expectant. While you returned the quick greeting he gave you, it was hard to hide the touch of confusion that lingered in your expression.

That is, until he produced a cassette tape from his pocket, realization making you let out an almost embarrassed chuckle.

“That completely slipped my mind,” you admitted, finally shifting to open the door some more, “Feel free to come in. I’m interested in hearing your input.”

You left him to let himself in as you crossed the room to turn off the radio as the starts of a familiar holiday song started up. As unavoidable as you knew it was, considering it was only a couple of days until Christmas, you just wanted to carry on like it was a normal week. Having him there to talk about your progress in Russian was a welcomed distraction.

“I don’t have much to give you this time,” he replied as you cleared off the table, leaving him to place the tape down on the surface as you returned. “Your accent is getting better.”

“I’m glad,” you replied with a light smile, sitting back down in your chair as you pulled the tape toward yourself, turning it over in your hands somewhat. “It means I won’t have to redo this one, which is always a good thing. I can’t thank you enough for your help. It’d be easier to just keep to translation, but that work only comes so often so…well.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, somewhat dismissive but otherwise his tone was light–you’d learned a while ago that if he didn’t want to do this, you probably would have known by now. “I still want to work on my English, but it is nice to do this.”

You gave him a small, understanding nod at that. Given what you knew about him and where he came from, you could understand where he was coming from with that somewhat. Though, you noticed him glancing around your home at that moment, as if looking for something. This wasn’t the first time he had set foot in your home–usually no more than to do this exact thing, actually. Yet, you couldn’t help the slow furrowing of your brows as he glanced back toward you.

“You don’t celebrate?”

It took you a moment to clue in–compared to other houses in the neighborhood, you knew yours was lacking in decorations or anything this year. You didn’t have the energy or see the point–there’d be another time. It was hard to stop yourself from wringing your hands together, however, dropping your gaze down toward the table for a moment.

“My, uh,” you started, “My family used to gather around this time of year, but…we’re not doing that this year. It’s the first time I’m on my own this year, so I didn’t really see a reason to set everything up.”

“I understand,” he replied, “It is not my first time alone, but it is while being here.”

“Oh…yeah, I suppose it would be,” you said, meeting his gaze again, “It’d be different dates for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes and no,” he said after a small pause, finally shifting to sit down at the vacant chair at your table. “My parents grew up under strict religious laws–the government didn’t want any religion at all in the country and I grew up in a time where that was still present. We were allowed to celebrate the new year, so my family carried some traditions over to celebrate then. Not too different from what I have seen. We had a small tree, some old decorations and presents if we could afford them. It was an excuse to save food and cook in my house.”

“I had no idea,” you replied, taking in that information, “This must be a couple firsts for you, then.”

“At a literal level, sure,” he replied with a small shrug, “Like I said, this is not the first time I have been alone during this time of the year. It doesn’t feel too different.”

You wished you could say the same.

Still, you bit back that remark–you didn’t really know why. He had just shared a couple things about his family, but you still bit your tongue about the fact that your father had been the one to bring the family together at this time. After his passing, nobody really knew who should take up the mantle and with it being so recent…well, there was still a sting to it.

However, sitting at the table with Dmitri as a small silence lingered after his words, you found a somewhat surprising thought crop up in your mind. You supposed it wasn’t too different from how Joyce felt toward you a couple days ago–yet, it’d force you to acknowledge the holiday at least somewhat, but the casual way he talked about being alone stabbed at you somewhat.

Would he even want to? You enjoyed spending time with him, and it seemed like he returned the feeling, yet…

“Well…” you started, fiddling with the cassette tape again, “If we’re both alone, maybe you’d want to spend it here?”

“With you?” he asked after a moment, a small pit of regret setting into your gut at the question.

“Only if you want to,” you said, pushing through the feeling as though a part of you just wanted to retract the offer, “I know I wasn’t planning on doing anything this year, so I could not make a big deal out of it anyway. I just thought I’d offer since you’re my neighbor–my friend. It can be…a little lonely.”

A part of you worried that it sounded a little too much like you were offering out of pity, yet Dmitri didn’t seem to take it that way. That, or he didn’t voice it at the moment. He seemed to think that over, which was a little unexpected. You had been expecting a polite decline–you were just helping each other out, asking to spend Christmas together was a little overboard.

Yet, he still continued to surprise you.

“If you want to,” he said after a few moments, causing you to glance toward him, “that would be nice. I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Like I said, it wouldn’t be too much of an issue,” you replied as you felt a small grin touch your face, “It might give me an excuse to pick up a small tree and buy my own decorations.”

“Again, if you want. Still…thank you.”

                                                          ***

“Hopper and Joyce said they are doing a sort of backyard party for New Years if the weather is nice enough,” Dmitri said after rummaging through a back to pass you another wrapped box of ornaments as you worked on unwrapping the cord for the lights on the small tree. “I was told to pass on the invitation to you.”

“Joyce already hinted at it,” you said, though you were still touched that they still went out of their way to do so formally. Though, you paused somewhat, glancing toward him over your shoulder. “Didn’t they have one recently? For Halloween?”

“I think so,” he replied, “I am starting to think it is a way to make sure I don’t need to buy my own food.”

“My family used to do those in the summer–though, I used to live where it snowed a lot in the winter so I suppose it was a summer thing. Maybe they are just taking advantage of the climate here.”

“Maybe.”

As much as you had been nervous to let him spend the holiday with you, things seemed to relax into how they usually were once you were in the same space together. You were reminded that things often felt like a tug-of-war with him at points–lighthearted and flirty sometimes, then kind of distant and neighborly during other times. Really, there was a part of you that just wanted to ask. To rip the bandage off and settle on an answer so it wasn’t a question that sat on your mind whenever you were with him.

At the moment, however, you didn’t find the words coming forth. Still, the fact that Joyce and Hopper knew you two interacted enough to send messages down through each other, along with the look Joyce had given you back when you sat on her step, had you holding back the urge to shake your head.

If it was that obvious, the crossing of that line shouldn’t be as difficult as it was.

Still, you didn’t want to dwell on that in the current situation. Not with Dmitri in your home and you sitting on the floor as you finished setting up the small tree you had bought. It was fake, about the length of your arm. You put a small, plaid cloth over the step stool you set it on in the living room, but for the most part it wasn’t too bad. Finally, you plugged the lights in, shifting to sit a little further back from it as you took it in.

Again, it wasn’t much, but the lights did make you feel a little better somehow.

“There it is,” you said, spreading your arms out somewhat in a teasing manner toward it.

“You honored your word at least,” Dmitri commented.

“I definitely try to,” you muttered as you watched him help himself to a box of ornaments.

They were mostly decorative balls, you didn’t want to go overboard. It was a little odd to see him like this, yet it put a lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a while. You didn’t mind the small silences, either, considering a part of you was still struggling to admit that not only were you going ahead with holding at least a small celebration for the season, but it was also with him. You enjoyed Dmitri’s company, but in a situation like this you feared that your mind would tumble down a familiar path and you would end up saying something that would make this awkward.

So, you were also happy that you had something to do with your hands as you set about decorating the tree with him. However, that relatively mild ‘peace’ didn’t last too long.

“You said your family gathered in the summer and during this time?” Dmitri asked, causing you to glance toward him as you could sense that uncomfortable topic approaching. “Is this a lot like what they would do?”

“Kind of,” you replied after taking in a small breath, looking over the tree for a moment. “Just…bigger, I guess. My parents liked to bring everybody together, so it was usually a pretty crowded house. Relatives sleeping on couches.”

Dmitri didn’t say anything, just listening. You debated on leaving it at that, yet you figured letting him in a bit wouldn’t be too terrible. You both were a little vague about certain things, but you certainly didn’t regard him as some stranger or distant acquaintance. The current situation was proof of that.

“My mother passed when I was younger,” you continued, “It was my dad who carried on the traditions they set out, despite how painful it was during the earlier years. He did that by himself for years, well into his kids being adults, having kids of their own. He…passed this year, a while ago but still recent enough that I think we’re struggling to figure out how to pick up what he left. I just…know it’s not me. Not this year.”

“...I’m sorry,” Dmitri said as he let that sit for a couple of moments, “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“I struggled with admitting it to myself for a while,” you admitted, “I started telling more people, but then this month…I don’t know. I just didn’t want to think about it.”

“I can understand.”

You sat down on the floor as you took the last decoration from your box, resting your arms on your knees as you took in the tree for a few moments. A part of you had been expecting to struggle to hold back tears and not break down in front of him, yet there was an odd sense of calmness in you. Maybe it was just the moment and it would all hit you once all of this was over, but you would take it as it was for the time being.

“It hurts, but…I don’t know. I think he’d be relieved I’m not spending it alone in the dark or something. Not that I invited you to fill that or whatever, but I know he’d be happy.”

Dmitri didn’t reply to that, seeming to accept your natural response to all of that as he sat beside you as you both took in your work. You found a familiar feeling rising up in you, the very same one that had been poking at you the whole time that existed outside of your grief for the loss of your father.

Maybe you should just say something. The year was ending, maybe you could just get an answer.

“This is probably a terrible time to get into this, but I just wanted to know if…”

You had felt a bit of courage build up in you as you started talking, yet when you turned to look at Dmitri, the words kind of died on your tongue.

The look on his face took you off guard, admittedly. While a part of you was expecting to see the pained expression of a rejection that you had seen on different people throughout different points in your life, the softness of his expression and turning to meet his gaze unexpectedly head-on had your heart stopping for a moment. Dmitri looked somewhat surprised himself, like he hadn’t expected you to catch him looking at you. Yet, despite how easily either of you could just look away, you found yourself holding his gaze for a few, prolonged moments.

As much as you knew you could just complete your thought–just ask outright if he was as interested in you as you were in him–you realized that you didn’t have to. You found yourself leaning in easily to meet him in a kiss, Dmitri cupping the back of your head as you shifted closer to him. The kisses got firmer as the initial hesitancy stepped aside, your hands coming up to cup both sides of his jaw. You felt his arm slip around your lower back as he pulled you closer to him.

You slipped your leg over one of his own, allowing your bodies to brush briefly as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and shoulders. The position was a little uncomfortable on the hardwood of your floor, but the mix of the rush of emotions and genuine relief had you savoring the moment. There had been the wandering thoughts of what it would be like if you had just kissed him at certain moments, or vice versa, yet the reality was a different story.

In the dying light of day and the small illumination of the lights on the tree beside you, along with the days and weeks of dreading the next day or so, the fact that he was kissing you was almost euphoric.

However, you knew the lightheadedness you were starting to feel was from needing some air.

You pulled back from the kiss somewhat with a small inhale, feeling like your mind was buzzing with things you should say following that. Yet, Dmitri’s hand tracing along the side of your face, thumb running down your jaw, was enough to slow that for a few moments.

“I hope you were wanting to talk about that and not something else,” he said after a few moments, which pulled a small, amused huff from you. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” you asked, failing to hide the mild disbelief from your tone despite everything.

“Weeks,” he replied with a light shrug, “A couple days ago before we ended up talking about Christmas.”

“...Yeah, that’s about the same for me,” you replied with a chuckle, shaking your head lightly, “I had been sitting in suspense for weeks, you should have just done it.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Dmitri pulled you in again for another kiss, feeling him grin into it making you feel almost giddy. It was tempting to deepen it, especially considering you were practically sitting in his lap and you were close enough to feel his chest press against your own as he breathed. Yet, you knew carrying on with this on the floor would quickly become uncomfortable and you didn’t know if he wanted to go any further than kissing. Given the feeling building low in your gut, you knew what your answer was but you still found yourself pulling back after a few moments.

“Can…Do you want to go to my bedroom or just see each other tomorrow? I’m fine with either, but I know I can’t sit on the floor much longer.”

Dmitri regarded you for a few moments, mulling that over as you tried to will your heart to slow down a bit. You knew things were escalating quickly, yet you were truthful about being fine with either. You just wanted him to make a call, and you could tell he knew that as well. You felt him tug lightly at the side of your shirt as he gathered his words.

“If we go to your bedroom, that is not because you don’t want to deal with what you told me about your father, yes? I don’t want to be a distraction from that.”

“I have tried many distractions,” you admitted, shaking your head somewhat sadly, “It’ll still be there and I know that. I want to deal with that. I also want this. The two didn’t really cross in my mind, but no. I don’t want to use you like that. I wouldn’t.”

Dmitri took in your words for a few moments before he nodded, shifting so you could pull away from him more. Though, the separation didn’t last too long as he pulled you back into him once you both were standing, kissing you for a few moments before pulling back somewhat to speak.

“Then I would like to see your bedroom,” he said, pulling lightly at the waistband of your pants, “eventually.”

He pulled you down onto the couch with you on top of him again, his mouth finding yours again. You let out a small noise of surprise with the hardness of the kiss, settling to straddle his hips as you ran your hands down his clothed chest. Despite the current moment, some mild disbelief still managed to push its way to the forefront of your mind that this was happening in the first place. There had been a point where you figured you should have let the whole thing go–to let it fizzle out and you’d settle into more platonic thoughts about him. Yet, that wasn’t the case.

Perhaps it never would have been the case, considering the current moment.

With the confirmation you needed, the hesitancy seemed to melt away as you broke from the kiss to trail your lips down his neck. There had been wandering thoughts every now and again about what it would be like to have his mouth on you, or what reactions he’d have if you did the same. Of course, the reality was pretty different, but you didn’t particularly mind that. Dmitri was a little quiet, which kind of lined up with what you had known of him, but his sighs and the way his hands roamed your back told you he was enjoying himself enough.

It also wasn’t hard to miss the stiffening bulge in his pants that became more apparent as things progressed, his hands venturing into more intimate places. You weren’t too surprised when you found yourself removing your shirt at his prompting, which had you pulling his own up in return. You wanted to feel his skin on yours, which he seemed happy to oblige given how quickly his mouth found your shoulder. You let out a small breath at the feeling of his mouth against your skin, placing a hand against the back of the couch to brace yourself while one moved up into his hair as he dropped his head down to press an open-mouthed kiss against the top of one of your breasts.

Your gaze wandered toward the small bit of a street lamp that you could see through one of the small slits in the blinds. The sun had gone down, the light from the street lamp and some other lights from the houses around being one of the only light sources. For the most part, it looked empty, and you knew your living room blinds were drawn. While doing this in front of a window could go south pretty quickly, the chance of anybody seeing was low and you were enjoying the foreplay.

So, you pushed away from Dmitri somewhat to unclasp your bra. For a few moments, you could feel your heart pick up its pace when his gaze dropped down to your chest. Though, he looked back up to meet your eyes as you returned to your previous position.

“You look better than I pictured,” he muttered.

That surprised you somewhat, that you weren’t alone in the fantasizing, though any response you could come up with to that died before you could formulate it as he cupped one of your breasts in his hand. The sensation had you arching your back into him, unawarely grinding yourself down against his crotch as he gently pinched and rolled one of your nipples. That pulled a low moan from you, Dmitri lifting his hips against your own as you pressed down against him in kind. Even with the both of you still only being half naked, it still felt nice and you definitely wanted more.

“So do you,” you replied finally, almost in a sigh.

There was truth to that statement.

Really, your affection and attraction toward him had been a little slow building–from distraction and stress, at the time. You had thought he was a good-looking man when you had first met him, though you weren’t sure what to make of him. He was more of Hopper’s friend than Joyce’s, but she had been quick to mention your translation work and things between you two had warmed up quickly enough. It was downhill from there, really. You had found yourself enjoying his voice, regardless of the language. His eyes, grin, arms, his lips. Once you had started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him, what his hands would feel like on your body, you knew your little acquaintanceship had shifted. There had been a few days where you found yourself staring at him instead of following what he was saying.

Knowing what you did now, you wondered if he’d had similar issues in regards to you.

It didn’t really matter in the long run, however, considering how Dmitri closing his mouth around one of your nipples effectively stopped any further wandering thoughts. He kneaded one of your breasts in his hand, sucking on and flicking his tongue against the nipple of the other. You moaned, fingers gripping a little tighter into the back cushion of the couch. As much as you were clearly enjoying what his mouth and hands were doing, you brushing yourself against and grinding on his cock was slowly killing you.

You dropped your free hand down to his stomach, trailing your fingers down until you felt the waistband of his pants. Fumbling a little blindly until Dmitri pulled his head back from your chest, you opened the front of his pants.

“I figure this might feel a little better,” you said, tone lightly teasing but you couldn’t hide the desire in it as he let you slip your hand into his pants.

You cupped him in your hand, pressing your palm against his erection as he lulled his head back somewhat against the couch. He rolled his hips up against your hand as you rubbed him outside of his underwear for a bit. You watched his face as you did so, rubbing him harder or faster depending on his reactions. The way his breaths hitched and the short grunts and groans he let out was worth delaying your own pleasure for a while. You pulled his cock out, giving it a few languid strokes.

From your position, you knew you could easily just push down your pants and underwear and ride him on the couch, yet you weren’t too keen on doing that where potential eyes could see. Doing what you were doing currently was risky enough. Though, you couldn’t help but keep stroking him, picking up the pace somewhat to help him along. After a few more strokes, you bent down and licked the head of his cock. Immediately, you noticed the way his legs tensed up, a somewhat choked groan escaping him. Dmitri gripping a hand onto your shoulder had you not going any further, however. You glanced up at him as he shook his head lightly.

“You wanted to take me to the bedroom.”

“I thought you seemed pretty relaxed on the couch,” you commented, somewhat amused but caught onto his meaning.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to continue on the couch, either, anyway. Plus, the throbbing between your legs was getting hard to ignore, but you didn’t know if you could multitask enough to touch yourself and pleasure him at the same time. Not with the direction you had been headed, anyway.

So, leading him down the hall toward your room was an easy choice to make. You took the liberty of removing the last of your clothing before climbing onto your bed. Dmitri wasn’t too far behind, following suit before joining you. He pressed you into the mattress as he kissed you. It was harder than the other ones, your mouth parting for his tongue as you felt his cock slide against your folds with a small roll of his hips. You moaned into Dmitri’s mouth, pushing your hips up to rub yourself against his cock. He moaned in return, pressing his hips into your movement as well.

Finally, you broke from the kiss with a small, involuntary whimper. You were more worked up than you realized, a surge of both frustration and anticipation settling into your gut.

“I need you inside me,” you said between a breath, “I want you. Please.”

“I know,” Dmitri muttered against the skin of your neck before he pressed a quick kiss against the underside of your jaw. “You’re so wet.”

You knew, too. It wasn’t hard to notice, and a part of you almost wanted to feel a little embarrassed by that and how your hips kept twitching, but you didn’t really care at the moment. Dmitri ground himself against you a few more times, the movements slow and a little torturous. Thankfully, he seemed ready to move on from that, as you felt him shift back somewhat before pushing his cock into you.

The stretch still had a bit of a pinch to it, but thankfully you were aroused enough to adjust quickly enough. You situated your legs against his hip as he rocked into you at a slow pace until he was buried completely inside you. You could feel his steady breaths against your neck and shoulder, pulling and pushing his cock against your walls that you found yourself rocking your hips again in an attempt to get him to move faster.

Eventually he was moving in a way that was pulling more moans and gasps from you, little jolts of pleasure spurring you into thrusting up against him at a quicker pace.

You were very close to just losing yourself into the sensations Dmitri was pulling out of you with each thrust, but reality still liked to leak in around the edges from time to time. It dawned on you that this was truly happening. You were having sex with the man that you had tried, time and again, to let go of since you were convinced it wasn’t going to happen. You had fantasized about him from time to time, a thought to touch yourself to during late nights in hopes an orgasm would help get you to sleep. If loneliness and a longing didn’t have you just wanting to be close to him.

He liked you, too. That was something you didn’t have time to turn over in your head, but tonight made that apparent.

Yet, those were thoughts you were struggling to hold onto as Dmitri hooked an arm under the knee of one of your legs. He thrusted into you harder, and at a somewhat better angle, which had you shifting your free leg up so he was hitting that much deeper. His moans were louder, more intense and you knew he was probably approaching that peak you were close to. You reached down between your bodies to find your clit, circling it with a finger a few times as Dmitri thrusted into you.

“You’re close?” Dmitri asked once he noticed what you were doing, which you just nodded your head at. “Let me.”

He gently brushed his hand under yours, prompting you to move it as he started to rub similar circles on your clit. You let out a low sound as you could feel a pressure building, his touch not quite as precise but with his cock thrusting into you it was definitely enough.

You wanted to say something, yet your words were failing you and it wasn’t long until you felt that pressure move further down and you tightened around him. Your orgasm washed over you, making you arch your back with a strangled cry. You dug your fingers into the flesh of Dmitri’s shoulder, feeling him slow as you clenched around him. He moaned into your ear as he dropped his head onto your shoulder again. He thrusted a few more times before he pulled out, spilling his cum onto your stomach and thigh with a loud groan.

You could still feel your orgasm washing over you, leaving you limp against the bed as you waited for it to subside. Dmitri stepped outside into the hall for a few moments once you started to come back down, returning with what looked to be a damp washcloth from the bathroom.

“I didn’t think I would make that much of a mess,” he commented, washing his cum from your stomach and leg with the cloth. “I’m sorry.”

“You could have broken a lamp and I don’t think I would’ve noticed for a minute there,” you admitted with a chuckle, “Don’t worry about it.”

“It was good, then?” he asked, turning to toss the cloth into a hamper you had near the bed.

“Yes,” you replied with a small grin as he settled onto the bed beside you. “Was it for you?”

Dmitri nodded, hovering over you to press a lingering kiss to your lips. You pressed back into it, cupping the side of his head until he pulled back to lay down beside you. With the rush of emotions and sensations ebbing out, you could feel your mind start to return to the current situation. Still, even with everything that sat on the edges, the grief and everything that came with it, you couldn’t deny the happiness that lingered in you at the moment. It would mix strangely with everything later, but you just let it be at the moment.

Still, you rolled over somewhat to face him a little more. Dmitri shifted closer to pull you into his chest, which you accepted easily as you leaned your head against his shoulder. You shut your eyes for a few moments, letting him trace his fingers along the skin of your arm and shoulder somewhat absentmindedly. However, you found yourself letting out a soft chuckle, shaking your head lightly in amusement.

“I can already see the look on Joyce’s face when she hears about this…”

“What do you mean?”

“A couple days ago, she…in a vague way, asked if there was anything between us and at the time I said no.”

“I got asked, too,” Dmitri said with a small, tired grin, “It will be an interesting topic during New Years.”

[bikananjarrus]

time for my thoughts on temptation of the force! (with a healthy dose of the eye of darkness thoughts, bc i forgot to do a wrap-up post for that book whoops).

spoilery thoughts under the cut:

To start with (maybe?) an unpopular opinion: as much as i loved this book (and i really did!) i think (PERSONALLY) i liked the eye of darkness just a bit more (if i'm just going to compare the phase 3 adult books).

this is definitely due to just my personal tastes; i love stories about grief. eye of darkness was so much about grief, and loneliness, and getting knocked down over and over, and struggling for every inch of ground to claw one's way back to the light, back to hope and home. eye of darkness was also (in a way) a ghost story. the ghost of stellan, the ghost of starlight, the ghost of the other jedi that were lost, the ghosts of the people missing across the stormwall, etc.

which that kind of love - the kind that creates grief, that creates these kinds of ghosts - that's one of my favorite things to explore in stories (and my own writing), which is probably why eye of darkness spoke to me a bit more. the more i think about it the more i realize how much i loved that book.

however!! i did still really love TOTF, and i like that it had a bit more positive tone as we gear up for the big finale next year. avar and elzar being reunited, being stronger together, figuring out the stormwall (mostly), actually getting some wins, things are going better. it was so well-done, and i really loved it. it just didn't floor me in quite the way i expected it to, but that's not a bad thing; it was impactful in a different way.

that said, let me talk about the things i loved about this book! starting with the non-firebrands/non-elzar+avar highlights:

burry pov!!! it was so wonderful getting burry's pov in this book. the way burry describes the Force and his empathetic connection to the people and world around him was such a treat to read. the scene in the beginning when he was on oanne and he touched the grandfather tree was an incredibly beautiful scene. additionally; him understanding why the oanne locals won't--can't--leave their home planet, bc wookiees have such a strong connection to kashyyyk too; him having empathy for the dying drengir bc it was dying alone, disconnected from the rest of its hive; him realizing at the end that the empty feeling of the blight is homesickness. i just loved the way all these things tied together, and it being burry to make these connections bc he understands it in a way the other jedi don't (which was a nice tie back to LOTJ with him being the only one to realize there were survivors on board pieces of the legacy run emerging from hyperspace)

also burry and bell's friendship means so so much to me. burry being able to defeat a nameless bc he felt bell's fear and refused to let bell die. bc bell saved him from the eiram ocean, and he couldn't let bell die afraid the way he almost had. i just....i love them a lot <3

i adore cair and xylan. xylan is such a fun character, who we know hides a lot of his true feelings behind ridiculously thick walls and a bunch of different masks and many layers of fancy silks, and it just makes me want to crack that man open like an oyster. i think cair feels the same lol. their relationship is just so interesting and that scene with xylan locking cair in his bunk to force him back across the stormwall was OOF. i can't wait to see where they go from here.

marchion was marginally more interesting for me in this book. the thing is, i like him as a villain! he's smart and i appreciate that he has a million back-up plans, and he's got an aesthetic and sticks to it! but i'm not really sure what to do with him so far in this phase. i feel a bit similarly with the nameless. i think marchion and the nameless were more interesting when they were such an unknown factor to the jedi.

the most interesting marchion part in this book for me was the chapter where he was envisioning ghirra and viess being consumed by the blight and just totally ignoring their bickering. i think it's a precarious line to walk with making villains stereotypically "crazy" or "mad", but i think the THR authors have done it well so far. and giving marchion this mysterious air with seeing visions and dead ancestors was really enjoyable.

(i know i will learn more about his ancestors and history of the nihil, nameless, etc. in phase 2, so maybe i will feel differently and understand his motivations more after that)

but right now, he's lost a bit of luster for me; but i trust charles soule will be able to bring it back for the finale.

now for my beloveds, elzar, avar, and the firebrands:

chapter 1 and 20. that's it, that's the bullet point. i live in those chapters now. they were absolutely my favorite parts of the whole book. after so much miscommunication and misunderstanding between elzar, avar, and stellan over the course of the adult books so far (really starting after LOTJ), getting to see elzar and avar just sit down and talk and reflect, and talk about stellan and everything they've been through, it meant a lot to me.

i adore elzar and avar on their own, but for me (personally) the real heart is the three of them. so for me, the elzar avar scenes where they talked about stellan were just a smidge more impactful for me than just the elzar avar scenes alone, which is why chap. 1 and 20 really hit for me.

that being said, i still loved all of elzar and avar's scenes A LOT. avar's love confession to elzar was so so beautifully written. and when she kissed him on naboo in front of everyone!!!!!! LOST my mind!!! elzar's "i don't think i've known you without wanting you"....... what an insane thing to say. what an insane thing to WRITE, tessa. and avar's "in my worst moments, i've loved you. in my greatest grief and failure, i still loved you, and it didn't turn me down the wrong path - it's what got me back on my feet...love is limitless." OOF. truly truly one of the most beautiful love confessions i've ever read.

i mean i could talk for five hours about avar's confession and her understanding of how she loves elzar, and in response, elzar's talk with yoda about love and attachment. that needs it's own post, honestly. but to sum up: tessa wrote love and attachment so fucking perfectly in this book. like tessa GETS IT.

the scene at the end, when avar lends her strength to elzar to fight off the nameless, and it being described as a star. stellan's strength right there alongside avar's, giving it to elzar so he can fight back. the song, the sea, and the star imagery will always make me feel so insane.

(but even with the star imagery at the end, my one, very nitpicky thing, which is also just personal preference again, is that i wish stellan's name had gotten mentioned one or two more times at the end. i don't think his name was mentioned at all in the last 50 pages or so, and there was a perfect opportunity to do so when avar had her brush with death. either she could've thought about joining stellan in the force, or elzar could've thought about already having lost stellan and he won't lose avar too. i get that the focus was very much on avar and elzar at the end there, but i think to really bring it full circle, there should've been one more mention of stellan)

i think elzar is going to play a huge part in defeating the nameless. it's been hinted at before, even back in LOTJ, the unique way he sees the force, and uses the force; the fact that he has touched the dark side of the force, and has a better understanding of the force and how it affects him; him being able to shut himself off from the force in such a way in the fallen star that for a while, he wasn't affected by the nameless on starlight as much as the others; and then here at the end of TOTF, with the way him and avar are now connected in the force, i think his understanding of the force is going to expand and he's definitely a key component, i think, to the eventual defeat of the nameless.

my last thought for now: about halfway through eye of darkness i was getting a strong feeling that, by the end of all this, elzar might die. i still think this is a possibility. but now, i think there is also a stronger possibility that if he dies, he and avar will die together. just based on how connected they are in the force alone, i think if one goes, the other will follow. (i also maintain that i don't think any of the adult-adult characters are super safe, bc there's been such a strong emphasis on the younger adult characters, and this future generation of jedi, that i wouldn't be surprised if they killed off more of the older adults to make room for the young knights).

overall, i really did love this book! but strangely enough, i think this is the one i need to sit with the most. the first half of the book was REALLY hitting for me, and then idk, by the end i was like "that was really good, but....that's it?" who knows, it could be that having read all these books back to back in such a short amount of time finally caught up to me haha, and my brain just shut off. i think i just need to sit with this one more, and reread at some point. but right now, in my honest opinion, i didn't like it as much as eye of darkness.

(as always, i'm happy to hear everyone else's thoughts, so feel free to send me asks/dms/replies on this post etc. i feel like me not liking this book as much is definitely not the general consensus, so i'm curious what everyone else thinks lol)

[cartograffiti]

May '24 reading diary

This month, I finished 16 books, mostly quick cookbooks and graphic novels!

I started May by listening to a very unseasonal full-cast audiobook of E.T.A. Hoffmann's original The Nutcracker and the Mouse King. When I was a child, I read a lot of different text adaptations of the Tchaikovsky ballet adapted from this story, but only realized I'd never read the original when a friend got me to read Hoffmann's squarely horror story "The Sandman" a few years ago. This was creepier than the ballet story, though clearly written for children, and I'm very glad to have gotten around to it.

K.J. Charles, author of a large number of romances I'm a fan of, put out her first mystery A-plot novel, Death in the Spires. I think it's a good introduction to her style if you're not a big romance person, and I think it was the right call for this plot to prioritize the genre elements in this way, but I also have found her B-plot mysteries more exciting. No problem, I liked it a lot, and it has a lot of juicy thoughts about justice as distinct from the law and how trust is earned or lost. Gay disabled detective.

Two sports romances: You Should Be So Lucky, a sensational 1960s baseball player/magazine journalist relationship, meditating beautifully on the fear of failure and on grief. One of the mains was in a long-term relationship with someone who has died, and I think this is the best widowed romance character I've ever read. Sebastian is also just fabulous at taking a tour of a made-up person, full of small details and slice-of-life stakes. I've read all her books and will continue to; I like her particular approach to historicals and her ability to make queer happy endings distinct and individual. M/M.

The other sports romance I read this month is The Boxing Baroness by Minerva Spencer, which I only mildly enjoyed. Unfortunately I don't even have any real criticisms, I just very simply didn't click with Spencer's style on a sentences level, particularly in sex scenes. Your mileage will vary! There is a lot of really enjoyable bits about the hot honorable love interest thirsting over how strong and cool he thinks the heroine is, and he's right. This is definitely worth trying if the basic premise of woman boxer Regency is your thing. Wait, I do have one plot criticism--this would have been stronger without the epilogue. We didn't actually need to meet [historical figure redacted]. M/F.

Graphic novels--I used to read Chelsey Furedi's Rock and Riot when it was coming out as a webcomic, and I was excited when her follow-up, Project Nought, was suspended soon after launch because of a book deal. Unfortunately I somehow missed it when the book actually came out in 2017, and only when Heartstopper sent me on a nostalgia trip last month did I realize I could read it. I wish I had read Project Nought when it was new! A lot of the sci-fi plot no longer feels futuristic even 7 years on, although the core twist is just fabulous. There isn't enough of the interpersonal depth that shines in Rock and Riot, the villain plot resolution is a bit too easy for the YA market, and overall I just wouldn't pitch this as more than pleasant.

The rest of the graphic novels, far more than pleasant, I read volumes 8, 9, 10, and 11 of Witch Hat Atelier by Shirahama Kamome. This was a good batch to read close together, as they all deal with the events of the same festival. Unfortunately I have to wait for my library to buy the next to see the resolution, but that's how manga goes! I loved a lot of what's happening at this point, with some fabulous milestones in the Coco-Agott friendship, lots of good moments from my favorite of the adults (Olruggio), and continuing to push down on the question of forbidden magic. Shirahama brings in both strong cases of things that deserve to be banned (glasses that let you see through people's clothes, not treated as remotely funny) and things that...maybe don't. I really cannot tell what ethics resolution might be end-game, which is very exciting.

Cookbooks! My lovely mother surprised me with a copy of an 80s book I'd been looking for, Vineyard Seasons by Susan Branch. I wouldn't exactly call her style pastoral, but I've seen her rediscovered a bit by cottagecore, Ghibli-esque, and related aesthetic bloggers. If that kind of romantic daily life artwork appeals to you, you might like her books as much as I do; every page is full of Branch's watercolor paintings, sometimes ornamental borders and sometimes illustrations of the sights of her home in Martha's Vineyard. I read and re-read her books just to linger over the pictures, but almost every recipe I've tried has been a winner.

I also borrowed a whole bunch of cookbooks of literary-inspired recipes. I went through two by Alison Walsh (A Literary Tea Party and A Literary Holiday Cookbook), which were disappointing; they draw from a pretty small range of books, and rely a lot on food coloring to fit the themes. Meanwhile, The Mystery Writers of America Cookbook (ed. Kate White) has a really wide range of difficulty level and approach, only some of them inspired by fiction. Each recipe was contributed by a different author, making it fun in the same way that church and community cookbooks can be, but I don't have any wish to own this, either. I have two others still to look at. (And I already own some I do recommend, Kate Young's Little Library cookbooks and Tim Federle's literary cocktail books.)

More nonfiction: DK Publishing's really insubstantial small coffee table book Banned Books, which didn't have quite enough text (I shouldn't have finished any entries unsure on what grounds they were banned/challenged, and did), but some pretty vintage covers (and not enough of those either).

Really great, with loads of pictures and thorough text: The Big Reveal: An Illustrated Manifesto of Drag by Sasha Velour. I was first aware of gender-fluid queen Sasha Velour as an illustrator and zinester, and in many ways they're the reason I was first interested in drag performers. This book doubles as a history of drag and a personal memoir of Velour's experience with it, and I enjoyed both equally. The history is well-researched and thoughtful, and the memoir is generous and self-aware. And it has some of their comics!

And I'm still reading Dorothy Dunnett's Lymond Chronicles at about one per month. I finished Pawn in Frankincense in May--lush and devastating and funny and infuriating and completely absorbing. Still not a series I would recommend to everyone, and still one I'm so glad I'm reading at this exact moment, when my emotions can go through the juicer and not feel scarred afterwards.

[miss-meri]

I’ve wanted to say this for months. Years? But it’s hard. I can feel myself losing my voice again. Fandom is important to me because in some ways I feel it’s the only way I can really connect with others.

My therapist said something interesting right when we met. After talking about my life and friends and worries, she said, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Oh, so you’re an extrovert.”

?????

I have been scolded for being too quiet and too private and too scared of speaking to strangers since childhood. An extrovert?

But she’s not… wrong.

I was lonely, weird only child with too much of an intense interest in things no one else was interested in. Meteorology: I watched the weather channel like other people watched cartoons. Books: I read the same ones over and over and over. Star Trek: I sort of lived in space with them and got the nickname “little miss vocabulary” because of all the language I mimicked.

ADHD explains some of this, now. Very intense fixations with zero interest in anything that doesn’t align. And maybe I’m a little on the spectrum too, although I will not seek that diagnosis and don’t score high on the RAADS test.

I feel like most of my childhood was spent searching for someone who cared about things the way I did, and then coming up empty handed.

That’s not to say I was without friends!

I’ve always had friends. Close friends, starting in kindergarten and continuing on, even when I was years younger than everyone else, ahead a grade and getting bullied, even when I was bad at hiding how weird my interests are. That’s really lucky, and I’m grateful.

But having friends did not mean sharing my intense interests with them. They’d let me chatter about it, just like I listened to things I wasn’t interested in (boys mostly later on, this is long before I realized I was ace), but it wasn’t shared, if that make sense?

Fandom and my best friends were the first place I felt that mirrored back. Anime conventions. Writing stories together. Cosplay. Watching The Show and then reading The Fic and then discussing, endlessly. It is the high I’ve chased ever since. All my close relationships are based on it. I met my spouse through cosplay.

I finally had people!! I finally had people who understood what I was trying to say!!! And I understood them too, deep and unambiguous. Fandom is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s driven me around the world, brought me joy and creativity and self-worth and new skills. I love it.

And then, my longest, deepest, and going-on-eight-years-strong hyper fixation: Yuri on Ice.

Holy shit.

Nothing has ever hit so hard. I spent literally years talking about it with other fans, every day creating. I’ve published over 400,000 words of fanfiction and have much more yet-unpublished. Before writing this post I wrote 2k. I think about it constantly and enjoy it for its own sake, as evidenced by how much of it I just don’t post anywhere at all. I love sharing but in the end fic truly is for me.

But the fandom has slowed down, in the natural way things do. It’s no one’s fault. There are plenty of other interesting things to see and read and do. All my precious friends have been moving on, one by one. And we’re still friends, don’t get me wrong! Of course we are. I have spoken with most of them every day for years, and care deeply about their lives outside of fandom.

But what I’m trying to say is I’m an extrovert in a *very specific way*, and now I’m back in that place again. I can’t connect and have it reflected back, I can’t hear something new. There’s no end to it. Have been trying to have some space for grief. I have been getting quieter and quieter, and not feeling a lot to look forward to.

Been playing mobile games to fill the void and just feeling gray. I’m not sad, just. Faded out. It sounds so dramatic that I don’t want to even type all of this out. I want to say there’s no thesis, nothing I’m seeking, no end goal.

But maybe it’s the same as always: I want understanding.

So that’s what’s up.

[mortallyheb]

Post Book Depression

To me, Post book depression is pretty intense. The book you dearly cherish suddenly losing its value. The feeling of missing the book that is in fact lying on your lap. Personally, I feel like I become one among the characters in a book. Be it a period piece or a story taking place in a dystopian universe, I live and breathe with my characters. And when the book comes to an end, I experience my own death. It is the removal of myself from the book. It is my own death in the book. Because from then on, I will not know anything more that is to happen to my characters which is very similar to death and so on the very last page of the book, a version of me dies. You actually mourn the loss of a good book. The book might still be yours but as Harry Styles well phrased, "you know it's not the same as it was". The mourning period lasts upto a week for me. Some great books exceed that limit too. Everytime I see a Pinterest edit or a tumblr post about the book my heart sinks. The feeling of emptiness and a very strong belief that the next book you pick up cannot hold a candle to the book you just finished are inescapable. You feel like you finished playing the audio message of your loved one. You can always hear it again but damn nothing could beat the first time. Suddenly all your favourite moments from the book come to your mind and a overwhelming sensation of grief consumes you. One might say "grief" is a pretty intense word for the feeling but well, that's books for you my friend. Because one moment you are prancing around with your lover, or fighting aliens or plotting a murder or witnessing the funeral of your best friend but before you realise what's happening, the pages on the right side are thinning, and the next moment you are back on your bed, alone, cold and miserable. Your reality. Only few books can make you feel the loss, can give you the rude awakening that the fantasy is over. Right now I am mourning a good book. One that broke my heart a million times while I was reading it but nothing could have prepared me for the heartbreak I am experiencing now. I have lived thousands of lives, died a hundred times; why just last week I started a new life and died yesterday. And when I'm ready (which will probably be tomorrow) I'm going to start another life. Only to die once more. To more lives and deaths, cheers!

P.S check out this beauteus song by Her's. They left behind them the best gifts one can ever receive.

[pridepages]

eARC Review: Darkhearts

A HUGE thank you to Netgalley and Wednesday Books for providing me an eARC in exchange for an honest review!

RATING: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

GOODREADS SYNOPSIS:  When David quit his band, he missed his shot at fame. For the past two years, he’s been trapped in an ordinary Seattle high school life, working summers for his dad’s construction business while his former best friends Chance and Eli became the hottest teen pop act in America. Then Eli dies. Suddenly David and Chance are thrown back into contact, forcing David to rediscover all the little things that once made the two of them so close, even as he continues to despise the singer’s posturing and attention-hogging. As old wounds break open, an unexpected kiss leads the boys to trade frenemy status for a confusing, tentative romance—one Chance is desperate to keep out of the spotlight. Though hurt by Chance’s refusal to acknowledge him publicly, David decides their new relationship presents a perfect opportunity for him to rejoin the band and claim the celebrity he's been denied. But Chance is all too familiar with people trying to use him. As the mixture of business and pleasure becomes a powder keg, David will have to choose: Is this his second chance at glory? Or his second chance at Chance?

RELEASE DATE: 6/6/2023

See my full review under the cut!

Sutter’s latest novel Darkhearts is a strong, bittersweet work about grief and regret. 

This book is difficult to classify. While it has some elements of a romcom (friends-to-rivals-to-lovers, secretly dating, finding yourself, etc.), it doesn't actually read like one. The romance between narrator David and his love interest Chance is the main plot, but arguably the story is really about how David has been stuck in the past and needs to find a way to move forward. If I had to register a critique, it would be the fact that band member and friend Eli's death wasn't handled in a way that served the narrative or the readers. 

This is the event that kicks off the plot and brings Chance and David back together. Narratively, we are set up to expect it will be tied to the emotional development of both characters. Maybe it will help them learn to let go of old grudges because life is too short? Maybe it will cast doubt on how they used to see each other or the wider world? Maybe something else, but (pardon the expression) you can’t raise a ghost like that and then just expect it to...fade away.

But that’s exactly what happens. By the midway point of the book, Chance's feelings of guilt are "resolved" for narrative purposes...Or maybe they just get forgotten? Either way, the fact that this event just falls away is troubling.

It’s particularly insensitive considering that Eli’s death is a tragedy related to substance abuse. This is an incredibly serious topic, one that affects many young people, particularly young queer people. Chance--who lived in the bubble of teenage stardom side-by-side with Eli--is no doubt traumatized by the loss of the person who understood him best in the world. But somewhere along the line, David and Chance have maybe one honest, vulnerable conversation about it...and then they never speak of it again!

The only thing I can think of is that maybe this is meant to be another sign of David’s selfishness. He’s the narrator, and by the end he realizes that he’s been ignoring the emotional needs of his friends and family to feed his own resentment. But wouldn’t Eli’s death be a trauma for David too? After all, he perceives Eli as having left him behind for fame just as much as Chance did. Knowing David as a character, I find it hard to believe he wouldn’t obsess over the fact that he’s not ever going to get some kind of closure with Eli.

As always, there’s also the Big Question of all queer self discovery stories: to come out or not to come out? I understand that not every teenager is in a position to come out before becoming an independent adult. I also recognize that in real life celebrities often choose to live in the closet because homophobia has real consequences that could put them and their dreams in danger.

Still! I hate reading stories like that. I live and breathe homophobia every day of my life. I don’t want to escape in a book and see queer people having to settle for a half life of stifled unhappiness, resigned to reality because that’s just the way life is. Why do we write fiction if not to bring back some measure of power to our lives with our voices?

So I also thought I would leave unsatisfied by the 'resolution' about the choice to come out or not. 

Until those last couple of lines...

Well, let's just say I liked it better than I thought I would.

I'd recommend this book to fans of YA, coming-of-age novels, and bittersweet romances.

[iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife]

Λοιπόν για το ask game θέλω να ξέρω για την Reagan. Έχω όμως περιέργεια για την Christine Daae, θέλω να ξέρω εντυπώσεις

Reagan Ridley 🧪

First impression: oh so this is one of those characters thats specifically catered to my interests huh. Cool.

Impression now: Yeah of course she is my favourite. No surprises here. I have a type.

Favorite moment: ... that moment in the final episodes where the camera zoomed into her missing finger, the deadlines on her calendar, her meds and brett immediately went from telling her how sad he would be if she left the company to pretending that he wasnt sad at all because he knows how much she is suffering here and he only wants the best for her. Even if it means never seeing her again. Also EVERYTHING about Appleton tbh. God. Also that time she kicked her dad out of her house??? Queen.

Idea for a story: haven't had any concrete story ideas about my girl reagan sadly 😔 i should get around to reading some inside job fanfics, get some inspo.

Unpopular opinion: nothing comes to mind really. I haven't interacted a lot with the inside job fandom to know their popular and unpopular opinions tbh.

Favorite relationship: god.... Bret and reagan besties 4ever. Also! I was shocked by how much i liked her relationship with ron?? I usually hate it when my fave characters get a love interest half way through a show. Like HATE IT hate it. But honestly when they first started dating i couldn't help but wonder HOW she was going to fuck it up. Like this is Reagan we are talking about, she cant be happy for more than a few episodes in a row so i was hooked waiting for their relationship to fall apart somehow and holy shit????? Their ending was literally so much better than everything i could have ever imagined??? I was sobbing my eyes out god bless.

Favorite headcanon: this woman is bi sorry i don't make the rules. But honestly i feel like i don't have a lot of headcanons about her sadly.

Christine Daae 🎵

First impression: just an average girl character from a century old book. Nothing too wild.

Impression now: oh this girlie is INSANE insane. Ive seen it. I enjoy it. Impressive case of daddy issues. Beautifully kind and determined. She wasn't even in love with the phantom my girl thought she was being visited by the angels sent by her dead father. Good for her. Honestly the phantom is WAY closer to what i usually consider My Type when it comes to fictional characters when compared to Christine. My love for her completely blindsided me, she was one of those characters i didn't expect to be my faves.

Favourite moment: "wishing you were somehow here again" for the musical and everything about her insane "talking with the weird gremlin man who lives in my walls and pretending he is an angel" era for the book. Also the cemetery scene in the book? My girl is delusional.

Idea for a story: none tbh. I haven't read this book in years im not as obsessed with her as i was back then but she still holds a special place in my heart.

Unpopular opinion: idk i never had a strong opinion on the whole phantom - christine - raoul love triangle thing and i feel like the people fighting over this are a little insane skksks. Like. I don't think she ever fully loved erik even tho she sympathized with him? Also fighting over who Christine should choose reminds me of the people who used to fight over who katniss from the hunger games would choose. Like peeta is Katniss' chance to heal while gale is still at war and raoul is the light while erik is the night!! Of course she chose raoul in the end like cmon. Now, that doesn't mean that i can't appreciate the fucked up insane relationship between a basement dwelling sewer man who kills people just because and a grief stricken woman who searches for divinity in everything that surrounds her.

Favourite relationship: probably erik and christine solely for the fucked up factor. Also her relationship with her father even tho he is dead before the book starts and we barely know anything about him. Its pretty obvious that his death affects her a lot.

Favourite headcanon: cant really think of anything tbh. Once again its been a while since i last read this book. But also i feel very strongly about this woman being a brunette for no particular reason.

[stormingfrost]

24 October 2022 / Day Six:  Burning

Read it on AO3

@rotg-halloween

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Fic under cut 

Mary stopped visiting the pond.

Out of the corner of her eye, she would always see him. People dismissed her for a grief-driven girl, who was so sad that she couldn’t even think clearly. But she knew. It was Jack. It was her brother. He was watching after her. 

Maybe that’s why she stopped going. She would always see his crooked smile, slightly blurry and out of focus. She would turn, but he wouldn’t be there. 

She grew up. Married higher up (not too high- she was still a poor shepherd’s daughter, after all) and had children. Maybe she thought she would be happy. And yes, she was, but something was always missing. 

Maybe she could trap her brother’s sprite in a doll and just talk to him. Maybe bring him back, if he wanted. The old spinster gave her that idea, and a leather bound book. Mary kept it in her pocket.

It was a snowy October morning. Her husband was working, her children were with him. She was alone. 

Maybe she could let go. Looking at the setting moon, she resolved her decision. It was time. 

The doll was quickly made to look like him, or as she saw him in the corner of her eye. His sprite did look very different now. 

“Jack,” she said. “Please let this work.” The spell was active. The doll floated in the air. 

“Mary?” She turned, and the doll fell. Her husband stared at her with an unreadable expression. 

“It’s not what you think.” 

He approached her, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“Then what is it, Mary.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t emotional, but cold and logical. 

“He’s been haunting me. I just want to talk to him.” 

“So you turn to the Devil.” 

“It’s not the devil, it’s the trees and the pond and the moon-“ 

Her husband’s hand covered her mouth. His eyes had no emotion. 

“I loved you, Mary.” 

He dragged her to the church. She kicked and screamed and hit. Her brother’s sprite frowned and followed. A crowd formed. She wouldn’t scream for help. 

“Jack,” she cried, and the sprite stood up straighter. He disappeared, running in a direction Mary couldn’t follow. 

A strong gust of wind forced its way between Mary and everyone else. Ice formed on her husband, and he screamed. Mary could see the crowd whisper about witchcraft. They stayed far from her husband, and further from her. She spotted Jack in the corner of her eye. 

‘Run.’ It looked like he was saying, ‘run.’ 

So she did. They would burn her otherwise. 

The forest was dark and cold. She tripped over her dress and sticks. She paused, listening for the town. Silence. 

She found her old home, the home her parents and Jack lived in. It was by the pond. It wasn’t technically a home, but it was near the sheep. They moved after Jack’s funeral. 

Would they look for her? They could find her easily. The pond was frozen, just like the day she lost her brother. Now she lost everything. 

Jack appeared again, staring at Mary with a puzzled look. 

“Thank you, Jack,” she said. He said something, and Mary shook her head. 

“I can only see you out of the corner of my eye. I can’t hear you.” Jack frowned and nodded. 

“You saved me.” Mary laughed. “Again.” The puzzled look came over his face again. 

“Look,” she said, resisting the urge to turn and look at him. “I’m going in this old house. You’re welcome to follow me. You are welcome anytime to the village’s witch’s house.”

Why not become a witch? Magic existed, that was obvious. They would come after her, and she needed to be prepared.

[zorkaya-moved]

@al-hazen

ABOUT: AL-HAYTHAM — LOVE.  I will worship you in every samsara, I will love you past death's embrace.

Love is... the only emotion I know that is pure within me, but even it can become tainted. My family, my beloved... My love for Al-Haytham has always been pure, I never allowed it to become tainted. His brash attitude, his intelligence, his view of the world as it is, his pain and his fears alongside his strengths and his charm. I saw so much and I fell in love more and more. Because he isn't perfect, he's a person with flaws and virtues. He is flawed, to some, far more than others, but... He said he loves me, he said he liked me when I stopped wearing the extravagant mask of an entertainer. He said he liked my truth, my reality, and my flaws. No one but my family saw that and accepted. No, stayed with me. He still kissed me, he still said my name, he still embraced me. My love is the purest emotion I'll ever experience, the only emotion I'll never let anyone sully, even him. This love will keep me strong against corruption. The memories of our lazy afternoons and our sarcastic exchanges... Everything we've done and gone through, I'll treasure forever. Huh? What if he still loves me? ... Ah, you're sweet, Traveler. If he does still love me, I hope he... No, I... He shouldn't. I won't be able to handle it. I'm afraid if he hugs me, I'll shatter. Why? Because then... everything just might've been for naught. I'm afraid if he as much as cups my face and say my name again like he did before, I... No, you don't need to know. It won't happen.

ABOUT: AL-HAYTHAM — FEAR.  I will worship you in every samsara, I will love you past death's embrace.

Al-Haytham has things he fears, events you'll never be able to understand or fathom. Hm? Oh, you mean my fears? You'll be surprised, but just the thought of him or my family being hurt causes something in me to tremble. The Abyssal Serpent tried to create his image in my head to control me, but I had to erase it. Because the 'real' Haytham was waiting outside, and if I were to allow the Serpent to take over my body and my mind, he'd be in danger. The image of him being hurt terrifies me. Losing him... Not being able to protect him... It scares me. But I'm not weak anymore; I'll keep him and my brothers safe. This time, for sure. I won't have anyone else die because I was too weak to protect them. Not again.

ABOUT: AL-HAYTHAM — GRIEF.  I will worship you in every samsara, I will love you past death's embrace.

I don't need your pity, Traveler. My decisions were made with a clear head. Even now, I know... I think it was the only choice. This world is not sweet, nor is it kind. Power and corruption lead countless nations and their progress. In this world, only the strongest can survive and get a chance at happiness without fearing their loved ones being taken away. But even then... Even now... I miss him, I miss those moments of warmth and intimacy. I miss him caressing my cheek, and I miss falling asleep next to him when he still reads his book. But those memories, they'll hold me in place a [myself]. Huh? Why am I tearing up? Know your place. To know is to suffer. To have the ability to pursue knowledge that can protect at the cost of your humanity and not use it? No, if I can break through and grant him and my brothers a future after Tsaritsa burns away the current world? Even my grief will act as a push forward. Because I cannot stop. Al-Haytham... probably wouldn't want to see me anymore. He even doubted my love for him. Even when everything he is remains the key to everything you want to learn. Haha... I wonder if he'll mourn those wonderful sunny days. But it's too much to ask, isn't it? Maybe it's better if he hates me. If he were to tell me that he wants to help me or that he still loves me... I might fall apart.