#snicket five
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
non-plutonian-druid · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
[ID: A drawing in a style imitating the illustrations of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. The Characters are gathered in a library, largely not interacting with each other; Patch and Diego, both teenagers, are speaking to Jill, the librarian, at the front desk. Allison browses a bookshelf in the background. Viktor reads a book on the floor in the room behind them. Luther climbs a staircase in the foreground. Ben is watching Jill from halfway up the stairs. Klaus is smoking a little ways above him. Lila is lurking in a hallway behind them. End ID.]
A look at our characters of the ATWQ au before Ben disappears and Five arrives. Jill is the local librarian - actually a college student who was supposed to be an intern and instead has found herself the only employee - and Ben has a huge crush on her. Klaus doesn't like libraries much but can find things to do to entertain himself for a bit while Ben does his nerd stuff. Patch and Diego are investigators, Viktor is a regular, and Lila is new in town.
71 notes · View notes
laurrelise · 3 months ago
Text
currently fucking sobbing over lemony snicket quotes in the context of five and delores
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
lemony snicket what is wrong with you. do me a favor and stop writing the most devastatingly beautiful love poems to ever exist on god’s green goddamn earth
62 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
incorrect ASOUE
120 notes · View notes
snckt · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
In many ways, the lives of the Baudelaire orphans that year is not unlike my own, now that I have concluded my investigation. Like Violet, like Klaus, and like Sunny, I visit certain graves, and often spend my mornings standing on a brae, staring out at the same sea. It is not the whole story, of course, but it is enough. Under the circumstances, it is the best for which you can hope.
it has been seventeen years since the conclusion of the baudelaire investigation. what an unfortunate anniversary ✨🍎 🐍
55 notes · View notes
vfdinthewild · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
"But fortresses are also placed up high, with views for days and Napa Valley wine farms don't usually come with security patrols and electric fencing and five stories of underground bunker."
-from Afterland by Lauren Beukes, pg. 133
14 notes · View notes
archerygun · 5 months ago
Text
Dr. Monty Montgomery from the Netflix tv show is straight up one of the best examples of Doomed By The Narrative I’ve ever seen and I need to ramble about it for a bit because therapy will not cover the emotional damage The Reptile Room: Part One did me as a child.
Tumblr media
For one, this version of Monty is arguably the most competent even if he is still flawed. His biggest mistake comes from the misunderstanding about Count Olaf’s identity, and rather than that be a result of him not listening to the children, it seems to be more of a general misunderstanding? He knows ‘Stephano’ is bad news. The kids think he’s figured out who ‘Stephano’ is and has it under control. He hasn’t. Oh dear.
You’re told from the start that Monty is going to die. He’s screwed. So watching the episode, you begin to almost get the feeling that he knows that too. Like he knows he’s only got that episode’s runtime but maybe, just maybe, it will be enough.
He clings to life so furiously, the narrative has doomed him but he is kicking and fighting the whole way. He jumps out of the back of the van where he was supposed to die almost like he’s saying “I can do it. I won’t let you take me. I won’t die today. Just give me today, please.”
He jumped all the hurdles and then fell before the finish line. He pulled all the right strings, he outwitted the twins, he had the right people on his side.
He was almost perfect. And that ‘almost’ was what killed him.
It feels like he’s looking up at the writer and begging “Not tonight. Let me have tonight. I can do everything I need to do. Just give me tonight.”
Monty Montgomery is locked in a battle of wits not just with Olaf and his goons but with the story itself. His tenacity is what MAKES the tragedy, many good people die in this series but Monty Montgomery just HITS you. The optimistic lull ends with his death, so it has to be one of the most emotionally impactful. But GOD.
The almost time-loop vibes of Lemony Snicket mentioning how the Baudelaires replay that day again and again in their minds even in their later lives thinking about all the ways they could have saved him - and all the ways they couldn’t. Like it’s just a fact that in every timeline, Monty Montgomery dies that day. There was nothing he could do. And still he did everything.
The Reptile Room: Part One gives me too many feelings. I left the room five minutes from the end when my sister and cousin were rewatching it because his death just DOES that shit to you.
Thank you for your time I am in agony. Have a nice day.
51 notes · View notes
moldygreenblue · 1 month ago
Text
(Lack of) Impulse Control
(Day five prompt for Woevember, created by @asouefanworkevent.)
(AO3 link is here.)
Klaus keeps quiet as he heads towards the in-bookstore café, bag in hand. While he was prone to do impulse purchases, most of the time they were limited to clothes shopping, having unexpectedly finding the perfect accessory for his usually plan outfits (mainly bowties; his fondness for them hasn’t waver over the years).
This impulse purchase though, was due to unexpectedly seeing proof of what Violet and Sunny told him weeks prior. Violet mentioned hearing the familiar name of–
SNICKET
–on her day to pick up Sunny and Beatrice from school. Sunny saw–
SNICKET
–on a list of potentially banned books at the school library. In both cases, the context of–
SNICKET
–relates to a book series. A book series that revolved around them, in the time period the three siblings agreed to be the most unfortunate phase of their lives. And it was damn fitting that the series itself was call ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ written by Lemony Snicket.
Lemony Snicket, the brother of Jacques and Kit Snicket. The man who Violet would have been name after had she been a boy. The man who was thought to be dead by Kit Snicket on her deathbed, and to the Baudelaires themselves for years since their return to the mainland.
Research told Klaus that the man had been mistaken for dead several times before—especially by The Daily Punctilio. Butthe last report of death didn’t come from that dreadful newspaper. It came from a different source, The Ace Times. However, The Ace Times mentioned how the official report couldn’t make it a proper identification; Snicket’s dental records for some unknown reason couldn’t be found for comparison. As such, there’s a fifty-fifty chance Mr. Snicket may have in fact, written the first book of the series inside Klaus’ bag: The Bad Beginning.
As Klaus approached the counter, he looked up at the menu hanging above the barista’s head. The barista gave him a nod, and spoke in a clear voice.
“Hello, sir. What can I get for you today?”
“May I get an ice coffee with whipped cream and caramel sauce, please?”
Considering his book purchase, Klaus plans to go all out with his drink today.
17 notes · View notes
ohmyeyesmyeyes · 8 months ago
Text
IT'S NEVER OVER | s.crosby
Tumblr media
Sidney Crosby and Nat Brooks loved each other once. They'd loved each other through the most crucial parts of adulthood: Sid becoming a hockey superstar and Nat leaving for college in New York.
And then it fell apart.
But perhaps the most painful part of it all was that they still understood each other. Years had passed, and with that came breakups, marriages, failed relationships, changed careers...they'd lived completely separate lives for fourteen years, strangers in every sense of the word. They were different people, but the very core of their soles were still tangled.
Sometimes you just needed a little bit of courage. And what did it matter if they'd lost each other during the race if they crossed the finish line hand in hand?
note: f!oc x sidney crosby; exes to lovers/second chance romance; single mum trope
sneak peek | prologue | pinterest board
chapters
prologue
if anyone asked sid, he wouldn't say that he liked pittsburgh more after meeting nat. no, that would be absurd.
chapter one - of all people
nat was about to repaint her house when she got the call from the school: evan had another scare. sid had been coaching a small group of kids from a local school when one of them was pulled out by the school nurse. the next time he'd see him, evan would be sitting on the reception desk with nat...the nat brooks, of all people.
chapter two - rex records
coming soon!
chapter three - girl talk
coming soon!
chater four - carnegie museum of natural history (i don't know what you like because you kept saying you weren't bothered)
coming soon!
chapter five - untitled
coming soon!
epigraph
" i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you everyday
i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively
i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don't marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and i must say that on late, cold nights i prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios i have mentioned. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way."
an excerpt from lemony snicket: the beatrice letters
<all photos taken from pinterest>
36 notes · View notes
pep-tides · 9 months ago
Text
i finally got around to watching the TV adaptation of a series of unfortunate events, i'm like five episodes in and here are my thoughts so far:
good lord what a stacked cast. i didnt know all these famous people were in this
i desire montgomery montgomery carnally (may he rest in peace)
it's been many years since i read the books but as far as i remember? they fucking NAILED the spooky mysterious slightly-off vibe. i love it
the sets and costumes are great too
poe is so much more irritating in this aghhhh hes so stupid
the theme song is stuck in my head so bad
i can see this plot twist coming and it's still going to hurt me so bad i just know it
I CANT STOP HEARING KRONK WHEN SNICKET TALKS. THATS KRONK. HELP
52 notes · View notes
jew-flexive · 8 months ago
Text
“Why are you here?” He snaps, leaning heavily on his doorframe. There are a hundred answers to his question, each less admissible than the last.
Because Jacques told me it was necessary. Because someone told Jacques to tell me it was necessary. Because I’m the only person besides B who might turn you human. Because I’m the only person besides B who still thinks you’re human. Because you’re brilliant and mad and still so goddamn useful. Because tattoos stay permanent no matter how many fires you start. Because I think you start fires just because you know I’ll be the one to put them out. Because you’re laughably easy to lie to. Because I didn’t kill your father but I might as well have. Because you didn’t kill my brother but given half a chance you would have. Because you loved me for five years and still only hate me a little.
Because I want to be. God help me, I’m here because I want to be.
“We should talk,” is all she says, stepping past him through the door.
[It’s a year before the Baudelaire fire. Kit has always been a very useful volunteer.]
25 notes · View notes
non-plutonian-druid · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
[ID: a three color drawing (black, white, and teal) in the style of Seth’s illustrations from the Lemony Snicket series All The Wrong Questions. Five and Viktor (both about 13) are seated at the counter of a diner, talking. Luther (in his 20s), who is a patron seated next to them, looks concerned about what he is overhearing. Grace stands behind the counted holding a coffee pot and gazing into space. A missing poster for Ben is taped to the counter. In the mirror behind the counter, a reflection Diego and Patch (both 15) are visible in a booth. End ID]
i really should leave time between art posts for them to breathe and accumulate their fair share of notes, but also i need something to do while im waiting for my onions to caramelize.
In this installment: Five and Viktor meet over breakfast to discuss business, Luther is a Concerned Citizen, Diego and Patch also meet over breakfast to discuss business but in the background, and Grace is NOT a robot and this diner is NOT fully automated no sir. Also as usual Ben's face provides some ambiance, thank you Ben.
106 notes · View notes
beelmons · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
love comes in moments.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Rating: Mature, 13+. Tags: Angst, no happy ending, Reid!POV, slow burn if you squint Word count: 6,772 Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid writes a memoir about the 15 years he spent by your side, and everything you went through since the moment you joined the BAU. A/N: I wanted to feel utter pain, so I wrote it. Hopefully you will suffer with me. Also, this hasn't been proof read, so things might change a bit during the week as I re-read it. This fic ended up having an aftermath with an slightly happier ending, you can read it here Heavily inspired by these two songs: 1 , 2 Tag list: @hey-dw @cassiemartzz
“Entry 1: The humble beginnings. 
I still remember the day you first came through the doors of the unit. Shoulders down, your stare facing the floor, walking slightly behind Gideon. You were nervous, at the least, but if your body spoke as loudly as I was guessing, terrified would have been a more accurate word. 
I couldn’t shake your hand, the germophobia wasn’t always nice to me, but you didn’t care. You understood. You faked a high-five, and just like that we had our own little inside joke. I had made a new friend within thirty seconds of meeting her; that was a first, but silly me, twenty-something and naïve, I couldn’t notice right away that a woman like you was meant to be many “firsts”, and even greater “onlys.”
“She’ll be your partner, be nice.” those were Hotch’s words. 
Not until much later would I have come to realize the weight of that warning. Trained eyes could reach everything I wasn’t able to. I wonder if you noticed the utter adoration that man had for you, as a subordinate, as a friend, as a companion. Aaron always had that eagle-like eye to spot people who needed him just as much as he needed them. Emily and Derek were a clear example, but that’s besides the point. 
Now, believe me when I say I’m sorry I didn’t notice how beautiful you were the second I laid my eyes on you. Perhaps, that would have saved us a lot of pain, or rather given us a lot more happiness. I was, to my ill luck, blinded by my adoration for someone else. I wouldn’t label it a mistake, it’s fair to say it was just an unfortunate event at the time, that would later come in doubles, and then in triples, like a series of them. 
Do you remember that book? ‘A series of unfortunate events’ by Lemony Snicket. It was the first thing you gave me as a birthday present, that and the ridiculous hat that haunts me to this day. Engraved in my mind I have the expression you made when I told you it was a children’s book. 
“No way! I’m giving a children’s book to a genius?!” the anguish in your voice was palpable, you were truly ashamed. 
“Well, this is not the illustrated version, so it’s technically not a children’s book. I love it, thank you.” I tried to reassure you, but I wasn’t very good at that.
Maybe, you just wanted your partner to like you, to show me you were trying, or to prove that you could know me as much as the others in such little time, but regardless of the reason you felt like you’d failed. I could see it, and I regret not letting you know just how precious that possession would turn out to be. 
Months later, we would also come to know that you couldn’t stand for that long without moving, otherwise your legs would feel swollen for days. Six hours you spent with me at the shooting range, even after Hotch had given up. They had to kick us out, and out of hunger we found that indian restaurant that’s open 24/7. I refuse to believe I still failed that certification, you were one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, but I’ll always be thankful for every missed shot, since that night I found the wonder that butter chicken was. My first time having indian food. 
Interestingly enough, we didn’t go back to that place on our own, jobs, people, life always getting in the way. Now I understand, then, it was no wonder the chicken never tasted the same.  
Entry 2: Trial, one of many. 
I still wonder how you always managed to show up, regardless of the way I constantly seemed to juggle with my own life. The first time I died, courtesy of Tobias Hankle’s dad, I wondered if my mom was going to be okay. Funny, huh? Even in death I found it hard to put my life first. I know that always pissed you off, and I never knew better, and I’m sorry to tell you I’ve kept the bad habit, I’m afraid. 
Peaceful doesn’t quite describe the way it felt, my last breath I mean. Relieved, I guess, would fit better. I had told you before, hadn’t I? The hospital she was in, the books she liked best, the letters I wrote everyday. It was a hopeful relief, I craved that you would have come to care for me enough to look after my mother if I were to be gone. 
Luckily, you didn’t get the chance to prove it, but many years later I would understand that, back then and there, you would have moved heaven and earth for me; and I should have known by the way your arms found me amidst the dark of that cemetery. I should have known by the way you stayed in my messy apartment throughout the night, by the way you held my arm when I woke up shaking in terror, and by the way you repeated that same routine every evening for almost a week. 
Should have known after you dropped everything to meet me at Gideon’s cabin as I cried over his gun and badge, as I mourned someone that I hadn’t lost, as I yet again felt insufficient to remain, to make him stay. I’m still not sure why I called you. Perhaps you would share the burden of losing a mentor, or maybe you would notice that I was breaking down, that I was too weak to fix myself, and even weaker to ask for help. No one reached out for me because I never screamed, no one knew how bad I needed it. And yet, with a simple whisper miles away, you came. You showed up. 
I should have known right when you were sitting by the toilet bowl, your hair tie loosely holding my hair together so it wouldn’t get dirty. Did I think I looked good with that? Why did I ever leave it that long? Stop, I can’t also be rambling while I write, not that you ever minded the infinite data of nothingness, did you? Circling back, I still feel the coldness of your fingers, pale with concern, as they curled around my trembling wrist while I threw up my guts and soul in that white container. 
“You should go.” I would whisper in between gargles and spits. 
“And leave you like this?” you weren’t even looking at me. I guess the image of my body bent over a basin, sickly and frail, was enough to be engraved in your mind with one glance. 
“I’m just one of the 21 million americans that struggle with at least one addiction. I’m nothing special.” I grumbled with disdain “And you don’t have a magic wand you can wave and make it go away. You’re nothing special.” 
You sighed at my words, by then you knew how stubborn I could be, am I correct? It didn’t take a profiler to figure out something like that. “Only 10% seek help, though. Those odds make you special enough, don’t you think?” If you said anything else, I cannot remember. I could only focus on the fast speed of my beating heart, that I mistook for undesired side-effects of the drugs. 
Withdrawal can be hell, but I had already had a taste of that, so I figured I could handle a bit more of it. You, on the other hand, were not ready for the burden that was I. I could see the facade you put on whenever I said something so hurtful anyone else would have gone out running, the subtle swallowing of the knots in your throat, the deep, shaky breaths, the way your eyelids clung to the tears that threatened to come out. Yes, I should have known right then and there, after you met the worst of me, and yet stayed. 
Entry 3: Did I care to share? 
To be fair, you were a bit to blame for my obliviousness. A pure heart is a mystery for men who don’t know kindness, and life hadn’t been particularly tender to me. I had begun to question if, maybe, the lifeline that had become your gentle hand meant something else. But more often than not, I had learned that love follows after life, and if it had been gentle enough to give you to me, who was I, a mere mortal, to want more, to show greed. 
You were there for Elle and her revolting, for Morgan and his search for his truth, for Garcia and her desire to cling to life after her very own kindness had almost taken it from her, and for Hotch and his falling into the darkest of despairs. You would tell me how you had to cancel plans to make him company, how you woke up extra early to make sure he’d have breakfast, how you’d pretend to be walking by his new bachelor apartment as an excuse to check up on him, and spend extra hours just so you could get him to talk in his office.I watched you worry and give your best to put a smile on a saddened face. Just like you had done for me, and the many people that we both loved. It hurt, it selfishly hurt. Your love was so vast it could fill a dam and still pour, yet my thirst could barely be quenched. 
My skin still burns with the memory of your tears falling on my hand when I told you my cravings had started again. I saw the glint of failure in your eyes, like I had years ago with the children's book. It made me question if eidetic memory could translate to the sense of touch, to this day it is vivid, like they cover me again whenever I feel the urge, whenever I need to escape. 
Once again, you showed up. You showed up at my apartment to pick me up, like a toddler waiting to be taken to the doctors, only that the person that would fix me was not a medic, it was a sponsor. I don’t think I’d have been brave enough to show up by myself, to get help on my own, if I hadn’t been so scared to hurt you again, probably bad enough to finally push you away. 
It was okay, even if you were to be shared, if your heart had space for everyone else, I was happy to know I could belong as well, to be included. I was okay sharing you, as long as I got a piece. 
Entry 4: The dreaded distance. 
I never understood politics, or the system. Ironic, though, since human behavior is nothing but a mixture of different structures interacting together, creating a being that then I would dedicate my entire life to studying. But it was always so confusing, why would they rip you away from me? Didn’t they see how good you were? Perhaps that was the issue.
I still remember the way you clung to my chest when we were saying goodbye. Did the DEA really need you? Did it really have to be you? It wouldn’t be the only time the bureau would plot against me, against the hope I grasped on to continue doing my job, but it certainly was the hardest one, and mind you, the first one. The pain of having a friend ripped from my arms, a handful of things could only compare. 
Hotch would later come to confess that my hatred for the superiors was unfunded. You were not taken, you were a tribute. When Strauss came in arms, you had to surrender to protect me. They made Aaron choose between me and you, one had to leave, it wasn’t up for discussion, and you volunteered. Because you knew, I could barely make it anywhere else. 
“It’s been a while since I was hugged like this.” you said when we were strong enough to finally pull apart, when the clock was streaking 6, and there was no professional excuse to keep you in the building for longer. 
“Like what?” I had to ask. You deserved to be engulfed in arms every waking second. You deserved to be carried by the holiest of angels. Why wouldn’t I hug you like we were in a Shakespearean tragedy? 
“Like somebody was afraid of losing me.” you answered. 
Oh, my love, was I terrified.
Maybe I am dramatic. You weren’t dead, you weren’t gone, just in a different building, in the same city. I knew where you lived, where you bought your coffee, and your favorite place to dine in. Yet, you felt so far away, so out of reach I could barely handle it. I missed you, so dearly, so madly. 
Weekly escapades to the geekiest of places, a lousy street diner I was too scared to eat at, and that I would just because of you, the faking of high-fives whenever I got an idea, my favorite inside joke, the laughter in the bullpen at my unintentioned comments, the looking over my shoulder to see if you were still there, the joy in my chest whenever you entered the room, the love I didn’t know was love. All gone, away from me. 
Your midnight calls were balm to an open wound. Calming at the stake of some pain. And I knew, one of the very few things I knew, that you weren’t doing good in that place, that your pain was greater than you would express, but your body wouldn’t lie to me, it could never lie to me, the sighs between sentences, the strain in your voice, the tiredness in your breath. But I wasn’t like you, I couldn’t just show up, I didn’t know how. I didn’t know I helped. I didn’t know I was to you what you were to me. A beacon of light, of hope.  
I wondered what was hurting you. Was I not nice enough for you to tell me what, or who, was causing that to you? “Be nice” Hotch had said. Was he nicer? You always went to him for things like these, the matters of the heart. I had to hear from Garcia, months later, about that mysterious fellow agent that was making you cry, and I realized in that moment that I had never known rage. The pure, raw need to tear someone limb by limb. How dare he toy with a soul as giving as yours? Like using the crown jewel as a skipping stone. 
Fortunately, I was not the only one that wanted to protect you. Not the only one that cared enough. A visit from Morgan, a call from Hotch, and the rat was gone, for good, and you were back in the unit, for better. 
Entry 5: When I knew without knowing. 
You’d changed, I could see, and I’d heard heartbreak does that to a person. Yet your smile always seemed to shine bright. It shone for our boss, swallowed in deep grief, it shone for JJ as she was, to no one’s surprise, cruelly taken from us, it shone for Prentiss and her struggles, the ones that were there even when she wouldn’t confess to them. 
Do you remember the flame of my tears on your shoulder when I heard she was dead? I could barely stay home. The walls seemed to crush me if I was alone. I hopped from your house, to JJ’s, to the office, to yours yet again. Your arms were my solace, my God given solace. Whenever I turned, you were there. 
I don’t know what was harder to deal with: her death or her return to life. How did you manage to not take a side? You felt the same pain I did. You cried the same tears I shed. I wondered if you were always stronger than me. Stupid question, the answer was yes. 
“I’m just saying, Spencer.” you twirled around in my kitchen as you spoke, impatient since I was taking a long time to get ready, and there was an appointment to get to.
“Well, okay, then stop saying!” I was shoving a couple of books and other belongings, I can’t even remember what, as I subtly yelled at you. 
Time and again, the stupid book would slip out whenever I tried to close my bag. It was frustrating, infuriating. Kind as you were, you kneeled with me, your hand brushed mine, and a mere graze was enough to slow me down. I looked at you. Did you see pain? I know you did. You always did. My body couldn’t lie to you. 
“I feel it too.” you began to talk “The guilt. The wishing that she was still gone so you wouldn’t have to go through the excruciating pain of betrayal.” bullseye, as per usual. I started to cry; you always made me comfortable enough to break down without care. “If you truly don’t wish to make up with them, the girls, I’ll be on your side. You have the right to feel hurt. If you tell me, right now, hand to heart, that you want to skip Rossi’s dinner and go catch that ridiculous black and white movie, I’ll get up and walk beside you, like I’ve done countless times, and I will also be there, when you are filled with regret, and the words can’t leave your mouth to ask for their forgiveness for your attitude.”
Dragged by your hand, we showed up, and I felt it, the memory of a feeling long not emoted, the warmth of family. You were right, you were always right. I walked you to your place that night, stumbling a little from the wine, laughing about something Garcia and Morgan had said. We stood by your doorway, and you stopped. You looked at me, so deeply, so filled with pride. How could I be so stupid? I should have kissed you at that moment. I should have hugged you in a way you hadn’t before, in a way that told you that in this and many other lives, I needed you with me. I needed you to be mine. 
Entry 6: The start of my demise. 
I still wonder how you did it. How did you stand beside me with a straight face while you broke on the inside? Watching me slowly fall for someone else to a point of no return, a point of devotion you had long earned. 
You knew about Maeve before anyone else. I didn’t have to tell you, my smile gave me away, since you knew it better than anyone, you were the one that put it back there more than once. You supported my every move, my every whim, my every idea to please her, to make her love me. And she loved me, and I loved her, there’s no point in hiding it. 
How did you do it? Seriously, how did you advise me to court her and hear me rant about her  like she was the latest scientific breakthrough? How did you wear a straight face as mine lit up at the thought of her name? How did you pour your heart out to help me find her? All while wearing that damned smile, the cursed reason for my existence. How did you not fall in shambles as you watched me love her? I would have, without question.
So, I beg of you to tell me. How could you possibly love me while I loved someone else? 
It’s like a riddle whose answer is before me, but I can’t see it, I can’t find it. To this day it amazes me, the way that you remained outside my door throughout the night. Did you think I didn’t know you were there? The way you took care of my food and services. Did you know I couldn’t bring myself to even check my bank account? The way you saw through me when I came back to work. You knew I wasn’t okay, regardless of my attempts to prove so. 
You remained for months by my side, showing up at my door when the night got too cold, holding my head on your lap as I sobbed, as I, once again, mourned. You stood there with me trying to fix something someone else had broken, something you didn’t even know if you could glue back together. 
“If I believed in religion, at least I could cling to the hope of meeting her again.” I muttered, and you laughed a bit. 
“Perhaps in another universe, if you’re lucky enough.” smart of you to talk to me in terms I could understand.
“It doesn’t feel like it will ever end, you know? The grief.” I confessed to you as your fingers threaded on my locks, body too tired to hold up straight from crying, so my head laid on your thigh. 
“It will.” you reassured “Maybe not soon, but it will.” 
“Maybe.” I could only agree “but I can’t count on you to soothe my pain forever.” I only looked up because your fingers stopped moving, but I’m glad I did, I’m glad I caught your eyes, filled with endless determination, as you spoke. 
“Says who?” did you mean it? Forever? 
Entry 7: All that’s well… 
After JJ’s abduction, something drastically changed. Not just the two of us, but the entire team. Our secrets were no longer innocent and blameless, they were dangerous, harmful. They could tear us apart if not properly shared. They could push us away if we didn’t say them outright. 
My love for you was my deepest rooted secret, pushed so far into the drawer I had forgotten about it myself, too scared to pull it out, afraid I’d just have to push it back in without giving it a chance to show off. 
No more secrets. That’s the pact we all agreed on. I kept thinking about that as you walked with me. You knew it had hit me hard to see JJ so weak and hurt, reduced to bruises and agony; you also knew I would find a way to blame myself if I were to be left alone in that room, so you decided to make me some company. We dined in silence, utter absence of sound that did not, at any moment, feel odd. You walked with me, not next to me, with me. And you waited by the door for my invitation to enter. I could just stare at you, so beautifully patient, so wonderfully loving. So easy to love. 
“No more secrets.” I told you, my eyes unable to leave your face. 
“Yes, Spence. No more secrets.” you answered with that blissful smile of yours. You caught up rather quick that I was hiding something. I could never fool you, not you. “Is there something else you need to tell me?” you questioned me, and I could see the look in your eyes trying to subtly profile me. 
I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Over 7,000 languages are spoken in this world, and there were still not enough words to describe what I felt for you. I didn’t talk. My lips just found their way to yours, so naturally, so right. 
“This is a mistake.” you muttered. You were still unsure, you would tell me later, that life could be so kind to you, to have me love you. How silly of you, darling, to even dare to think I could not. 
Our bodies didn’t lie, they couldn’t lie to each other. Your tongue gave you away, it spoke of truce but tasted of war. Your hands explored all of my body, they felt my every vein, and tasted the pulse of a heart that beat for you. Your mouth spilled honey-like sounds as I greedily took every part of you for my pleasure. As I embedded your scent in my brain, to the record of things I loved about you. I had never made love. Sex, once or twice, but never love. I remember watching you sleep, your warm cheek on my bare chest; your hands, even unconsciously, clinging to my torso as if I were to slip away like a dream. But you felt so real, oh honey, you were so real. You were so mine. And I couldn’t remember the last time I was held so close I could touch love. 
I can still hear Hotch’s sermon. No more secrets, that’s what we pacted, and you were big on promises, but to be fair, so was I. An hour, I recall, we were shoved inside that office. Hands together, faces down, like children caught in the act. 
“Fraternization is dangerous,” it was his third time saying that “and if this were to come out, I would have to transfer one of you.” we didn’t care, and he could tell. He sighed, in defeat. “Just tell me one thing.” he changed directions “Are you happy?” 
He was asking you, yet pretended the question was for both. You didn’t entertain him with an answer. He already knew. He knew in the way you reached for my hand, in the way I held back a smile. He nodded. Did he approve? I don’t think we’ll ever know, but he protected us, he always protected us. 
That day, we drank and danced all together, as if our love was a reason for celebration. Apparently, it wasn’t a secret to anyone but us. Long ago they figured we’d end up together, even got some complaints for having been later rather than sooner. 
Life was good and kind with you by my side, filled with laughter, adventure, and pleasure. The darkest nights still glimmered with your presence, like a blindfold being lifted to reveal the cold truth; all it took for life to be kind was me loving you, and you loving me. 
Entry 8: Alone we stand 
When did I stop making sense? Curiously enough, that’s the one moment I can’t pinpoint. I broke a promise, and the downfall caught up. 
“Were you even going to tell me?!” you paced around my apartment in rage. 
“Come on, you know I was” I had gotten defensive, regardless of my wrongdoing. 
“When, exactly? After you had fixed it? ‘Cause you have to fix everything alone?” you snarked at me. 
“I don’t want to sound rude, but it’s a private matter.” worst phrasing I could have chosen, to be honest. 
“I’m your girlfriend, Spence. I think I have proven for quite a while now that I’m here for the bad and the worst. Instead, I have to find out your mother has Alzheimer’s through a hitman. You told a hitman before you told me!” I see now, that your anger was not unfounded. 
“She had a gun to my crotch! What did you want me to do!?” I tried to argue. 
“Oh, okay, so that’s what it takes to get you to open up?” 
No, you didn’t hold a gun to my crotch. You did way worse, you forgave me, and we moved on. But it was never the same, oh no, I could feel it, we both could feel it. How conversations seemed to require more energy, how the touches were more scripted than impulsive, how after a few hours you realized that you hadn’t thought about me in a little while. 
I tried to fix it. It’s what I always do. Perhaps if I could get us both in the same place, it would happen again, the spark that we had lost. I asked you to move in with me, and you agreed. We were happy again, not simply because of the fact, but because it was a great reminder for both of us, that the future was together, it had always been together. 
But alas, life isn’t kind enough. We had agreed to find a new place, somewhere we could turn ‘ours’ without getting rid of the ‘mine’. It was taking time, of course, since we wanted it to be perfect. And little did we know that time was the only thing in this world we didn’t have. 
The news of Hotch’s departure hurt us all in a way we never truly recovered from, but for you, for the never-ending-loving you, it left a wound I couldn’t close. I saw the always dreaded glint of loneliness in your eye, the same one I carried when Gideon left. I saw the breaking of a soul that had lost a mentor, a protector, you lost the ground you walked onto and never learned how to fly. 
We didn’t make it. I don’t think it was your fault, or mine, for that matter, life just happened so fast, so merciless. I loved you, that never stopped, and you loved me, I know that much. All I could do was hold on to the hope that I had made the right decision, the decision to push you away, to save you from the torture that our life would be. I would do anything for my mother, even if that meant standing back on my own, without you. 
I’m sorry, my love, that it took me so long to understand. That the strength you were lending me was not for me to judge, but to carry, to use as a tool to build what we dreamed of . I didn’t learn about it until JJ visited one day, when I was mourning the love that we had, that she told me what happened the day she showed up at your apartment, knees on the ground, to beg you to continue loving me. 
“It wasn’t my decision, Jennifer.” you said, barely allowing yourself to glance at her. 
“He’s just doing this because he thinks he’s protecting you, you know that.” she tried to argue on my behalf. 
“JJ, you are his best friend, if you’re asking me to convince him to change his mind, you know it would be easier to get Garcia to play soccer.” you were right, by the way. JJ was about to give up. 
“He needs you.” she kept trying. 
“No, he doesn’t.” you answered “He needs someone to be there for him, at his constant back and call, to dedicate their very being to his happiness, to pour out the entirety of themselves onto him, and I can’t be that person. I can’t.” 
“But why not!?” to her, it also didn’t make much sense. You always were, what was different this time? 
“Because I’m not whole.” you finally admitted. 
She had to hear you cry for hours at how lost you felt. I didn’t understand I’d become a part of you, and by taking me away, I was ripping a portion of who you were. With Hotch gone, there was no way you could fix yourself, not fast enough, at least. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t know. 
You stayed for the man that more than once had your back. You stayed to catch Mr. Scratch. I was no longer the hope you held on to, I was no longer the one you chased after, Aaron was your last hope, your last piece to make sense of whatever you felt like was happening around you. The person who would return to you the will to love something that wasn’t me. 
But he wasn’t there, and you were lost. 
Entry 9: Together we fall apart. 
I can’t blame you for leaving, you had no reason to stay, the job had long ago stopped making sense, it was the people that you loved what made you stick around, and now we were gone, in more than one sense. And believe when I say I missed you, with every pore of my heart, even if I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to at least know how you were doing. 
I did wonder, though, if having you around would have made a difference. If you could have seen something all of us missed, if you had protected me better, if you could had helped me when I didn’t know how to help myself. 
Cat Adams would ruin me in more than one way, sure, but regarding us, I’m sure now I’m the only one to blame. A series of unfortunate events by Spencer Reid.
“We told her you were in prison.” Emily said as she sat across the booth, with a crystal screen separating the both of us. There was no need to say your name. They all knew you were all I ever thought about. “She’s asking to be put on the list.” 
“Emily!” I yelled out of reflex .
“I’m sorry, Spence, but she’s really worried, and maybe she could help.” 
“My answer is no.” I watched her sigh as I said those words. 
“Can I at least tell her you’re thinking about it?” she still tried to convince me, for your sake. “And, will you think about it?” I nodded. 
I promise I thought it through, hard and well. It’s not that I didn’t want to see you, I didn’t want you to see me. I knew, I knew you would try to fix it, and I couldn’t do that to you, not again. Regardless, you still tried. You made sure my mother was safe and well, you made her company, it wasn’t your fault, I don’t hold it against you, they outsmarted us all. And I’m sorry, again, that after I was freed I still couldn’t bring myself to face you. 
Many things happened in the following years. I wish I could have seen you one more time just to tell you all about it. A coffee by my apartment window, a nap on that comfy living room couch, a laugh by the bullpen. The things I’d have done to have one more moment with you. 
The second time I died, it was way less scary. Guess I had some practice. If I told you who I saw, you wouldn’t have believed me, but it was the message that counted. I wasn’t ready to go, and I wasn’t ready to leave you. If I were to stay, I was going to fight to at least see you one more time, to hear your laugh once again.
My mom did tell me that I should be careful what I wish for, and when I woke up in that hospital room, after a horrible stroke nonetheless, I understood why. 
“Please don’t be mad at me.” Penelope remained for a second by my bed after my mom had left to get some water. 
My eyebrows furrowed the slightest, I couldn’t move that much. “What did you do?” 
“I didn’t know if you were going to make it, and I didn’t think much before I hit the call.” she continued to explain. 
Again, I could only tilt my head in confusion, something about having brain failure had made me the tiniest bit slower. The fog cleared very quickly, though, once I saw you walk through the door. You were as beautiful as the day I met you, only now I could see, and I would never cease to see. You walked to the bed and your hand reached out for mine, like it was supposed to be. 
“Hey, you.” you said softly. 
“Hey,” I muttered. If I had been able to breathe better, believe me I would have yelled out like an excited 5 year old “what are you doing here?” 
“I recently realized I’ve grown into the habit of showing up after you almost died.” you joked, and it was like time hadn’t passed at all “which, if you ask me, it’s a weird habit to have.” it was my turn to laugh, you always caused that in me. 
Penelope had stepped out, she knew we needed the space, as for our souls could only be bare if it was just the two of us. You came closer, and our eyes met, and time actually stopped, and everything was okay. 
“I will always love you.” I’m sorry I said it like that, I know it’s not what you expected. 
“Spencer…” you began to talk. 
“No, just,” I cut you off “I know I can get it right this time.” the way that you looked at me I will never forget, a look you had never given me, that you respected me too much to give me, the look of pity. 
“I’m not a second chances program” you started “I couldn’t just wait around until you were ready to notice that I was still there, that you allowed me back in.” 
Your tears threatened to fall. I could see them, that’s not what I wanted, that’s never what I wanted. I reached for your face, and you leaned against my hand. Old habits die hard, don’t they? I should know, since I had fallen into the habit of wanting you, of loving you. This and every other life. I couldn’t hold them any longer, the sobs, the tears, the pain, the pain only you could heal, only you could let me show. I love you because of your strength, since it allowed me to be weak without remorse. 
You did the same for me, your gentle fingers caressing my cheek, pushing away the salty droplets. “It’s okay, Spencer, it’s okay.” you whispered “we have to let us go.” 
“And if we’re lucky enough?” I asked. 
“If we’re lucky enough,” your face smiled, but the strain in your voice showed me the misery in your words, along with their genuinity “in another universe, you would have been with Maeve and I would have never loved you. And we could finally be happy.” 
You couldn’t have been more wrong to think, even for a second, that my destiny was any other than you. I didn’t have the words to prove it, I could form a sentence to save my life, save the love of my life. I tried to kiss you. I wish you had done it, you would have understood. 
“My boyfriend is waiting outside.” you muttered before my lips could meet home, and like that, you were gone. 
Entry 10: I think I’ll be alright. 
I never saw you again, but it’s okay. Years to come I would question every decision I had made, did they lead me to you, or just pushed you away? There was no way of telling. Regrets are a broken sword, dull enough to be harmless, and sharp enough to hurt. Would you have done something differently? I doubt so. 
I’m thankful, nonetheless, to have been given the opportunity to concur. To have been loved by you. I did wish for a different ending, but who am I to be selfish? I had it all, even if I lost it. Until years later I would hear about your marriage; you eloped, as we always thought we would do, planning a wedding was too much of a hassle. Did you end up having kids? If you did, lucky them, if something they were to never lack, it would be love. I hope he is treating you well, that you are happy, like you always deserved. 
Me? I finally had to learn. The grief finally went away, you see, someone once told me that love comes in moments, and later in life I found myself clinging to that thought. If love comes in moments, my darling, after everything we've been through, yours will last me a million years. 
Even if I got just a fraction of it.” 
The silence was covered by the rustling of book pages as the woman finished speaking. Yet her crowd of one didn’t seem to show much reaction, which was a source of concern. 
"Spencer, would you like me to read it again?" Penelope asked as she swayed back and forth on the rocking chair the staff had given to her. 
"Sorry?" he asked, seemingly lost in thought.
"Ma'am." a gentle nurse interrupted them "visitation time is over, Dr. Reid has to rest."
"Of course." the once blonde woman, whose hair now shone silver, said as she handed the diary back to his owner "Here, take this."
"Is this mine?" a still confused Spencer continued to question.
"Yes, it's your favorite book." she reiterated.
"Really?" his fingers fidgeted with the cover "What is it about?"
Penelope couldn't help the way her eyes filled with water, like they did every week whenever she had to leave the friend she'd visit in that mental facility without fail.
"The greatest love story ever told."
303 notes · View notes
Text
So something I just realized is that I think Lemony Snicket helped me unmask some of the abusive narcissists in my life.
One specifically.
And it appears to be on accident.
Let me explain.
There are so many times in my childhood where my mother would get so damn offended by my intelligence or "otherness" to her and a weird amount of these memories are ASOUE related.
In chronological order:
I referred to Sunny as an infant. Like they do in the books. My mother, ever thinking she knows everything and I must be wrong. was insistent Sunny had to be a toddler because of the way I described how intelligent she was. (It's fiction, but okay Becky). I explained, no, they describe her as an infant. She can't even walk or talk. Unfortunately, my mother took this as an instance of me questioning her authority and intelligence (as she often did when I corrected her on factual information) and insisted I had to be wrong (even though I was reading the damn books and she wasn't) and that "infant" always meant "newborn." No, Becky. It's a synonym for "baby." It was being used as a synonym for "baby." I and Daniel Handler were both using it as a synonym for "baby." In fact, in some terms in psychology, you're an infant until you're freaking five. Why is this something you want to fight with your 8-year-old about you freaking child?
Got offended that I was reading a book where all the adults were stupid. (I'm gonna let that one speak for itself)
She made me put wrong information on school work because she refused to even look at physical evidence she was wrong. What was she so adamant about? The bitch thought there was a "T" in the word "Orphan." You know, the word I had been seeing every couple of sentences for months at the point. I pointed out that I definitely spelled the word "Orphan" right (I was doing a book fair project on The Bad Beginning) and she was getting pissed I wouldn't change the spelling to "Orphant." Why did she think this? "It's Little Orphant Annie!" Newsflash, no it isn't! It's also "Orphan" there. I even showed her the book and typed it into a spellchecker to show her the "this is misspelled" line that came up underneath. SHE PHYSICALLY REFUSED TO LOOK! So yeah, I looked stupid and spelled a word wrong on my homework so my mother would quit having a tantrum.
Got it in her head that I wanted her and my father to die because I mentioned the description on Briny Beach did actually sound pleasant. (I was literally only saying that an overcast beach where there aren't a lot of people crowding around was nice. Made the mistake of admitting I got the description from ASOUE and she went off the fucking handle screaming about how I wished my parents were dead. I do now, Becky, but it has nothing to do with fictional orphans. In fact, I think the fictional orphans kept me sane.)
And here's the thing that solidified that my mother did not care about me. I got The Puzzling Puzzles. I was so excited to share it with my parents (because I didn't realize they were abusive yet and did that kid thing where I wanted my parents to love me and thought they did) and my mother straight up turned around and said "Nobody cares about that but you" because I was annoying her and my father.
And they wonder why I never shared anything I loved with them. Now, my father in an abusive pos too. If I had to actually call anyone my personal Count Olaf, it's him.
The difference is, I would rather be stuck in a room with Count Olaf than be anywhere in driving distance of my father. At least Count Olaf sort of has a motive for his cruelty. My father is just a monster.
But my mother, she's the one I realized first. And a weird amount of the inciting indicants were ASOUE related. (And it irritates the hell out of me that they tried to bond with me in my adulthood when the Netflix series came out because now they didn't have to pick up a book. 20 years too late. And my father laughed at Klaus getting smacked which was way too familiar for me...)
Sorry, Carmelita, but from experience you don't want to be raised by Olaf and Esme. It's not a pleasant experience.
12 notes · View notes
snckt · 8 months ago
Text
why does grosgrain ribbon increments go from 1 yard to 50 yards ??? 🤨
2 notes · View notes
vfdinthewild · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media
“Kriv was suspended for 15 days for violating five department rules in that incident.”
-from “This Cop Got Out of 44 Tickets by Saying Over and Over That His Girlfriend Stole His Car”
submitted by @arrowhearts
17 notes · View notes
triflesandparsnips · 1 year ago
Text
Good Omens Book Club
So I have, in other fandoms, talked about the importance of what an audience can actually see on the screen. Specifically: When a constrained format (like, say, between 45 to 56 minutes of a single visual/audio input) is telling a constrained story (like, say, something that must start, climax, and resolve within some kind of structure), it's useful for the audience to pay attention to what gets given the valuable real estate of camera/story time.
So when time is given and effort made to show the actual titles of actual books... well.
Figure 1. Local bookshelf weighted down by an over-abundance of literary allusions.
Tumblr media
This is a screenshot from episode 3 of Good Omens's second season, as Jim is reshelving all the books in Aziraphale's book shop by the first letter of their first sentences. He's about to shelve Jane Austens's Pride and Prejudice ("It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.") and the red sideways book, that he is about to pick up, is Good Omens itself ("It was a nice day.").
But, unusually, we can see the title of almost every other book on the shelf. Several of them appeared in the advertising poster, too, as I outlined previously (if you click that link, be advised that I am very proud of several bits of that essay and also let's not talk about how my go-to for musical references is Middle English folk rather than, say, Buddy Holly). Anyway-- with this in mind, and the understanding that time, effort, and celluloid have been spent on getting this shot to the audience, it would behoove us, I think, to actually look at these books.
Figure 2. A pair of showrunners providing not-so-subtle ancillary notation suggesting the same thing, so really, this is a no-brainer in terms of meta fodder.
Tumblr media
Okay, Trifles, so what about the book club
Technically, this isn't my idea. It's Neil's and Douglas's, so jot that down.
What I figure is, I can provide a list of the books shown, their first lines, and a VERY brief summary of each. Those are below. And as I rewatch the show, I may reblog this post with additions, but also...
I've read some of these, but not all of them, and not recently -- with at least one of them, though, I remember enough to know that the first line and summary do nothing to showcase the heartrending possibilities the book may be alluding to for the overall Good Omens narrative.
And further-- as I collected these summaries and first lines, I started noticing some compelling commonalities. Which I, for one, would like to confirm and dig into more deeply.
So while I'm going to start reading these, it might be a Nice Idea for other folks to do so as well. The more write-ups we can get, the greater the concordance of Interesting Insights might be available. (And if you tag me in your write up, or otherwise draw my attention, I will gladly link your essay up here for the edification of others omfg.)
ANYWAY
The "Jim Shelving" Book List
From right to left (which feels odd, but it's the actual alphabetical-by-letter arrangement), and summaries from various internet sources:
Herzog, by Saul Bellows
"If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog."
"Herzog is a 1964 novel by Saul Bellow, composed in part of letters from the protagonist [...] The novel follows five days in the life of Moses E. Herzog who, at the age of forty-seven, is having a midlife crisis following his second divorce."
A Series of Unfortunate Events, (series) by Lemony Snicket
"If you are interested in happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book."
The first book in the series, The Bad Beginning, "tells the story of three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, who become orphans following a fire and are sent to live with Count Olaf, who attempts to steal their inheritance."
The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger
"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
"The novel details two days in the life of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield after he has been expelled from prep school. [...] From what is implied to be a sanatorium, Holden, the narrator and protagonist, tells the story of his adventures before the previous Christmas."
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since."
"Set in the Jazz Age on Long Island, near New York City, the novel depicts first-person narrator Nick Carraway's interactions with mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and Gatsby's obsession to reunite with his former lover, Daisy Buchanan."
The Bible, (anthology) by God et al.
"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."
"25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?'
26 And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.'
27 And the Lord did not ask him again."
The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler
"It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills."
"Private investigator Philip Marlowe is hired by wealthy General Sternwood to stop a blackmailer. Marlowe suspects that the old General is merely testing his caliber before trusting him with a bigger job, one involving Sternwood's two amoral daughters."
Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell
"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."
"In George Orwell's iconic and prophetic masterpiece, 1984, a haunting vision of a dystopian future unfolds. Set in a world dominated by the all-seeing eye of Big Brother, the story follows Winston Smith, a lowly Party member whose very thoughts are scrutinized. As the Party manipulates history and suppresses truth, Winston's yearning for individuality and connection pushes him into a daring dance on the edge of rebellion."
[A title I cannot, unfortunately, read-- if anyone who HAPPENS to be familiar with the show and HAPPENS to perhaps also be on tumblr just HAPPENS to say what this book might be, that would be Very Much Appreciated]
"????"
[WOW I WISH I WAS A SUMMARY OH WELL]
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
"It was love at first sight."
"Set in the closing months of World War II in an American bomber squadron off the coast of Italy, Catch-22 is the story of a bombardier named Yossarian who is frantic and furious because thousands of people he has never even met keep trying to kill him. Joseph Heller's bestselling novel is a hilarious and tragic satire on military madness, and the tale of one man's efforts to survive it."
Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez
"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."
"The story, which treats the themes of love, aging, and death, takes place between the late 1870s and the early 1930s in a South American community troubled by wars and outbreaks of cholera. It is a tale of two lovers, artistic Florentino Ariza and wealthy Fermina Daza, who reunite after a lifetime apart."
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon
"It was seven minutes after midnight."
"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a 2003 mystery novel by British writer Mark Haddon. [...] The novel is narrated in the first-person perspective by Christopher John Francis Boone, a 15-year-old boy who is described as "a mathematician with some behavioural difficulties" living in Swindon, Wiltshire. [...] Christopher sets out to solve the murder [of a neighbor's dog] in the style of his favourite (logical) detective, Sherlock Holmes."
The Crow Road, by Iain Banks
"It was the day my grandmother exploded."
A Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. "This Bildungsroman is set in the fictional Argyll town of Gallanach, the real village of Lochgair, and in Glasgow, where the adult Prentice McHoan lives. Prentice's uncle Rory disappeared eight years previously while writing a book called The Crow Road. Prentice becomes obsessed with papers his uncle left behind and sets out to solve the mystery. Along the way he must cope with estrangement from his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, and failure at his studies."
No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley, by Rita Marley with Hettie James
"I was an ambitious girl child."
"Fans of reggae legend Bob Marley will welcome this no-nonsense biography from his wife, Rita, who was also his band member, business partner, musical collaborator and the only person to have witnessed firsthand his development from local Jamaican singer to international superstar."
I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith
"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink."
"I Capture the Castle tells the story of seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, who live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills. She fills three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries. Her journals candidly chronicle the great changes that take place within the castle's walls, and her own first descent into love."
...and because I happen to know and love this book, I'm aware of the devastating last lines...
"Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you."
57 notes · View notes