#very readable but quite dry
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Henry always had an exalted ideal of marriage and he was convinced from about 1527 onwards that he was rejecting his former offences against divine law and vowing himself to a more Christian future. It was also obvious that his case would have seemed less convincing, both in Rome and at home, if Anne had been pregnant. It seems much more likely that Henry and Anne together took the romantic, high-minded, and prudent approach to remain chaste until they were married, all the more likely since in 1527 Henry seemed to think that this would soon be achieved. The curious mix of passion, idealism, and political ambition at work here gives some insight into Henry's character.
Henry VIII, Lucy Wooding
#yk what ? as im typing these im realizing she has a very similar style to elizabeth norton#very readable but quite dry#like a martini; iyw#anne-the-quene#lucy wooding#henrician
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October Prompts
2 October: Cobbled
Her heeled shoes made small echoes around them, and Robert felt the small, cobbled courtyard grow ever smaller. He wanted to be anywhere but alone with her; and yet he wanted nothing more but to be. Was this what his life was now?
“Goodness, but it was warm in there,” she sighed, and Robert glanced at her. The tiara in her hair sparkled in the dim light.
“Mmm,” he agreed. “Quite warm.”
“I suppose it’s no wonder with how many people dancing. Scarcely room to turn round.”
“Yes,” he agreed again, and his mouth went dry. He had to think of something else to say, something to stave off what he felt he needed to do most. The reason he asked her to get some air with him. He wet his lips. “Though I’m sure Lord and Lady Wiltshire are pleased with the turn out.”
His wife nodded, and in his periphery, her tiara continued to glitter. He'd not seen her yet in a tiara -- not like this. She'd not been married last Season. “I’m sure.”
It was quiet; the only sound was the soft three-quarter measure of music coming from the open doors, and in the quiet he could sense the way Cora grew impatient. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she looked up at the London sky and then back around the small courtyard. Then sigh. She'd been having fun.
“That’s new?” he tried at last.
She turned to him, and her hand went to her hair. “What?”
“The tiara? Is it one of Mama’s?”
“Oh.” She smiled but shook her head. “Mother bought it. It was my wedding gift.”
He felt himself blush a bit, feeling a little foolish for not having known. “It’s very nice.” He told her, and then, blushed again, his memories from the night before flooding all of his senses.
You feel so very nice.
“Ro—“
“I wanted—“
“Oh,” she laughed at their awkward fumbling effort at conversation, their talking over one another, and he watched his wife smile at him. “Sorry, go on.”
“No,” he insisted, almost relieved. “Please. You were saying?”
“Well—“ he didn't like the way her voice seemed less patient now. Less coy. “Did you need something?”
“Need something?” Oh, what was he going to do? Only echo everything she said? Again, his stomach flipped over itself: I need you. I need you. Oh what had possessed him to say such things aloud?
“Yes. You did ask me out here with you.” Cora's chin lowered. “Have I … have I done something wrong?”
“No, no,” he assured her. “It isn’t you. It’s …”
Her brows lifted, her head shook. “It’s…?”
He had tried to plan this out: he’d cobbled together strings of sentences that seemed right, seemed appropriate for the way he'd behaved — kissing and tasting her in places they’d not yet ventured; for the things he said to her — all the terrible base things his mind usually conjured up when they laid together about the way she felt and looked and smelled.
He knew the three or four lines of apology he’d rehearsed would only get him so far, but he couldn’t have her think him a sort of cad — a man who could say such things to his wife and feel unashamed by them.
“I wanted to apologize for last night.”
Oh. But the response he thought he’d receive — the sigh, the head shake, perhaps the blush — did not come. Instead she only stared, her face unreadable.
“That is,” he clarified, drawing in a breath, “I’m afraid I let my inebriation get the better of my manners.” Two of his practiced lines, gone.
“I don’t recall your being drunk.”
He blinked. No. He hadn’t been, not really. He’d been warm and loose and carefree, but not inebriated. And he could tell she intended on calling his bluff. “No, I admit, I was not drunk, at least, not entirely.”
“So, you wanted to apologize for what, exactly?”
Oh, dear. He hadn’t expected this at all. “When we, that is, when I came to you last night.” He felt his stomach twist into a wet knot, and he lowered his voice. “To your room.”
Although his wife again only stared, this time her expression was clearly readable, even to him: fallen, still features, the pink corners of her mouth dipping nearly imperceptibly downward, the soft drop of her shoulders. “Oh.”
His not so carefully-woven plan was quickly unraveling, him still quickly pulling at the thread. And now he found himself already at line three: “You see, I’d never want you to feel uncomfortable or uneasy with me, and I realize now that you might have been, as I was not myself.”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable, Robert. I ….” Even in the dim light of the party going on just ten yards beyond them, the blush he had expected earlier now rose in her cheeks, and she suddenly looked quite pretty. Robert felt he may be ill. “I thought you could sense that.”
He could indeed, her gasps and whimpers of pleasure had spurred him on in the moment. But twenty-four hours later, the guilt he felt gnawed voraciously at his conscience.
She loved him. It was no secret; it had never been a secret. And he did not love her.
It was cruel to her. It was cruel to have behaved that way: eager and adoring. It was cruel to that lovely woman standing before him, her heart as clearly upon her sleeve as the tiara in her dark hair. Robert felt the last piece of the apology he’d silently rehearsed rise in his throat like bile.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He tried to ignore the way the music floated around the little cobblestoned courtyard, like a dream. He tried to ignore the way her tiara sparkled in the dim light, like the way her eyes sometimes sparkled up at him when she smiled. But most of all, he tried to ignore the way his own heart sank lower, down into the sick pit of his stomach.
By admitting that aloud – admitting he didn’t wish to hurt her – he realized he had.
“We’d better go back in,” Cora said at last. Her voice was flatter than usual. “People will talk.”
All he could do was nod -- for he did not know what to say -- and follow her back into the party, her tiara twinkling in the twilight.
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Book Review 11 - The Comanche Empire by Pekka Hämäläinen
Okay, second history book of the year! I actually liked this one, so the review’s probably not going to break 2,000 words like my one of The Bright Ages did nope never mind.
Anyway, this has been on my tbr for something like a year now, having ended up there for the incredibly nerdy reason of ‘got cited in a blog post about how bad the historical accuracy of the Dorthraki in game of thrones is’, and more broadly just because I remain shamefully uniformed about North American indigenous history beyond the highlights. So, for example, this book has expanded my knowledge of the 17th-19th century southwest several times over, and my knowledge of the indigenous people’s there from, well, not quite nothing, but not too far from it either.
This is actually the second book of Hamalainen’s I’ve read -I’d previously gotten my hands on his Lakota America, which is the more recent work. I rather wish I’d taken better notes as I read it, honestly, feels like a more complete/detailed compare and contrast would be interesting.
Anyways – so the book’s got both a broader historiographical/polemical thesis and then also the specific guiding narrative for its particular subject matter. The broader thesis is essentially that indigenous peoples in the Americas were full and active agents of history, and for centuries after the Columbian Exchange many of them were quite rich and powerful and had significant freedom of action – history isn’t just something that rolls in from the east, which people were then effected by or reacted to, they weren’t just trapped in antediluvian ways of life politely waiting for Progress to arrive. It’s a point he returns to in his latter work, but it certainly one that still seems like it needs making.
His specific thesis for the book, though, is that between the early 18th and late 19th centuries, the Comanche were able to create a real nomadic empire in what became the American southwest, driving out or incorporating rival nations to essentially dominate all the best land for the intensive dual pastoral/hunting economy they developed on the southern plains, and reducing the colonial states of New Mexico and Texas (and at different times Louisiana and almost all of northern Mexico) to the status of imperial tributaries or raiding hinterlands. It was only with the collapse of the buffalo population and the resulting famine (combined with smallpox) that the US Army and the rivers of settlers from Texas and further east were able to seize the southwest and convert it into an agrarian economy.
The book’s very much published by Yale University Press, and not exactly easy reading. It is, however, really very light on jargon, or at least makes sure to introduce all its terms and be clear in their use and meanings. The lack of Comanche written records means Hamalainen mostly has to rely on colonial sources or the reports of merchants and traders, so he has made an explicit point of trying to cross reference multiple such sources from different colonizers whenever possible, and especially for all his significant claims. Besides only barely glancing at the endnotes, I honestly found it really very readable, if dry.
Politics and colonialism aside, one thing Hamalainen really does an excellent job getting across is how revolutionary the (re-)introduction of horses to the Great Plains was. He frames it in terms of access to energy – having horses allows you to being exploiting the massive amounts of calories in the grasses and inedible plant life of the prairies, increasing the total amount of energy you have to do work several times over. Especially when the southern great plains are basically the ideal environment for horses, and their population started exploding basically the second the Spaniards lost track of a breeding pair.
You don’t realize how much easier a nomadic life gets when you upgrade from dogs to horses or mules for pack animals, and how much incredibly more efficiently you can hunt buffalo when you’re not doing it on foot and don’t have to haul back everything you take by hand. Not even getting into how much it shrinks the world in terms of trade and communication, or the massive advantage in being able to dominate hunting grounds and win wars. All incredibly obvious things I just hadn’t particularly thought about.
All this is especially relevant with the Comanche, because from the late eighteenth through mid nineteenth centuries they basically made themselves the fulcrum of the horse trade on a continental scale, with herds that put basically everyone else to shame and an incredibly lucrative business raiding Texas for horses and mules and trading them along with ones they’d raised or tamed themselves north and east.
Speaking of ‘raiding’ – the ‘empire’ in the book’s title isn’t just there to grab attention. The whole book is organized around the thesis that the Comanche both essentially migrated into and conquered the southern Great Plains with a mixture of warfare, diplomacy, and incorporating other groups, and then – along with making themselves the centre of an incredibly lucrative trading network that reached across most of the continent, with Comanche becoming an increasingly common language for trade even quite far from their actual territories – reduced the sedentary and agrarian communities around them (both indigenous and colonial) to the status of an exploited imperial periphery.
This was especially the case in Texas and New Mexico, the former being used as an intensive raiding hinterland and source of livestock well into the mid nineteenth century (at several points raided until the point of near-collapse), and the latter a collection of entrepots, whose governors provided annual tribute and whose towns traded at favourable rates for Comanche goods with the variably explicit promise that failure to do so would be rectified by raiding to make up the difference of a fair exchange. By the time of the Mexican-American War, the governor of the state was more or less openly defying the central government and maintaining a stance of pro-Comanche neutrality in the conflicts between the two.
This peaked in the early-mid nineteenth century, with essentially all of northern Mexico being reduced to an extraction zone for massive annual raids, and individual states or towns negotiating without any real reference to the larger Mexican state, often providing information and scouts to help attack their neighbours in exchange for immunity.
Which actually leads into one of what seemed to me to be one of the book’s more striking claims – that Mexico’s performance in the Mexican-American war can largely be put down to the fact that northern Mexico was only nominally part of the country even before the Americans invaded. There was little appetite for fighting and dying for Mexico City as the Americans moved in because from locals perspective Mexico City had been failing them quite comprehensively for years. (The decision to invite Anglo settlers into Texas is also put down as an attempt to create a shield against Comanche raiding, and the failures of Mexican attempts to reconquer it down to the lack of logistics and organization that resulted from all the possible staging grounds being de facto hostile territory).
Anyways, war and high politics aside, the book was excellent at describing what was actually involved in a nomadic economy on the southern Great Plains. The yearly schedule of raids and hunts, and the importance of river valleys to winter in (and the resulting conflict with sedentary/agricultural communities living in those valleys full-time) is just fascinating. The massively increased efficiency of an entirely hunting/pastoral lifestyle being matched by how fragile it was, likewise- it was vitally importance to get maize and other plant calories through trade or tribute to avoid protein poisoning from an all-meat diet. (Which, like, not actually a thing I’d known to worry about!) Likewise, the fact that horses and buffalo ate basically the same grasses and flourished in the same habitats imposed some real tensions on raising herds of the one while hunting the other – and the fact that even just passing through en route to California, a wagon train of settlers was immensely destructive, stripping river valleys of feed and firewood that was needed for winter camps, not even mentioning all the hunting they did.
One thing that definitely struck me – and the same thing happened with the Lakota, if I’m recalling Hamalainen’s other book correctly – is how the massive increase in prosperity over the 18th/19th century actually made Comanche society massively more patriarchal. Hunting was traditionally a man’s role, and treating/preparing the hide his daughter or wife’s. But a mounted and firearm-wielding man can kill way more buffalo than a single woman can possibly handle, and buffalo robes were, along with horses and captives (either for ransom or as slaves) one of the main trade goods Comanche rancherias used to buy guns, maize, metal cookwear, or whatever else they might need.
The result was a massive spread and institutionalization of polgyny, with junior wives essentially being labourers in the household manufacturing business. With the wealthiest and most important men often having dozens of wives, this rather unsurprisingly had the effect of creating a large class of peripheral young men with strong collective interests in raiding or feuding with neighbouring communities, either to win enough prestige and wealth to attract a wife, or just to kidnap and forcibly marry someone during the raiding. The fact that even as inequality grew more and more extreme, social mobility remained fairly high – among men, of course, but there don’t seem to have been real aristocratic dynasties – is a big part of the explanation Hamalainen gives for why the pressure and tension was all focused outward, and internal Comanche politics remained fairly peaceful and consensus driven (if increasingly oligarchic.)
The economic importance of slavery and the slave trade to just...everything in the region until the late 19th century was also something I probably should have known but still kind of took me by surprise, honestly. Kidnapping people from outlying ranches or other indigenous nations on the Great Plains and selling them to the colonial elite was an extremely lucrative trade throughout the Spanish colonial period, which mostly just transitioned to ‘ransoming’ them after theoretical legal crackdowns. According to Hamalainen, the Comanche didn’t initially practice slavery internally, but after a smallpox epidemic decimated their population several times over around the turn of the nineteenth century they turned to it in a pretty big way to have enough labor to sustain their economy and trade relationships (a fairly temporary kind of slavery, it should be noted, with most seemingly eventually being integrated as full members of the community. Which did mean the pressure to go raid for more was ever present.)
The book was an incredible trove of examples of things where I had previously sort of thought something that was just the result of individual greed or brutal social pressures was actually just, like, consciously racist/imperialist state policy on the part of New Spain or the United States. Either ineffective and kind of comical (Spanish policy for a good bit was to intentionally sell the Comanche secondrate and fragile guns so they’d break more often and they’d be more continually dependent on Spanish goodwill. They just started buying from the British) or extremely effective and pretty consciously genocidal (buffalo overhunting for greed and capitalism reasons was absolutely cratering the population, but at a certain point it was absolutely the policy of the US Army to just destroy the economic basis of Comanche independence.)
I honestly have no idea whether Hamalainen is trying to prove too much, but the argument he makes for the eventual American invasion and conquest of the plains – that the actually armed conflicts were kind of besides the point, because Comanche power had already been pretty thoroughly decimated by a late breaking smallpox outbreak and buffalo-overhunting induced famine, combined with mostly successful efforts to suppress their trading connections in now-American New Mexico, and that the actual campaigns were less battles and more intentional campaigns to destroy their winter villages and the food and goods stores within – seems to hold together and make sense.
Anyway, yeah, heavy and dry book, not exactly cheery reading, but incredibly interesting and informative read. Would recommend, if ‘350 pages of book followed by 150 of endnotes, index and bibliography’ is the sort of thing that appeals.
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Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 97
While I crunch away at my definitely non-school-related entirely personal winter reading, let’s have an easy thing in the shape of an Atlas of Ancient History. Written/curated/edited by Michael Grant with cartography by Arthur Banks, it was first printed by Macmillan in Britain as the 1971 Ancient History Atlas, but was revised and run off by the New York-based Dorset Press in 1985 under this title. I feel very little toward it.
The How
I’ve misremembered for years that I got this while visiting some friends in Kent. In fact I seem to have bought it closer to home; there’s a secondhand price tag in USD and it’s a domestic printing anyhow. I know for sure I got my Folio Society The Persians in Canterbury. These feel similar but different in that they’re both dark blue this one is vaguely cruddy. You’ll forgive me for unconsciously conflating them, I trust.
The Text
Sensu stricto there isn’t much. Titles, legends, pointers, notes. This is 98% map by dry weight.
I’ve included pictures of some more unusual ones, but it’s mostly standard fare. Rome, Greece. Bit of Turkey. There’s one that focuses on China, but (gasp) in this case ‘ancient history’ means ‘the antique Mediterranean and a bit of greater Eurasia when it’s easy’.
Whatever, man. What’s here is quite well realized — good detail work, strong visualizations, reasonably readable — but the, um, narrow focus telegraphed by the cover isn’t inaccurate. If this was anything like comprehensive about anything other than the Mediterranean Basin I’d be more impressed.
The Object
As I say, kinda cruddy. Acid-nibbled paper, thin boards, slightly loose binding. Nice to look at but the size of it feels wrong. Good printing, I admit, and Banks’ work is enviable.
The Why, Though?
If this is a question about purchasing: Since when have I been answerable for past me’s judgment? Don’t answer that.
If this is a question about shelving: This was the very last book I grabbed from storage when packing for the most recent move. It fit nicely in an empty spot in a file box and protected by good art books from bouncing. Also it’s maps. I like a map/graph/chart. It is known.
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i want to hear the infodump about Midwestern weather patterns
*grips you*
Okay this is going to get rambly and I'm typing this on my phone but I'm gonna do my best to keep it somewhat organized as well as readable. For context, I live in the greater KC area, which in recent years, has been gettin put further and further into tornado alley (it's currently moving northward and eastward), tho it's still not technically considered fully in tornado's alley (yet). That being said, I'm still really into tornados and weather in general, and do a lot of amateur + freelance storm chasing when it's in season (which I've posted about a couple of times in the past), so not only do I just like know a lot about weather from learning about it, but I've got a lot of like. Hands on experience lmao
(quick note: it's been a couple of years since I've done anything meteorology related in an official and proper setting, and as such, a lot of official terminology has wiped itself from my brain and been replaced with how I describe things in my own head. I may go back thru and edit anything that needs to be edited but for now I'm just free typing as it comes to my mind, and some things may be a lil off in terms of wording)
Anyways, to begin, I'm gonna briefly talk about a couple of things: air masses and the jet stream. Both are fairly easy to understand, and closely related. Different air masses + the wind that drives them originate from different parts of the country (moist, warm air moving northward from the gulf of Mexico (mT); cool, dry air moving southeast from Canada/Alaska (cP); and hot, dry air moving northeast from the southwestern States/Mexico (cT)). Now, as you can see, with the sliiiiight exception of the cP air mass, pretty much all air moves in a generally eastward direction. This is because of the jet stream, or the westerlies, as they're called in our part of the world (westerlies because wind is always described, professionally, by which way it's COMING from). The jet stream- comprised of high atmosphere and extremely high speed winds- pushes these air masses along- again, generally- from west to east.
However, sometimes the jet stream can look like this:
(from 5am on Wednesday October 26th. I use this website a LOT in the summer because jet stream placement can have a lot to do with tornado formation)
Lil weird lookin, right? Not quite perfectly west to east, is it? This of course is wind patterns that is more in fashion with fall, obviously, and thus isn't great for tornado/storm formation, but keep this in mind regardless.
Anyways, so we have a bunch of air masses being pushed along by this very powerful jet stream. As we've seen, they're generally pushed eastward, but it's not quite a straight push, is it? And based on the descriptions of the directions they're being pushed in, it sounds like they're gonna meet each other somewhere, right? Let's see where that would be
(I actually don't care for this specific image a lot because it doesn't fully showcase the proper size and shape of the originating air masses, plus the directions are off for cT- which I adjusted with the arrow I drew- but this is one of the most popular air mass images and if you ever take any meteorology class, you will see this picture guaranteed lmao)
Now where do we see a lot of the arrows running in to each other? Let's take a closer look
Ah, the good ol Midwest (okay this picture actually sucks but you get the idea)
Now, when these air masses meet in the middle (specifically, when cP meets either cT or mT), it creates the perfect conditions for turbulent weather (specifically, it creates what we call storm fronts; these form when cool air meets warm air). The deadliest/strongest combination is when cP and cT meet (I think that's a fact, but if not then it's at least what I've noticed firsthand), though cP and mT obvi still creates some powerful ass storms, which of course produces tornados. In both cases, it's even more powerful when the jet stream happens to be the strongest over a particular area. Here's an example of what the jet stream looked like on a particularly stormy night that produced a fuck ton of tornadoes in northern Missouri/most of Iowa (June 11th, 2022)
(unfortunately I didn't save any screenshots of what the storm formation actually looked like, but it was essentially following along where the jet stream was, as well south of it, in the case of the Missouri storms)
It doesn't always happen, but when the jet stream happens to be exactly above where a storm formation is, that's when there's some of the highest chances for a tornado to form. It's hard for me to explain via text, but it basically has to do with faster air being above slower air, which then creates a rolling effect that- if it gets flipped around, creates a tornado. It's not the only way a tornado gets formed, but it's one of the more interesting ways to me, for some reason lmao
Anyways, there's obviously a few other reasons and ways that storms and tornadoes form far more over the Midwestern United States compared to literally anywhere else on earth, but this is the biggest reason (in terms of the air masses).
Another fun way, and a favorite of mine because it's so easy to predict, that storms form is whenever it's cloudy, hot and humid for most of the day, then in the evening, the heat eventually breaks through and creates pockets of sunlight through the clouds, which let's all that energy that was trapped beneath the clouds escape, which then travels up and into the remaining clouds, creating those towering, white anvil-like clouds that produce some powerful ass storms. And some of my favorite types of storms >:)
Here's an example (I have a better one but I took it while I was working a couple years ago and the window has revealing info in the reflection lmao. This one is from October 19, 2019)
Anyways, this has already gone on far longer than I meant it too and that's even while taking a twenty minute break to let my phone charge lmao. There's so much more I could go on about but for everyone's sake, including mine, I'll end it here for now
Actually, just one more fun fact: despite being in a place that's ripe with storms and tornado formation, KC actually sees less storms and subsequent tornadoes than the surrounding areas, and that's because of the skyscrapers here! Specifically, the area to the east of the skyscrapers sees less storms, because the skyscrapers disrupt all but the most powerful of storm formations, causing them to usually pass thru either north or south of the city (while still heading eastward in some way, of course). This is the case, I imagine, in most Midwestern/Southern cities with skyscrapers, but of course I live here so this is where I actually know it to be true.
This isn't to say that they're completely safe from storms or tornadoes (especially if this past summer has anything to say about that), but it does lower the chances by a lot!
Anyways. Thanks @ anon for giving me an infodump pass 🖤🖤
#shut up max#i know i dont need a pass but#i prefer to infodump by talking rather than by typing so i really do need to have an excuse to infodump online fully#irl tho its free game. ill talk for hours if you let me#ask Max
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Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Sadly this is not about the title exactly. But how my love and hatred passed back and forth during a very sad year. I think I feel comfortable enough to write about this now. If not, well I have time off from work for the holidays to cry about it later.
I should probably write this properly in order so its more readable.
But fuck that noise.
When you lose people. In ways that aren’t final. That aren’t cut and dry. This sense of knowing life could be different creates this little ball of longing deep inside your chest. And each passing day it grows slightly larger. Till you feel like your chest is going to explode. It hurts and hurts and hurts till you can’t take it anymore but for some reason it continues to hurt.
I was told to wait. That things would change. And we could return to the past and be happy again.
I waited.
I painfully waited.
I felt like a dog a family didn’t want anymore because it kept ripping up the furniture so they took it out to a field somewhere and told it that they’ll be right back.
This metaphorical family drove off and never came back.
I guess from a different perspective.
I was taken to a farm to play and be happy with other dogs that act up. A friend farm for friends you can’t handle anymore.
It hurt to think that after all that I still missed these people. It made me mad at myself that I still had these soft tender feelings for people who abandoned me.
I would miss them.
Than in a fit of rage hate them.
Back and forth.
Jekyll and Hyde.
Two phrases have and will always stick with me.
One is.
“Don’t talk to my friends anymore.”
and the other is.
“I’ll fix this and we can be friends again like we used to be.” (slight adlib sorry)
Why even pretend.
Why even lie about it.
In all this tangled up bit of emotions I still cared, and loved, and missed them. These people causing all this pain inside my chest.
How do you hate people that you loved so dearly?
Well you go back and forth between the emotions trying to cope with the situation.
And when you tip over the deep end of love.
You fall against the rocks of realization.
Overtime you start to catch yourself before you walk off the cliff deep in thought.
I still think this was for the better. But I only think that because I loved you.
Even though I deleted all my social media accounts, renamed my online self, and made new accounts. You still followed me.
One in hope.
One in fear.
The fear won out here.
I had to break the future where this turns out differently. I had to cut myself away from the theory of you.
Abruptly.
And with a knife.
Its saddens me still how you watched from afar trying to catch signs of me being ok. Being alive. Being happy. Maybe convinced you were hoping my life got better. But you were also watching to make sure my life didn’t come back towards yours.
So I wrote a note. And I stuck it to the account you stalked down. Yes, you stalked it down. When you tell someone to stay away from you and your friends and not speak to either of you anymore. Its not checking up on an old friend. Its quite literally stalking.
I wrote a note.
I filled it with all the words I knew would make you angry.
Both of you.
And in that fiery bit of anger that future that shouldn’t be would finally be cut away from all of us.
And finally happiness would begin to grow.
Happiness for you cannot grow with me in it. It just can’t.
I guess this is how I conquered my Jekyll and my Hyde. I pushed all my hatred back at you because I loved and cared about you. I stabbed at myself and bled away in a fit of happiness.
I carry this little weight in my soul now. Like a cool rock I keep in my pocket that I rub from time to time for good luck.
Wrong or right. I believe I did all I could in the failure of it all.
I somehow escaped with just enough of myself to stay alive.
And if you can’t grow into a 100ft tall monster of love and happiness.
Well, fuck. Not my problem.
Bonus Rant:
I tried to like this deep dark blue color with specks of gray and silver. But honestly, I think teal is my favorite color still. The Gospel According To Larry is no longer my favorite book and I’m never reading it again for the rest of my life. I’ve read so many books this last year and I’m not really sure which one is my favorite. I really did get the Violence tattoo on my wrist, I don’t regret it at all. People ask me why in shock because I don’t seem like that kind of person (lol). I tell them its a long story. They prod. I tell them its about friends I lost, they didn’t die, its just an awkward story to explain. I’ve forcefully changed my music taste quite a bit. I find it kind of funny that its become a little similar to his. The music I could share now.
I wake up every day wanting to die. My greatest fantasy is still moving away from everyone I know and being by myself. But I no longer think about any of you. Though I occasionally play with a knife in my hand. If the swamp monster wants to come out and play one day, I shall happily teach it the perils of man.
I won’t forget you guys (Wishful/Threat).
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Amazing 5 Best Electric Kettles for Tea and Coffee, Check the Reviews Here.
I’ve always been a purist when it comes to tea, much like how I still choose books over e-readers. Even though I adore the way a hob tea kettle looks, the ease of use and usefulness of an electric kettle quickly won me over.
It might be excruciating to wait for water to boil, especially if it prevents you from getting your coffee dose. An electric kettle may help you enjoy your treasured coffee or tea more quickly, whether you choose to use a pour-over dripper or French press.
The finest electric kettles, however, are capable of more than just rapid heating water. Some offer automated keep-warm features, digital temperature settings, and even suggested water temperatures. To aid you in picking the right electric kettle for you, we investigated some of the greatest gadgets now available.
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Smeg's miniature kettle
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Cuisinart PerfecTemp 1.7-liter electric kettle
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Pros
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Cons
-slightly heavier
Read Full Blog: Amazing 5 Best Electric Kettles for Tea and Coffee, Check the Reviews Here.
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hm big mistake to really start reading up on typography actually
#hm. looking at the typesetting i did when i was excited and it was fun and i didn't know shit. and hm. i have a good list of things i'd#change now. but if anyone sees me so much as thinking of re-setting any of the files i've shared (beyond like. very minor updates) please#like shut off my internet and uninstall tex from my computer. i don't have the time and it wouldn't be fun and also who cares (me. i care:|)#anyways. i WOULD however like to typeset something else now but with yknow more informed decisions#☀️#so the two typography books i read this week were the one on reader-oriented typography by willberg & forssman#and a collection of essays by tschichold#and comparing them is quite interesting#the tschichold one is p much him advocating for book design that's simple yet pleasing to the eye and (most importantly)#that really stands the test of time. and it's clear that he knows what he's talking about. he has a bunch of guidelines that make sense#(although he occasionally could stand to motivate them a bit more clearly) but oof he's clearly not here to have fun#and some of the things he says can just be ignored by hobbyists i think (like his thoughts on dust jackets. sorry jan i like to have fun)#(also his writing style is p readable for the most part. like not dry and the man is not afraid of speaking his mind)#(and the book was indeed set in accordance to what he writes and very pleasing to read and to hold)#the willberg & forssman book was more fun though. fewer rules since they really pointed out how a lot of decisions depend specifically#on how a given book is meant to be read (the tschichold book was about a much more specific type of book)#neither w & f nor tschichold really got into technical details (à la: here's a list of specific things you can do to avoid widows/orphans)#but w & f were really good at stressing that it's of paramount importance to consider *in what way* the book is going to be read#(say you're typesetting a novel. are orphans really a problem in most cases? the show the reader that the text continues#(the chapter clearly isn't over yet!) and in fact encourage the reader to turn the page)#w & f still covered A Lot and used a ton of examples that were often really fun to look at and to contemplate#and they also talked more about how to work when there's a bunch of externally enforced limitations and they also got into more#let's say rare kinds of books. like considerations for designing a bilingual book with some really clever and creative examples#.#i don't have any super insightful closing thoughts those were two interesting books to read though#also i was a bit tickled by the notes on how to properly set fraktur (and schwabacher). a couple things that tschichold mentioned did not st#stand the test of time after all it seems :-)#should i have written proper reviews/notes on like storygraph instead of hiding this in some wall of tags i will never find again? maybe#cheers#typesetting tag
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Hi there!! Can i please request for something with childe, kaeya, diluc, xiao and zhongli where the reader is very shaken and they find out it's because the reader was harassed? Have a wonderful day! :)
Yep! Here it is!
I hope you have a wonderful day too!
[ i... don't like how it turned out but in the end i cant figure another way to do it. ]
[[ WARNING: HARASSMENT ]]
[[ Summary: You just wanted to go about your own business and not cause problems... But it seems not everyone respected that. Mostly unharmed, but a little worse for wear... You just wanted to hide for a little bit. What better place than in his arms?
Total Word Count: 2'485
Childe Word Count: 594
Kaeya Word Count: 377
Diluc Word Count: 621
Xiao Word Count: 422
Zhongli Word Count: 471 ]]
Childe
You, weakly, rubbed at your lower back, it still aching when you landed on the ground--hard--and how it was jabbed with a rock or... Something. It hurt, severely. You'd be alright, just... People being too rough, probably drunk or... Maybe high.
You half-limped, half-shuffled your way into the house, pulling off your coat and setting it on a hook, and kicking off your damned shoes. But, your moment of peace and quiet was quickly ruined by the sound of Childe's heavy footsteps, when he came running like an oversized pup.
He almost dove at you in a hug, but you flinched, "Don't!" You shouted... And he stopped, stunned, arms wide open for a hug, looking at you with fear. "I... I'm hurting a little, I just didn't want you to accidentally make it worse."
That calmed Childe, only a little. "Alright--can I still hug you, though? I'll be gentle." He reassured, sweetly, and you nodded. He simply hugged you close, pressing your body to his, and-
Your knees buckled, and you felt his arms tighten, groaning in pain at the sensation. Then, you realized you were being moved, and eventually sat down in a chair.
Your legs gave out, you only just realized.
"I... I'm sorry," you muttered, "I've... I'm really out of it. I'm okay, I promise."
Childe shook his head, "No, nono, you're not allowed to do that. Don't comfort me, something's wrong with you."
You stared for a moment... And sighed.
"I just got..." You thought, trying to figure out a way to word it that wouldn't make him run outside in a homicidal rage, "People made bad decisions, got a little handsy, and I got pushed around a bit... I'm just tired." You tried to convince him, but he got on one knee in front of you, to better look at your face as you sat.
"And do you know these people?" He asked, eyes wide but the rest of his face lacking any readable expression.
"No," you said, instantly, "Childe... Ajax, you're scaring me. You know I don't like it when you... Get like this."
Childe blinked once-twice, and his expression softened. "I'm sorry... I just-I don't like the idea of anyone hurting you... Even myself."
You cupped his jaw, sweetly, and smiled. "I know," you said, softly. "I know you don't. But I'm okay. We're okay. I'm just tired." You smiled a little wider, "I'll write down names next time, okay?" You half joked, "and my powerful warrior can go defend my pride and... Purity, I guess."
He chuckled, "Purity? I've defiled that already..." He only laughed for a few moments... And went quiet. "Do you need help getting to bed? I can order food, or if you want, I can get us some drinks... Or whatever you want." He insisted, still smiling happily.
"Can you just rub my back? I hit it hard when I fell..."
His eyes widened again, "Is-Is that why you fell, did you hit your spine-"
"No," you quickly reassured, "I fell because I'm exhausted."
He stared at you... Unsure.
"Alright. Let's get you to bed so I can rub your back how you like."
Which meant he was going to half help, half drag you to bed, get you undressed, lie you on your front until you dozed off, softly breathing from the relaxation
And he'd always end up waking you a tiny bit when he put you onto your side, a pillow between your knees, and a kiss on your cheek.
But you couldn't ever manage to be angry about it.
Kaeya
"I'm home!" Kaeya cheered--he had even gotten a bottle of wine to... well, he would say celebrate, but there wasn't anything to celebrate. Maybe just to enjoy the night, to make something from nothing.
But there was no reply... he figured it wasn't anything to worry about, maybe you were showering, or something... he set the bottle down on the table, resolving to come back to it a little later that night, getting off his coat, setting it on the chair... better to not risk ruining that, after all.
As he walked through the halls, looking around for you, wondering if you had gone out for something, he saw light from the bathroom, smiling--And he walked to see...
You were staring at the mirror, shaking like a leaf in the wind, eyes wide... but somehow empty of any emotion, of any life, as though you were just a statue.
He took a few steps over, "... Baby?" He asked, softly, and you jumped, eyes wide in horror--you were still wet, and a towel wrapped around you.
"Just me, just me..." He soothed, softly, and you took a deep breath...
"I'm sorry," you said, softly, "I've... just had a hard day."
Kaeya walked past you into the bathroom, grabbing a second towel to help dry you off, figuring you'd need such help, "Do you want to talk about it?"
For several long moments, you looked in the mirror, seeing Kaeya gently taking care of you, from fixing your hair to gently tucking up the towel covering you, as though he had not seen you completely naked several times before.
"We don't have to talk," he finally said, "I got wine, would that help?" He asked, a smile that bled concern.
"No," you admitted, genuinely, "I don't want to drink. I'm sorry."
He tsk'd his tongue gently, "Sorry this, sorry that, but what are you apologizing for?" He teased, gently, "You've had a rough day, and you're tired, and there's a few bruises on you... You did nothing but your best... and survive." He pressed a kiss to your cheek.
"How about we go cuddle and you can tell me if you want, and if not, I can read to you."
"... that sounds nice. Thank you, Kaeya."
"You're welcome, sweetness."
Diluc
Maybe you liked to abuse the fact that you got free wine just a little bit. Diluc would always give it to you, within reason, and it's not like you were using him only for free wine!
It was just a nice bonus.
But the loud, crass tavern was not. Another one of those nights when people got paid and decided to blow their newfound money on drink, and then look into their wallets confused the next day, wondering where it had all gone. Diluc didn't even need an explanation, silently wishing he could leave with you, as he gave you a glass to enjoy outside--less people went outside during these days, for whatever reason.
You leaned back in your seat, backrest lightly tapping against the stone wall behind you, tilting the glass to your lips as you sipped lightly, savoring the taste....
Ah, if only Charles could be working tonight. Right now, cuddling up to warm, snuggly Diluc was a lot more appealing than sitting alone with the wind threatening to pick up and to start cutting at your skin. Just one night, not even one full night, just a few more hours and you could both go home
"Hey tiny," You heard a voice say, and you looked over, seeing a man pull up a seat next to you--you could see why he would call you tiny, he himself was quite massive in size, "What's someone like you doing out alone in the cold?" He leaned over the table, setting one elbow on it as he propped his head up with one hand. No longer sitting back, you straightened your spine and set down your glass with more force than was necessary back onto the table.
"I apologize," you said, "But I'm not in the mood for talking."
"Well," he said, sitting up again, "Maybe I'm not either," he pushed himself to his feet, his hands on the table, and you were effectively trapped--he able to easily block your escape whether you went around either side of the table, or if you went under or above it.
Fingertips trembled around your glass of wine, and you had an idea, standing slowly, and you walked around one side of the table, slowly, and he closed in, smiling wide--
You cracked the glass across his face, it shattering and slicing open his cheek, he reeling for just a moment from the shock, and the pain, you dashing over to the door, tears in your eyes as you finally got over to the door, fumbling desperately for a second until it flung open, and you ran in.
Diluc all but jumped over the bar upon seeing your distress through the crowd, Kaeya shouting in surprise, but it went forgotten as he rushed over you, holding you close to him, the bar gone silent.
You, for a second, just sobbed into his chest, "I... Diluc, he's outside, he..."
It was deafening to hear your own voice with so many people surrounding. Diluc's eyes narrowed, glaring--for a moment, you wondered if he was angry at you, but still hold your wrist tight, he went out front, dragging you along.
When the two of you found yourself outside, there was no one, but spilled wine, shattered glass, and a little blood was evident. You looked at Diluc as he scanned the area... and he looked back to you.
"I'm sorry," he said, softly. "... Kaeya owes me. I'll tell him to staff the bar, and then we'll go home... did he...?"
You shook your head, "Just... scared me."
He nodded, "You know I won't judge you."
"... I know. Thank you."
"... Mn. This night's gone on long enough, lets go home and get it over with already."
Xiao
Tourist, many would call you, even if you came to the Wangshu Inn not to simply say you came, but to see someone you truly care for... and perhaps, from time to time, you focus on commissions instead, but this said someone is always worth it, with the few, loving touches he offer.
People got rowdy, and you could only panic when they grabbed you by the wrists, a big and powerful man. Only because several others were able to pry him off of you did you escape, majorly, unharmed. Your hands tingled, the grip too tight and too crushing, and you could tell they'd be bruised. It could've been worse, but...
All you wanted was to sit down and relax with his head on your lap, and surrounded by a comfortable silence.
You found your way to your usual room, and you sat down at a chair next to a table, lifting your hands and gently rubbing at your wrists... Maybe you should go purchase a salve before he got here? You didn't need to demand he appear immediately, you were alright with waiting, much to his dismay when you would have fallen asleep without him, he having to, stealthy, crawl into bed with you...
"... You're early."
You jumped, and Xiao stood there, spinning his spear in one hand, and then it disappeared into fragments of light, dismissed for the time being.
"Well, I missed you." You said, with a smile. He didn't smile--but that was normal. He walked over to you, and grabbed your hand, turning it so your wrist faced upwards, and he glared at the redness, the bruises already forming.
"What happened?" He asked, then grabbing for your other hand, doing the same and his scowl only increasing as he realized it was on both wrists.
"Just... a drunkard." You said, plainly, "People do stupid things when they drink."
He didn't seem pleased with that answer, "They hurt you." His hands trembled, but he was careful to not crush your hands, still holding them delicately.
"Everyone gets hurt," you tried to soothe his anger, "I'll be okay. I promise... I'm just... sore."
He sighed, "I'm going to get you something to put on that-" he tried to move, but you held onto his hands--tight enough that he couldn't easily pull them away.
"No, no..." You muttered, softly, "You never hold my hands. Stay? For a few minutes?"
He stared down at your hands... and held on a little tighter, taking a seat near you.
"... just a few minutes."
Zhongli
The door swung open, slamming against the nearby wall, and it creaked weakly as it tried to, slowly, swing back to it's closed position.
Zhongli jumped, his spear in hand, summoned by little more than instinct as he heard the noise, but there was no intruder, only you, as you ran and held him, sobbing into his chest.
Without any effort, his spear disappeared, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you close in a firm but still gentle hold.
"Love..." He whispered, softly, "What's wrong?"
For several long moments, you didn't say anything, and he just looked over you... Labored breathing, likely from running, or perhaps just distress.
He couldn't see any injuries, nor smell blood, even with his keen sense of smell, so perhaps you were... Fine?
... hm.
Eventually, your sobbing turned from cries to whimpers, and he managed to get you to sit down.
"Here," he set down some tissues, "The door is open. I'm going to go close it, get you some water, then... We can talk about it, okay?"
Through sniffles, you nodded, and he did as he said: The soft sound of the door clicking, running water, and then he came back, setting the glass down and lifting you effortlessly, setting you onto his lap before grabbing the glass and offering it to you once again.
"Did something do something to you?" He asked, voice low and smooth, as always, but softer than normal, as though he was afraid he could accidentally break you with his words.
Choked up, you slowly managed to explain it, all but being dragged into an alley, your head bashed against the stone ground, and you barely got away, so upset you couldn't think.
He was calm, but were you not present, he would be shredding some poor, poor vermin of Liyue to shreds.
Instead, he pressed a kiss atop your head, gently.
"I'm going to make sure there's no lasting damage, alright?" He knew the signs to look for, after all, "If there is, I will escort you to a healer... If not, would you like to go to sleep? You seem quite tired."
You nodded, and he made quick work. A bruise was forming on your scalp, oh, there'd be a bump, but a few more moments of examining your features, your eyes, and ensuring you were responding properly...
He held out a little bit of medicine, "Nothing that won't heal on its own, this can make it a bit more tolerable, my dear," he hummed, sweetly, and held out his arms for you, patiently waiting for you to jump into them so he could sweep you up and tuck you into bed...
Silently ruing that he couldn't protect you, but promising himself he'd work harder to ensure you wouldn't have to come home crying like this again.
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#zhongli#childe#xiao#kaeya#diluc#zhongli x reader#childe x reader#xiao x reader#kaeya x reader#diluc x reader#bark writes#anonymous#request
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The gravestone of the wilderness — (scraps)
diluc x gn!reader — fluff, angst, comfort/hurt, death, implied werner syndrome, memory loss.
the second stage of diluc’s life, death and you.
a/n : a very very messy writing which were written by me for 2 days…? please listen to je te laisserai des mots while reading this, it would improve your imagination more <3
oh to be a normal couple. Lying in your frail shoulder, diluc exhales his heavy breathing. Trading the air with a brain of oxygen and beauty of life, he let your hands wrapped to his arm. Soothed his messy-red-hair and hearing the whisper of the freedom. Near the lakes of the winery, stand your figure and diluc seeing the sunset in mesmerized glances. It was a peaceful evening, even the birds seems too peaceful that it hurts your soul. The world isn’t fine, how come everything became so peaceful today?
“diluc, quick question..” , you called out his name. Stealing the sunset gaze from diluc’s eyes. His breathing is heavy, his heartbeat is unexpectedly warm. Yet you found his presence a little bit too cold..and too fragile.
“and..what is it?”
“who’ll die first, me or you?” , the question is simple. Like a sword to a warriors body, straightforward and cut short. You pay no attention to diluc’s tighten grip, avoiding his eye contact is the way you make his answer straight and honest. After all, you only want to hear his intentions, why did he still seek you even after your condition worsened? He could had the chance to escape from your affection 3 months ago but why did he stay? Did he pitied the unknown for not being the best of his life?
“you” cold and strong. His whole sight focused on your eyes. Anxiety fills it, tears could even force itself to leave your eyes if diluc told you how your eyes show everything. He seen through you and for so many time, he predicted your words. I don’t have any days left diluc.., is your favorite line. The one he thought to be a bullshit.
“just as i expected”
“but you do know i’m not your doctor right?”
“i trust my lovers instinct better than the doctors, they’re a bunch of creeps anyways” , the sunset falls to the edge of the winery before you could finish your reply. the infuse, the breathing machines and the ventilators were all beside you, accompanying you these past weeks. it was bothersome to bring them all together, but thanks to diluc, you could felt as if you were alive. and with no essentials-help you are fine.
diluc saw your anxiety trembles to sobs. the sunset was over and thus—began the starry moonlight which bright to the breezing sky of monstadt.
“thank you..diluc…” , you carefully clinge to his arm. Hugging it tightly without letting your infuse disturbed the warm of his body. your fingers gone numb but his warmth, it radiates so much energy and comfort to be alive. tears fall to his jacket, the moonlight was yet to be found and here you are pleading your lover to stay. Even if you’re both better dying off alone.
“dying off young is pretty tragic don’t you think? Like us..”, whispering your thoughts under the darkened sky and to diluc who was staring empty at your eyes. It was quite and clear to be hear in diluc’s ear but maybe he prefers to drown himself to your frail shoulder, so he could escape from the reality you were going out from his lines.
“y’know diluc, if i were alive till the 32 years of your life, i’ll be happy to laid on our deathbed together..” , a not so sappy thought to be precise. But diluc tries to understand from what are you implying to say, he doesn’t want to make himself fooled by the guilt of his past.
“and what makes you say that?”
“diluc we all know that i’m dying, i couldn’t always stay like this can i?” “I just want to be free that’s all..but diluc…i don’t wish for someone to forget about me…i want them to know i’m used to be alive and well, i want them to know i’m in love.” — i want them to know i’m in love with you diluc, i don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t want someone to abandoned me behind. I love you diluc. How many times have i told you that? I lost count.
minutes feels like seconds, under the starry night you felt nothing but warm. The warm of his heart and his radiance, although it seems like a facade to hide from your sharp-vision. He is beautiful. but with diluc’s lips under your dry mouth, You could feel more the presence of his fading-figure. Wandering through his palm, the space of his cold fingers and his salty tears. He was crying out of madness. He was frustrated that he couldn’t been able to save you from your draining thoughts.
the sharp needles inside your infuse feels numb. The breathing tube wasn’t as heavy as before. Diluc lips is the only thing you could feel. Under the moonlight, he drops his devotion to his knees. Hands wrapped to your delicate-fragile self. Under the days he left you behind, he apologize. As Now he is humming your lips with hopeless wishes. His kisses are soft, gentle as the wind. Pyro seems so warm to your cryo vision. Unknown for love and ambition to be bear. so this is how falling in love feels like?
the sunrise have awoken, another day has finally begun. Sitting at the balcony with his brother, reading letters and wishes from his inner family circle. Eyebags have grown to diluc’s glance, even his wrinkles start to form onto his charming face. His hair start to fall out to thin airs, leaving half of the once burning red to a pale-silver colored. Enjoying his time with the breeze of the sun, diluc realizes kaeya standing figure. he must be going somewhere..
“Kaeya where are you going?” , voice gone frail. His voice aren’t as strong as before. Even his flatter organs are better than the rusty voice kaeya heard.
“to visit someone, it’s their birthday afterall..want to join in, good-master di—“
“shut up don’t you say that name again” , crossing the words. He exhales his breath. Giving himself an opportune moment to breath the fresh morning air. He flinch to the song of the birds, watching them fly ti the air while the letters flew to the side of the tables. it was a peaceful day for diluc to rest, but nonetheless..he always forgot them. Them who aren’t here anymore. father..and..who are they again?
“Alright big brother diluc ragnvindr..just sit on your wheelchair and prepare your stuff, we’re going to windrise right now.”
“It’s not vennessa’s birthday kaeya, why’d you want to take me to windrise? Are y—“ cutting diluc’s voice, kaeya managed to give him the usual smug face on his sight. Making diluc seems more uncomfortable by his plan.
“Yeah yeah..just stick your butt on the wheelchair already mister, we’re going now woohoo!” , whistling to excitement diluc found his brother action to be quite..suspicious. The road was smooth, maybe because the land of winery belongs to diluc’s and his bloodlines, no? Windrise wasn’t that far from the winery, maybe it is far for someone like diluc to explore such an area in the first place.
Windrise, the inner nation of freedom. The location of free will and vennessa legacy. But why does it feel so..cliché for diluc to remember? He doesn’t remember anything about windrise. He doesn’t remember anything about dying, he doesn’t even remembered the gravestone in front of him now. The air was fresh. The leaves and flowers which grow from the small-location of the gravestone was unexpectedly beautiful. The name which were craved in it was unreadable, maybe it was..once. But never again it would be readable to diluc’s eye.
“happy birthday (name)..me and diluc is in here to plant some cecilia’s..would you mind? Ah if you do..you could breeze the bells there, please don’t mind diluc, he’s lost right now.” , kaeya pleaded to downfall of the gravestone. Whispering questions and rants for the owner of it to know. The bell rang and under the wing it sang. they gladly appreciate your visit, diluc. Kaeya steal his glance to diluc’s unfocused eyes, it look as if it were questioning every each of it’s memories. Who are they and why does kaeya think of them as one of the part of him?
Planting the seeds of cecilia under the ground of the suspicious gravestone. The Crystalflies even surrounded it with grace, as if they all belong to their first habitat, the gravestone of the wilderness. Who are they and why are their remenance so…beautiful?
“hmhm, goodjob. Thank you for accepting our birthday offer..diluc and i will go now, farewell for now, see you soon” , cleaning the dirt from the gravestone. Diluc once again asked kaeya’s answer. But nothing could be found from his brother mouth, it seems it was hidden for diluc’s sake.
“you’ll recognize them again diluc, sooner or after.”
soon never came. Kaeya wasn’t here, he was already gone from the resident, Taking diluc’s place aren’t that easy after all. pale and unrecognized, diluc came to his once work office which he never touch any longer. Searching for documents for kaeya to read for him later at night. His fingertips are still the same, numb and empty. I lack something but what are they…? This uncureable piece of shit was such a bothersome.
oh..what is this..?
a letter? — opening it with caution, diluc found the sight of something he craves. The writing of those who couldn’t be recognized by his mind, yet the feeling..it was warm. So warm and comfortable, that it even shakes diluc’s empathy.
to, my sweetheart, diluc ragnvindr.
i never knew when would you opened this but i think you opened it few years since i have died. I know the side affects of your ilness. So i wouldn’t mind if you forget me all along. It’s not your fault for leaving your old memories and life behind, your ilness is one of the part of your issues diluc and I totally understand that, better than kaeya, better than adeline or elzer. And if you forget about me, it’s fine. You don’t need to remember me, just read this all along alright?
Diluc, my swetheart. You probably found this crumpled behind your documents. Maybe kaeya would found it first than you do and it wouldn’t be much of a problem for me to bare, after all i’m dead and even if you apologize i wouldn’t dare to say i would forgive you. Cause diluc, i’m hopelessly in love with you. I love you diluc. Even if you forget me, even if you died in your old age and disastrous days, even if you don’t love me any longer. I’ll be very happy if you could still read this letter. Your curiosity is the reason i’m alive for once diluc. Your warm is the reason of my short-recovery diluc. You are everything. And if you forgot, then it’ll be fine. Read this letter everytime you felt lost, because no home without your lover, no? Ah nevermind that’s a shitty joke isn’t it diluc? Hehe
I’m very satisfied with what I’ve achieved in my lifetime. I got to be with you and your family. I feel like i’m apart of them, apart from who i become. I escape and i’m alright. I’m alive and it’s all because of you diluc. I’m happy. Very happy. But one thing i couldn’t regret more is the fact i couldn’t marry you and tell my devotions to the crowds. I want you foreve diluc, but our time is short enough for each other sake. Fate was cruel, but it’s fair and merciful. It gave us a time to met each other and i’m thankful.
So diluc, whenever you feel lost. Feel free to found me in the crystalflies and in the starry night of the winds. Whenever you need me, i’ll be there. just so let you know i’m the donor of your heart, please don’t regret the fact i’m sharing my life with you. I’m happy to know you are alive, diluc. As long ad you enjoyed your days and live a well-long life, i’ll be happy to give you my everything. I might couldn’t give you this year, but here. Open this envelope, it’s a present. For what exactly? For your own love, diluc. Accept it, would you? I don’t mind if you wouldn’t, but if you want to wear it, feel free to use it.
I’m very happy to be alive diluc, i love you.
The letters ended and so do his tears scroll through his cheeks. The crystalflies in the gravestone. Oh it’s you all along..? Why didn’t you cry out of regret? Are you happy for what diluc became? Are you, my dear…? He was scared of letting you loved him again. He deserve nothing but your hatred. The envelope, it was fill with your charm bracelet. The matching bracelet you used to talk with diluc.
The gravestone, the cecilia’s..? Aren’t those the promises diluc made before? i’ll grow garden of hundreds cecilia’s with you. But he forgot. Your existance are nothing to him anymore, he lost his senses, he lost everything. This heart..your heart. It was pounding rapidly, it even showed diluc emotions again. He was crying in pain. He was crying in sorrow. Oh god, i wish i’m not that weak. I wish i still love you the same as how those letter told me. Darling, will you love me again? No response. He was truly out of his mind to forget the ones who bring his dimmed eyes back alive. So once again he confesses, falling to his knees as he begged for his mind to remembered you.
The days have past so did you died in his eyes. Casket opened and emptied with your body, cecilia all over the ground. You are dead and yet the pounding heart of yours are the result of love. Strokes his body with empty thoughts, he began to murmured again his love.
your heart..it’s warm, My dear.
TAGLIST : @mikachuchu , @zierx, @childeluv @urujiako , @chichikoi , @noirkkat , @aphrodicts-imagination
#diluc ragnvindr#diluc angst#diluc ragnvindr angst#diluc#diluc ragnvindr x reader#diluc x reader#genshin impact diluc angst#genshin impact angst#diluc fanfic#diluc ragnvindr fanfic#genshin impact headcannons#genshin impact#genshin impact fanfic#veille’s angst#dilux x y/n#diluc ragnvindr x y/n
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Books I Read In June
24. The Chosen and the Beautiful, by Nghi Vo
Really, I should have read this one last year when it was getting all the buzz – it actually really mostly lived up to it!
But then, I’m the weirdo who actually enjoyed The Great Gatsby in the first place. If you didn’t at least kind of enjoy all the references and narrative fuckery with the source text. It’s, well, it’s not quite fanfic imo (at least, no more than Ten Things I Hate About You is. Which I mean if you want to argue the point you’d probably win, but), and if you come into it blind you’re going to miss like a third of what’s going on.
The whole urban fantasy aesthetic doesn’t really add much beyond, like, aesthetics and vibes and making the incredibly obvious metaphor wholly and completely literal re: Gatsby’s selling his soul. But, like, the book has so much fun with all the magical ‘20s decadence and literally occulted speakeasies and gay bars and similar.
25. Capital Without Borders, by Brooke Harrington
On a fundamental level the basic conceit of ‘anthropologist spends years learning the customs and folkways of a privacy obsessed community who feel reviled by the wider world – the private wealth managers of the ultrawealthy’ is just, like, incredibly funny to me.
But despite being incredibly dry and very, like, academic, this was actually shockingly readable. Actually pretty interesting, too.
I mean, in a ‘filled with despair and loathing’ sort of way, but still. Interesting sort of dialectic where the officials who actually serve the various world powers’ state apparatuses absolutely loathe the whole deal with tax havens and matryoshka dolls of trusts and charitable foundations and everything else, but despite ostensibly having basically unlimited coercive force at their fingertips they’re more or less helpless to do anything about it. Always fascinating to get a look at the people who the world works on behalf of.
And I admit I sort of have an aesthetic fascination with the sort of elite professional who ends up being a de facto social worker and relationship councilor for the much MORE elite family they work for.
26. Plague Birds, by Jason Sanford
I…thought this was a Hugo nominee? But apparently not? So, okay, zero idea how I ended up reading it.
Possibly my new top contender for ‘non-visual media which are still, spiritually, anime”. You know, post-post-apocalyptic setting of scattered villages watched over by benign village Ais and clans of dangerous hunters in the wilderness and wandering superpowered paladins who wear red leather and have bright red hair who are bonded to a super-powerful AI in their blood, and also the only character who isn’t at least kind of a furry is the apparently 16-year-old girl whose actually a myriad old alien spy.
Anyway! Decent romp, but honestly kind of fell apart in the third act, imo. Spent too long luxuriating in the (honestly very fun) worldbuilding, so all the actual plot and revelations had to be crammed together without having nay space to breath or feel natural.
Also the protagonist turns out to be, like, the most special child to ever exist Chosen-One-but-sci-fi, which I just generally despise.
Kinda a bit less than the sum of its parts, imo.
27. Across the Green Grass Fields, by Seanan Mcguire
Hugo novella nominee number 3!
This was fun! Not really much more than fun, but still – pleasantly tropey read, in a self-consciously fairytale-like sort of way.
I’m informed that it’s part of some wider setting/universe, but honestly you really couldn’t tell reading it.
Kind of amused at the apparent coincidence that this came out at (IIRC) basically the same time as a children’s tv show called Centaurworld, which I know absolutely nothing about except a friend stole the surprisingly terrifying villain to use in D&D.
Anyway, like, 3/5? The last thing I read by the author was Middlegame, and this is just honestly a pretty big let down by comparison. Doesn’t help that the general vibe kept me mentally comparing it with The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In A Ship Of Her Own Making, either (not a flattering comparison for it).
28. A Master of Djinn, by P. Djèlí Clark
Hugo novel nominee number 4!
As a fan of pulpy weird alternate 20th centuries, this really was catnip to me. Buddy cop antics in a Djinn-haunted steampunk Cairo at the turn of the 20th century! A heroine who insists on wearing perfectly tailored English suits at all times despite living in early 20th century Cairo! A climax involving a giant robot and an evil wizard trying to restore the British Empire!
The vibes were sublime.
Beyond the amazing aesthetics there isn’t much to write home about, honestly – the setting is largely set dressing over a fairly conventional plot. Fun set dressing! The bit where the Brits and Americans are basically losing at imperialism because they went hard on the whole witch hunting things while everyone else went digging for local spirits to try allying with doesn’t necessarily make much sense, but is very funny to me.
29. Project Hail Mary, by Andy Weir
And Hugo Novel Nominee Number 5!
So I think I mentioned but – I did not know this was by the The Martian guy until I started reading it, but oh my fuck can you tell.
The tone is very..specific. I found it pretty grating, honestly, but not nearly enough to outweigh all the things the book has going for it.
So, it’s hard sci fi. Like, ‘extended asides to explain the scientific processes and technological breakthroughs as they happen for the education of the reader, most of the acknowledgements section is thanking different scientists for their help making it accurate’ hard sci fi. Honestly it’s to the books credit that the writing is just kind of twee and self satisfied, and not soul-witheringly dry.
The decision to have the protagonist wake up with amnesia and then slowly fill out the backstory as he makes do on the spaceship orbiting Tau Ceti he woke up from a medically induced coma in next to two dead crew mates was frankly an incredibly good decision, because the earth chapters are a) clearly just an excuse/justification to get him to Tau Ceti and b) just incredibly boring.
But, like, I really cannot overemphasize how much I just adore first contact scenarios where both parties are awkwardly trying to understand each other and work out some sort of mutually intelligible way to get information across and solve some desperate problem together. The aliens were so lovingly amazingly weird, too – both the astrophage and whatever Rocky’s species are called.
I literally read it travelling halfway across the continent, so can confirm that it’s a great airport read.
If Hollywood isn’t a bunch of cowards they’ll spend $100 million to make this one a movie too.
30. The Past Is Red, by Catherynne Valente
Hugo novella nominee number 4! Getting close!
Valente’s pretty easily one of my favorite writers currently working, and this did absolutely nothing to change my mind about that. I mean, a bit heavy handed – the setting is quite literally the city-sized island of trash floating above the waves after the seas have risen and drowned the entire world – but still, it’s the sort of ever so slightly surreal magical realism I’m really very fond of.
The prose was just relentlessly sharp and occasionally mean spirited and really consistently great, imo. For whatever reason ‘hope that’s just greed, going by it’s maiden name’ has gotten thoroughly stuck in my head.
Tetley as a protagonist is just generally amazing and wonderfully tragic and interestingly broken, really.
Anyway, haven’t read Elder Race of A Spindle Splintered yet but really solidly my favorite of the hugo novellas I’ve read so far.
#book review#monthly tally#The Past is Red#catherynne m. valente#project hail mary#andy weir#a master of djinn#p. djèlí clark#across the green grass fields#seanan mcguire#Plague Birds#Jason Sanford#Capital Without Borders#Brooke Harrington#the chosen and the beautiful#nghi vo#analysis/review
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girl next door [one] // wanda maximoff
summary: somebody new moves into the flat next to yours and you feel the need to introduce yourself, only to learn she's not very talkative
warning/s: none i don’t think??
author’s note: first part to a three-parter i’ve been working on, hope you like it! (also the masterlist needs to be updated so soz about that)
part two | part three | part four | part five |masterlist | wattpad
Shopping bags in hand, I returned from the supermarket to my flat when I saw the usually-vacant flat next door to me in use. The front door was slightly ajar, with several moving boxes in front and the sound of someone moving about inside. Huh, so someone moved in. It had been vacant for half a year now – it was nice to finally have a neighbour!
I headed to my own flat, my nosey self taking a peek through the door to see if I could have an idea of who was moving in, but I couldn't see anyone, so I continued to go into my own place and unpack my groceries. After doing so, I decided to head next door and introduce myself, excited to meet someone new in the building.
The boxes from earlier were gone now, probably all inside, and the door was shut like I usually saw it. I sucked up a breath before knocking on, a friendly smile reserved on my lips for whoever would open.
It took a moment, but the door finally opened and revealed a brunette with bright hazel eyes and a mildly confused expression on her face. She seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it.
"Hey! I just wanted to come 'round and introduce myself. I'm your new neighbour." I pointed to my door next to hers and added, "I saw you moving in earlier. I'm Y/N."
She pursed her lips, eyes glancing around subtly before looking me up and down. "Er, hi... I'm Wanda."
I detected a slight accent in her voice with the few words she spoke and became immediately intrigued since everyone in this building was usually the same old American. I didn't ask about it though, as I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable at our first meeting.
"Nice to meet you, Wanda," I returned with a smile. "I've been living here for a year now, so if you need a hand with anything or need pointers for where to get the best Chinese, I'm your girl." I paused, expecting some sort of reaction, but she didn't move a muscle. Swallowing awkwardly, I added, "Of course, if you just need a hand with unpacking or anything, I'm also happy to help."
She still didn't reply, and in fact, she looked a bit peeved with my presence which made me realise that maybe she just wasn't a talkative person.
I cleared my throat nervously before finishing with, "I'll, er, I'll leave you to it. Sorry to disturb you..."
I chewed on my lower lip as I avoided her piercing gaze and went back to my own place. Not everybody was interested in befriending their neighbours, I got that, so I respected her decision and decided not to bother her in the future. It didn't make me feel any less embarrassed at my intrusiveness though.
I didn't think much of it until the following morning when I was watering my plants out on the fire escape. My fire escape was joined with the neighbour's – the neighbour that usually didn't exist but was now Wanda. The brunette was stood there, drinking some coffee and staring out into the distance. I debated wishing her a good morning, but decided against it as I recalled her being quite introverted. Instead, I awkwardly watered the several plant pots I had, opting to stay quiet so I could be in and out without bugging her once more.
To my surprise, she spoke up and it took me a second to realise she was talking to me.
I held my watering jug upright as I glanced in her direction. She was already staring at me, deep set eyes darkened over the rim of her coffee cup.
"What's that?" I asked, not sure what she’d said.
She cleared her throat, eyes flickering to the plants to distract from her discomfort. "I'm sorry. For being strange yesterday. You were being warm and welcoming and I just..." She paused, releasing a shaky breath. "I've had a bad past few weeks. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
I definitely wasn't expecting that, then realised how many bad days I'd had and taken out on random strangers. I didn't blame her and instead felt bad for her – moving into a new place was supposed to be exciting, so I couldn't imagine what had ruined her past few weeks.
"Well, apology accepted," I said with a small smile. "And I hope things begin to look up for you soon, Wanda."
Her lips twitched into the tiniest of smiles and I noticed how different she looked when she wasn't down in the dumps – she was quite beautiful.
I finished watering my plants before giving her a final smile. I was about to head back inside, but I hung back curiously.
"Er, Wanda, if you don't mind me saying," I started randomly, "you seem familiar. We haven't met before, have we?"
She raised her eyebrows with surprise. "Oh, really? You don't kn–?" She tilted her head to the side, as if expecting me to understand, but I wasn't sure what she wanted. "I... I guess I just have one of those faces."
I studied her curiously, trying to figure it out. But nothing was coming to mind, so I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I guess so... anyway, enjoy the rest of your day."
She nodded. "You, too."
–
The next time I saw Wanda was probably a week later, just after I collected my mail from the mailroom. I'd received one of those random free trial boxes for a subscription I must have accidentally signed up for – a box of different flavoured trail mixes – and felt bad throwing it out since it was still food at the end of the day. There were nuts in the mixes, which I was allergic to, so I decided to knock on Wanda's door and see if she wanted them.
I hadn't spoken to her since she moved in, except for the occasional good morning on the fire escape if we saw one another, so I hoped she was a little happier compared to when we last spoke properly. Maybe whatever had bothered her was resolved now.
When she opened the door, she seemed surprised that it was me, probably not expecting me to stop by again after last time.
I offered her a smile. "Hey, Wanda. I, er, hope this isn't a bad time."
She shook her head after recovering from her surprise. "No, no, it's not. Is everything okay?" She paused, glancing around, unprepared. "Do you want to come in or...?"
"It's okay, I'm good here," I said when I saw how uncomfortable she seemed. I wasn't just about to invite myself into her flat because she felt she needed to ask. "I just stopped by because, well, do you want this?" I handed her the box, adding, "I got a free sample in the post. Didn't wanna throw it out because it's food, y'know? And I'm allergic to nuts, so my throat will probably puff up and stop me from breathing which isn't good."
I laughed awkwardly, internally cringing at how I spoke utter nonsense because of her lack of her words and my stupid need to fill the silence.
"Unless you're allergic to nuts too," I added as an afterthought, when she glanced at the packaging with no readable expression. "In which case I should probably throw them right away and this whole thing is stupid."
After what felt like an eternity of me not shutting up, she lifted her gaze, eyes softening with a hint of amusement.
"I'm not allergic to nuts," she assured me, before nodding. "Thank you, Y/N."
I relaxed, not even realising how tense my shoulders were. "That's– that's good... so, how are you settling into your new place? All good, I hope?"
Subconsciously, I chewed on the inside of my mouth, wondering why I was so eager to speak to somebody who clearly didn't want to speak to me. She was so quiet, not a woman of many words, yet I couldn't help but feel responsible for welcoming her.
"It's nice," she said, glancing around thoughtfully. "It's quiet. Private."
I nodded in agreement, eyes falling to her doorframe as I said, "Yeah, that's true. Nothing eventful ever happens here."
She hummed, acknowledging my words. I figured the conversation had ran dry and I'd stayed a little too long, so I tried to think of a way to end it without her feeling forced to. Instead, she spoke up next.
"I like your garden."
I furrowed my brows, wondering what she was talking about.
"The flowers on our fire escape," she clarified, small smile tugging at her lips. "They're beautiful."
I stifled a laugh. "I mean, thanks, but it's barely a garden. I've always wanted a proper space to grow stuff, but obviously I can't have that here."
"Well, you've done a great job with what you have," she complimented, and I was sure it was the most she'd spoken to me since moving in. I suddenly didn't feel like she disliked my presence as much as I once thought.
"Thank you," I said gratefully. "Maybe you can start your own alongside mine some day."
"Maybe," she shrugged, "but probably not. Everything I touch–" She paused, life leaving her eyes momentarily, and head looking down to her shoes. "Everything I touch dies."
I pressed my lips together, not expecting the awkward silence to follow. Wanda seemed stuck in thought and I wasn't sure how I'd managed to bring the conversation down so suddenly, especially with the talk of flowers.
"The lovely thing about flowers," I began, earning her attention and hoping to brighten the mood, "is that they only require a little love, some sunlight and some water to keep going. They tend to take care of themselves. Perfect for even the blackest of thumbs."
She let out a breath through her nose, a half chuckle and half acknowledgment of my comment. It was the closest I'd get to a response, so I ran a hand through my hair and took a step back.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're settling in okay," I concluded with a kind smile. "Again, if you need anything, I'm just next door."
"Thank you," she said, returning the smile, and her eyes sparkled as she did. "Have a good afternoon, Y/N."
"You, too, Wanda."
–
The apartment complex I lived in rarely had people entering that I didn't recognise – I'd lived here long enough to know who was who, even the postwoman and maintenance guy. So, when I was leaving for the supermarket and saw a suspicious-looking man walking down the hall, eyes checking every door, I grew curious.
"You okay there, sir?" I called out to him after locking my front door.
He looked my way, readjusting his cap lower on his head, casting a shadow over his face. "Er, yeah..." He hesitated, glancing at his phone before looking to me again. "Actually, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for Wanda Maximoff's apartment. Do you know which one that is?"
I narrowed my eyes at the tall stranger. "I'm sure you can understand my concern when I ask who's asking."
"Oh, no, I completely understand," he said with a nod, and I could swear I had seen him before. "I'm an old friend of hers."
I quirked a brow. Strange man who claimed to a woman-who-lived-alone's friend? That had trouble written all over it. And from one woman to another, I was concerned, even if I didn’t know her very well.
"That's not saying much, sir," I said, biting back the annoyance. "I think that maybe you should–"
I stopped speaking when Wanda's door opened and she popped her head out. She looked to me before spotting the tall stranger, shoulders relaxing.
"I thought I heard you out here," she mumbled to the stranger, before stepping out fully and giving me a reassuring look. "It's okay, Y/N. I know him."
I nodded, glancing at the man, before meeting Wanda's eyes knowingly. "If you're sure..."
She seemed comfortable as she crossed her arms, hugging herself. Smiling reassuringly, she nodded. I relaxed when I saw she knew the suspicious stranger.
"In that case, sorry 'bout the interrogation," I apologised to her friend. "But, you gotta understand with the whole getup you have..."
Her friend chuckled deeply, looking to his shoes with amusement. "Yeah, sorry about that, ma'am. Didn't mean to worry you. It's nice to know Wanda here has thoughtful neighbours though."
"I'm twenty-two, not a ma'am," I said with amusement, before shaking my head. "Anyway, I should get going. Sorry again."
Wanda and her friend nodded as I left them; I was just glad it wasn't some creepy perv stalking our building – that had happened once.
I headed to the supermarket to do some shopping when I saw Wanda again, this time in the milk aisle. Well, she actually saw me, her trolley stopping before mine as she got my attention.
"Oh, Wanda, hey," I greeted her with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here."
She cracked a smile. "Yeah, well, I needed to pick up a few things. Milk, actually," she grabbed some from the fridge to prove her point, "when I saw you."
I nodded, before remembering earlier and feeling a little embarrassed. "Hey, er, sorry about before with your friend. I hope I didn't offend them or anything."
"No need to apologise," she said with a shake of her head. "It's actually very nice of you to have my back like that. I mean, we don't even know each other that well, but you watched out for me. I appreciate it."
"It's the bare minimum of a neighbour," I joked, before settling into genuine smile. "Besides, I'd like to think you'd do the same."
"Of course," she agreed, nodding slightly, before her eyes drifted to the fridge.
I noticed that every conversation we shared felt unfinished, like there was more to be said but neither of us had the guts to say it. Like now, for example, I wanted to check in and see if she was okay, but I felt like I was overstepping since, as she'd put it, we didn’t know each other very well. So, I changed the subject instead.
"So, just milk then?" I asked, nodding to her trolley which had a few bits and bobs in.
She was confused for a moment, zoning back into reality, before it registered in her mind and she answered, "Along with a few other things. And you?"
"Pretty much same," I said with a shrug.
Her eyes lingered in my trolley as she stifled a smile. "That looks like a lot more than a few things, Y/N."
I almost laughed. "Technically, yeah, I guess..." I met her curious gaze, explaining, "I'm having a meal with my sister, her boyfriend and my boyfriend at my place tonight. Cooking a lamb roast." She raised her eyebrows with mild surprise, making me shrug dismissively. "It's not that big of a deal, but there's a lot to prepare and I like things to be perfect, so yeah."
She licked her lips and nodded. "It sounds great. Good luck, I guess. I'm sure it'll turn out wonderful."
"Fingers crossed."
She chuckled, glancing at her shoes, making her dark hair fall in front of her like a curtain. When she looked back up, I couldn't help but smile at how cute she looked.
"I'll leave you to it then," she said, before redirecting her trolley around me. "See you whenever."
"See you." I nodded as she walked past me, shoulder brushing mine and leaving me startled at the weird effect she had on me whenever we spoke.
It didn't last for long though, so I brushed it off and continued to do my shop. The evening couldn't come soon enough, and I soon found myself entertaining my boyfriend, my sister and her boyfriend at my dinner table.
"So I was cooking us a nice meal, as we planned, and she ended up having a go at me because of the mess I made afterwards," my boyfriend, Teddy, was explaining to my sister and her boyfriend, Caleb. "That's why I don't try to be romantic anymore."
I paused from sipping my water, looking over at Teddy with an are you serious? look on my face. Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at Teddy's story, but I wasn't as amused as they were.
"Aw, c'mon, babe, don't be pissed off again," Teddy pleaded teasingly from beside me. "It's a joke. I'm joking."
"But that's not how it happened," I corrected him, before looking to the couple before me. "What Teddy means to say is that I had just cleaned the kitchen and told him that when he cooks, he should try to clean as he goes along so it's easier, but of course, he drops cream everywhere and I had to clean it out of the crevices of the counter. All over again."
Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at my retelling of the story, and Teddy frowned playfully as he looked my way.
"And that's definitely not the reason you're not romantic," I said to him promisingly. "When was the last time you even got me flowers?"
He tried to take lead of the conversation again, straightening up and asking, "When was the last time you got me flowers? Feminism, Y/N. It goes both ways."
He was never usually this obnoxious and it was irking me. Y/S/N and Caleb assumed it was all a joke, so were laughing it off, but I was starting to get frustrated. How could he try and make me look terrible in front of my own family?
"I bought you flowers two weeks ago when you got your promotion, remember?" I answered him with a raised brow.
"Damn, she got you there, Ted," Caleb said like it was a burn.
I subtly clenched my jaw and distracted myself with sipping water. Teddy sighed and tried to wrap an arm around me, but I pulled away slightly.
"Oh, come on, you're not mad, are you? This is all in good faith, babe," he said lightly.
I downed my water and looked between them all. "I think I'm gonna get some air. You guys enjoy your drinks."
They all chorused their disagreements, but I couldn't be bothered dealing with them when they were tipsy and annoying, so I ignored them and headed to the fire escape for a breather.
When I reached the railing, I sighed immediately, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Until I heard a creaking noise and jumped with surprise before seeing Wanda sitting on her side of the fire escape, drink in hand.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said apologetically.
I breathed out, turning around and leaning my back against the railing so I could see her better. "It's okay, it's not you. I just– I forgot you could be there. Used to living without a neighbour. It's taking some getting used to."
I forced a small smile to reassure her, before looking down and taking small breaths of fresh air. Teddy could get under my skin at times, tonight being one of those times, and it was happening more and more lately. Why couldn't he just be less... annoying?
"Is everything okay?" Wanda asked, and I looked up fo see her green-gold eyes glowing in the dark under the moon light.
"Yeah," I said with a nod. I glanced inside, seeing my three guests laughing it up like I was still there. I collapsed on my chair and stared into the bustling city ahead. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Wanda hesitated. "Didn't you have that dinner tonight?"
I leaned in the palm of my hand, mumbling, "Yeah. It's still going on. I just needed some air."
Wanda must have sensed there was more to my words – it didn't take a genius to see that – but to my relief, she didn't push on. All she said was, "Oh, okay," and stayed quiet.
The two of us sat there, in a comfortable silence, staring into the city and revelling in the moon's presence. It was beautiful out, though not a single star could be seen because of the city's pollution. Instead, the moon hung high above our heads and conflicted with the many street and building lights of New York City, thriving even past dusk.
I probably could have stayed there all night, preferring Wanda's silent yet comfortable presence to whatever was waiting for me back inside. But to my dismay, I was called back in and sighed quietly to myself.
"I should head back in," I excused myself, standing up to leave. But I lingered by the door, asking Wanda, "Have you eaten dinner yet?" She seemed puzzled with my question, and I continued speaking anyway. "I made a lot of food and have loads of leftovers I can't finish myself."
She seemed to understand what I was implying and shook her head. "That's okay, Y/N, thank you."
"Wanda, I insist," I said with a small smile. "It'll just go in the bin otherwise."
She was still reluctant. "Honestly, it's fine."
i wasn't taking no for an answer though. "I'll stop by in a bit to drop it off."
"Y/N, I–"
"See you then!" I exclaimed before heading back inside and leaving her no choice to deny it.
"There she is," Y/S/N called out to me when I returned. "You feel better?"
"Perfect," I said sarcastically.
She laughed. "C'mon, we're all sorry. Besides, Caleb and I have to go now, so we want to end on a good note."
Was I being too butt hurt? Probably.
"Right, sorry," I said, looking to them all, before saying, "Do you guys want any food to bring back with you?"
"You guys enjoy it," Caleb said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was delicious though, Y/N. Thanks for the lovely evening."
"Anytime," I said with a tired smile, before leading them to the door and looking to my sister. "Let me know when you're home, yeah?"
She hummed in agreement, before pulling me into a tight hug. "Love you, Y/N."
"Love you, too," I returned with a playful eye roll.
After bidding them a goodbye, I was left alone with Teddy, who was surprisingly washing the dishes.
"This your way of apologising?" I joked, stopping by the sink.
He glanced at me with apologetic eyes. "Depends. Is it working?"
As I met his brown eyes, I thought back to how frustrating he was acting earlier. He must have been acting out in front of guests for some reason, but he wasn't always like that. Maybe I was overreacting.
"I'll let you know when you're done," I retorted, making him smile with amusement.
As he did that, I worked on filling some containers with leftover dinner for Wanda, being sure to include a generous amount of everything.
"Who's that for?" Teddy asked, noticing what I was doing.
"Wanda, my new neighbour."
"Never heard of her."
I gave him a knowing look. "Hence the word 'new'."'
He returned the stare. "What I mean is, I've never seen her around."
I shrugged, finishing packing the containers and stacking them to carry. "She prefers to keep to herself."
"What, like a weirdo?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, Teddy. She's just private. Introverted, if you will."
"Sounds like a weirdo to me..."
I chose to ignore him as I left the flat and headed to Wanda's. She opened up quicker than usual, probably since she was expecting me this time.
"Bon appétit," I joked, before holding out the takeaway containers. "It's lamb roast with veg, potatoes, some gravy and bread."
"You really didn't have to," she said, though accepted the food. When she glanced down at it, she added, "This is a lot for one person."
I couldn't help the smile on my face. "Enough for second's. You'll have to let me know if you like it. It's my best recipe."
She snickered, eyes meeting mine. "I'm sure it's delicious... do you want to come in?"
Stepping to the side, she looked to me with what I think was a hopeful expression. I felt bad when I smiled sadly, shaking my head.
"I'd love to, Wanda, but I've actually still got my boyfriend over and I can't really, y'know..."
"No worries," she was quick to reassure. "It's– no, it's okay, honestly. I just thought I'd ask."
It was the first time she'd ever asked and meant it, which meant she was finally getting comfortable with me. I would have preferred to go in, but I couldn't just leave Teddy, nor kick him out.
"Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?" I asked hopefully. "If you want, that is. Because I want to. But I don't want to just invite myself over."
She seemed amused as she nodded. "Tomorrow sounds great. Maybe I can make you dinner, as a thank you for this food."
I grew a little excited at spending a bit more time with the quiet, reserved brunette. "I'd like that."
She nodded, lips pursed into a suppressed smile, and glanced at the food in her hand. "Great. Well... have a good evening, Y/N. And thank you again for the food."
"Good evening," I returned, subconsciously memorising the rare smile she gave me, before leaving her to it.
When I returned to my flat, all I could think about was the next night and getting to know Wanda.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff#marvel imagine#scarlet witch#wandavision#elizabeth olsen
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Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 80
I sometimes say I’m quipped out and then produce quips anyway. Not so tonight; the well is properly dry. Doing fine (for once), mind you, just a bit overdrawn in pursuit of such. Thankfully this feature mostly speaks for itself.
In 1963, Ann B. McNaught (M.B., Ch.B., Ph.D.; at that time with the University of Glasgow’s Institute of Physiology) and Robin Callander (‘FFPh FMAA AIMBI’ [sic]; then director of the school’s Medical Illustration Unit) dropped a little joint named Illustrated Physiology. Initially published by E. & S. Livingstone, then by Churchill Livingstone when the firm was acquired sometime between 1970 and 1975, it got four editions until the authors switched around and kept trucking. By the time this copy, a reprint of the fourth, was published in ‘84, it already had translations into Italian, Danish, Japanese, and Spanish.
There’s way too much for me to give you a good look at here, so just interpolate a couple thousand extra man-hours of content and you’ll have a decent idea of what this is like.
The How
As with a lot of my medical collection, my mother’s to blame. This was her copy in med school, and followed her for ages allegedly on account of perverse nostalgia but actually because she’s forgetful and acquisitive and incapable of shedding decent books. This being a decent book, it stuck around until I nearly killed a physiology prof for nearly killing me and got handed down as a balm and aide through the rest of that year. Didn’t help much, but it was a nice thought.
The Text
There’s a lot of it. I’m going to let the introduction speak for itself here, because it really is a good one. Dumping the table of contents alongside that for space efficiency.
Everything here would be familiar to a current undergraduate physiology student. Not much HPhys curriculum has changed or even differs radically between national systems, down to the order of topics; most evolution at this level of detail has been in the finer points or pedagogical sleights.
The actual content here is really very good, but probably far too dense except for serious study. Textually, visually, it’s just too much and concedes too little to sense or readability to be an accessible introduction even though it sometimes looks like one.
See what I mean? Looks like a primer, handles like notes from a big bricky textbook. Very nice. An excellent example of why illustrators need (1) credit and (2) to be allowed to work alongside their authors.
Occasionally silly, somehow. There are (of course) a couple figures playing cricket and putting shot for no real reason other than Britishness, which I guess I’ll allow since the bits on nephrology and the spleen — my histological eye’s apples and all-time favorite bits to teach on — are so uncommonly excellent.
The Object
Very good texture on the cover: plasticized a bit, and finely waffled so the sound of scratching it just rules. Nice paper, big stitched binding; overall quite durable. Obviously. The typesetting and printing are maybe a little hokey and there’s some water damage to the back half of the body, but other than that it’s aged pretty well. Suited for the physical realities of hard study, both in terms of wear and readability.
The Why, Though?
This is miles better than the anatomy and physiology books I actually had to use for classes, and since half that shit was digital it’s infinitely closer to hand when I need lookups. That’s not actually very common at the moment, but eh. It’s a usable little package and kinda cute to boot. Dense and high-impact and also my mom wouldn’t like me casting it off except back to her. Might as well hang onto it.
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space is their cradle;
you asked for 'all', so here is 'all' - fluff, a bit of angst and some vague fluffy smut for guardian x crow :> it's rather tame and vague, and i'm trying to encourage myself to write something spicier for kinktober :D
also on ao3 (rating: M)
send prompts here :)
As the Guardian's ship traverses through space, they take a moment to think. Their life, unstable and volatile, has taken plenty of turns lately. From Savathun's final freedom and escape into her throne world to Osiris' return, alive but not quite well, and, at last, to Crow's message to reach out and reconnect.
It has been weeks now, and to say that the Guardian has been yearning to see Crow is an understatement.
They should take it slow. They should permit them to heal. But should Crow reach out farther and guide the Guardian into a reconnection of a closer kind, they wouldn't find the strength to push or pull away.
Crow's ship, stranded near Venus and afloat in space, has the Guardian invited aboard. It is cool here, quiet and clean. Crow stands by the wide unshuttered windows that look out onto the stars. The Guardian's steps here echo almost too loud, enough to announce their presence.
Crow turns, the trim of his cloak brushing the floor, and the Guardian's heart clenches in painful ache. They missed him terribly.
They say his name, and their voice reverberates. They don't speak often.
"I've been thinking a lot," Crow responds slowly. His hood is pushed back and the black fringe of his hair is brushed behind the ear. His face is open and readable. "I understand what you had to do better now. It was not easy to come to terms with the legacy that Uldren Sov has left me. But..."
His breath hitches.
"I am not him and never will be, no matter what Mara says or anyone else."
A pause.
"I've missed you."
Another pause, as if both their hearts are talking now, deciding their fate. One blink, one sigh, and the Guardian can see Crow leaning to walk towards them, so they step forward too, until their bodies collide together in a tight embrace.
Every thought of caution is thrown out of the Guardian's mind as Crow's face presses in the crook of their shoulder. As they bring his face up closer and cover his lips with theirs, to savour and to reconcile and to promise.
In the perfect quiet, they kiss each other. Feet wander them away and to the window, where a narrow rest has them sitting. It is enough space for whatever their minds and bodies wish to do to seal this reconciliation.
Space is their cradle.
Tongues explore and lips move, Crow's voice lost in-between needy whispers and moans. He is so pliant, the Guardian touches him everywhere they can reach, recollecting every inch of him. Crow does not hold back either, fingertips caressing his lover with both urgency and gentleness.
Soon, heartbeats change direction and speed, skin fills with warmth, and eyes look in the other's eyes, bright and glazed.
Crow's heated palms against the glass. Fingertips curling, and hot breath clouding its clear surface. The Guardian's rare sounds becoming those of need and desperation. Time slows down to the point where all that matters is touch and movement, and that is how universe operates. Crow is terribly sensitive, and the Guardian does not know where to have their hands to avoid scorching Crow's skin with affection.
His eyes, bright and burning, meet the stars when he himself explodes in a wave of pleasure. It takes over him, settles around him. The Guardian, too, reaches out to the very core of their own pleasure, holding Crow as close as only possible.
Out of breath. Quiet whispers and dry lips kissing. A stray tear that rolls down and falls on the Guardian's shoulder, not of regret but of relief.
They hold each other until their heartbeats settle and thrum in unison.
And the Venus behind them burns as bright as their love.
#destiny 2#destiny 2 spoilers#guardian x crow#young wolf x crow#yw x crow#yw#the crow#the guardian#r rated#fanfiction#driftcreates
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I don't really fancy established relationships but i love drawn out onesided pining, so maybe something about seeing Lestrade at work at the station or at a crime scene, being the right mix of disheveled & professional
(You and I are very different people; but I will do my very best because a good pining is a fun time)
Mycroft stands at the edge of the scene and twitches when the first few raindrops hit his collar. He opens his umbrella without thinking and lifts it to protect him as his gaze falls back to the scene.
Or, Lestrade on the scene, to be more correct.
He's standing several dozen meters away, lit up by the high-powered mobile lights from forensics. His shirt is in a state, wrinkled and creased. This is his third scene in nineteen hours, Mycroft knows, because this is the third scene he has been to as well. Someone is targeting informants to some of Mycroft's lower colleagues, and they're moving swiftly. Mycroft's people, led by Anthea, are working the angles they have. Sherlock is buried in information to find the angles they do not see. Lestrade is doing what he does the very best: being the boots on the ground.
Mycroft watches Lestrade yawn hugely, then turn and say something to a tech that makes the tired man flash him a brief, amused smile. Lestrade scrubs a hand over his hair, then looks up, squinting as the rain hits his face. It's nothing more than a light misting, truly, but Mycroft steps forward anyway, pleased at the people who nod at him in recognition. Lestrade had been insistent that his people know Mycroft on sight so he could move as easily as needed at these particular scenes, and Mycroft appreciates as always how well Lestrade understands what people need.
"Detective Inspector," Mycroft says when he's a few meters away. Out of Lestrade's personal space but close enough to be easily heard.
Lestrade holds up a finger. "Two ticks," he says, flashing Mycroft a quick look to see his agreeing nod.
Mycroft watches Lestrade walk over to Donovan and have a brief conversation. The tension in her shoulders loosens minutely, and she flicks Lestrade on the chest in a friendly fashion that makes him grin.
Oh, that grin, Mycroft thinks. Such a dangerous weapon on the wrong man. Possibly even more dangerous on the right one.
Lestrade squats down to look at what Anderson is photographing, then he's back on his feet, working his way across the scene to the constables keeping watch at the tape. He says a few words, hands three cigarettes to one of them, laughs quietly at some reply, then leaves them to their work.
Mycroft is somehow certain the constable only requested a single cigarette, but Lestrade would never hand over one when he has several. It is yet another sign of the goodness of his heart. The goodness of the man.
"Mycroft," Lestrade says when he finishes his circuit and comes to a stop in front of Mycroft, hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers, his coat pushed back off his hips due to the stance. It makes him one very lovely masculine line from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes. The mist is just starting to flatten his hair, but the water makes it glimmer, and Mycroft cannot believe how devastating the mere existence of this man is to his being.
"I was going to offer you a bit of protection," Mycroft says, tipping his umbrella slightly forward. "But I am not sure you'll feel its use now that you've gotten damp."
Lestrade takes his hands out of his pockets and shakes his coat by its lapels. Water droplets fly off to the sides. "Waterproof," he says, "so I'm pretty dry overall. But I wouldn't say no to a little head protection while we compare notes."
"Certainly," Mycroft says. He steps forward at the same time as Greg, and they meet perfectly centered under Mycroft's umbrella. For a moment, all Mycroft can catalogue is the warmth that radiates from Greg's torso, the tiny cut on his chin where he nicked himself shaving, the scent of bitter, burned coffee that clings to his collar.
"Same as the others," Lestrade says, reaching up and pushing his hair backwards through his fingers. It makes it stick up more.
Mycroft gets a brief hint of mint and lavender shampoo mixed with the smell of new rain, and oh, that's new. The addition of the water to that smell that Mycroft has known for what feels like a very long time. This is what Lestrade would smell like in the shower, Mycroft thinks, and then blinks the thought away. "Stabbed through the back of the neck with signs of torture pre-death?" Mycroft asks to keep his mind focused on the present.
Lestrade sighs deeply, and there's sadness in his eyes. He feels every death he investigates, Mycroft knows, but he also carries that weight with a grace that Mycroft has very rarely seen. It is cousin to the grace Lestrade has that has him taking a moment to cheer his team. To give three cigarettes to a random constable. A relation to the grace Lestrade showed Sherlock and then Mycroft the day they all met.
Mycroft has been unquestionably and foolishly in love for a very long time. There is no other way to be in the face of a grace so casual given by a man so effortlessly beautiful.
"Yeah," Lestrade says. "How's it going on your side of things?"
"No updates, I'm afraid. And nothing from Sherlock."
Lestrade quirks a smile, then a small, dry laugh. "So, he has nothing, or he's hared off and doing something stupid."
"I would hope Dr. Watson would inform us if that were happening, but he is...occasionally unreliable."
Lestrade smiles at Mycroft, wide and amused, the flash of happiness in his eyes making Mycroft feel like he can't breathe at all. "John's entirely reliable. He will always be by Sherlock's side when he's being a fucking berk."
Mycroft huffs a laugh. There's warm annoyance and fondness in Lestarde's tone. Signs of friendship and care. Of sincere concern and affection. "I cannot argue against your accurate description."
The rain suddenly comes down harder, switching from mist to a proper downpour. There's shouts of displeasure from the scene techs, all rushing to try and preserve what they can. Mycroft is not surprised that Lestrade does not dart away to help. He is a man with a keen sense of when he's useful versus when he's not, and he will only be in the way as the techs rush with precise teamwork to cover the scene in sheeting.
"Shit," Lestrade mutters, pulling his coat around him and tying it closed. "I know we haven't found fuck-all at the other scenes, but the possibility we just lost something is going to hit the team right in morale."
"You will overcome it," Mycroft says. "Your people knows you will not blame them."
Lestrade looks at Mycroft, gaze flittering over his face. Mycroft stays still, allowing his face to stay open and readable. There's a shift to Lestarde's gaze when their eyes meet. From curious to pleased, and then from pleased to...Mycroft isn't quite sure.
Or, he is sure but he fears that to put a name to what he's seeing will mean it will go away.
Lestrade takes a half-step forward, just enough that they're truly close together under the protection of Mycroft's umbrella. "What do you see when you stand here and watch me?" he asks.
Mycroft takes a moment to answer. His heart is thundering in his chest louder than the rain hitting the umbrella just above their heads. "Everything," he finally says because it's the truest answer.
Lestrade nods slowly. He glances over his shoulder and takes in the scene. "Scene's basically useless now," he says. "But I need to check a few more things. When I'm done," Lestrade turns to look at Mycroft again, "me and you, let's get a pint. Warm ourselves up a bit and get a breather. Been a rough couple of days."
Lestrade's face tells Mycroft everything. It's not just a pint. Not just a chance to wind down with someone who understands the strain of being in charge. It's exactly what Mycroft saw and was afraid to name. Hope. Interest. Curiosity. Warmth.
"I'll wait in my car," Mycroft says. He tips the umbrella towards Greg. "Please make use of this."
Greg takes the umbrella. He gives Mycroft one more warm look, the hint of a smile, and then a sharp nod. "Ta," he says and walks away.
The way his shoulders and back straighten as he makes his way back to Donovan makes Mycroft feel warm even as the rain drenches him. He'd relaxed with Mycroft, comfortable to show a bit more of himself.
Mycroft walks briskly to his car, ignoring Anthea's amused look when she sees how wet he is. She shifts her umbrella so it covers them both.
"Any change, Sir?" Anthea asks.
Mycroft snorts at the utter flatness of her tone. Anthea cuts him an amused look. "Not in regards to leads," he says and lets her read on his face that, yes, there has been one change.
"Shall I fetch your spare suit from the boot?"
Mycroft glances over his shoulder. Greg has left the umbrella with Donovan and is making his way around without it. Were he a Renaissance painting, Mycroft thinks, his grace would glow around him like a lantern. "I am sure the heat in the car will be adequate," he says. He will never have Greg's grace, but he is very curious to try it on in some small way. They'll both be disheveled and damp when they sit down for their pint. It warms Mycroft to think of it.
"Very good," Anthea says with a blank look that laughs at his romantic fancy as she opens the door. "I assume we are waiting for the Detective Inspector to join us."
"Yes," Mycroft says. "Thank you."
#mystrade#greg lestrade#mycroft holmes#ask#answer#get together#sort of#i hope this is enough pining!#anthea
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A Guide to the Best Editions and Translations of Some Classic Literature
TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA BY JULES VERNE
IMPORTANT: Whatever you do, DO NOT BUY the edition translated by Lewis Mercier. In fact, NEVER buy any translation of ANYTHING by Lewis Mercier. Mercier’s translation is unfortunately the most “standard” and popular translation. This translation is said to have removed about 20-25% of the original novel, and also removes a lot of Verne’s original meaning. In short, it was a botched translation that somehow became very popular and accessible up until the 1970′s, but always still check for before buying. Barnes and Noble still has his translation lying around for sale.
If the name of the translator isn’t on the cover or back cover of the book, you can check the first few pages where they write the publication history. It might be in fine print.
Frankly, any translation that is NOT by Lewis Mercier is good.
The pictures I have attached here are of the edition I bought published by The Franklin Library. It was translated by Mendor T. Brunetti. It also includes the original illustrations, which is cool.
THE HOLY BIBLE
Oof. This one can get really dicey. But I’ll explain it the best I can.
There have been dozens of translations of the Bible, if not hundreds. Not everyone uses the same one, especially evangelical groups like Pentecostals and Jehovah’s Witnesses. These more radical groups have willingly altered the Bible to further their views. So, a Bible that a Jehovah’s Witness holds is not the same Bible that a Roman Catholic priest holds.
The King James Bible (KJV, or King James Version) has often been considered the most popular version of The Bible throughout modern history. Many of the Bible’s most memorable quotes are directly taken from the King James Bible. It’s considered dignified, poetic, and beautiful. It’s also wrong. So very, very wrong. It’s quite possibly the worst translation of the Bible ever made. I grew up in Catholic school and even there we never once touched the King James Bible. The problems with the King James Bible include certain “theological biases” (i.e. implying Jesus appeared somewhere when he didn’t) and all-around bad translations (i.e. it says there were unicorns but the real meaning is supposed to say “horned beasts”) (see ReligionForBreakfast). The other annoying thing about the King James Bible is that quotation marks are not used. This can be very confusing for readers as it becomes unclear who is speaking.
If you’re curious to see how an exact literal translation of the Bible into English goes, check out the Interlinear Bible. It has the original Hebrew and Greek text with the English words underneath (or besides). You will quickly realize just how complicated translating the Bible is, as Hebrew does not have many words. The English prose in the Interlinear Bible therefore can read like gibberish.
If you want to read the Bible with as close to the original intent and meaning as possible while also being readable, then go for the New American Standard Bible. It can still be a bit difficult to read though. The current popular edition is the New Revised Standard Version. This newer edition from 1989 is considered the most neutral of all translations, as it does not hold any denominational bias. The translators even placed gender-neutral words, such as “people” instead of “mankind”.
FRANKENSTEIN BY MARY SHELLEY
The original 1818 text by Mary Shelley has been given more spotlight as of late. The text that we are most commonly familiar with from 1831 had the story toned down because of course it would be scandalous for a woman to write about such things at the time. Mary Shelley had suffered critical outrage and pressure for editorial changes from her husband Percy for her original vision. For the 1831 edition, she was forced to edit the novel so that Dr. Frankenstein would be a more moral character, whereas the original Dr. Frankenstein in the 1818 text did not go through much moralizing.
Penguin Books recently released an affordable edition of the 1818 text.
THE THREE MUSKETEERS BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS
There are numerous translations but I want to highlight the one I read by Richard Pevear. This made the story very readable while also remaining faithful to the story. Pevear didn’t censor Dumas’s original meanings at all like previous translations did for their time. I thoroughly enjoyed his translation and was lucky enough to get the hardcover of his first edition back in the day. My mom completely surprised me by buying that book for me, and it ended up happening to be the best translation. The best thing about Pevear’s edition is that it includes footnotes for archaic terms. The original hardcover of Pevear’s edition is difficult to find by now, but his translation has been re-released by other publishers. As of a few years ago, a new translation by Lawrence Ellsworth has been released. I have not read that one but have heard good things. The publishers of the Ellsworth translation have also been republishing ALL of the Musketeer stories to provide a series of consistent editions, which has always been rare for the Musketeer saga.
HOMER’S ODYSSEY, ILIAD, and VIRGIL’S AENEID
First off, read these epics in verse form. I cannot believe there are editions out that written in prose form. I’m sorry but that should be illegal. I grew up reading Robert Fagles’ translation, which is pretty damn good and is the standard in schools. However, also look for Richmond Lattimore’s translation. Lattimore translated The Odyssey and The Iliad in the original rhythm that Homer intended. Fagles wrote in freeform for the sake of being easier to read. Both translations retain the original meaning, so it’s up to you really what you prefer. As for The Aeneid (Lattimore only translated Greek classics), go with Fagles.
DON QUIXOTE BY MIGUEL DE CERVANTES
Read the translation by Edith Grossman. That’s all I can say. I devoured that book in days. Grossman did to Don Quixote what Pevear did to The Three Musketeers. It’s just that good and readable.
Ormsby is the second-best, being the most scholarly of all translations. The translation is the most accurate but the humor can be dry and doesn’t pack the same punch as Cervantes probably intended.
The translations to avoid like the plague are by Motteux, Smollett, and John Phillips.
SHERLOCK HOLMES BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Surely, most people reading this have a copy of the Sherlock Holmes tales in one form or another. But which is the best?
Every text out there is the same no matter the publication, but I prefer to read the way it was originally formatted with all the illustrations. The automatic assumption people might have is that all the original Sherlock Holmes stories were published in The Strand Magazine. This wasn’t the case. There were several stories published in other magazines at the time, such as A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four, to name a few. Therefore, if you find an edition boasting to have “all The Strand illustrations” it probably only has the stories that were published in The Strand Magazine. More confusing yet, some editions do say “All the Strand illustrations” but also include A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four.
Keep in mind this magical number: 60
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a total of 56 short stories and 4 novels with Sherlock Holmes. If the copy you are holding does not add up to 60 stories, don’t bother. You might get a copy that comes in two or three volumes.
#onreading#literature#translations#language#languages#mary shelley#bible#Christianity#catholicism#religion#don quixote#jules verne#twenty thousand leagues under the sea#alexandre dumas#frankenstein#the three musketeers#homer#odyssey#iliad#virgil#homer's odyssey#homer's iliad#books#book#classics#classic#classic literature#sherlock holmes#sir arthur conan doyle#reading
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