#it is why he and stephen fascinate me so much

[st4rymoon]

Guardian angel miguel 😳👀

🤫 guardian angel/stalker mig….

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 ・𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘖'𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

- 18+, fluff, “guardian angel” Miguel but this is giving more stalkerish, book geeks, kissing, language, p in v, unprotected sex, rough Miguel, breeding kink, genetically made for each other <3, protective Miguel, lap fucking, BD Mig, oblivious reader, praise kink

Miguel always found you fascinating. Whether that be the way your sweet scent intoxicated him or the lack of self-awareness you had, it didn’t matter.

He was always on the sidelines, watching you from afar as you went about your day. He didn’t know why he took it upon himself to make sure nothing happened to you but he couldn’t help but worry about you after seeing you in his universe.

You were blissfully unaware of the ruby-red eyes that protected you as you walked out of your insufferable job. Miguel smiled as you bent down and pet a stray cat, watching you coo as the cat leaned into your palm.

Miguel’s eyes darted to a shadow walking towards you, eyes narrowing at the figure as it grew closer. You waved goodbye to the cat as you got up and made your way back home.

Still completely unaware of the fact that Miguel had a man wrapped in a choke hold in the alleyway a few steps away.

He made sure you got home safely, following behind you and making sure you locked the door.

That’s how most days went, Miguel would make sure you never got hurt but he never got too close.

Until he did.

You were scanning through the rows of books, about 5 books already in hand as you eagerly read through the spines of books. Miguel walked into the bookstore, eyes already in your direction as he walked through the aisles.

He was scanning through the science books, telling himself he might as well. Your eyes widened as you walked into the same section, stunned by the tall, brown-haired, Latino Ken doll right in front of you.

Your eyes darted down as he shot up. Miguel almost jumped at the sight of you standing at the end of the aisle with your head down low. He knew you were looking at him and he loved it.

You grabbed a few books on physics which caught Miguel’s eye. It was interesting to see Wuthering Heights and a book about psychics in the same pile together.

“Emily Brontë and Stephen Hawking in the same pile is something I thought I’d never see” Miguel spoke with a smile as he glared down at the books in your arms.

“Oh I- yeah, I mean why can’t I have a love for literature and science at once?” You chuckled “Hey I’m not judging, just an interesting pile” Miguel shrugged playfully.

“And you have… Principles of Biochemistry with some more chemistry books. Science lover, not much on the literature” you hummed as you took a look at the stack of books in his hands.

“Hey, I still love my classics, Frankenstein, The Great Gatsby, and Crime and Punishment. I’m not all science”

You laughed at the way he jokingly raised a hand in the air “Good to know” you smiled as you looked down at your feet.

“You got any book recommendations?” Miguel asked, trying his best to not pay too much attention to how he towered over you. “I always do, have you read the picture of Dorian Gray? It’s one of my favorites” You nodded as you made your way towards the section the book would be in.

Miguel followed close behind, mesmerized by your features and beauty that he couldn’t quite see from afar. “Here it is” You held the book out for him shakily as you used your chin to hold the rest of your books up “Thank you, here let me help” Miguel grabbed the books slipping from your grasp and carried them for you “you don’t have to, really it’s ok” you smiled as you felt a bit rude to make him carry your dozens of books.

“You sure? I don’t mind, it isn’t like I have much to carry” he shrugged “I’m about to pay so how about you just do me the favor of helping me with them to the counter”

Miguel eagerly agreed as he followed you upfront towards the counter. You chatted with Miguel as both of you paid and talked more about some of the books you picked out.

“This was nice” Miguel nodded as you stood outside the bookstore, bags in hand he smiled down at you “It was” you shyly smiled.

You felt like this was some sort of movie, a gorgeous polite man runs into you at a bookstore. What a dream.

“You know if you want any more book recommendations, I can always give you my number if you want some more” You were surprised by your boldness but you wouldn’t mind rejection from a stranger even if he was gorgeous.

“Sure” Miguel smiled, both of you swapping phone numbers with a glint of passion in both your eyes.

And after all of that, it led you to where you are now. Many dates, a few kisses, and hundreds of laughs later, you were straddled on his lap.

Miguel couldn’t believe he had you in his grasp. After years of making sure you were safe out of pure instinct, he was finally able to protect you and lose himself in your sweet kisses.

His hand cradled the back of your neck as the both of you hungrily pulled at each other's clothes. You moaned as you snaked your hand under his shirt, the warmth radiating off his whole body made you shiver.

Miguel let out a gruntled hum as you pulled his shirt over his head “Someone’s eager” he teased. You nodded in bliss, not caring for his teasing as he tossed your top somewhere behind him.

You could feel his bulging cock through his jeans and it was driving you crazy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, you were grinding into his length in need. It felt like you’d die if he wasn’t buried inside.

Miguel felt the same, your scent filling every molecule of his body. He soon began to understand what it was that drove him so crazy about you, genetics.

You shaped perfectly in his arms, smelt like a dream, and kissed like an angel. He couldn’t help but protect you, watch you like your own guardian angel. You were his angel, his to protect, his to love.

You could feel your own body burning at the skin-to-skin contact “Please Miguel I need you” you whined. Your hips rubbed onto his lap eagerly, fucking yourself onto his lap as he hungrily yanked your skirt down your legs.

Hearing you beg was enough for him to lay you on your back and start pulling your panties down your legs. “Fuck” Miguel let out a moan at the sight of your back arching off the bed, pussy in full view as you held onto his arms.

“Please Mig” You were unbuttoning his jeans halfway before he slapped your hands out of the way. He couldn’t resist himself from being rough but you certainly didn’t mind it.

It turned you on seeing him so eager for you.

You whined at the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers. You clenched around nothing as you took in how big he was “It’ll fit, I’ll make it” Miguel hummed with a hand running your thigh in reassurance.

A raspy moan spilled from Miguel as he coats his cock with your slick, hips swaying and nudging your clit ever so slightly.

You gasped as with one swift motion, he rammed into your tight cunt. Your nails dug into his arms while Miguel let out a shaky groan as he steadied himself with his hands on your hips.

His pupils dilated at the glimpse of the bulge on your tummy, he slid in and out leisurely with a sly smile.

You mewled as he quickens his pace, his cock plunging deep inside you and stilling just to pull back and bury himself inside again.

“Oh- you have no fucking clue h- how long I’ve dreamed of this” Miguel hummed in his euphoric state. You nodded dumbly, as you squeezed around his cock. The vice grip of your cunt made him lose himself with each thrust “m- Miguel! Oh fu-“ you mewled out.

His thick fingers played with your messy clit, slow circles rubbing onto your throbbing clit. He smiled in accomplishment as you came around his length, your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure as Miguel continued his pace “Yeah, jus’ like that” Miguel purred as he buried himself into your neck.

His soft lips lapped and sucked onto your neck as he focused on your gushy walls throbbing around him. A loud groan spilled out of Miguel as he squeezes his eyes shut, mind going completely blank as he fucked his loads into you.

“You were f- fuck! Made for m- mhm” Miguel’s moans grew louder as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you.

When Miguel pulled out of you, his eyes were focused on your pretty face. You were completely fucked out, hair disheveled, and saliva all over your lips. He hummed at the sight of his cum leaking out of your tight hole “You look gorgeous” he cooed.

He laid beside you as he pulled you onto his chest, hand rubbing down your shoulder as you took a few breaths.

“You have no clue how much I love you” 







[canmom]

reading Herbert Mason's translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh, as you do!

I went with Mason's translation after I saw it quoted here and there and seemed pretty solidly written - but it isn't precisely right to call it a translation, more a retelling of the story as Mason understands it. so it's not a line by line translation, and some major parts of it are presumably interpolations or paraphrases.

i knew the broad outline of the story but it's fascinating to put it in context, and discover parts of the story i hadn't heard about. for example, i didn't realise the concept of droit du seigneur was part of this story - I'd thought that was basically a goofy myth about the medieval period, but here in the oldest surviving written story, it's just a thing the mythological king Gilgamesh does. though the exact translation seems a little contentious - Mason writes:

As king, Gilgamesh was a tyrant to his people.

He demanded, from an old birthright,

The privilege of sleeping with their brides

Before the husbands were permitted

But Wikipedia quotes a different translation by Stephen Mitchell which says:

He is king, he does whatever he wants... takes the girl from her mother and uses her, the warrior's daughter, the young man's bride.

The general thrust is similar in both cases, but the details of the custom are different. I don't have Mitchell's translation so I can't find how he describes the moment Enkidu arrives to interfere with Gilgamesh doing one of these kingly rapes (like let's not beat around the bush here, it's a different social context and whatever but you can't possibly say no to the demigod king).

Moving on...

Viewed with modern eyes, the transition between the first chapter and the second is kind of abrupt. We've got this great establishing story for Gilgamesh and Enkidu having a rather homoerotic fight and becoming best bros, but then we abruptly skip forward to Gilgamesh declaring that they're going to go fight a monster called Humbaba, and Enkidu is all like, no, that guy is way too high level, you'll die! Modern writing advice would hold that you'd want to spend some time building up Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship 'on screen' here, and perhaps foreshadow the existence of Humbaba a bit sooner to build up the threat a bit - but then I'm not carving this into stone tablets, I can afford to be a little bit roundabout, and who knows what's been lost? (scholars of the Epic probably have some idea lol)

The word used for Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship is 'friend'. This feels like it's probably a bit of a lossy translation to me - would lover/boyfriend be projecting too much? I obviously don't know the nuances of Sumerian that well, so maybe this is the best available word, but their relationship has a lot of physicality and a lot of affection.

The woman who goes to Enkidu in the wild and has a bunch of sex until he becomes civilised is described here as a 'prostitute'. My understanding was that she belongs to a religious role here, harimtu, that's usually translated as 'sacred prostitution' but apparently this identity is contested, and also she has a name, Shamhat? I don't know why Mason doesn't use her name. Shamhat has a pretty big role in changing Enkidu and convincing him to come meet Gilgamesh, but her own motivation isn't really explored.

Still, I don't want to come off as only complaining. Whether they originate in the Epic or with Mason, I'm enjoying a lot of the poetic turns of phrase in this version - the style is just the right level of minimal - simple appropriate words, but effective for that. Mason writes in verse, but doesn't rhyme - I'm not really familiar enough with meter to say more than that. There are a lot of fairly short, declarative sentences, mixed up with an occasional much longer metaphor across multiple lines. I think you could fairly easily delete the line breaks and just have prose, but having them makes it flow in an interesting way, like waves? Poetry is not my bailiwick so I'm probably describing some fairly basic facets of the medium, but it's interesting to observe.

I'll add more when I've read a bit more, I'll be in this train a while...

[thewaywardkees]

It's been so long since I've interacted with the Harringrove fandom, but I was going over old drafts I have on Google Documents today and found this piece I want to dedicate to my precious @ihni because darling... You have always and will always be my FAVORITE Harringrove writer. Always remember there's Stephen King, there's Taylor Jenkins Reid and then there's you (Baby Steps and Of Cats and Men will always live in my brain). I adore you, darling! ❤️ The only Harringrove Post of my own that I want to post online belongs to you and you only!

—

"I miss you, Billy..." Steve looks away from the stone as tears begin flooding his eyes, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as it finally gives in to the pain he has felt for so long. The pain he kept forcing down in order to be Steve — designated driver, babysitter, dumb friend Steve. His chin wobbles as he says "I miss my best friend…"

He lets the tears fall.

It had been strange how Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove became best friends but Steve had seen stranger things before. He remembers bits and pieces from how it started and that's why he cannot hate his mother as much as he tries to. She brought Billy to him or her borderline fascination at keeping the garden perfect did. 

"The fuck are you doing in my house?" He spat out as soon as the front door was opened and it revealed Billy. Billy, wearing too thin clothes for Indiana's winter.  Fingerless gloves and open shirt, no beanie, no warm jacket. Steve wondered if the guy wanted to die of frostbite, he decided he didn't care.

"Must've gotten the wrong address, princess. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Billy replied, his brows furrowing slightly as he checked the paper he was holding in his hand and then whatever he thought was on the walls or door. Billy was about to say something when Steve bit out.

"Alright. Fuck off." 

Billy rolled his eyes and saluted him as he said  "Right on, your highness."

"Suck my royal..." 

"Billy… is it you?" His mom was suddenly at the front door. 

The rest is history.

Steve and his countless six packs of beer because "You are old enough to buy beer, Harrington." — "Bold of you to tell me I look 21, asshole". Billy and expensive packs of cigarettes because "I'm not smoking cheap shit, Hargrove. If lung cancer is gonna take me, I'll allow only good shit in my mouth", Billy turning beet red and Steve blurting out innuendos so easily afterwards.

Late nights at the Quarry and Billy talking shit about his dad, bloodshot eyes as he tried to shrink his rage and Steve's light touch to his arm. "Come here" — their first hug... Billy pressing his swollen cheek to Steve's chest, seeking the warmth of his embrace even if it so desperately needed the cold. 

Meet me at the bleachers notes. Movies on saturday? Notes. Okay, don't invite Tommy notes and more notes. Drawings too. Really ugly drawings of stick people, making fun of Mrs. Whoever's mustache, Mr. Whatever's ugly sweater… Any of your sweaters missing, Harrington? Middle fingers draws, mouth sucking said middle fingers draws. Middle fingers becoming dicks draws, Billy cackling so loud the whole class would startle. Steve becoming the Picasso of Dicks… just to make Billy laugh. 

Their coach congratulates them for putting their differences aside and working together as a team. A knowing glint in his eyes and a kind welcoming smile, he knows something Steve doesn't. Steve likes whatever their coach knows, it feels good… safe. Billy is smiling too and patting Steve's back. Months later "We are going to the finals, Harrington!" 

They lose by 3 points and everyone is angry. "If you two weren't sucking each other's dicks all the time, we could have won! WE ARE A TEAM, this isn't just about you two, you faggots" someone from their team lashes out at them and before Steve could say anything, Billy punches first… hard and breaks the guy's nose. 

Billy is forced to quit the basketball team.

He shows up at Steve's door with a split lip that night. 

"Homophobic assholes…" Billy says and Steve agrees. He is passing like a caged lion around Steve's room. Steve wants to reach out, touch his arm again like that night at the Quarry, bring him close and ask him to breathe but he doesn't. He knows Billy needs to get everything out his chest because it helps him relieve some of the pain he is feeling… physical pain — fuck you Neil, emotional pain... All sorts of pain.

"I miss you every day…" 

—

I hope you liked it, love!

And to the rest of the Harringrove fandom... More like the Billy Hargrove fandom. I hope you are doing alright, loves!

Happy 4th of July to my US Harringrove fellows! ❤️ (We all know what it means to this fandom)

[asherloki]

Until I found you

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 815

Fluff

"oh how wonderful indeed" I exclaimed as I touched each string of violin in order with my index finger, making it buzz. Sherlock was still stuck with his microscope, examining the specimen he's been given by Hopkins recently. This officer, Stella Hopkins, she's a huge fan of Sherlock and to our surprise Sherlock doesn't mind her, he says "this young officer has potential". I took his violin as no response came from the man with the microscope. Imitating how Sherlock holds his violin I took the bow in other hand. When I let it touch the strings, it made an awful sound. That's when I turned and found out the detective lifted his head from it.

"You didn't hold any chord did you?" he enquired getting up from his chair, leaving the kitchen table as it is, messy.

"I don't play violin detective, so I don't know the chords" I replied putting the violin down. As I turned back again I saw my man was walking towards me or was he walking towards the violin?

"perhaps you'd be interested in learning it?" he offered as he stood infront of me.

"how many times have I offered you to learn a bit of piano from me Mr Holmes?" I teased him and I was delighted at how he pouted at my teasing. Whenever we visit my mum's I always play my old piano, perhaps I've asked him to play it a thousand times and he didn't agree to do so for once. Even though I caught him once or twice admiring it, as he pressed a few keys with his index finger.

"I'm not a pianist, sorry Mrs Holmes" him referring me as Mrs Holmes has never failed to make me giggle, "guitar, Ukulele, all the instruments you own" he said walking past me and grabbing his violin, "I'm fascinated by you" he praised holding his violin over his shoulder, then spinning the knobs as he tuned it.

"you were?" I enquired, sitting on the arm of his chair as he faced the window.

"wrong" he replied taking the bow in hand, "I still am, very much fascinated".

I smiled, did he smile too? who knows. Even after being his wife I can't always tell what's going on in his head, the mystery that he is, the man that he is.

"I always wanted to learn violin next" I said for I've always been drawn to how wonderful this musical instrument sounds.

"why didn't you?" Sherlock asked staring at his dearest violin.

"here you are" I replied, the only musical instrument I knew not how to play, my husband does, and he does it wonderfully, "you can, maybe one day I'll have enough courage to ask you to teach me too".

He gave me a hum in response, as if he wondered 'when will you be genuinely willing?'

"what will you play Sherlock?" I enquired, wanting to know if he has prepared anything, he loves to compose sometimes, he did one for me, the day we were married, three years ago, twenty second November, he made a rather happy melody for me. It was so joyous that everyone asked about it, like what is the inspiration behind it. He replied "my sunshine", he named it so as well. For he says he's never truly been happy, until I came one day, while he was playing with Rosie, John's daughter. He says he felt as if the sunrise for which he waited for a long time, rose that day.

"something my wife would love" he replied turning a bit to me, his smile indicated he will play my favourite song. A song that sounds beautiful when he plays it for me. And then his bow touched the strings, and the buzz was perfect, for the man held the right chords, unlike me. With Swift movements of his fingers, as if they were dancing on the chords and the bow sliding over the strings he started the part that goes,

heaven, when I held you again....

I smiled widely as my guess was correct, the song he says is ours, for he never fell in love, true love, in his entire life until he found me. Seriously though, the cold, grumpy detective, melted for someone like me, immature they say, childish too, young, alot younger than him, but then, I love him, so does he.

"would you mind humming with me?" he asked turning to me, with a nod I agreed and started singing,

"I would never fall in love again until I found her" he hummed as I sung then the next line, he joined me,

"I said I will never fall unless it's you.."

"I'm falling to" I continued,

"I was lost within the darkness" we sung together, looking at eachother, for we dedicated these lines to one another, "but then I found her... I found you..."

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Doctor Strange x OC fic

genre: angst, catharsis, eventual healing...and above all love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OC); established relationship

word count: 2.8k

Chapter Three

Lunch--and Hope, who had brought along a tray to his study with enough of the promised meal for the both of them--had been over an hour gone, and Stephen had made no progress at all.

He had been trying to delve into a freshly discovered manuscript that appeared to have been penned by The Ancient One when she had been apprenticed to Merlin, during his tenure as the Londinium Sanctum Master. Though it should have been a fascinating read, a slew of intrusive thoughts continued to hold his mind in an unforgiving grip.

What made it worse was they had nothing to do with the recent battle in Africa, nor the loss of life suffered or serious injuries incurred. It turned out the battle he was facing at this most inopportune time was trying his damnedest to keep the wall holding back his painful memories from collapsing after so many years of it being secure and reliable.

Dozens of now inescapable recollections surfaced the harder he tried to focus on the task before him, causing his eidetic memory to send a cascade of images from his youth--all with their attendant feelings--to cloud his mind. Christmases on the farm, the Christmases of his childhood, those carefree days before loss wreaked its terrible toll upon his heart. His mother, Beverly, gone before he'd graduated college. His sister Donna, whose tragic death cemented the course of his life to become a man of medicine. A man who had lived--despite his trademark arrogance--to save others in the best manner available to him, because he couldn't save her.

Setting his reading glasses atop the manuscript, Stephen sighed hard and covered his eyes with one hand. Leaning back in his chair, he considered if trying to meditate could be the remedy he needed. In answer, a long-forgotten image asserted itself behind his closed lids.

His mother, smiling down at him softly, as she accepted a drawing he'd made for her in school that afternoon, one of the last school days of the year before Christmas vacation. The afternoon light was brightly streaming through the window above the kitchen sink, a few dust motes swirling about within it.

That very particular quality of light--which always accompanied those final, wonderful, anticipatory days before Christmas, and ever left a warm, contented feeling in his chest when the season brought it back, even after he'd walled that memory away--shining in full upon his mother. How young and free of care she had appeared then, before silver strands had threaded her hair and sorrow had etched itself in the lines of her beloved face. Why she was the sun and the moon to me at six years old, Stephen realized. So gentle and understanding and beautiful to me. Tears prickled his eyes. And like Hope, a well of Christmas kindness.

Beverly Strange. The maleable blue-green of his eyes were one of her gifts to him, and a lifetime love of music in its many forms. Beverly Strange had been a music teacher before she ever became a farmer's wife. And for most of her life--despite how stony her husband grew over the years, grimly implacable in the face of what he found to be frivolous--she had done her best to fill their household with music. It was no fluke that Stephen developed such a great love for music that his prodigious intellect maintained a mental catalog of music trivia encompassing multiple genres.

Beverly had given private piano lessons as much for personal fulfillment as for the extra money the family had needed in lean years on the farm. Until the birth of Stephen's younger brother Victor, she had also volunteered as Choir Director at the community's small Lutheran church. Stephen could remember spending many an afternoon in the weeks leading up to Christmas and Easter in the choir loft, coloring quietly and humming along while Beverly conducted practice. Once her youngest child, Donna, had been old enough to sit in a church pew under Stephen's supervision (for their father rarely attended weekly services) Beverly had resumed a place in the choir and was often featured as a soloist during the holidays. Stephen had been damn proud watching his mother sing her favorite carol, Oh, Holy Night; how straight she had stood, free of his father's angry shadow, and of how flawlessly (to him, anyway) her notes had risen--in his child's mind he had been sure they had reached Heaven itself.

Most of all, though, he had always been proud to see when some parishioner or another was moved to tears by the purity of her rendition. Decades later, he could easily recall that feeling if he allowed himself to remember, could hear her in his mind--but the pain of Donna's death and the toll it wreaked upon his mother had long since precluded him from indulging in such sentimental recall. Beverly's music had fallen mute the day his sister had drowned; she had never sung in church again, nor had Stephen ever heard her sing in their own home in the too short years that followed before her grief prematurely aged her into the grave.

Stephen himself had adopted a stoic mien in the wake of losing Donna, internalizing the blame he felt for failing to save her, and by extension, their mother. Nearly two decades later, it still hurt too damn much to remember the first--and very rare--people who had loved him unconditionally, as both had been lost to him well before their time. And as his most vibrant memories of them included Christmastimes, he had turned his back on all but the most superficial of holiday celebrations.

He had kept his painful thoughts and memories buried deep in all the years since and had only confessed them to Christine (whom he realized in retrospect was the third soul to have loved him unconditionally) one sloppy, drunken night two months after his accident. She had given him what solace she could, gently urging him to not be so hard on himself, reminding him that both Donna and Beverly would wish for him to seek some healing, and staying with him until he drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she returned to check on him the next day, he had closed himself off again, rejecting her concern as unnecessary. Brushing off the incident as impertinent to his current life and goals.

But now...oh now! A wee bit at a time, Hope--who loved him as unconditionally as his past dear ones--had been chipping away at that wall. Reintroducing Christmas into his life by osmosis, without a hint of pressure for him to embrace the season. As she'd promised over two weeks ago, she'd gone about her Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother him. With each little Yuletide advance she had made in the Sanctum, he had found himself relaxing and accepting, smiling in concession, happy to play witness to her happiness in the season. With Christmas closing in, Stephen had begun contemplating what sort of gift he might manage for his own Who-girl. He'd been hoping to find a gift that spoke his heart clearly, but each idea that had come to mind fell flat soon after he thought it up.

His attempt to study The Ancient One's chronicle seemed doomed to fail today, for Stephen now found himself additionally distracted not only by the question of what to give Hope, but also by the carols she was playing in the living room portion of his quarters. Celtic Woman, he told himself with no effort to recall the facts; released October 2006, peak chart position number one on Billboard for US Worldwide Albums. The trilling of the all female group was pleasant enough, but not at all conducive to the study he was attempting.

Meaning to simply ask Hope to lower the volume so he could concentrate, Stephen rose and headed the short way to the main room of his suite. The fragrances of cranberry and evergreen greeted him as he drew near, for she'd made a substantial investment in candles for the season, and they were clearly alight as she wrapped presents. Hope was deep in her element and happy to be so.

The music paused between tracks, and when it resumed, it stopped Stephen in his. The opening strains of O, Holy Night filled the air, and in a heartbeat they landed upon him, sending him back to his youth, well before he had known loss and heartbreak. To those crisp, cold Nebraska evenings when his heart had swelled with love and pride to see his mother sing. Unprepared as he was for those powerful images and sounds to fill his senses, Stephen backed away, his eyes stinging with tears of mixed grief and recollection. Tears he'd put off for far too long in his quest to avoid the pain. And yet he knew that just several feet around the corner was the very soul who had given him the exact comfort, love, and strength he'd needed to complete the dreadful journey he had undertaken to save this Universe from Thanos--and that she'd be only too glad to learn this part of his past and help him find healing. If he, at last, could brave facing it.

By some remarkable coincidence, or as if she'd heard his thoughts, Hope's answer came unbidden, her voice blending in as though it had been meant to be a message for his ears alone.

'Sweet hymns of joy, in grateful chorus raise we..., ' she sang as his heart seemed to crack open in bittersweet relief. 'Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices...' Stephen wrapped his arms across his chest while he wept to remember the love and warmth that had been his in the little church and in every moment spent in his mother's company. How had he made himself ignore such a miraculous gift? Surely the joy of it far outweighed the sorrow! How foolish to have gone so long without allowing himself such comfort.

The carol now drew swiftly to it's close, and still his Hope sang sweetly, following the notes faithfully, unaware that she had reawakened a dormant part of his heart. 'O night,' she crooned, in happy harmony with those recorded singers, 'O night divine!' He swiped his tears away with both his palms, deciding he must tell her this part of his story. His reasons for divorcing Christmas from his life. And that he understood at last that every day of this beautiful season, she'd been patiently showing him that love was stronger than even grief.

The decision made at last, Stephen steeled himself to share what he had hidden from even himself for far too long. Drew several slow calming breaths with the discipline of his Order. Silently ran through the things he wished to share with Hope. And then patiently channeled the energy of his aligned chakras to bolster his resolve and his ability to share not only his story, but all of the feelings filling his heart.

Calmer now, feeling a quiet peace he had never dreamed of achieving regarding the sad experiences of his younger self, Stephen wiped away the last of his tears. Though Hope would likely read what he was feeling in just a few moments anyway, he didn't want to alarm her--for in the end, the revelation to come would be good for his soul and for the future that they were building together.

Her back was turned to him as he rounded the corner so that Stephen paused a moment to take in the sight of the homey Christmas that Hope had created. The tree she'd designed to please him topped with her family heirloom star. The lighted evergreen garland dressing the fireplace mantle and archways between the hallway and next room. Flameless candles in the windows. Lovingly wrapped presents beneath the tree, the paper on each accented with an ornament or decorative trinket. And her latest addition, personalized stockings hanging from the mantle. His, of course, was blue & red and featured a felt version of the Eye of Agamotto (her own creation) and other mystical symbols. Hope had added a light blue, sequined butterfly ornament to her own red & gold stocking, attached near the hanging loop--a lovely reminder of how they had met, a couple of months before The Blip.

A wave of love and gratitude seemed to envelop him. Hope hadn't just made his suite of rooms--indeed, the Sanctum itself--homey. She had turned it into a home. A home the like of which he hadn't experienced since his childhood.

Gently, he cleared his throat to get her attention. "Hope...honey..." he started, but then fell silent when she turned his way.

Her sunny smile greeted him, but just as he had expected, she read his face, the mix of all his emotions writ there, and was immediately on her feet and heading his way. "Stephen, is...is everything okay? Are you alright? Is there...some word from Kamar-Taj?"

"I'm fine, honey. Everything is fine." She stood before him studying his face, trying to decide if he was attempting to downplay whatever appeared to be troubling him. Stephen took her hand. "Come sit with me a bit. There's something I want to share with you," he told her, leading her back to the sofa,"Something I've done my best to ignore for far, far too long." The concern on Hope's face only deepened. "You don't have to worry, sweetheart. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm ready to face the ghosts of my Christmases past--and finally keep them from spoiling a most wonderful Christmas present."

Hope gasped in soft surprise, and Stephen raised her hand to kiss it, then assured her, "Because both you--and I--deserve the brightest Christmas we can make for one another."

(just one brief chapter left to go)

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

tagging: @strangedreamings @ben-locked @aeterna-auroral-avenger @hithertoundreamtof23 @mckiwi @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @icytrickster17 @aphroditesdilemma @veryladyqueen

[fallout4-reacts]

can you do companions react to a jokingly flirty sole who immediately gets flustered and starts panicking once they flirt back?

This one requires me to think outside the box because not all companions are going to return flirts in reality

But I enjoy the challenge of figuring out how they manage it

I've been searching online for a few concepts because I don't have many pick-up lines. As long as I do silly things, I might as well get it straight

Cait : "Sure, I feel well covered with a fighter as amazing as you to have my back, but sometimes I'd like you to take my forwards."

"I can beat anything you throw at me, but nothing beats like my heart when you're around."

Sole drops down their firearm and sinks their feet into it. Cait can't stop laughing as she helps her friend in getting up. And she has helped them in recovering their guns. And she has helped them in regaining their mental abilities.

"Eh, stop torturing yourself; if you turn a deeper red, you'll be mistaken for a tato. You have to be able to accept victory when you start a fight."

With one last lovely smile, she leaves to allows them to recompose.

Codsworth (not romanced) : Sorry! I can easily fall for the synth detective, but I couldn't fathom falling for Codsworth... Perhaps the round balled body? I get that his voice and manner of speech can be something (it is Stephen Russell, after all), but I can't. And then remark something like, "Yes, but put him in a synth body." Sorry, but it's all too far out of canon because it's been said numerous times that putting a robot's intelligence in a synth is nearly impossible, too much lack. There are fantastic authors who write romanced Codsworth fanfiction; I even stroll through an NFSW, but with a grind and... No way, I'm not going to do it. Anyway, I believe that if Sole tells Codsworth a pick-up line, it will burn his circuit.

Curie : "If kissing spreads germs, why not start an epidemic?"

Curie looks up from her computer to Sole, who is distractedly inspecting the labelled bottles on the clinic shelf.

"I'm afraid I'd rather keep our germs between us. I understand the advantages of an open relationship, but if I could obtain your undivided attention that way, I'd prefer to have it exclusively."

The antibiotic bottle Sole was holding falls to the ground as they tuck their heads into their shoulders, taking on a fascinating crimson tint. Curie is enthralled by what's happening and gets up from her seat to go closer.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed, Sole. That's adorable. You know I could bite you!"

In a playful gesture, she lifts one hand to her friend's face and gives them a gentle pinch on the cheek.

"These colors look great on you, giving you a healthy hue."

At the height of panic, Sole finds themselves unable to say anything and tries, in vain, to hide their head a little more in their shoulders. Curie rises to her feet and kisses them on the cheek.

"If you're interested, I'd be happy to take a closer look at your germs. But tonight. Right now, I have real sick people I need to take care of."

Her partner seizes the chance to flee the exam room, mumbling a few words on the way out that Curie misunderstands so badly that they stutter, but that essentially like a: "See you later."

Danse : "You're cuter than a puppy, and I want to take you home!"

"Oh! You know that without you, every function will be devoid of love."

To say that Sole did not expect such an answer would be an understatement of the most extreme sort. They appear to be preoccupied by a dust that appears to have sunk into the butt of their weapon as the red grabs their cheeks, forehead, and neck, and Danse is taken aback by their reaction.

"It's strange that as long as you're in a joke line, you can accept your flirtation, but now that I've answered it, you don't seem to know what to do with yourself."

The remark just makes matters worse, and it is at this point when panic grips Danse. He turns almost as crimson as Sole and realizes that his armor will undoubtedly require some attention.

Deacon : "Do you believe in love at first sight or do I pass by you again?"

"Do you really believe I've been looking away from you since the day you left your vault?"

Sole starts strutting and playing with the screwdriver in their hand, their eyes lowering to the ground and never rising again. Deacon smiles as the subtle red grabs their cheeks.

"What is that? Don't say you're surprised. A smooth talker like you never thought they'd can be talk back?"

"It isn't... It's... uh... it's... a... well..."

Deacon laughs and softly strokes Sole's cheek, who continues to blush violently.

"Wow, if you ever get tired of Death Bunnie, I have another Bunnie concept that I think you'll enjoy."

Dogmeat : No. (heard the voice of Valentine saying this No, like a categoric No.)

Elder Maxson : "If my heart were to fly, your soul would be my airport."

"However, I have a real airport; do you want to land?"

To say that Sole was surprised is a minimalism. The report they were holding falls to the ground, and the paper sheets scatter to the four corners of the room, but they do nothing to gather them up. They're frozen in place, crimson like one of those antique flags Maxson saw on one of his trips. He chews his lower lip to keep from laughing. He found out that it was not in Sole's nature to say something so... bold. Is this knight the victim of a pay loss?

"You don't say anything anymore?"

Maxson find that the gorgeous tint that has developed over their cheeks makes them look even more attractive.

"I…"

It's as though they awoke suddenly, realising what they had done. They rush to their knees, gathering up the papers meticulously. Maxson leans over to pick one up and offers it to Sole, his gaze fixed on them. Sole blushes even more and attempts to speak, but all that comes out is a long string of nonsensical stutters.

"If you keep this up, Knight, you won't be leaving my office anytime soon."

This time it was too much for Sole, who has tears in their eyes. Maxson isn't having any fun at the time and moves closer to them, extending out a hand to lift their chin up.

"I would like you to answer this question honestly: do you have feelings for me?"

They broke forth, peering into the Elder's eyes: "Yes!" Then they appear to retract inside a shell that weakens in the face of their superior. A gentle smile spreads across the man's lips.

"Don't be ashamed. Coming out like you just did takes a lot of guts. I know for a fact that my position is intimidating. But I'm pleased that you dared to do it, however awkwardly. Maybe we could talk about it more tonight, in my chambers, over a pleasant drink?"

Sole, for their part, couldn't help but smile, almost relieved. They promptly nodded and rushed to leave the deck.

Hancock : "Every time I see you, I get so tired... Why? Because I can't find my way out when I gaze into your eyes."

"It could be because I don't build walls around my heart to keep it open for you, sis/bro."

Fortunately, Sole is securely seated at the bottom of Hancock's couch, otherwise the mayor of Goodneighbor is certain that they would have slipped through the cracks in the floor the way he decomposes. He can't stop laughing.

"Too much Jet combined with too much whisky can make things say, huh?"

Sole nods rapidly, lips pinched, and cheeks on fire. The ghoul finds the appearance strongly attractive, so he rises from his own couch and comes to sit next his partner.

"But tell me, was there any truth in all of this?"

Sole nods their head in agreement again, and then they quickly drop her in shame.

"Eh, a ghoul might be flattered to have caught the interest of someone like you. There is no shame here. It's all been shared!"

He holds his friend's hands in his own and encourages them to look him in the eyes.

"I will gladly guide you in finding your way if that path leads you to my side."

Sole finally appears to recompose, and a smile cracks their lips.

Gage : "You have repainted my life in colors I had never seen before!"

"Stop using drugs, and you'll realise I love you even more than before."

Sole comes to a halt in the middle of the track, panicked, then fiddles with the button of their pip-boy as if they didn't hear anything. But Porter is no fool; he knows exactly what his boss heard. The scarlet that has gripped their cheeks is, in any case, a screaming witness. He approaches them by smiling like a predator.

"So you're feeling funny this morning?"

"I can't deny that your presence in my life has made it more vibrant."

"Quit choice of words. Am I now a part of your life?"

"Well, you...are my lieutenant, and... hm... we get along pretty well..."

Nose glued to the screen, Sole still won't look up. In fact, they appear to sink their heads deeper into their shoulders, acting as if the information in front of them is too vital to ignore, but Porter believes they don't read anything at all and simply try to escape his stare. He softly grabs their chin in his palms and lifts their face to meet his.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, boss?"

The raider never expected to feel so irreverent, a voice within him yells out that he has broken the rules, and he could blush and stutter about it. But it is stronger than him: Sole's embarrassment triggers his most primal impulses.

MacCready : "If I followed you home, would you keep me?"

"It's going to be a wild ride, but I'll be glad to have you along. We can even ride in a different drive."

MacCready winks at Sole, but for the first time, the latter appears embarrassed. All of this is amusing: the crimson covers their entire face, they try to stutter something, and in front of their failure, they droop their heads in shame, finding the button on their sleeve more interesting than the desert around them. MacCready's heart is filled with adoration. He comes to a halt and returns to his partner.

"What exactly are these manners? Hello, I'm Mac! Not the republic's president."

It doesn't appear to bring any comfort to the other, who still refuses to look him in the eyes.

"Were you kidding or were you serious? Because I’m not kidding at all. Not on that. I've stopped telling myself stories since then, you know. But I didn't dare to say too much since I know you're in mourning, and here I am, still in mourning for Lucy, but here. If you believe we could, you know, see if we can work together to move on."

Sole raises their eyes to meet his, trying to hide their shame at being caught at their game.

"I'd like to."

"That's all there is to it! Even more adorable. How can a man resist to such a face?"

He smiles sweetly and bends slightly, but he doesn't come all the way, leaving Sole with the option of digging deeper or retracting. Sole grows closer him by closing their eyes after what appears to be an excessive amount of heartbeat. The kiss is almost chaste, but Mac finds it even more delicious. He can't wait to get this journey over with.

Nick Valentine : "Do you consist of beryllium, gold, and titanium? You must be because you are BeAuTi-ful."

Nick is in fits of laughter. He'd never heard this one before, which isn't saying much. He knew Sole had a nerd side, but it's beyond imagination at this point. However, it is also quite touching. He smiles as he moves his chair towards his partner.

"The gold is you, because you are so precious to me."

Sole abruptly returns to their office without saying anything. Nick notices from behind that their ears have turned red, which amuses him even more. He stands up and turns his companion's chair towards him, noticing that their entire face has turned a crimson color.

"Flirty, but that's all there is to it?"

Sole raises an uneasy gaze at their companion, attempting to stutter an explanation, but the words remain lodged in their throat, turning them redder. Nick's lips grin slightly, and he kneels in front of the other to look them in the eyes.

"I feel flattered that this old cane can inspire such a statement, but now I understand that it was just a joke, isn't it?" he asks gently and reassuringly. To his amazement, Sole closes their eyes and shakes their head vigorously, appearing to have reached a new degree of crimson.

"You're not going to tell me you have strong feelings for me, are you?"

This time, Sole appears absolutely desperate, but after a good inspiration, they decide to declare: "I love you."

"Oh."

In his chest, the detective feels his metal core melt. He doesn't want to prolong the agony any longer, so he gently takes Sole's chin in his good hand.

"So do I."

Piper : "I'm no photographer, but I think I can picture us together." Sole says in a lighthearted tone, picking up an old camera off the Boston Buggle's floor.

"I can see us together so much that it's a vivid picture in my head at night when I fall asleep," the reporter replied.

Sole comes to a complete stop, unwilling to look Piper in the eyes. They become a bright red and even miss escaping the device, which bounces once or twice out of their hands before they can tighten their grip.

"Eh uh, ah... uh... you... you've seen? It's in pretty fantastic condition."

"Come on, Blue, don't tell me you didn't think I'd be interested after all this teasing and remarks?"

"A-a-are you interested? Will you b-b-by me?"

Piper approaches Sole, who steps back almost instinctively until they feel the room's wall in their back.

"No, by the reporter sitting there," Piper quips as she points to a skeleton. "Of course, you. Who wouldn't be drawn to you?"

"M-m-maybe it'd be better... it'd be better just..."

As Piper approaches Sole, she notices how panic grips them. It's almost amusing how they gaze around wildly, as if seeking for a loophole.

"You're not interested in me?" Piper mocks them with a pitiful false pout.

It's her partner's death. They appear to be in extreme agony this time, ultimately looking up at her and appearing to want to die.

"Of course, I'm drawn by you! I simply did not think... I couldn't think of a woman like you..."

"Then you should stop thinking."

Piper presses her palms against the wall on either side of Sole's head, getting even closer, up to a few centimeters from their lips. She would never kiss them without their consent, but Sole understands her intentions now, and the ball is in their court.

Preston : "Your name must be Nuka-Cola, because you're so-da-licious."

"My name is Preston; you know it, but you might not know that I can lose it when I see you."

Preston was having a great time until he realised how uncomfortable Sole is now. They're as red as a tato, attempting to stammer something but failing, and they don't seem to know where to go.

"Hey, easy! No man died. That was sweet of you, but if you think we're going too far, please accept my apologies."

Sole shakes their head and closes their eyes.

"No! I love you!"

The Minuteman shakes his head, noticing that his General is more uneasy than ever. There was no doubt that if anything might disrupt the scene, Sole would leap to his feet. Instead, they appear to be at the pinnacle of torment, wondering how they dared to speak.

"It's not a part of you that you've conditioned me to see, be embarrassed. I… but I’m flattered. As much as I've been slightly unhelpful, I have deep feelings for you, General, and if that's what you're feeling, I'd be the happiest man on earth to be able to move forward with this."

Sole bow their heads once more, still afraid to look the Minutemen in the eyes, but Preston does not want to stop there; now that the area has been taken, he intends to plant his flag over. As a result, he approaches cautiously, trying not to intrude on Sole's space while making his intentions plain. When Sole finally glances up at their Colonel, all they see is a man who is as head over heels in love as they are. Then they go closer, and they exchange a lovely kiss that could go down in history as one of the most beautiful of their century.

Strong (not romanced) : Did he basically have the ability to reply? I picture something along the lines of: "Puny human too drunk. Shame. Puny human must sleep, then seek milk of human kindness with Strong." Sorry, but it's out of reach for my limited imagination.

X6-88 : "We must be subatomic particles because I feel a strong force between us."

"The truth is, and I'm delighted with your statement. I find you appealing as well."

Sole's eyes widened to the point where X6 couldn't deny it was... amusing. He has travelled with Sole since a long time, and it's been months since the Institute was defeated, and he's learnt a whole new way to live, even if he stays X6 somehow. But if he has gained any assurance, it is that he has the right to live and live entirely, and he will not pass up an opportunity to continue forward with the person he admires the most in the world if they open a door. Is that, however, what Sole meant? As the thinking proceeds and he notices that Sole is turning red and uncomfortable, he begins to doubt himself.

"Have I gone too far in our relationship with this statement? I thought you were making advances, but I could have misconstrued your intentions."

"It's not... it's... I... you know hm..."

"No, I don’t know. Maybe I should go see Nick for a second view, because you don't appear to be any more certain than I am about what just happened."

"No!" Sole is well aware that when they are unable to provide sufficient information to X6, the Courser has developed the habit of consulting Nick. The last thing they needs is a snarky detective interfering. For months, they would be teased.

"No. The reality is, I must accept that... well, you are..."

Again, Sole appears to be at a loss for what to say or do with their ten fingers, which no longer amuses X6. He's looking for answers, and he wants them now. What has Deacon already stated about a case like this? When in doubt, proceed?

"Ma'am/Sir, may I?"

The Courser delicately strokes his boss's jaw lines with his palms, so lightly that it's difficult to tell if Sole feels it, but they do. They feel their heartbeat faster than ever in their chest, and they feel a surge of desire in them. They slowly close their eyes as they enjoy X6's kiss.

[atopvisenyashill]

Do you have any fantasy book recs that you like like as much asoiaf? Or books with lots of world building as asoiaf? :)

i don't know that i like anything as much as asoiaf to be honest. also my brain turned to mush early this year (it's the depression) so i haven't read nearly as much as i used to the last several years.

naomi novik - even though she is frustratingly heterosexual, i think her books are magnificent and i'm fond of her prose. spinning silver is a standout for me

the queen's thief series by megan whalen turner - it's kidlit but it is honest to god like amazing kidlit. i cannot overemphasize how complex and intricate the plot is, i don't even think it reads like a kids or teen book, even on reread it feels like i'm reading just regular old fantasy. HOWEVER. after thick as thieves, imo, it takes HARD nosedive (i have like, suspicions why but i don't wanna put anyone on blast) and i found the ending to be a massive disappointment BUT i think i’m in the minority for that opinion so.

Stephen Graham Jones - more horror than fantasy but i adore him. especially mongrels, i think it's really underrated in terms of urban fantasy

Jo Walton - another great fantasy writer, Among Others changed my life

Austin Chant - Peter Darling is just a great, amazing Peter Pan retelling

Seanan Maguire - she'sfairly prolific and she writes all over the fantasy genre. Her Wayward Children series is divine and breaks my heart every single book

Yangsze Choo - she writes like, romantic fantasy (NOT fantasy romance), and I love her prose!

Faithless - comic series by Brian Azzarello. It's kind of weird but I think it's very fascinating

Bernard Cornwall - is he a old white man. yes. but he's a fun old white man idk

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell - LISTEN.

[moontheoretist]

“That was the beginning of our friendship. Or well, it’s the beginning we admit to.” Stephen raised an eyebrow at that. “The illegal hacking is the beginning you admit to. I’m a little afraid to hear what the real beginning was.” “I was fourteen and in college,” Tony said dryly. “The beginning of our friendship was Rhodey whaling on my roommates for getting me drunk and then abandoning me with skeevy girls six years older than me.” Stephen’s eyes went wide. “I can see why that’s not what you tell everyone.” “Yeah, Rhodey worked things out so that we were roommates by the time winter semester rolled around. Still not sure how he did it and he swears it’s a secret he’s taking to his grave.” “Your relationship suddenly makes a lot more sense,” Stephen admitted. “Not that it didn’t make sense before. But he really does look at you like you’re the kid brother he’s spent his life protecting.” Tony felt a twist of fondness in his chest. “You’re not wrong. He’s more protective these days than he normally is what with…” “The multiple ways you’ve almost died, lately?” Stephen suggested. “I can’t imagine why that would be setting off his ‘protect Tony Stark’ radar.” “Which means I should apologize now. I know this is only one date, but…” “Shovel talk?” Stephen guessed. Tony winced. “Maybe not. It’s only the one date, so—“ “I wouldn’t mind if we went on another,” Stephen interrupted. “I might as well earn the shovel talk coming my way.” Tony paused in surprise. “Another, really?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so surprised. You’ve been a good conversational partner and we didn’t even resort to talking purely work. Though I’ll put it out there now that I won’t mind when we do inevitably talk about work. Your mind fascinates me.” “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or just really creepy,” Tony told him, mind racing over the suggestion of another date. “I’ll be heading back to California for a bit after the arctic—“ “But you’re not headed to the arctic for another few days, and I have tomorrow off.” Tony took a moment to just stare at Stephen, trying to decide if this was a good idea. He wasn’t sure. But it didn’t seem like a bad one. “Tomorrow,” he agreed. --- “Are you… texting him?” Rhodey asked in disgust as he glanced over Tony’s shoulder as he settled into his seat on the private jet. “About…” Rhodey frowned as he read the texts, one eyebrow slowly raising up. “What even are you two talking about?”  “Experimental organ structure replacements,” Tony said easily, making a note to himself to rush the Stark phone in production, because his phone was really so much better than this monstrosity he was currently using. “He’s got some fascinating insight.” It was one of the things that he’d decided that he liked about Stephen. They could talk about a whole plethora of things without it getting strained or awkward. And Stephen didn’t mind when they talked about work-related things, even when Stephen himself didn’t fully understand the topic matter. As it was, Stephen was an engaging conversational partner, and a distracting one. Talking to Stephen meant that he had barely spent any time worried about the trip to the arctic and finding Steve Rogers. And everything that entailed. Stephen sent him another text pointing out concerns with the viability of Tony’s suggestion on the use of artificial hearts. “How… romantic.” Rhodey’s tone was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

~ The One to Bet On by airas_story

Rhodey being baffled at Tony and Stephen hitting it off to some boggling mind science will never get old lol.

[russell-crowe]

14, 22, 23! <3

14. Favorite book you read this year?

I'll be real with you... I don't think I have read anything this year that was not related to my studies. Kaptajnen og Ann Barbara is literally the only fiction I have read and it was for my bachelor thesis on the film Bastarden (int title: The Promised Land) which is inspired by the book anddddd... I did not enjoy that book.

I have bought many books that I (hopefully) will have the time/mental energy for to read next year, though! I bought The Picture of Dorian Grey and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde after watching an interview where Stephen Fry mentioned that those are the books he wishes he could erase from his mind and read anew. And I bought Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea because it's a thin book that, in theory, lines up with what I find fascinating in fiction.

(I really, really am not much of a reader though and I find most of it a war with my undiagnosed ADHD, but sometimes books just hit you and I am just waiting for a book that I love nearly as much as The Plague by Camus. That is my favourite book of all time and it is one of the few times where I really felt the joy of reading and not the suffering of reading.)

22. Favorite place you visited this year?

Oof, it is difficult to pick just one, so here are my two picks: Killiney Bay, Ireland and Shetland

I had been to Dublin multiple times already and I thought I had crossed off most things from my U2 bucketlist - I had seen Mount Temple, Bono's childhood home, their old studios and multiple spots around town where they have performed and/or had photoshoots. So I figured I'd be good, right? Then I visited lovely Deb earlier this year, who at the time lived sort of in the nook where it would be easy to go to Killiney from. I never saw the appeal of going to Killiney like other U2 fans did. I always thought it was a bit odd to go to Bono's current place of residence and take photos. But when I went there it was quiet, the sun was shining, everything looked so quiet... and I just cried. It made me feel really connected to my younger self who was so much into U2 and who needed them at a time of figuring out myself and all of those memories just came back. I do not really listen a lot to them anymore, but something on that journey just reminded me of their status and importance in my life. I never knew that standing just below Bono's house on this pebble beach would feel like such a comforting blanket, but for that moment I felt connected to them again. I took a pebble with me from that beach as a reminder. <3

- The Shetland trip is moreso purely based on the physical look of the landscapes. I don't know why, but I feel like the desire to go to remote places is in my DNA. It was the closure of a really lovely trip, that originally started as a quest to see Russell and his band in Inverness. We started in Edinburgh, met up with Linnie (mystery-star on here!) and then traveled north where we met Broo (losthavenmine). It was lovely to meet up with them and to share these precious memories of meeting Russell and experiencing this new place together. <3 Then my best friend, who had joined on this trip, and I went to Aberdeen to take the ferry to the Shetland Islands - a group of islands we had passed a couple years earlier when we took the ferry to the Faroe Islands and then sparked our curiosity. The pitstop at the Orkneys was nice, but the Shetlands were the real deal... Gosh. I love rough, empty landscapes like this. I would honestly like to live in a place as rough as these places are, though not in the current stage of my life. (We also, somehow, befriended a Danish couple who were also there in world's tiniest bus for public transport (a Mercedes Vito) and then got really really seasick together on the ferry from Lerwick to Kirkwall <3)

23. If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

Go to the hospital, don't worry about your thesis but DO worry about how bad your dutch grammar has gotten, you will be fine re: applying to danish unis, you can get a cute haircut for bruce but it'll rain when you touch his hand so you'll look like a drowned rat anyway, enjoy the times together with your friends.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I listened to this audiobook last week, and found it very interesting. If I were someone who was extremely familiar with every tiny facet of Douglas Adams' entire career, I'd probably consider a lot of that audiobook an unnecessary re-hash of it. And if I knew nothing about Douglas Adams, I don't know if I'd be all that interested in the book's minutiae. However, I know the perfect amount about Douglas Adams to enjoy this. I've read all his novels (Hitchhiker's x5, Dirk Gently x2), his books that are not novels (Meaning of Liff x2, Last Chance to See), and the brilliant posthumous release The Salmon of Doubt.

The Salmon of Doubt is a book I read over and over and over as a teenager, and dip into at random as an adult too - it's a collection of little writings that Douglas Adams did over the years. Speeches, interviews, opinion pieces, and even stuff that was found on his computer after he died, just musings and things that he'd written (it's worth noting that this was all done with consent from his wife and none of it was incredibly personal or anything, so I assume they're all right, in terms of privacy violation). It's capped off by the first few chapters of a novel that he was working on writing but died before he could finish, which would have been called The Salmon of Doubt.

The Salmon of Doubt is a wonderful book. It taught me a lot about the mind behind Hitchhiker's Guide and Dirk Gently, what interested Douglas Adams and what drove him toward those topics. I learned why he could write so intelligently about technology - it's because he knew an enormous amount about it, particularly for a guy who worked in the creative arts. He said once that he thought it unfortunate that people had to pick their path - go into arts or into sciences - so young, and it's hard to switch. That he became a creative type but was deeply fascinated by science.

Some of the predictions about technology that he made, in various writings that were published in Salmon of Doubt, were shockingly accurate. He could comment amazingly insightfully on the effects of technology that hadn't even started yet, at the time that he was writing. At one point, he mentioned that people often ask him how much he thinks the internet will change culture and society, and the people who ask him always seem to be hoping that his answer will boil down to "not very much". But, he tells them, he can't give them that answer. He can't give them any answer that adequately explains how much the internet will change things, because its scope can't be comprehended in a pre-internet world. He said it's like telling a river that the ocean is coming, and normal river rules no longer apply.

I listened to the Hitchhiker's Guide radio series last month (somehow the first time I've ever heard that, despite having loved the books for 20 years), and throughout the series, I kept having to remind myself that Douglas Adams died in 2001. There is so much searing satire on tech companies, and technology in general, throughout the Hitchhiker stories. There are so many accurate statements about technology in The Salmon of Doubt, like the one about the internet as an ocean. Yet, every single thing Douglas Adams ever said or wrote, he said or wrote before 2001. Most of it, such as the Hitchhiker's stuff, was written many years before 2001. He could see all that stuff, even though so much of the digital age hadn't happened yet.

In the forward to Salmon of Doubt, Stephen Fry wrote that it's sad Douglas Adams died so young, and so won't get to tinker with an iPod, or come up with an insightful angle on any new gadets that are invented in the future. But now that many more years have passed, I think Douglas Adams correctly foresaw a hell of a lot of the things that would get invented after his death. But it's a tragedy that he never got to see it all come true. (Just to be clear: I mean that Douglas Adams knew a lot about technology and was very intelligent so could accurately predict what effects it would have, and what people would do with it next. Not that he was, like, psychic.)

So that's what I already know about Douglas Adams, and that is the perfect amount to know about him, going into the audiobook that collected a bunch of his BBC work. That audiobook functions as a bit of an autobiography, which was interesting. There's a fair amount of basic biographical stuff I didn't know about Douglas Adams, the mechanics of how he got his start in writing and performing. I pretty much only knew he used to be in Footlights and crossed paths with Pythons sometimes, so it was cool to hear those stories fleshed out. And the audiobook had excerpts from various projects of his that I've not heard before, stories about his lesser-known stuff.

I cut out a few clips from it. Firstly, here's a sketch that Douglas Adams wrote when he was younger, and apparently talked John Cleese into appearing in it, but only if Cleese could pre-record his part and have his voice just played in on a speaker during the live show:

That was funny (it's a pity that John Cleese died on the same day as Douglas Adams and has not existed since then and nothing he's ever said or done since ever happened so we're all still allowed to find his older work funny), but one thing that particularly jumped out at me was when she said he sounds like the guy from the post office advertisements. That's the exact type of joke that someone would make, years later, about someone like David Mitchell, but saying "Apple adverts".

I still find it weirdly interesting to hear how classic, canonized legends were talked about in their own time. I don't even mean cases where something that's now considered great was dismissed in its own time - John Cleese, and all the Pythons, were clearly very successful in their own era. It's just that now, if you invoke John Cleese in a joke, you're invoking untouchable comedy royalty (okay, if you invoke John Cleese now, you're invoking Very Talented Comedian Turns Into Old Man Yells At Cloud, but I'm talking about before he went too obviously off that particular deep end), and it's funny to hear people talk about him when he'd more recently become famous (still not that recent, but not long enough ago to have passed into "classics" territory yet).

And that brings me back to Douglas Adams, because the Hitchhiker's Guide stuff has also passed into the status of legendary classics, so it's fun to hear how it was treated when it was just a wildly successful series in its own time. For example, the Douglas Adams at the BBC audiobook also featured a sketch that some other comedians did, many years ago, to parody the Hitchhiker's Guide radio show:

That audiobook also featured a bunch of clips of Douglas Adams talking, in interviews and things like that, and on his Guide to the Future radio show (which I've not heard, and probably should). Here's a clip I cut out, initially because I thought it was interesting how well he predicted the effects of media piracy, given that, as I've said, he died in 2001:

I started thinking I should cut out this clip, because it was interesting that Douglas Adams was able to predict some major ways in which the internet would change the way we share media. However, about 40 seconds into that clip, he said a word that made me think I definitely have to cut this out, because what the fuck? What the fuck? I will ask everyone to listen to this clip, paying particular attention to the word he says 40 seconds in, and to, again, remember that Douglas Adams died in 2001. It feels absolutely wild to hear that word said and know that this was pre-2001.

I've checked, by the way, and it's true.

I also saved this other clip, of Douglas Adams' own voice talking on his Guide to the Future radio show, giving us an heartbreakingly optimistic vision of the internet's effect on politics:

I think this is a rare case of Douglas Adams getting it mostly wrong, in his predictions about how technology would affect the future. Seeing the way that the internet connects us to the consequences of our words and actions, and thinking that will lead to more consideration from people, rather than less. I can see how he arrived at that conclusion, I can see exactly which factors he missed. But isn't it a beautiful dream?

Anyway, I enjoyed the audiobook, and I recommend it to anyone who knows exactly as much about Douglas Adams as I did before I listened to it, or to anyone who finds anything in this post interesting.

[themculibrary]

Random Locations in MCU Masterlist

5 times happy went to the parker’s apartment (ao3) - impravidus happy/may T, 5k

Summary: and the 1 time they went to his

all the magic is in the gray (ao3) - ashyblondwaves wanda/vision T, 5k

Summary: In the vibrant and idyllic world of Westview, 18 year old witch Wanda Maximoff learns that not all is as perfect as it seems.

a long, long time (ao3) - TheEyeOfRa G, 3k

Summary: Having returned all the other Infinity Stones to their rightful places, Steve Rogers has one stone left: the Soul Stone. On Vormir, he takes this chance to pay his last respects to a fallen comrade, only to reunite with an old enemy…

Challenging the Status Quo (ao3) - Politzania Pairing: Tony/Stephen

Summary: Stephen brings Tony to the Sanctum for the first time.

detonation imminent (ao3) - KairosImprimatur pepper/tony, clint/natasha T, 61k

Summary: Peter and Rocket decide it’s a good idea to snoop around Stark Tower before introducing themselves. Clearly there’s no way this could go awry.

flames in the mountain (ao3) - Kellyscams, madara_nycteris steve/bucky, nakia/t'challa E, 9k

Summary: After retiring from a life with the Avengers, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have been living peacefully in Wakanda. When they’re invited along with the rest of the Wakandan tribes to attend a Jabari feast no one knows what to expect–least of all Bucky. Who has a blushing little crush on the Jabari Chief, M'Baku. This night will certainly be one for the books.

home movies (ao3) - orphan_account wanda/vision G, 3k

Summary: Peter Parker has been filming and editing home movies of the Avengers since he first moved into the tower. This is just a description of one of his home movies, a bit of a sibling relationship with Wanda, and some vague irondad. Also, I threw in some twitter-ing. Gotta love the trash trope.

Individuation (ao3) - cartographies steve/natasha M, 11k

Summary: After, Natasha goes to the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian for the first time.

it’s above my clearance level (ao3) - tsk G, 5k

Summary: In which Peter’s class goes on a field trip to Stark Tower, and no one knows why this kid has such high clearance.

musings of the white wolf (ao3) - SeleneJessabelle12626 peter/shuri, nakia/t'challa G, 65k

Summary: Wakanda was fascinating place for any outsider, but its people were what interested Bucky the most.

A series of semi-interconnected one shots about Bucky’s life in Wakanda.

origin of the debt (fanfiction.net) - Sinkme clint/natasha T, 45k

Summary: How Clint got Natasha to come to SHIELD. Focuses on developing the backstory of their relationship and why Black Widow feels like she owes Hawkeye so much- told from Clint’s perspective. Features Coulson, Fury, and some whump. Rated for language.

safe house (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor clint/steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: The Avengers have to go into hiding after a mission. Clint knows exactly where to take them, but Tony isn’t necessarily happy with his decision, even though he knows Clint is right, and causes a small argument. Luckily, Steve is there to quickly resolve the situation before it gets bad.

scars can come in handy (ao3) - andibeth82 clint/laura T, 8k

Summary: “Coop invited a friend over,” Clint explains as he flops onto the couch. “He didn’t tell me. This kid from camp.”

“Is he okay?” Laura asks in a voice calm and neutral and practiced, every bit as natural at this game when children are present.

“Yeah,” Clint responds. “He seems fine. It’s just…he looks familiar. Like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

[or, Peter comes to the Barton farm.]

the hangman’s hands (ao3) - Mercurie jane/thor, jane/loki M, 160k

Summary: Thor and Loki never make it back to Asgard. Now S.H.I.E.L.D. is stuck with the world’s most hated war criminal on their hands and everyone wants a piece - unless they can find a way to get rid of him for good.

the last soul on vormir (ao3) - DocWordsmith G, 5k

Summary: Vormir: A remote barren planet at the very center of celestial existence within the Universe. And not one other soul to be found. It’s almost enough to make Nebula return to the jet and abandon her foolhardy idea. Almost. A one-shot, in which Nebula travels to Vormir, talks to Red Skull, and is faced with an important decision.

Tony Stark's Lab for Wayward Mechanical Engineering Interns (ao3) - hale_and_hearty mj/peter T, 8k

Summary: Peter and MJ are mechanical engineering interns for Stark Industries, and amidst Peter's increasingly ridiculous attempts to keep his secret identity a secret, their fellow interns decide they should date.

welcome to westview (ao3) - KaleidoscopeEyez loki/sylvie, wanda/vision T, 161k

Summary: When Loki uses a TemPad to transport himself and Sylvie away from the TVA, they end up, not on Lamentis-1, but in Westview, New Jersey, during the events of WandaVision. Now, Loki and Sylvie must pose as a married couple as they navigate the craziness of the Westview Anomaly, all while trying to figure out how to escape.

westview holiday (ao3) - aparticularbandit wanda/agatha T, 3k

Summary: Wanda and Agatha exert a great deal of magic for a Westview celebration, and Wanda has an idea on how to cool down afterwards.

[imagines--galore]

||Love, A Kind of Magic|| Part Two

Summary: Who would’ve thought you’d meet your other half while on a mission to save the world from the ruler of the Dark Dimension. It certainly gets a little trickier when that someone is the niece of Dormammu. Not to mention a powerful sorceress in her own right. But Stephen Strange and Clea are willing to make it work. Somehow. 

Pairing: Dr. Strange x Clea (Kind of OC) Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A little kissing.

A/N: This is in response to @belovastroia​ who requested I continue this. This one is for you!

She truly shouldn’t feel like this. It was an ugly feeling. Besides such feelings were beneath her. She was no mere human woman. She was a being of the Dark Dimension. Powerful and strong. Able to master spells easily.

And yet she couldn’t help herself.

Her gaze turned towards the darkened sky as the noise of the city echoed all around her. Some people would find it disturbing their concentration. But not Clea. She preferred noise around her. Be it the noise from the city, or a device playing music. After living so long in near silent captivity in the Dark Dimension, she did her best to keep the metaphorical demons at bay through noise.

It also helped her to concentrate.

The noises were muffled to her ears as her mind wandered to Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme and his rendezvous with his past lover, Dr. Christine Palmer. Clea was aware of the woman, knew that she was Stephen’s great love. He had told her as much, when speaking of his past to her. And even if he hadn’t she would’ve joined the pieces with the way he spoke about her.

Perhaps he had gone to reconcile with her?

Shaking her head the half-faltine female stood from where she was sitting. The night skyline of New York city appeared in her line of sight as she stood at the roof of the Sanctum. The cool evening air brushed against her cheeks, letting her hair blow about her face, and the fabric of her clothes to cling to her body. The feel of it compelled her to smile at the sensation and hold out her arms to truly experience the sensation. Even after being in this dimension for some time now, she still found little ways to be appreciative of the freedom it provided her.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she stood with excellent balance on the slanted roof. She had always had excellent balance, Stephen had once commented that she would’ve been good at ballet. She had looked the word up and been fascinated by the new world of dancing it had opened for her.

The thought of her savior had her sighing once more and inhaling deeply before exhaling. Before she could open her eyes, Clea felt a presence at her side, followed by the sound of something fluttering in the air. A small smile pulled at her lips.

“Good evening, Stephen.” She greeted without opening her eyes. Stephen glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze towards the city as well. “And to you Clea.” He replied.

A beat of silence followed his words before she spoke again. “How was your outing with Dr. Palmer?” As she did, Clea spun on her heal, beginning to walk along the rooftop with no regard that she would fall or loose her balance. If either happened, she trusted her companion would help her. He began to float alongside her, not trusting his ability to keep good balance.

“It was fine, I suppose.” A slight catch in his voice prompted her to glance at him, though she didn’t pause in her walk. Her silent question had him continuing. “She wanted to give me this.” So saying he pulled out a white envelope from his pocket and held it out for her to take. Clea stopped, taking the envelope and opening it to reveal the invitation within.

Once she had read the content of it, her gaze snapped to meet his. “A wedding? Dr. Palmer is getting married?” She asked in a soft tone. He gave a small nod in affirmation. A heavy silence bloomed between them before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry Stephen.” He frowned in response. “Why in the world are you apologizing?” The former neurosurgeon asked, prompting Clea to give him a confused look. “Because she is getting married to someone else, and you are still very much in love with her.”

He stared at her, a little stunned at the rather blunt way she had expressed her reasoning. His mouth dropped open slightly and if it weren’t for Cloak flicking it’s collar at his cheek, he would’ve likely been in shock for a little longer. He quickly cleared his throat.

“Was.” He corrected. “I was in love with her.” He clarified, his blue gaze almost penetrating to the very depths of her soul. Clea flushed with embarrassment. “I apologize. I just assumed because of the way you spoke of her.” Stephen shook his head. “There is no need to apologize. You were not wrong in your assumptions. I did love Christine very much, but after everything that has happened, and how I behaved and treated her.” His heart still clenched at how harsh and cruel he had been. A bitter man who had lost everything. “I have come to terms that I will love her as long as I live, but now only as a friend.”

Clea gave a small nod. “I understand.” Holding out her hand, she let him take the invitation from her, trying hard not to shiver when his hand brushed against her fingers. It took more then a few seconds for their gaze to break away and for her to resume her walking, with him floating alongside her. 

“So, will you go?” She asked, trying to sound casual as she jumped a little to avoid the divider between the roof of the Sanctum and the building next to it. “I will. I have to show my support as a friend. Though I was hoping....” He trailed off, prompting Clea to turn to him with a quizzical gaze.

“That you would come with me.” A little laugh of astonishment fell from her lips. “It would be better for you to take Wong with you Stephen. At least he knows how to behave at weddings, I have no experience of your earthly customs and such.” A warm chuckle echoed across the roof as he glanced at her, mirth dancing in his blue gaze. “As much as I would love to see Wong navigate his way through a wedding, while wearing a tie, I would much rather take you with me.” She spun, walking backwards so that she could see him better. “And why ask me?”

“Well for one I still have to keep an eye on you, don’t know when you would be a threat to this dimension.” She gave him a playful glare to which he smirked in amusement. Reaching out he grasped her hand, pulling her towards him to avoid her tripping over the next divider. She began to float alongside him, the two Magic-users smiling softly at one another as if floating above the ground together was the norm for them.

“And because I happen to enjoy your company Clea. You.....enchant me.” Any other man would have tried to win her over by praising her beauty or some sort of thing. But not Stephen. He was different, Clea had figured out early on. A hand, slightly trembling, came up to lay itself against her soft cheek. She closed her purple eyes at the contact, relishing in his warmth of being so close to him. Her heart swelled with hidden affection for the man as she leaned forward, and ever so gently pressed her lips against his.

They had kissed on multiple occasions now. Not to mention slept together. Yet there was always some new form of conveyance of her affection for him. Her hands rested against his strong chest as she felt him reciprocate her action, his facial hair brushing against her skin as he moved his lips slightly against her.

“And you fascinate me Stephen.” She whispered against his lips, feeling him smile as he wrapped one arm firmly around her waist to keep her from slipping away from him. His hand began to roam as his fingers caressed along the short strands of her beautiful hair. A brief hint of scent hit him as he did, informing him that whatever shampoo she used had the added scent of.......something he could not quite place. “And I would love to attend the wedding with you.” Clea continued, her hands slowly sliding up to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the hair there.

Clea knew she was slowly falling in love with the man, there was no denying it. He was her friend. Her teacher. Her savior. He trusted her when no one else did. And she trusted him. Mind. Body. Heart. And Soul.

She only wished he felt the same about her.

Little did she know, Stephen had come to that realization earlier that night when he had been sitting with Christine. Had been astonished enough to say it out loud to her. She had smiled at him, saying she was happy for him.

It would take him sometime to get there, to actually come outright and say what he felt. But until then, he would enjoy her company and cherish whatever token of affection she showed him.

[myinky-cloak]

13 Books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Not tagged by @softest-punk but I saw it on their page and decided to get involved.

1) The Last book I read:

Just finished Tana French’s “Broken Harbour”. I LOVE Tana French, particularly her Dublin Murder Squad series. I wasn’t very satisfied with the ending. It required too much suspended disbelief for me. Too many characters descending into madness at the same time very conveniently. But it was interesting to consider how many issues we cause for ourselves by attempting to be someone we think we should be.    

2) A book I recommend:

Not to be basic Tumblr bitch but Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean at The End of The Lane”. The way he can articulate the terrible things that happen in childhood, how we deal with them, how we carry the memories, and the effect they have on us for the rest of our lives left me shaken and breathless. ”You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.” I wish I didn’t need this reminder but I do, so thank you, Neil.

Plus, I find it fascinating to see the difference between people who can intimately relate to it and those for whom it is just a story.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

Stephen King “The Waste Lands” The third book of The Dark Tower series. A book series that started out so promising and ended with me throwing the final book against the wall in disgust and cursing Mr. King to high heavens. For all the issues the final books in the series had “The Waste Lands” was an absolute masterpiece. I remember reading it on a train to work and nearly missing my spot because I needed to find out what happens next.   

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

One book?? Right. Stephen King’s “Salem’s Lot”. It absolutely terrified me when I read it as a teenager. I loved the feeling of small town America invaded by the supernatural which he writes so well. Plus, vampires!  I have a habit of re-reading it every time I go home, don’t really know why. I probably should get around to reading it in English at some point. 

Sometimes I re-read books by accident. I consume so much crime fiction that occasionally I will pick up a book from the library and happily read it with no recollection of the plot only to be told by GoodReads I’ve read it years ago.

5) A book on my TBR:

I am beginning to think this list was made by someone who isn’t a reader. One book? I guess it has to be R.F.Kuang “Babel”. I really want to read it. It's like The Secret History but in Oxford! I know I will enjoy it but I only have it on Kindle. I prefer reading long books in their physical form but the library copy is in hardback so it’s cumbersome to carry around. Thus it stays on my TBR.

First world problems of a bookworm.

6) A book I’ve put down:

Dan Brown “Angels and Demons”. I knew about his reputation when I picked it up, but I wanted something mindless to read and thought it would be fine. Reader, it wasn’t fine. Terrible, terrible writing. I couldn’t deal. Turns out I do have standards even for my trash reads.

7) A book on my wish list:

Stephanie Foo “What My Bones Know: A memoir of healing from complex trauma” I’ve read so many books on trauma and complex trauma both for my degree and for personal understanding. Surprising no one most of them are written by men. I’m very excited to read female perspective on it, plus she talks about generational trauma which is such an incredibly fascinating topic. 

8) A favorite book from childhood:

Alexander Dumas “The Three Musketeers”. I was obsessed with this book. OBSESSED. I’ve read it so many times I could recite pages of it. It introduced me to my first problematic fictional crush Athos, starting my love affair with all the sad tortured blorbos which going strong till this day. I named my dog Count de la Fere after him. I wanted to be a musketeer so bad. Still kind of do.  

9) A book you would give to a friend:

It does slightly depend on a friend but Amor Towles “A Gentleman in Moscow”. I was so blown away when I read it. I gave copies to my friends. I talked to everyone about it: friends, people on the internet, strangers in bookshops or on public transport (In London! Imagine the horror!) One of my friends refuses to read the last chapter till this day because she does not want the story to end. This is probably my proudest book gifting achievement.  

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own

The OG problematic bae Lord Byron Selected Works. It’s a second hand school library's copy from 1950’s full of underlinings and scribbled notes. I love seeing evidence of other people engaging with writing and thinking about words. 

Such a problematic person. Such a great poet. 

11) A nonfiction book you own:

Cindy Crab “Things That Help: Healing our lives through Feminism, Anarchism, Punk & Adventure”. I found this book in the feminist bookshop in Brighton when things weren’t going so great for me for the umptheen time and it was like pouring healing salve on my soul. It’s not a book in a traditional sense but a collection of self-published zines collected into a little tome. It destroyed my very conservative idea of what a book is and how “professional” it should look that I did not realise I held until that moment. Most importantly, it reminded me there are other ways of being in the world that a conventional way of living.    

12) What are you currently reading:

Teo van den Broeke “The Closet”. It’s a memoir of a fashion journalist who tells of growing up, coming out and figuring out himself through clothes that were important to him. It’s written in an easy, conversational style. As someone whose wardrobe consists of jeans, leggings and t-shirts I find it so interesting to peek into fashionista’s world.   

13) What are you planning on reading next?

Isabella Hammad “Enter Ghost”. It is a book set in Palestine about staging Hamlet and possibly also a queer love story. What more could you want from a book? Cannot wait to start this one!! 

[malapertmarquess]

I learned some things about my ancestors today

So it's an established part of my Family Lore that we had ancestors on the Mayflower; the woman we're descended from, Constance Hopkins Snow, shares a name with my aunt who gleefully discovered the lineage, and she's been novelised by another of her descendants (I have read the book, and it's unexciting but cute). It's fun family history!

I was on Wikipedia this morning and decided to look Constance up on a whim (she emigrated with her father, stepmother, and multiple siblings; a half-brother was born at sea and named Oceanus; within seven years of the Mayflower's landing she had a husband and twelve children). Then I saw that her father Stephen has a Wiki page.

My goodness, why had no-one told me about this guy?

From what I could glean on Wikipedia, Stephen Hopkins had a pretty fascinating life:

In 1609, he left his wife and children in England and sailed for the Jamestown settlement in Virginia aboard the Sea Venture as a minster's clerk. The ship, which also carried the new Jamestown governor and a bunch of indentured settlers, was blown off-course and wrecked off Bermuda. The wreck was very newsworthy back in England - this will be important.

Many of the settlers thought that, actually, Bermuda's quite a nice place to live, and didn't want to patch up the ship and carry on the Jamestown. Hopkins encouraged this dissent, arguing that because the ship had wrecked and not delivered the settlers safely to their intended location, they were not bound to their end of the contract.

The governor disagreed, and had Hopkins convicted of mutiny. Hopkins was, however, pardoned at the eleventh hour because so many people spoke up for him. After this he wisely kept his head down and was hauled up to Jamestown.

The settlement at Jamestown was... not going well. The white colonists were not interested in adapting their practices or cooperating with the local indigenous population in any way, and were struggling to survive. Hopkins stayed for a few years, but I got the sense that he didn't muck like the way things were being done.

He returned to England when he got word of his first wife's death to care for his three children (including Constance). While there, he remarried.

When the opportunity came up to return to the Americas as part of a new settlement separate from Jamestown, Hopkins took it, and so he and his family booked themselves onto the Mayflower in 1620.

The new settlement was contracted to be part of the colony of Virginia, but the weather once again intervened and the ship landed in Massachusetts. Many of the settlers signed a compact agreeing that, as they had not actually arrived in Virginia, they could ignore their contract and arrange their own governance. Hopkins was, entirely unsurprisingly, one of the signatories.

As the settlers established themselves in their new Plymouth colony, Hopkins seems to have been instrumental in their success. He had knowledge and experience from his time in Jamestown that served the group well, particularly his desire and ability to encourage positive relations with the nearby Native American tribe.

He also set up an alehouse or some such, and was charged with a number of infractions such as allowing drinking on Sundays, playing games, and charging too much. (Unsurprising, given how many of his neighbours were Puritans!)

And, one final beautiful gem: remember how the Sea Venture wreck back in 1609 was big in the news? Well, it's widely believed that Shakespeare used the story as inspiration for his play The Tempest. And in this play, a character named Stephano attempts a mutiny on the island. It may just be that this Stephano is based on the real Stephen Hopkins, and while we'll never know for sure, I like that it's possible.

[coldrubies]

Grief cinema

My mom died at the end of 2019, right before lockdown. When covid hit, I was still in a foggy state. My reaction to everything delayed. I am supposed to stay home? Not go outside? Fine! Those were precisely what my plans were for the next mumblemumble years anyway.

My brightest, most vivid memories would have been of the movies that I saw anyway, because movies are special to me and I am always watching them. But the way they informed my grieving process surprised me. One does not necessarily expect, in the moment, for anything to really make it better.

But the day of my mom's death—maybe the day of, maybe the last day that I saw my mom—I watched MIDSOMMAR for the first time. I didn't know the plot and was a little concerned about it but a lot unable to do anything about the way that I felt; the DVD was already in the DVD player, and I knew my mother was dying/dead. Florence Pugh's portrayal of grief was a real gift. I felt held by it. It was miraculous to me, frankly, how much it lifted me into a state of feeling able to engage with what was going on and how I was feeling. There is a rant in me—and it is in there pretty shallow; you can get at it easily—about how acting is a vital service. I feel about actors the way that THE OFFICE's Dwight Schrute feels about his urologist. It is something I cannot do myself all the time, validate my own feelings about life; I need someone to do it for me, and I am grateful.

Also right around the same proximity to my mom's death, I saw the "Original Cast Album: Co-op" episode of DOCUMENTARY NOW! in the midst of watching that season. It was funny, I loved it, it took me out of my troubles, and the milieu was so novel and fascinating to me—this is how a cast recording (something I had never thought about) is/was made?—that I looked up which real documentary the episode was based on.

Before addressing ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY and all it's done for me, a word on Stephen Sondheim:

I will pick up practically any biography of an artist. An all-time choice was the biography of Wendy Wasserstein by Julie Salamon. I didn't know her or her work, and it was such an absorbing book, I think about returning to it all the time. Ditto Michael Schulman's Meryl Streep biography. I love to get a feeling of people in time. The choice to buy Stephen Sondheim's biography was not totally random, but it happened to be on my person when, immediately after my mother's death, I was hit by a car! It wasn't fatal—here I am—it just tipped me over. But I was in a fragile state, I did cry a lot, and I explained to the driver that my mother had just died, and that was why I was crying, and that would be the only reason I cry about anything for a while, regardless of what it seemed like I ought to be crying about. Eventually, I got to a hospital that night to make sure nothing had happened to me, and I was stranded in a room for more than an hour, and all I had was this book about Stephen Sondheim.

I can't remember—I'm sure I could figure it out—whether I had the book before I saw the documentary, whether I'd already seen it by the time I started reading it—but it all feels like it happened more or less at once that I went from not knowing* who Stephen Sondheim was to knowing, you know, the reams of tedious details that a fan knows (how many lines he preferred to have on his yellow legal pads; his go-to chord structure).

As all of this is going on, I've been writing a novel about musicians since 2018, and I made a promise to myself that, once I finished the first draft, I would prioritize learning about music. I never did when I was in school, I always wanted to, and the novel would never be done if I did not understand what my characters are supposed to be doing. I finished the first draft at the very end of 2019, and how fortuitous for this guide to show up, again, more or less all at once (just in time for me to be truly knocked out when he died two years later, more or less exactly from the time of all of this).

The extent to which I've clung to that gift as a life raft during this time is best demonstrated by the fact that, at the end of 2019, I had no knowledge of anything pertaining to music other than liking it, and now I have been composing music since the spring of 2022 (composing was the very long goal, and I still can't get over the fact that I met it). Have I neglected other parts of my life? Big time. But this is still impressive to me considering I would have liked very much to simply pull a blanket over myself and be sad quite ongoingly.

(*- On the subject of "not knowing who Stephen Sondheim was," my only frame of reference was seeing his name in the credits, mostly on item descriptions online, for, like, CDs of the WEST SIDE STORY, INTO THE WOODS, and ASSASSINS cast recordings, all of which I happened to see randomly over the years, but it is the kind of coincidence that would leave one who doesn't know anything about musical theatre to wonder if, maybe, Stephen Sondheim has written every single musical ever.)

Back to the documentary:

Between my discovery of ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY and now, the Criterion Collection has issued an edition of it on DVD and Blu-ray that is beautiful, a dream come true, and it features the DOCUMENTARY NOW! parody episode—magnificent. At the end of 2019, though, my only option for owning it was as a Quicktime file. This is fine—whether or not I have internet access, I have access to ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY.

I have so much to express about ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY, but I will restrict myself only to how it has intermingled with my grieving process. It is, of course, a pleasure to see people lost in work that is demanding but, compared to grieving a loved one's death, a load of cake. In the moment, the first many times I saw it, it came with a fresh, invigorating spray of curiosity-provocation. I love to be curious. Curiosity can do a lot for me. And there is a lot to be curious about for the completely uninitiated when it comes to the byzantine, idiosyncratic, union-forged business practices of Broadway theatre. Knowing how much he loved rules, watching him in this documentary, I am so moved and so happy for Stephen Sondheim that he was from and dwelled in a land that loved rules so much.

I could go on and on and on about how cathartic it is to watch someone be difficult, a ruthless artist, rigid, upholding a high standard as a method of care. I could introduce the subject of Stephen Sondheim and mother issues and we would be here all day. One of the conditions of my loving a thing is that I just go on about it. But when I first saw ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY right around the time that my mother died, the big thing that it did for me was show me, in case I felt like allowing my grief to interfere with my plans, that working on music was going to be good, nice, and right, which in this case were all the same thing.

It's been comforting to rewatch MIDSOMMAR since the end of 2019 and, to be honest with you, I rewatch ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: COMPANY on a basis so routine that, on second thought, to be honest with you about it would embarrass me too greatly, but the other movie that did something for me in the bewildering swirl that was right-around-the-time-my-mother died, maybe the day it happened, isn't one I revisit, but it is worth noting. I was not going to prepare any food that day, which I barely incentivize myself to do when I'm not pulverized by the cruelty of fate, so I bought, I think, a poké bowl (spicy tuna, etc.) and a Mediterranean-style grain bowl (ancient grains, spicy feta cheese, etc.), and ate them both promptly and simultaneously. I felt sick. I could not do anything lest I risk throwing up. I watched SPACE JAM (I did not throw up! A small miracle).

I am I-saw-SPACE-JAM-in-the-theatre-and-it-was-age-appropriate years old. The soundtrack was a presence in my home. I have no tender feelings about it, but, watching it for the first time as an adult, its ludicrousness did completely take me out of what was happening to my soul and body. That's not nothing!

Maybe more happened then and it isn't coming to me now, but this is how I remember it.

[greenycrimson]

Do you have a "must read" book /audio book ?

I read a lot of non fiction and the book I recommend the most to people is Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs and Steel. It's a marvellous why-history of the world and makes the case for why much of human history has been the way it has; for e.g. why did European countries invade the Americas rather than the other way around? There's no racial nonsense but rather an examination of: who had better resources for making, e.g. steel, or long distance boats? Who had more experience of sailing and warfare? Who lived in larger population centres and ended up with more exposure to disease - and who brought those diseases with them to a new population? It is so interesting, I think I read it over two days and then started bothering other people about it. Part of the fascination is because I live in this world, and part of it is that I am a person you can entertain with an explanation (I am weak for an exploded diagram - here's my second book recc: buy a copy of David Macauley's The Way Things Work it is a delightful confluence of art and explanation) but also - if you write and if you want to build a fantasy world then GG&S is an excellent foundation resource.

You were probably hoping for a fiction book. I've just turned and given my shelves a hard stare and nearly all of it is genre fiction so: if you like fantasy I'd lend you The Last Unicorn and tell you Peter Beagle does not get the praise he deserves; if you enjoy Sci Fi I'd offer The Imperial Radch series which are marvellous; comedy? I feel there's no point in being the umpteenth person to tell you that Pratchett is marvellous, but he's made me laugh the most, sorry Wodehouse; if you like adventure The Aubreyad is boat adventures with two idiots best friends; Pat Barker's Regeneration trilogy is set during WWI and so, so well written - not a drop of the glory of war, just the lives of people trying to survive; if you want a classic that'll be on a list of 'classic' books To Kill a Mockingbird, and if you want an easy listen to the Classics then Stephen Fry's Mythos and the following series is a delight.

But I really do mean it about Guns, Germs and Steel.