#this is not a book about benedict cumberbatch

[m-a-salter]

this is not a post about peter capaldi

It is a post about Tabitha Carvan's book, This Is Not a Book about Benedict Cumberbatch, which I recently devoured. It is a sneakily profound book about patriarchal society's double standards around pleasure and enthusiasm, and if you have ever worried about whether your interest in [insert pop-culture enthusiasm here] was weird/pathological/in-any-way-problematic, I urge you to read this book.

I have never felt more seen and understood; in some of the quotes below I have made some minor substitutions such that the sentences are now 100% about me:

“I wanted to keep looking at [Peter Capaldi]! —but I also wanted to avoid ending up at a Not-Traditionally-Good-Looking-Yet-Extremely-Attractive-Celebrities Anonymous meeting, sitting next to some Steve Buscemi fan, having to declare I was an addict.”

“My friends and family often send me mentions of [Peter Capaldi] they've found online, thinking—ludicrously—that I wouldn't have seen them already.”

“…[R]evisit the memory of what it was like for you when you first found fanfiction. A little while ago, I saw a news story about a woman living in a New York apartment who discovered an entire other, hidden apartment behind her bathroom mirror, and isn't that just what it's like? A completely new thing you never knew about, which was there the whole time. And then all of a sudden, you have so much more space to move around in than you ever realized.”

“Coming out as a [Capaldian] is easy. Since the inside of me is almost entirely [Peter Capaldi], it's simply a matter of drip-feeding it to the outside. I start by casually dropping [Peter Capaldi] into conversation, at a rate of one mention per every five hundred times I think of him. Then I reply to people's text messages with [Peter Capaldi] GIFs, deploying a mere fraction of the images of him saved on my phone."

“And I know self-declaration is a far cry from self-determination, but at least it's a step up from self-care, the substitute aspiration we've been sold. That was the conclusion reached by the writer Anne Helen Petersen too. After researching her book on burnout, she reported that ‘skincare routines, pedicures, sweet treats, elaborate vacations, even massages—none of it feels as good as actually figuring out something you like to do, and then doing it as if no one was watching, and no one ever will, and it will never, ever find a place on your résumé.’”

“...[S]omething trivial, like a crush on a celebrity, can have unexpected, maybe profound, consequences, not in spite of being trivial but because it is. Because it's fun, because it doesn't matter, because it's purely for you, because it feels stupidly good. Because the joy of it expands. It seeps into other parts of your life, transforming it, and you, in ways that do matter—a lot.”

[manogirl]

I feel like a teenager right now with my single-minded focus on William Jakrapatr and I can't BElieve the amount of joy this is bringing me.

It makes me think so much of This Is Not a Book about Benedict Cumberbatch: The Joy of Loving Something--Anything--Like Your Life Depends on It, which IS about a woman who is a (excuse my french) Cumberbitch but is about so much more and all I'm saying is discovering our middle-aged joys wherever they may be is such an absolute fucking delight.

[cowgirlkatebishop]

I've been struggling a lot lately with the way my fandom side fits into my “real” life and it’s been making things…very difficult to handle.

But then @ladamedusoif recommended Tabitha Carvan’s book This Is Not A Book About Benedict Cumberbatch: The Joy Of Loving Something — Anything — Like Your Life Depends On It.

And I got to this quote:

How could I ever justify this — wasting my precious time on something so unimportant? […] It doesn’t take into consideration, at all, how my love for something as silly as Benedict Cumberbatch makes me feel, and what that’s worth to me. It’s someone else’s value system, one that sees loving something, and especially loving something too much, as a bad thing, a problem, an embarrassment. It’s a system that doesn’t know how to account for all the ways in which other people might make meaning.

And fuck if it wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear.

[bookquotesforthesoul]

It took me a long time to grasp this, but I think I get it now: something trivial, like a crush on a celebrity, can have unexpected, maybe profound, consequences, not in spite of being trivial but because it is. Because it's fun, because it doesn't matter, because it's purely for you, because it feels stupidly good. Because the joy of it expands.

Tabitha Carvan, This is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

You just have to love something--anything--like your life depends on it. Maybe it does?

This Is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch, by Tabitha Carvan

[marvelmaniac715]

David Tennant has been involved in/can be linked to practically everything I study in English aside from the poetry and it is starting to scare me:

Okay, SO. For reference, I have studied the following in English Literature since the beginning of high school (I am now in college):

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Romeo and Juliet

Much Ado About Nothing

Of Mice and Men

Macbeth

Measure for Measure

Atonement

Hamlet

Here is how David Tennant connects to each one in a terrifying way:

A Midsummer Night's Dream - he once portrayed Puck (performed one monologue as the character) as part of a show about Shakespeare

Romeo and Juliet - he played Romeo

Much Ado About Nothing - he played Benedick in a fantastic production that had Catherine Tate as Beatrice

Of Mice and Men - he was George in a BBC Radio 4 adaptation of the novel

Macbeth - he was the title role in a radio version of the play that was required listening for my class and he went on to play the role live on the West End just last year

Measure for Measure - I had to dig deep for this, but years ago he portrayed Angelo for just one scene as part of a six part documentary about the impact of Shakespeare that has now been lost to time, however I did find footage of his scene and pictures

Atonement - in the film adaptation of Atonement, Benedict Cumberbatch plays Paul Marshall, and he went on to cameo as Satan in Good Omens, which stars David Tennant as Crowley

Hamlet - he played Hamlet in both a filmed performance and live on stage, with the real skull of Tchaikovsky who donated it so he could be featured in Shakespearean productions after he died (just a fun piece of trivia), additionally, the skull was traditionally only used in rehearsals so as not to distract the audience with the presence of a real skull, but David Tennant insisted on using the skull in live performances

So there you have it - when I graduate college, I must personally track down David Tennant and shake his hand as thanks for his extensive involvement in my studies.

[elennemigo]

9th

✦ Benedict reacts to the end of the actors strike (Audio)

✦ LAMDA had its 2023 Graduation Ceremony and president Benedict Cumberbatch was attending.

15th

✦ First trailer for Marvel Studios´ What If season 2. Benedict returns to voice Doctor Strange.

16th

✦ Variety´s article with Benedict talking about Letters Live.

✦ Letters Live 2023 at Royal Albert Hall.

(Attendees´ pics and clips: x x x x x x/ x x x x x)

✦ Angelique Kidjo post with Benedict in her Instagram.

✦ Benedict reads notoriously grumpy Irish playwright's letter of complaint.

Pictures behind the scenes by Andrew Paradise.

25th

✦ New clip behind the scenes of The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar.

28th

✦ "The Book of Clarence" new trailer (No Benedict.)

29th

✦ "The End We Start From" new trailer. (Benedict yes!)

                     ⊱ ────── { FIN } ────── ⊰

[biglittlesplashes]

My grandma just suggested I watch BBC sherlock.

I can't explain to her superwholock or its Tumblr infamy

[crowleysgirl56]

Ok, so I wanted to do a deeper dive into this particular passage of Good Omens:

For context, this is at the climax of the book, they’re at Tadfield airbase, the horsemen have been dispensed with, Aziraphale has his body back, and Satan is about to claw his way out of the pit.

In most of the proceeding chapters involving Crowley it talks a lot about how scared Crowley is. He is very scared of Hell.

One could perhaps say maybe he is scared of them due to The Arrangement, but that is never explicitly stated. I think it has more to do with Hell is bad, and Crowley has spent the majority of the book being yelled at by some entity through the radio or TV telling him how he’s going to be in super amounts of trouble when they get their hands on him. He is just scared of what will happen. When he comes across the book shop burning he doesn’t cry for his lost friend. He curses Aziraphale, and I think it’s because the one person who may have been able to keep him safe and protected from Hell is now gone.

So when he thinks to himself (as shown in the above screen shot) that there is now nothing left for him to lose, this is why I never thought (upon reading the book the first time that is) there were any romantic feelings between him and Aziraphale. I know that technically he had already lost Aziraphale. But by this point he was back again, and back in his body. If there truly were romantic thoughts between them surely the idea of losing him again would come up.

I have read so much fanfiction, some old, some new, and what they all have in common is the detailed inner monologue of Crowley’s turmoil over his feelings for Aziraphale and how he doesn’t feel like he can act on them. In the book we get nothing of the sort, from either character. Even when they’re separated there is hardly ever any description of them thinking of the other except occasionally to frame a short reference to something. Reading the book I never got the impression that there was anything more than two ethereal beings spending time and proximity to each other and doing work for each other for no other reason than they’re essentially a bit lazy.

I think they’re only queer coded for the fact that there’s the line about Aziraphale appearing “gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitric oxide”, and Crowley is, well, very Freddie Mercury coded. Them being seen as gay together and all the gay slurs in the awful racist scenes of Aziraphale body hopping about in culturally indigenous people after the bookshop fire has more to do with the very typical 80’s/90’s trope of “being gay = comedy gold”, than them actually being together romantically.

I think the reason why they were shipped so much after the publication however is for the same reason we ship so many male couples (or female couple) in modern media, why we’ve always shipped them: because of the complete and horrid lack there of, of proper queer representation.

If you’ve ever seen the magnificent Russel T Davies TV series It’s a Sin, there is a wonderful scene where the character Ash starts a job in a school library and the headmaster asks him to go through all the books and find any book that has queer love scenes so they can be removed. Ash then gives a most beautiful and impassioned speech (albeit it turns out the speech is just in his head) of how there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is nothing to the point where they are nonexistent. They are invisible. They are not seen. (Or like, something to that effect. I tell you though, it’s bloody brilliant).

So I think that’s rather the point really. You have two iconic characters, albeit supporting bit characters practically, and I think a lot of our minds automatically get drawn to wanting to put them together because of the sheer lack of queer couples. People have been doing it for years from Frodo and Sam, to Harry Potter and Draco (or Ron I guess), to Sherlock and Watson (even before the Benedict Cumberbatch show. Also as an aside let’s not get into how obsessed people got about Sherlock Holmes back in the day when those books were first published. The obsession was the reason Doyle killed the character off the in first place, then after getting letters from people telling him they were literally going to kill themselves, the reasons why he resurrected him again. Don’t tell us that modern day nerds are weird and obsessive. We’ve ALWAYS been like this).

It’s for this reason why queer representation is so god damn important. Why I still support the idea of Good Omens season 3. Because regardless of how the characters were originally intending to be represented in the book, it’s very clear now that they are so much more than “Just friends”. And we NEED that! Whether you subscribe to the idea that they will be physically intimate with each other, the fact remains is they love each other. They love each other immensely. And that comes from years of Terry Pratchett (and the other guy) accepting that canon and telling fans that it’s true. Because Michael Sheen made a choice and held a belief about how he saw his character and then David Tennant followed suit. That literally tens of thousands of fanfiction writers have decided the same.

So that’s my take. I don’t think loving each other was ever intended that way in the book, but in the last 35 years their story has morphed into the ineffable husbands that we now know.

What are your thoughts? Have I rambled on long enough to make any sense? Do you agree? Have I missed something completely obvious and gotten it all wrong? Keen to hear thoughts.

[rotary-supercollider]

My favorite part of playing guilty gear with my brother is doing character voices and making up factually incorrect lore

My favorite bits:

- Happy Chaos only brings 6 bullets to every fight because none of his clothes have any pockets so that’s all he can fit in his gun

- he also listens to Nickelback and if no one stops him he’s gonna replace the soundtrack to the next guilty gear game with their phlegmy alt-rock

- Asuka B# (pronounced B sharp) invented pop-up books and discovered the Higgs Boson, which was a vital part of creating the Guilty Gear

- The Guilty Gear was a literal gear made out of Higgs Bosons. It’s intended purpose was to absorb all the sins of humanity and get everyone into heaven, but it was eaten by a goat so everyone blames that goat for the downfall of society (this is what the “mankind knew” thing before every match is about)

- Testament’s scythe is a JoJo’s stand called “100 Gecs” that strips you of your pronouns

- Faust is Leonardo DiCaprio who got blackout drunk at the Titanic cast party and has been running around as a bag doctor for like 50 years

— The Leo in every movie since 1997 is a clone. The film studios keep clones of all the big name actors in coffins hidden in Area 51. Goldlewis’s coffin has Benedict Cumberbatch’s clone in it

- “Dog Kick! Dog Kick! Dog Kick!” “Giovanna you really need to find something else to call that move it doesn’t sound good”

- Potemkin is a Macy’s thanksgiving day parade float that turned against its masters and is now seeking revenge

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) The aftermath of the gala brings a shift to Ben and Quinn's relationship.

Chapter Word Count: 5.4K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, play fighting, smut: oral sex (giving/receiving), penetrative sex, light dominance. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, I would really appreciate if you considered leaving a comment. It would really mean the world to me to hear your feedback and what you think of the story so far. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

Join the Tag List Here*

It had been a while since you’d seen him smoke, and you assumed it was because he’d finally managed to quit. So when you saw him heading for the back door before you’d even taken off your heels, you felt guilty. Like the stress you’d put him through had driven him to take up the habit again. 

You stood in the kitchen, elbows resting on the island as you looked down at your notes from the evening. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted in through the crack in the sliding glass door, but you didn’t mind it; coming to take comfort in the aroma whenever it came from him. 

You rolled the balls of your bare feet over the tiles, rising onto your tiptoes and down again in a lazy rhythm, relieving the dull ache your shoes had left behind. The notes were messy, jumbled and incoherent at points. You stood there, armed with your pen, deciphering the pages like a secret code, writing annotations in the margins and circling anything remotely salvageable. 

The door slid open and Ben stepped into the kitchen, shaking off the late night cold as he locked it behind him. He was still in his suit, the heels of his shoes clicking across the floor as he made his way towards you. You watched as he shrugged off his blazer and lay it on the edge of the island before unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie. 

“You write like a doctor,” he said as he glanced at your notebook over your shoulder. 

You laughed softly. “It was dark in there.” 

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers gently pressing into knots of tension you didn’t realise were there. You sighed, closing your eyes and letting your head roll from side to side. He sensed your relief, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders more firmly. 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” you replied, too preoccupied with the satisfying pressure of his hands. 

“You were right, I overreacted. I got jealous and I took it out on you.” 

“It was my fault for making you jealous in the first place though��” 

“Yeah but the way I responded… It was… I don’t like how I behaved.”

“I found it quite sexy.” 

He chuckled, letting go of you and moving to lean against the island beside you. “How did I know you were going to say something like that?” 

You looked up at him with a slight smirk. 

“But really,” he continued earnestly. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to get so… possessive of you.” 

Your smile remained. 

He shook his head with a breathy laugh. “Don’t say you liked it.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to your notes.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at your book. “Do you want me to answer that question now?” 

You looked back up at him. “Really?” 

“Sure.” He walked around the island towards the sink. “Go for it.” 

You flicked to a blank page, pen poised between finger and thumb. “Okay… So, do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary contributions?”

He hummed in thought as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, running the hot tap and beginning to wash the small pile of dishes he’d left in the sink. “It’s hard isn’t it; the arts are so reliant on investment. Even at school level, art, drama, music, they’re viewed as luxuries, superfluous even...” 

He continued to speak, his voice so engaging, his words so eloquent and insightful. But you found yourself more focused on what he was doing; the way he looked as he stood at the sink, so relaxed, domesticated, real. You never thought you could find a man washing dishes attractive, but there was something about the scene before you that made your stomach flutter. It was the intimacy of it, the undone collar and rolled up sleeves, the comfort he felt in your presence, the beautiful mundanity of it all. 

He turned around, shaking the water off his hands and reaching for a tea towel. You glanced up, meeting his gaze and watching as a smile crept across his face. 

“You weren’t listening to a word of that, were you,” he said.

“Sorry,” you replied with a shy laugh. “Got distracted.” 

He paused for a moment as he looked at you; watching you watch him, a curious glint in his eye. “What?” 

You shook your head, reaching for your bag. “Nothing. Tell me your answer again. I’ll just record it this time.” 

“What distracted you?” he laughed. 

“Just you,” you replied. “Doing… regular things.” 

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nice.” You shrugged. “Makes it feel like we’re…” 

He waited for you to finish. But you didn’t. So instead he spoke for you. “A couple…?” 

“Well I don’t know. Do couples interview each other for magazines while doing the dishes?” 

He chuckled, eyes crinkling, cheeks creasing with the smile lines you loved so much. 

You picked up your pen, twirling it between your fingers for a moment before beginning to write, aimlessly scrawling the date across the top of the page, going over it multiple times until the paper began to tear. 

“Quinn,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. 

“Mhm?” you replied without looking up.

He made his way back over to you, stopping at your side and placing a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to him. 

“We are sort of a couple,” he said, like he was breaking bad news to you. Yet there was a slight amusement in his tone, finding humour in your sudden unease.

You licked your lips, pressing them together firmly as you gazed up at him. “How do you figure?” 

He breathed out a laugh. “Because what’s the phrase? If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.” 

“Are you saying I waddle when I walk?” 

He laughed again, more heartily this time, the sound rumbling in the base of his throat. “You know full well that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying this…” He gestured between you. “Coming home together at the end of a night out, fighting in the car, making up in the kitchen, knowing how you like your coffee, what days you have off work, what side of the bed you prefer to sleep on… There’s only one person I have that with, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s you.” 

You rolled your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in his tone, how he whispered the last few words. But you couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

“And honestly,” he continued, tilting his head to catch your gaze again. “There’s no one else I want to have that with.” 

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a moment before shaking your head, a rare fleck of vulnerability in your voice. “Why me?”

He shifted closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with his fingers. You felt your heartbeat quicken in response; the softness of his touch and sudden sincerity in his expression flooding you with a sense of anticipation. 

He swallowed. “Because… I love-”

“Don’t you dare.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Wh-”

You held up your finger to silence him, taking a step back like an animal preparing to scarper.

“Quinn,” he chuckled.

“Ben.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”  

You made your way slowly around the kitchen, putting the island between you like a barrier. He raised his brow with a laugh, shaking his head at you. 

“Okay,” he finally said, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay fine. I won’t say it.” 

You glared at him, watching as he let out a quiet sigh of defeat, though his eyes sparkled with humour as you continued to shuffle around the island. He took a small step in your direction, arms still raised. But you knew better than to trust it; the smirk on his face giving him away. 

“Then why are you coming closer?” you replied.

“God, you really know how to make a man feel wanted,” he said sarcastically, continuing to move towards you with slow, fluid steps.

“I just don’t want you to say anything you’ll regret.” 

“Mm.” He stilled for a moment, pretending to ponder, before darting around the counter. 

You yelped in surprise and turned to run away, but he was too swift, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back against him.

“Fucking hell you’re fast,” you laughed breathlessly.

He leaned down, bringing his lips close to your ear. “I always get what I want.” 

You squirmed in his arms and he tightened his grip, just enough to still you. You let your head fall back against his chest in defeat, blowing out an exaggerated huff. His laugh was deep and warm beside your ear as he slid his hands down to rest on your hips, sending a sudden nervous thrill to your core. Then he turned you around, bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs tracing soft circles over your cheeks as he leaned down to kiss you.

You welcomed it eagerly, sliding your arms around his waist and gripping the material of his shirt in your fists to pull him flush against you. His mouth moved over yours slowly, deeply, the pressure of his kiss flooding you with a warmth that made every touch feel like fire, every breath like steam as it escaped between your parted lips. But you could feel him holding back, as though he was testing each movement, waiting for a sign to let go.

He pulled back, breathing heavily as his forehead rested against yours, the same look of admiration on his flushed face. 

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, emphasising each word.

He exhaled a long, slow huff through his nose, the slightest smirk at the corner of his mouth. His hands drifted down from your face, fingers tracing lightly over your neck, along your shoulders and down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Alright then, I won’t say it,” he murmured, his voice deep and hoarse. Then he paused, drawing out the silence between you until it was almost unbearable. “What I will say is that I think we should go upstairs…”

You felt a ripple of excitement in your stomach, his tone laced with a hunger that made it impossible to misinterpret. He stepped back and took your hand in his, watching you, waiting for you to respond, his thumb idly grazing over your knuckles. 

“Unless you’re too tired?” he added, tilting his head slightly. 

You swallowed, the tension between you so heavy that the only response you could muster was a shake of your head. 

He smiled, gently tugging you towards him, sending a sudden wave of nerves to the pit of your stomach. Your heartbeat quickened as he led you upstairs, as though you’d forgotten what this part felt like; how exciting yet terrifying it could be. Thrilling and intimidating, all at once. 

He kept his hands on you the entire time, refusing to break the connection, even as he opened and closed the bedroom door. You kissed him eagerly as he walked you backwards to the bed, his lips warm and firm against yours, fingers digging into your waist to keep you close. 

Your hands moved up his arms and over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. It made you hesitate for a moment, trying to speak against his lips.

“Are y- sure- about this?” The words came out broken and breathless, punctuated by his continuous, fervent kisses.

“Certain,” he whispered impatiently, falling with you onto the bed, the weight of his body sinking you into the mattress. 

He slid a hand to your neck, his thumb pressing against the base of your throat as he continued to kiss you. You moaned as the pressure stifled your breath, making you buck your hips in a desperate search for friction. 

A groan escaped him, but instead of holding back like you’d come to expect, he gave in to it; parting your legs with his thighs and settling between them, allowing you to grind against the erection straining beneath his trousers.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been to resist you,” he mumbled, traipsing kisses from your cheek to your jaw. 

“So what’s changed now?” you replied, voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths. 

His lips moved from your jaw to your ear. “Now we’re a couple.” 

You let out a soft laugh. “I never actually agreed to that…” 

“I’m sure I’ll have you agreeing soon.”

He took his time, fingers gently caressing your body over the material of your dress. His movements were slow, lingering, deliberate and unhurried as he traced the outline of your curves, letting each touch build and settle before moving onto the next.

You reached up to unbutton his shirt as he unravelled his tie, whipping it from around his neck and throwing it to the ground. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, hands moving to roam his bare chest as he shrugged it off completely. 

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him shirtless over the last four months; you were all too familiar with the feeling of his chest beneath your palms, how your fingers moved over the dips and rivets of his torso. But tonight it felt different, somehow, like your touch was charged. You could feel his heartbeat through his chest, the flex of his muscles with even the slightest movement. 

He was softer than when you’d first met, no strict movie routine keeping him lean and toned. But that softness made you want him even more; his body a testimony of the comfort and security he felt with you. There was still a firmness to him, his frame a perfect mixture of hard and yielding; thick arms and a broad chest that caged you beneath him, soft stomach that moulded to your body as he held you close. 

You both knew you liked it when he took control. And he liked it too; his generosity and commitment to your pleasure so allconsuming that he would gladly lose himself in it completely. You knew the moment he delved beneath your dress, it would be almost impossible to pull him back, to make him pause long enough for you to indulge in him. You wanted to show him what he’d missed, make him feel how much you’d yearned for this intimacy. 

And so you pushed gently on his chest, silently instructing him to sit up. His brows came together in a moment of confusion, but he didn’t resist, allowing you to direct him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands working to unbutton his trousers. He shifted, helping you slip them down, freeing him from his underwear and giving a quiet sigh of relief. 

You wrapped a hand around his cock, glancing up to see his face tense with anticipation. It didn’t seem to matter how light your touch was, how slow or vigorous you stroked, it all had the same effect; turning his breath shallow, the angles of his face sharp in the dim light. Licking your lips, you brushed the stray pieces of hair out of your face, before leaning forward and finally taking him in your mouth. 

His eyes rolled, head falling back in bliss as he let out a deep, gratified groan. You’d missed those sounds; always delighting in his willingness to make noise, and longing for it in your abstinence. You worked your mouth over him, lips and tongue drawing the most delicious sounds from the base of his chest, and whenever your hair fell back into your face, you would brush it away quickly, trying to keep a steady rhythm as your hand and mouth moved together along the length of his cock. 

The next time your hair fell, he noticed before you could fix it, gathering the loose strands in his fists and holding them back for you. His grip tightened as he began to guide your head, but he remained gentle, reserved, letting you stay in control. The feeling of his fingers tangled in your hair made you ache for the power you knew he was capable of, desire pooling between your legs as he silently directed you, swearing under his breath and gazing down at you in awe. 

His composure waned, just for a moment, hips thrusting his full length to the back of your throat. You choked slightly and he gave a low growl in response, his voice resonating deep in your core. And though you hadn’t planned to stop, you didn’t protest when he drew back, pulling you up into a deep, ravenous kiss.

Your body hummed with desire, skin tingling, stomach coiling as he guided you to straddle his lap. His hands slid up your thighs beneath your dress, fingers digging into the flesh of your backside with a firm, eager pressure. You shifted your weight, grinding against his bare erection, but the barrier of your underwear stifled the friction, leaving you hot and frustrated,forced to bear down harder in a desperate search for relief. 

He continued to kiss you as his fingers reached for the zip of your dress. You felt it coming undone slowly, the smooth journey from the back of your neck to the base of your spine making you shiver in anticipation. The material loosened and you slipped it off your shoulders, letting it fall down your arms and pool at your waist. He moved his lips to the newly exposed skin of your chest, planting hot kisses along your collarbones as he quickly unclasped your bra and tossed it to the ground. 

He took a moment to take in the sight of you, your soft, untouched breasts like a delicacy he’d been craving but never let himself indulge in. You let out a quiet hiss when he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it roughly as he massaged your other breast with a firm hand. You couldn’t help but arch into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you surrendered to the delicious ache, the arousal pooling between your legs. 

You moaned as he moved between each breast; biting, licking, sucking, kissing, leaving no inch of you unmarred, no sensation unexplored. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pressing crescents into his skin, each sharp indentation drawing a growl from his throat, only spurring his fervour. 

He rose to his feet, lifting you with him and turning around to lay you on the bed. You dragged your dress down and kicked it away, your eyes never breaking contact with him as he shed the last of his clothes and returned to you quickly. His hands caressed your bare body as you lay beneath him, his lips chasing every light, gentle stroke with a kiss. 

He let out a slow, heavy breath as he ran his fingers over your underwear, the extent of your desire clear in the soaking wet cotton between your legs. You shivered when you felt him press his mouth to it, dragging his tongue along the outline of your pussy, like a hot, torturous promise of pleasure.

You whimpered softly, hips rocking, pushing yourself against his mouth with desperation.

“Please,” you whispered. 

He didn’t tease, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and peeling it from you quickly. You watched as he seemed to admire your body, hands gliding over the most intimate parts of you in unashamed worship. 

“Mine,” he muttered as he began pressing kisses to your inner thighs. 

There was no space in this moment for you to deny his claim; no quip or sarcastic remark worthy of disrupting the intimacy between you. So instead you stayed quiet, letting him speak the word into your skin as he made his way to your centre. Your back arched when you felt his thumb along the seam of your pussy, the wet slick making it easy for him to glide through, every brush over your clit sending a jolt to your core. 

His eyes were on you, watching your every reaction as he played with his speed, adjusting the pressure and rhythm of his touch until he found the spot that made you gasp. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit and began to massage it firmly, nipping his teeth at the inside of your thigh as you squirmed beneath him. 

“I want you to tell me when you’re close,” he said, his tone dark and commanding. 

You didn’t answer, too busy writhing against his touch to speak. 

His thumb stilled as he stared up at you, waiting for a response.

You gasped at the sudden loss of stimulation, forcing yourself to look down at him. “Yes,” you said breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll tell you.” 

He seemed satisfied, returning to circling your clit with his thumb as he began stroking himself with his other hand. You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, watching him, taking pleasure in the way he looked as he touched himself, aroused by the mere sight of you spread beneath him. 

He leaned down, his tongue making contact with your pussy for the first time, dragging through your folds as he let a satisfied hum vibrate against you. He drew your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently and sending a deep shudder up your spine. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, the word coming out broken and breathless.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth with a heavy moan. He seemed to like it, burying his face deeper between your legs as he began to devour you, eating you out like he’d missed it, craved it. 

You let your head fall back, eyes closing as you lost yourself in the feeling of his sweeping tongue and puckered lips, the way he swirled and sucked, flicked and dragged with expert precision. Your hands searched for something to anchor you; his hair, his shoulders, the duvet, even your own chest, your body rolling and shivering under his tireless rhythm. 

You’d never forgotten the first time he did this; how mind blowing it had been, how he’d left you shaking, mewling, crying out as you came. And it never stopped surprising you, every time afterwards, the depths of pleasure his mouth was capable of. But even still, this time somehow surpassed it all. 

You felt the familiar heat beginning to build, the trembling in your legs, the tightening in your muscles. 

“I’m close,” you forced yourself to speak. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

He didn’t relent, but you could feel him adjusting his pace, softening the pressure of his ministrations just enough to keep you hanging on the edge, but careful to not push you over. 

You whimpered, rolling your hips in a desperate search for release. But he was too controlled.

“Oh god, Ben please- Please don’t tease me, I can’t-”

 He pulled his head back, returning his thumb to rub lazy circles over your clit. “Ssh, I’m not teasing,” he said softly. “I’m going to let you come. I just want to be inside you when you do.” 

A wave of electricity coursed through you, his words alone almost unravelling you completely. He dipped his head down, granting himself a final taste of you before pulling back again. You watched as he let a string of saliva fall carefully from his pursed lips, dripping down over the entrance of your aching pussy. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, falling back against the mattress, unsure if you’d ever witnessed a more arousing sight.

He crawled up your body, positioning himself between your legs as he kissed your neck with an unexpected tenderness. You felt him reach down to line the head of his cock with your entrance, gliding it through the slick of saliva he’d left there before finally pushing into you. 

The feeling of the first slide was still as breathtaking as you remembered; the fullness, the stretch, the pressure deep in your pelvis. He felt bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just gotten used to the size of your vibrator. But still, he sank into you with ease, your wetness drawing him in like he belonged there, making you gasp and reach out to grip his arms.

He groaned as he buried his entire length inside you, the sound a warm blend of rapture and relief. His voice was orgasmic as it poured into your ear, so delicious you were sure you could climax from the sound of it alone. 

You bent your knees back, hooking your arms around the backs of his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and steady, making you feel so full you thought he might break you. He turned his head to kiss you, adjusting his position slightly to reach your lips with more ease. 

The shift in angle grazed your g-spot, stealing the breath from your lungs, your mouth falling open against his in shock.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hands reaching for his backside to keep him exactly where you needed. “Keep doing that.”

“Fuck,” he growled as you tightened around him. 

He dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck and you clung to him as he moved, hips drawing back and snapping forward repeatedly, staying right where you wanted him. 

Something came over you; a sudden, overwhelming urge to give yourself to him. All of you, every thought, every cell, every word. You cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. 

“I am yours,” you said between soft moans. “I am.” 

He let out a heavy sigh, his control faltering for a moment as he looked down at you. He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you as his thrusts grew harder, more intense, staying at the angle that sent ripples of pleasure through your belly. Your eyelids fluttered as the sensation grew stronger, a climax rising from your core like a wave until it overflowed, crashing through you before you even realised it was coming. 

He continued to move, watching your face in awe as you came apart beneath him, drawing it out of you with long, firm strokes. Your legs shook, your bottom lip quivering as your walls tightened, your core throbbing with the echoes of your orgasm. 

His pace slowed, the atmosphere between you shifting into something softer, more intimate, as though your bodies had transcended sex, melting into one another in a symbiotic, otherworldly connection. He kissed you tenderly as he rocked his hips, moaning quietly into your mouth as your hands curled around the back of his neck. And when he looked into your eyes again, his gaze held a depth that you couldn’t ignore. 

You shook your head, gently pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it.” 

He breathed out a soft laugh, gripping your wrist and kissing the side of your hand.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, urging him to get up. He moved you both smoothly, sitting up and pulling you to straddle his lap. You reached down, guiding him back inside you and sinking down on it, luxuriating in the groan that escaped him. 

He felt different in this position - even bigger, somehow - the head of his cock kissing the very depths of you, almost taking your breath away. His hands found your hips, rocking you gently back and forth to control your speed. You held him close, arms draped over his shoulders as you kissed him passionately. 

“I missed this,” you whispered. 

He shivered slightly beneath you, and you could sense his composure slipping as he held you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.

“Don’t ever hold back from me again,” you added. 

“I’m not sure I could if I wanted to,” he replied, breathing heavily. 

You rocked forward, his cock sending a shockwave through your sensitive core. A moan fell from your open mouth, eyes closing tightly. He noticed your reaction, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quiet and breathless. “I can take it,” you added with a slight smirk, rolling your hips with an intentional roughness that elicited a deep growl in his chest. 

His eyes glimmered with something hungrier, more primal, his body moving to meet the rhythm of your hips. He trailed a hand up to your neck as he kissed you, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your throat as he added more power to his thrusts, taking back the control. 

You tore your lips from him, head falling back in utter bliss as you placed your hands over his, holding onto him as he bracketed your throat, fucking you hard as he sat beneath you. You choked out a moan, your insides coiling, pelvis flooding with hot, tingling pressure. 

You felt yourself falling onto your back, and he moved with you, resting his elbows either side of your head as he continued the intense, forceful snap of his hips. He lay kisses along your neck, your jaw, before you felt his breath hot against your ear. 

“Tell me again that you’re mine,” he said, his voice almost a growl. 

You clutched at his back, nails dragging scratches down his soft, smooth skin. “I’m yours.” 

The words seemed to push him over the edge, his rhythm quickening until another orgasm tore through you. He groaned as you tensed around him, willing himself to hold on, to coax every last drop of pleasure from you before allowing himself to falter. It was only when your limbs turned heavy, your breaths coming in short, gasping whimpers, that he finally let himself go, sinking his full length into you with a moan and filling you with his own release. 

You clung to him. His back was hot, coated in a layer of sweat and veins of scratches from your nails. He lay panting in your arms, face buried in the crook of your neck as he let his full weight drape over your body. You liked the heaviness of him, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours, the span of his arms as they curved either side of your head.

The room settled into a comfortable silence, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the cloud of lust dissipating, making room for clarity. He shifted to pull out of you but you tightened your hold on him, keeping him in place between your legs. 

“No not yet,” you muttered. “Just stay here for a minute.” 

 He chuckled, yielding to you and relaxing back down. But after a moment, he moved again. 

“I’m getting cramp in my leg,” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and released your hold on him, letting him pull out of you carefully and sit at your feet. You sat up slightly, watching as he stretched his leg, wincing as he massaged his calf. 

He breathed out a sigh when the pain subsided, looking at you with an almost shy smile. His face was flushed, you could tell even in the dim light of the room, making it hard to connect this version of him to the one who’d left you feeling so sore and spent just minutes ago. 

He crawled over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before flopping down beside you. You giggled and lay down next to him, nestling against his side as he wrapped an arm around you. 

“So, that had nothing to do with seeing another guy try it on with me tonight?” you teased. 

“Nothing at all,” he replied with a smirk.

You laughed sleepily, letting your heavy lids settle closed, listening to the sound of his breaths as he played with a loose tendril of your hair. You felt so content, so deeply at ease that even your mind couldn’t bring itself to form a thought. 

Neither of you had spoken in a while. His body so still you assumed he’d dozed off. So when you heard him suck in a breath, preparing to speak, the sound almost startled you. 

“I am so in love with you,” he said.  

It cut through the silence like a blade, his voice so clear and certain that there was no mistaking what he’d said, or if he’d meant to say it. Your eyes sprung open, your head whipping up to look at him in disbelief.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[livvyofthelake]

in many ways barbie and ken are the original down the block there’s an antique shop and something in my head said stop so i walked in on the counter was a cardboard box and the sign said photos 25 cents each black and white saw a 30s bride and two lovers laughing on the porch of their first house the kind of love that you only find once in a lifetime the kind you don’t put down and that’s when i called you and it’s so hard to explain but in those photos i saw us instead and somehow i know that you and i would have found each other in another life you still would have turned my head….. and so on and so forth

and what if this barbie edit made me cry. what then huh.

[bookquotesforthesoul]

How did someone, out there, know what would tick my boxes so precisely, when I didn't? I could read different versions of the same relationship over and over again, each time as shocked and thrilled as if it were my first encounter. They're just friends! Or is there something more? So much is unspoken! Pining! Angst! Someone's hurt! They need looking after! OMG there's only one bed They're cold! They have to huddle! He moaned! Argh, they loved each other all along! Put them in Hogwarts, put them on horses, put them in space, I didn't care.

Tabitha Carvan, This is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch

[foolishxprincipalitee]

The last year of my life:

Watch Good Omens S1 & S2, become obsessed

Start making fanart and edits, get back on Tumblr and AO3 after nearly a decade

Watch everything on David Tennant’s IMDB, remember how much I love Doctor Who, rewatch Good Omens literally 100 times

Start listening to Good Omens fanfic read by Podfixx, become obsessed with her

Notice the other fandom she reads from is Sherlock

Watch Sherlock, become obsessed

Start making more art and edits, watch every interview of Benedict Cumberbatch, delve into a brand-new-to-me fandom

Pick up a book called This Is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch wherein the author interviews Podfixx

Remember that was the whole point and start listening to Sherlock fanfic read by Podfixx

The dopamine of it all !

[venussaidso]

Very interesting the connections that Ketu and Jupiter has with Frankenstein's monsters.

In the upcoming film "Bride" Jessie Buckley will play the Bride of Frankenstein and Christian Bale will play Frankenstein's monster.

Both are Ketuvian. She's Mula Sun, and he is Ashwini Moon. The film is made by Maggie Gyllenhaal who is a Vishakha Sun.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller in (National Theatre Live 2011) "Frankenstein" interchangeably play the Creature (Frankenstein's monster) and Victor Frankenstein. Benedict Cumberbatch is an Ashwini Moon and Jonny Lee Miller is a Vishakha Sun.

The play was literally directed by Ashwini Moon Danny Boyle.

In the film "Lisa Frankenstein", Magha Ascendant Cole Sprouse plays a corpse from the Victorian-era who was resurrected to life (named Creature, commonly being Frankenstein's monster), and his love interest is played by Shatabhisha Moon Kathryn Newton as Lisa Frankenstein. The film is directed by Punarvasu Moon Zelda Williams.

Cole Sprouse's character reminds me of Emily the Corpse Bride from the film "Corpse Bride", voiced by Magha Moon Helena Bonham Carter and the movie being made by Magha Sun Tim Burton.

What I found so interesting was how the internet is intuitively sensitive to Ketu energies as they have connected Laura Harrier to this character in online fan-casting. Laura Harrier is literally an Ashwini Moon.

In the film "Van Helsing" Frankenstein's monster is now played by a Jupiterian instead of a Ketuvian. Purva Bhadrapada Sun Shuler Hensley.

Purva Bhadrapada Moon Daniel Radcliffe, though he plays Igor, Frankenstein's sickly hunchback assistant, in the film "Victor Frankenstein". And in this film it is Ashwini Sun James McAvoy who played Victor Frankenstein.

And Tim Burton's "Frankenweenie" animation movie, it is Mula Moon Charlie Tahan who voices young Victor Frankenstein who resurrects his dog.

Purva Bhadrapada Moon Jacob Elordi will be playing Frankenstein in Guillermo Del Toro's retelling of the story, ultimately replacing Purva Bhadrapada Ascendant Andrew Garfield who was up for the role. AND Purva Bhadrapada Sun Oscar Isaac will be playing Victor Frankenstein.

Link to article

A couple of years ago, I remember Scarlett Johansson was in talks for a "Bride of Frankenstein" movie, and this was never heard of again. I doubt the project has been finalized or proceeded, considering the fact that it's been four years now. But still noteworthy as she is Vishakha Moon so perfectly fits this post.

Vishakha Sun Emma Stone stars in the film "Poor Things", based on a book with the same name which is a clever feminist retelling of Mary Shelley's known work.

A film quite aligned with "Poor Things" is actually "Frankenhooker", being that the 'Creature' is a victimized female, starring Punarvasu Sun Patty Mullen who plays a girlfriend accidentally killed by her scientist boyfriend and is resurrected by him with the use of her head and separate body parts of deceased prostitutes.

This film was literally directed by Magha Sun and Purva Bhadrapada Moon Frank Henenlotter.

Mary Shelley, the creator of the tale of Frankenstein, was a Mula Moon and Ardra Ascendant, a gothic novelist whose work is considered one of the earliest work of science fiction 🖤

Literally went into more examples about Ketu's connections to transcendence, life, death, resurrection etc. in part 2 of my Ketu exploration. And also my vampire post.

[ofthebrownajah]

Reading this book about myth and this really explains a lot about why some fans think the show is doing the characters dirty but other fans think the show is adapting them well. Cause we all experience/latch onto different traits of our favorite characters and perceive them differently. This really explained this to me better in literary terms:

One of the things that enabled myths to create and sustain belief in their characters was the fact that the gods and heroes were plurimedial. That is, the characters were represented through a variety of different media-epic poems, tragedies, songs sung at weddings, vase paintings, sculptures, and so on. When a character is plurimedial, the people who experience that character draw, usually unconsciously, on all the different representations that they have seen and heard in order to create their own, personal versions of that character. We do this all the time today. Those of us who enjoy Sherlock Holmes, for example, are likely to have unconsciously built our own personal vision of who Holmes is out of bits and pieces of what we particularly like about Benedict Cumberbatch and Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayals, for instance, plus traits that stick in our minds from reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories, details from book illustrations that show Holmes in a deerstalker hat, and so on. "My" Sherlock Holmes is unlikely to be exactly the same as "your" personal Sherlock Holmes even if we have seen the same television shows and films and read the same books, because each of us remembers, and values, a different mixture of things from each of those portrayals.

-Sarah Iles Johnston, Gods and Mortals: Ancient Greek Myths for Modern Readers

Like for example, "My" Rand is entirely different than somebody else's Rand cause different people value different aspects of his character