#meg stuart

[heliopeia]

time stamps for THAT (sa) scene in re-animator (non integral version!) for when ur rewatching and want to skip 🕺

1:08:44 (meg is carried in by the dean and u get a gist of what happens next) - 1:12:08 (herbert distracting hill) stay safe everyone 💚

[horror-aesthete]

Suitable Flesh - Reanimator - From Beyond - Bride of Reanimator

[swampflix]

The Not-So-New 52: Teen Titans – The Judas Contract (2017)

Welcome to The Not-So-New 52, your digital Swampflix comic book (adaptation) newsstand! Starting in 2007, DC Comics and Warner Premiere entered the direct-to-home-video market with animated features, mostly in the form of adaptations of well-received event comics or notable arcs. This Swampflix feature takes its name from the 2011 DC relaunch event “The New 52,” and since there are (roughly)…

[themnmovieman]

Disc Review ~ Leviathan (1989)

A Dive into Deep Sea Horror - Now in a beautiful 4K from Kino Lorber!

Leviathan (1989) (4K UHD ) Synopsis: Underwater deep-sea miners encounter a Soviet wreck and bring back a dangerous cargo to their base on the ocean floor with horrifying results. The crew of the mining base must fight to survive against a genetic mutation that hunts them down one by one.Stars: Peter Weller, Richard Crenna, Amanda Pays, Daniel Stern, Ernie Hudson, Michael Carmine, Lisa Eilbacher,…

[not-neverland06]

hi!! Given my obsession for Hugh jackman I am CRAVING for some Leopold X reader (from Kate & Leopold)! Maybe with some little angst but happy ending??

I love your blog!! Have a wonderful day 😽💐💓

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader a/n: I don’t know how controversial this is going to be and I don’t care. I could never finish the movie because I hated Meg Ryan in it so much. It’s so odd, I’ve loved her in everything else she’s been in but she made it such a hard watch. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my grandma in the worst way lol, but I finished it for you anon sorry this was a little rushed Anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies Summary: Your neighbor went back in time and dragged someone back with him. He's irritatingly polite and far too interested in your way of life. What are you meant to do when you fall for a man who was never even supposed to meet you?

“Hello, madam, please I need your help!”

You’re used to crazies, it is New York after all. But they’re not usually shouting at you through your window. Especially not when you’re on the sixth floor. You look away from your coffee and glance towards the fire escape. 

There’s an oddly dressed man with red eyes waving at you through the dirty glass. You offer him a tentative wave back and he nods aggressively. “Yes, hello, I need your assistance.”

“Um,” you shake your head, “Sorry, I don’t have any drugs dude.”

“No,” he places his hands pathetically on the glass and shakes his head. “Please, I have been kidnapped.” Finally, you take a step closer to him. You can tell now that his eyes aren’t reddened from any medicinal fun, he probably got pepper sprayed. 

Your friend did it to you once when you tried to surprise her on her birthday and you’ll never forget just how awful you looked afterwards. You can see him a bit more clearly now. Whatever odd costume he’s got on, it looks good. Genuine and clean. 

Not like most of the street performers you see in Times Square. Besides, he doesn’t have that maddened look in his eye that makes you worry he’s going to come inside and kill you. Tentatively, you open the window. 

He’s leaping through in a second and you jump back with a yelp. He turns towards you and his eyes widen before he quickly turns away. “My good lady, where are your pants?”

“Uh,” you glance down at the oversized shirt you’re wearing and the tiny shorts underneath. Admittedly, it’s a little skimpy, but you’re not walking around naked. You’ve heard of committing to the bit, but this is a bit much. “On,” you tell him, walking around him and trying to stand close to the phone. 

“Ma’am-” He’s cut off as someone slams their fist on your front door. You keep a weary eye on the man while you unlock your door. 

“Hey,” Stuart smiles at you. His eyes drift slightly past your shoulder and he goes barging into your apartment. “Leopold! What did I say?”

You huff and glare at Stuart’s frantic back. “This is yours?” Stuart nods and rushes Leopold out the door. You don’t miss the pleading, while slightly scandalized, look he sends you. 

You slam the door closed behind them, shaking your head and going back to your morning paper. You doubt you’ll be seeing him around again. 

You know, it’s just your luck that your upstairs neighbor is a scientist, one who happens to dabble in the art of time travel. And it’s just your luck that he had to fall down a damn elevator shaft. 

Now, according to him, you have to care for someone from a different century so he can make it back to his time portal in, well, in time. This is fucking ridiculous. “I’m going to kill you, Stuart.”

“Look, they’re going to take my phone but he really cannot-”

It goes silent on the other end. You shout his name a few times but hear nothing in response. You assume the hospital staff has finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and has taken his phone. You slam your handset down with a huff and look towards the living room. Leopold hasn’t sat down since you walked in and it’s unsettling. 

“So,” you start and his attention snaps towards you. “1876, huh?”

He nods and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “Oh, this is insane. This is insane,” you mutter to yourself, walking towards Stuart’s door. Leopold gives you a concerned look before quickly following after you. There’s a part of you, and you hate that part, that actually believes some of this. 

Stuart is a brilliant, though flawed, scientist. You don’t doubt that he might have actually unlocked the secret to traveling back to the past, but it’s such an insane idea to try and wrap your head around. 

“Come on, we’re leaving.” You know that Stuart doesn’t want him out of the house. Tough. You’re not going to just stay inside and wait until he can supposedly go back to the past. You don’t give Leopold any time to process your answer, already out the door and heading towards the stairs. 

“You know,” he starts as he catches up to you. “You are quite rude.” Your first instinct is to snap back at him. But you take a breath and stop yourself. 

You’re desensitized, ridiculously used to just how awful New Yorkers can be to each other. And whether this man is truly from the past or not is up for debate. But he is polite and earnest, and you have no reason to be a bitch to him. 

“I’m,” the words are hard to come by but you force them out anyway, “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely surprised by the apology and it only makes you feel worse. “This is just an insane idea to try and grasp.”

He chuckles softly, smiling as he glances down at his feet. “Yes, how do you think I feel?”

You’re sure it’s not his intention, but you only feel like more of an ass. If this is hard for you, whatever he's going through is a hundred times worse. You weren’t forcefully ripped out of your own time and shoved into another you don’t understand. He’s still trying to comprehend the television.

Though, you’re sure being a scientist has helped him in marginally understanding how all of this is possible. “How do you like the future?” It sounds awkward and stiff, but you haven’t had to talk to anyone in a really long time. 

Your interactions are pretty limited at the book shop considering no one ever comes in. They all order online nowadays and all you really have to worry about is organizing shelves. You’re embarrassingly rusty when it comes to conversing. 

And his propensity towards eloquence only makes you feel worse. “I must admit, some of your inventions have been quite fascinating. I’m especially fond of your showers.”

Your face scrunches slightly at the mention of hygiene and you nod, “I bet.” Before either of you can attempt to salvage this horrible attempt at conversation your phone starts ringing. “Hold on one second,” you tell him. You walk a few feet away from him but you can still feel his eyes boring into your back as you move away. 

“Hello?”

There’s a frantic shout of your name down the line and then the distinct jingling of keys. “I need you to cover the shop. Marcy just went into labor and I’ve got to go!” Paul doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he hangs up. 

Your jaw gapes and you stare down at your phone with shock. You know Paul and his wife had been expecting, but had it really already been nine months? Has your life become so monotonous and dull that nine months doesn’t even register for you?

It’s a depressing thought. One you’d rather not linger on. “What was that?”

You scream, though the people passing by don’t pay you any mind, and jump away from Leopold. “Jesus, where the hell did you come from?”

Leopold flinches away from you and his face is just as aghast as yours. “Good heavens, what is the matter with you? Do you respond to anything as a sensible woman might?”

“I resent that.” You tell him bitterly. Though, he does make a good point. You’ve been on edge constantly. You always seem to be more anxious than you are happy. It’s not a good state to perpetually exist in. “I need to go into work.”

You don’t want to outright say that he needs to go back to the apartment. It feels a little mean, but you’re hoping he’ll catch onto your tone of voice. 

His entire demeanor perks up and he smiles at you. “Wonderful, I am dreadfully curious as to what you do.”

You open your mouth to correct him, let him know he’s not coming. But he’s staring at you with such hopeful eyes that you cannot find it in yourself to turn him down. He seems so excited, you’re sure he won’t be when he gets to your cluttered little bookshop. You let out a weary sigh, “Fine. Okay.”

You walk towards the curb, hoping to hail a cab. But Leopold’s hand gently wraps around your elbow and tugs you in the opposite direction. Your eyes widen in response to his boldness. You thought touching a woman he wasn’t courting would cause someone like him to combust. Seems he didn’t mind breaking the rules sometimes. 

You make a mental note of that for later. You don’t know what you’re going to do with the information, but you find it intriguing. Maybe the modern world was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit. 

“We should take this,” he stops you in front of a horse-drawn carriage and you immediately begin to shake your head. 

“No, Leopold, these are just tourist traps-”

He doesn’t let you finish, opening the carriage’s door and gently nudging you inside. “Nonsense! This is far more enjoyable than those yellow monstrosities.”

“Taxi,” you correct. You turn towards the carriage driver and give him directions to your bookshop. “Ink and Tea on Fifth.” He nods and the carriage rolls forward with a lurch. You grip the cushioned seats and pray you don’t get motion sickness. 

“Ink and Tea?” Leopold inquires. “Are you a journalist?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, nothing so fancy. I just help take care of an old bookshop. They were supposed to extend the shop when it first opened. They were going to build a space for people to get pastries or drink tea, but it never happened and the owner was too lazy to change the name.”

It feels a little humiliating to be talking about your minimum-wage job to a renowned scientist. He’s invented or is going to, elevators. He doesn’t care about your stupid shop. But he doesn’t look particularly judgy of you. If anything he seems to be endeared to you the more you talk. 

Normally, you’re oblivious to these sorts of things. But it’s nearly impossible for him to hide. He’s not shy with his attraction, never taking his eyes off of you and hanging onto your every word. You’re not used to such outward attention. 

You look out of the carriage, pretending to take in views you’ve already seen a thousand times. “This city is incredible,” he wonders aloud. His awe is palpable. 

Your nose wrinkles and you shrug. “It’s dirty and the people are intolerable.”

“Must you always be so pessimistic?” You snap your mouth shut and feel embarrassment creeping around you. You’ve never had someone point out when you’re being negative, but he has a point. 

You used to view the city through the same rose-colored glasses. Something’s broken inside you in recent years that has just taken the joy out of life. Everything is grey to you now, until Leopold, nothing spectacular has ever really happened to you. 

The carriage comes to a stop outside the shop before you can respond to him. You want to deny what he says, but you can’t. Your attitude is almost always unnecessary. You think sometimes you might just be trying to see if everyone feels as miserable as you do or if there’s just something wrong with you. 

“Come on,” you tell him, getting out and paying the driver. He wanders towards the shop, eyeing the displays in the window curiously. 

“These are wonderful,” he tells you, pointing to the way you’d made the books look like they’re floating above the shelves. It was just some silly little thing you’d tried to get more people in the shop. It’d worked for about a month. 

“I did that,” you unlock the door to the shop and open it for him. But he doesn’t walk in immediately, instead, he lingers in the doorway. He offers you a soft smile and you can’t help but return it. 

“You’re more creative than you give yourself credit for.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him walk inside. He keeps making these oddly astute observations about you and it’s throwing you off your game. You barely know this man and you’ve always been good at keeping yourself aloof and vague. Yet, he seems to read you like you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

“Feel free to…” he’s already made himself comfortable somewhere in the back and you trail off. “Look around,” you finish lamely. His form is lost somewhere in stacks of books and cluttered shelves. 

You know most of the classics and history books are kept towards the back. You wonder if he’s reminiscing or getting a headstart before he gets back to his time. You smile at the thought and walk behind the counter, sitting on the stool and preparing to finish off the rest of the day.

Leopold is still somewhere lost to you an hour later. Occasionally you’ll hear a page flip or the clatter of a book being reshelved, but there are no other signs of life. Not until the bell above the door rings. 

“Clark,” you smile, sitting up straighter as your friend walks through the door. “What’re you doing here?”

He gives you a crooked grin and shrugs. Just over his shoulder, you can see Leopold’s head pop over a shelf, he looks between you both, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Paul told me you’d be here, figured you might want some company.”

“Actually-” you start, but another voice cuts you off. 

“Leopold Mountbatten,” he comes around the corner, hand outstretched as he comes in between you and Clark. “And who might you be?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at the interaction. Leopold seems oddly hostile and Clark looks strangely caught off guard. “Um, Clark. Nice to meet you, man.” He shakes Leopold’s hand but his grip is weak and it only lasts for one awkward half-second. 

It’s uncomfortable to watch them try and interact and it only gets worse when they turn towards you. Clearly, they want you to tell them who the hell the other guy is. But you feel like that might just make the situation worse. 

Besides, you were pretty content with it just being you and Leopold, you don’t need Clark coming in here and riling things up. “You know, Clark, I’m set here. You can just go home.” Your tone leaves no room for argument but you know he wants to. 

“Alright, I’ll just call you later, I guess.” He throws one last skeptical look at Leopold before finally slinking back out of the shop. 

“Neither of you should be alone without a chaperone present.” Leopold bluntly scolds you without even waiting a second before Clark is gone. It catches you off guard and you scoff. 

You motion between the two of you, “We don’t have a chaperone.” 

Leopold shrugs, “Yes, well, I’m not courting you.” It shouldn’t, because he’s right, but that stings. He is attractive, surprisingly so. You have this odd belief that anyone from his century had to be at least a little ugly. But he’s near perfect. 

Hearing him tell you so bluntly that you’re not courting hurts a little. Though, you can’t blame him. You must be dramatically different than the women he’s used to. From your manners to how you dress, you’re practically an alien. 

You stand up from behind the counter and walk towards the cart of books that need to be shelved. “Clark is a friend. Nothing more.” You’ve never once been romantically interested in your friend. He’s attractive, but he’s not really your type.

Apparently, British men from the nineteenth century are. Which does not bode well for your romantic prospects once Leopold is back home. “It is plain for anyone to see how he wants you. Don’t let yourself be blinded by naivete.”

“Naivete?” you scoff and turn around to glare at him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me, alright? I’m not some maiden in a frilly dress who needs a chaperone.” You can see that your words affect him. He looks a little taken aback by your anger and so are you. 

It’s misplaced. You’re not mad at him, just mad that you even like him. “Just go read or something, Leopold.” You dismiss him more rudely than necessary and hide yourself behind a few shelves. The rest of your workday is spent in a tense silence that makes your stomach churn. 

You’re nearly ready for bed when something slips under your door with a slight whoosh. You turn towards it, frowning when you see a little envelope with a wax seal on the ground. You pick it up and let your finger slip under the paper, opening it to find a letter with your name on it inside. 

The handwriting is impeccable, with a gracefulness to it that you’ve never seen before. You don’t have to read for very long to know who it's from. Leopold writes poetry about the color of your eyes and the way your lips curl when you smile. And then he ends it with a vague, nearly ominous, invitation to dinner. 

You can’t help but smile to yourself, changing out of your pajamas and slipping into something a little nicer. A few minutes later you’re climbing out your window and taking the stairs up the fire escape to the roof. 

You don’t believe your ears at first, thinking the music must be coming from another apartment. But when you make it up to the roof there’s a violin player there waiting for you. He smiles happily at you as you approach. 

You spin in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of flowers littered around the roof. You don’t know how he managed to afford all of this. He transformed the barren and empty rooftop into your own little paradise. Candles lit and a live musician playing for you. 

You’ve never had anyone do something like this for you, ever. It’s a little hard to accept that someone would be willing to put this much effort in for you. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

You turn around and Leopold is waiting behind you, that familiar smile playing on his lips. You aren’t aware of the grin forming on your face in response. You don’t have much control over that when you’re with him. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks like he wants to respond but at the last moment thinks better of it. He instead pulls your chair out for you, helping you into your seat. “This is nice,” that feels too underwhelming a word for such an incredible gesture. 

You sigh and frown as you try and find the right words. You don’t notice him sitting down across from you. You only look up when you feel him placing his hand on your own. “It’s alright,” he assures you. 

It’s still so odd how he can know you so well after such little time. “This is incredible,” you tell him, undeterred by his attempts to soothe you. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He looks like he takes personal offense to that and it makes you laugh. “You deserve far more than this. Sadly, it seems Stuart’s pockets do have limits and I’m afraid I would have put him into debt if I’d gone any further.”

You have the perfect mental image of Stuart coming back from the hospital only to find his science project has robbed him. It makes you laugh and you squeeze his hand once before drawing it back into your lap. He lets his touch linger on you for a long moment, seemingly reluctant to pull away. 

“No,” you tell him, “this is perfect.” 

You fall into a comfortable silence for a little while. Conversation mostly drifting toward what his life was like as a duke. You don’t have much to say about your own life. It’s been incredibly normal and you’re a little sad to find that you don’t have one good thing to share with him. 

Nothing comes to the front of your mind. 

Inevitably, you drift into the topic you’d both been so adamantly avoiding. “Has Stuart said when you’d need to return?”

Leopold’s grip on the fork tightens and for a moment he refuses to meet your eye. “Monday, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen and you feel something burning at the back of your throat. Monday, the same Monday that’s two days away. 

“Dance with me,” the suddenness of the demand catchers you so off guard that you forget the tears. He stands, holding out his hand to you. You almost say no, you can’t remember the last time you danced and you doubt it’s going to be pretty. 

But he whispers your name and something about his tone tells you to take the chance while you have it. You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet and dance the night away. 

Instead, he holds you close and you sway together. Like moving even an inch away from each other would hurt. “You could come with me,” he tells you. And you know immediately what he’s talking about. 

You also know it could never happen. Going to the nineteenth century is insane. Even considering it should be enough to have you sent to a psych ward somewhere. Especially not for a man you’ve known for less than a month. 

You try and tell him that you can’t, but he stops you. “I know, a preposterous idea. I just wanted to think about it.” You look up at him and find that you can’t take that away from him. There’s nothing wrong with imagining what it could be like with him. Even when you know it can never happen. 

You dance like that for a little while longer, swaying against each other while the violin plays in the background. He whispers your name and when you gaze up at him this time, there’s a certain look in his eye that you know is reflected in your own. 

He dips down, lips caressing yours gently before he’s pushing more firmly against your own. The world stops. Cliche, you’re aware. For the first time in years, though, you’re alive. You feel something other than the dull monotony of life. You feel excited and terrified all at once. Because you know you can never have this feeling again. 

You will never meet another man like Leopold who ignites this spark of life and passion within you. Never has a man been able to make you doubt every decision you’ve ever made with just a kiss, but here he is. 

Your arms lift like you might try and draw him in closer. His hands come up, taking yours in his gentle hold and squeezing. He pulls away from you and reality comes crashing back down. You’re not in love, you can’t be. You’ve only just met him a few days ago. 

Yet, here you are, wondering if you might actually want to leave everything behind to be with him like the great romances authors write about. He smiles at you and there’s a bittersweetness to it, a final farewell that you know will break whatever is left of your heart. 

He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing his lips against them like he never wants to part. “Goodnight,” he whispers your name and backs away from you. You watch him go, watch him leave, unable to muster up any words for him. 

You can’t think of anything that would ease this gnawing ache inside of you. Nothing to soothe the pain for either of you. You let him go because you know if you asked him to stay he would. And how selfish of you would it be to let history unravel simply because you fell in love? 

Monday. It is Monday. You’ve been coming to terms with that all weekend. You don't want to think about the fact that Leopold will be gone tonight. Your time together was so brief but you feel like you’re never going to get over losing him. 

Before the night was over on Sunday, a note was slipped under your door. This handwriting was messy, it made you think someone other than Leopold had written it down, but you don’t know who it could have been. 

It was a date and time, jump off the Brooklyn Bridge at this time on Monday night. Only an idiot would jump off a bridge because of an ominous note slipped under her door. But you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of it, not since you first picked it up. 

Leopold had invited you to go with him. And while you might not have said no, the insinuation was clear. Your eyes dart to your clock. If you left now, you could still make it in time. What an absolutely ridiculous thought. 

So, why are you running out the door without locking it? Why do you not care who slips into your home now? There’s this sense of finality within you that lets you know you’re never going to see that place again and that’s okay. 

You never truly felt comfortable in your life. You always thought a part of yourself was missing. Or that you were always running late for something. You think you understand what you were feeling now. 

The thing you’ve been searching for your whole life wasn’t halfway across the world, a hundred thousand miles from you. He was on the wrong side of time, or you were, at least. 

You manage to snag a taxi to get to the bridge but there’s a traffic jam. You’re forced to jump out of the car and run through the different lanes of blocked traffic. People shout at you. Your cab driver screaming after you about your fare. You don’t care, the only thing you can think about is the note crumpled in your hands and the clock counting down how long you have to jump. 

You’ll either be on the news tomorrow as an unfortunate suicide. An idiot who accidentally threw herself off the wrong side of the bridge. Or, you’ll see Leopold again. 

You reach the ledge and you can’t hesitate. If you do, you won’t jump in time. You close your eyes, holding your breath like you’re jumping into your neighbor’s pool. Air rushes around you, whipping at your hair and skin violently. 

It’s not until you hear someone shouting down at you that you realize you’re not dead. You’re lying in the middle of a dirt road, a group of people staring down at you with concern in their eyes. 

You only have to take in the clothes they’re wearing to know you’ve made it. Before they can react you’re leaping to your feet and running off. You know you’re near the Brooklyn Bridge, or where it’s supposed to be at least. You know enough about the area to remember where Leopold’s house is supposed to be. 

You’re covered in sweat and red mud. The people you pass by in the streets hide behind their hands and whisper about you. You’re not making a good impression on your future neighbors, that’s for sure. But, honestly, all you care about is making it back to him. 

You see people congregating outside his uncle’s home. You know there’s a party inside, that he’s supposed to be announcing who his wife will be. You barrel through the people outside, shoving through the crowd and running up the steps of the house. 

You can hear Leopold’s voice as you run, “The woman I’m going to take as my wife is-”

There’s a loud gasp as you come panting into the room. You can’t catch your breath long enough to speak but it doesn’t matter. The crowd is parting around you and Leopold is smiling down at you. He says your name and there’s nothing else that matters about the world around you. Not when you finally found each other. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Kate & Leopold, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[agardenandlibrary]

Best Reads of 2024

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez - This book was delicious. I love how Jimenez played with storytelling. I really like the way he writes.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner - A book written just for me, really. 

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan - WHAT A BOOK. I literally stayed awake and stared at the ceiling for like an hour past my bedtime thinking about this book. 

The Hands of the Emperor & At the Feet of the Sun by Victoria Goddard - Listing both of these is probably cheating but it’s my list so my rules. I can’t believe I wanted these 900-1300 page books to be longer. Embarrassing. 

Komarr & A Civil Campaign by Lois McMaster Bujold - These are a set. To me. Ekaterin is one of the women of all time. I love her, but not as much as Miles does!! It’s delightful to me how many shenanigans Bujold can pack in alongside her discussions of class imbalance and warfare and maternal healthcare and

Agrippina by Emma Southon - this nonfiction book about a Roman woman was a delight. I’ve been spouting facts about the Romans and Agrippina herself for weeks. We watched Gladiator II and I had Opinions. Am I going to embark on a tour of the Julio-Claudians?? Who am I?? 

Disappointing Reads of 2024

Honestly, I had a really good reading year, so I wouldn’t necessarily even call these “bad”. I wouldn’t necessarily call them good either.

The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton

The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley

The Lost Story by Meg Shaffer 

Reads I Did Not Finish

We love to give up on stuff!!

Thieftaker by D.B. Jackson - I made it 52% through this book and just. Didn’t. Care. The MC was like “I have to go talk to 30 people” and I thought “But I don’t!” and closed the book.

The Bone Season by Samantha Shannon - Kind of the same story. 30% through and barely interested in the happenings. Though someone at my New Year’s Eve party said the words “mime crime scene” and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from complaining about this book’s mime crimes.

[balioc]

BALIOC'S READING LIST, 2024 EDITION

This list counts only published books, consumed in published-book format, that I read for the first time and finished. No rereads, nothing abandoned halfway through, no Internet detritus of any kind, etc. Also no children’s picture books.

(There were still so many children's picture books.)

(I've relaxed my standards a bit for this year. I've counted two graphic novels, and one text so short that it's basically just an illustrated short story. This doesn't particularly feel like cheating, and it doesn't seem to be lowering my standards generally. Next year, I may decide to count texts read on the Internet, so long as they're genuinely substantive in some way; we'll see.)

The Pilgrim of Hate, Ellis Peters

Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East, Amanda H. Podany

An Excellent Mystery, Ellis Peters

Moon Dark Smile, Tessa Gratton

The Raven in the Foregate, Ellis Peters

Demon Daughter, Lois McMaster Bujold

The Rose Rent, Ellis Peters

Bea Wolf, Zach Weinersmith

The Saint of Bright Doors, Vajra Chandasekera

The Hermit of Eyton Forest, Ellis Peters

Warlock, Oakley Hall

The Confession of Brother Haluin, Ellis Peters

The Heretic's Apprentice, Ellis Peters

Of Ghosts and Goblins, Lafcadio Hearn

The Potter's Field, Ellis Peters

Golden Hill, Francis Spufford

The Summer of the Danes, Ellis Peters

The Holy Thief, Ellis Peters

Ducks: Two Years In the Oil Sands, Kate Beaton

The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett

Brother Cadfael's Penance, Ellis Peters

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, Brandon Sanderson

Ballet Shoes, Noel Streatfeild

Emma, Jane Austen

Lyorn, Stephen Brust

Magus: The Art of Magic From Faustus to Agrippa, Anthony Grafton

The Tainted Cup, Robert Jackson Bennett

Cannibalism: A Perfectly Natural History, Bill Schutt

The Lion of Boaz-Jachin and Jachin-Boaz, Russell Hoban

The Familiar, Leigh Bardugo

Unraveller, Frances Hardinge

Pilgermann, Russell Hoban

Breaking Hel, Miles Cameron

The Emperor's Sword, Christian Cameron

Ink Blood Sister Scribe, Emma Törzs

Out of Tales: Or, January, Meg Moseman

Chinese Buddhism: A Thematic History, Chün-fang Yü

Tress of the Emerald Sea, Brandon Sanderson

Intelligence: All That Matters, Stuart Ritchie

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick Süskind

Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee

Prince of the Godborn, Geraldine Harris

Children of the Wind, Geraldine Harris

The Dead Kingdom, Geraldine Harris

The Seventh Gate, Geraldine Harris

The Night Parade of 100 Demons, Marie Brennan

The Game of 100 Candles, Marie Brennan

The Market of 100 Fortunes, Marie Brennan

Aztecs: An Interpretation, Inga Clendinnen

Sand, Wolfgang Herrndorf

The Wood at Midwinter, Susanna Clarke

The Chains of the Earth, David Mealing

Plausible works of improving nonfiction consumed in 2024: 7

Balioc's Choice Award, Fiction Division: Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick Süskind

>>>> Honorable Mention: Warlock, Oakley Hall

Balioc's Choice Award, Nonfiction Division: Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East, Amanda H. Podany

>>>> Honorable Mention: Chinese Buddhism: A Thematic History, Chün-fang Yü

The Celephaïs Award for Mythopoesy With Which I Would Have Been Absolutely Obsessed Had I Read It As a Teenager, and, Let's Be Honest, It's Not Like I'm Not Obsessed Now: the Seven Citadels books by Geraldine Harris [Prince of the Godborn, Children of the Wind, The Dead Kingdom, The Seventh Gate]

The Emerald Champion's Award for "I've Cared About This Setting Since I Was Twelve and This Story Can't Possibly Be Canon, Oh Shit, There Was a Total Reboot and Now You're One of the People In Charge of the Canon?!": Marie Brennan's L5R novels [Night Parade of 100 Demons, Game of 100 Candles, Market of 100 Fortunes]

The Pepsi-Cola Award for "We Have Brandon Sanderson At Home": the Ascension Cycle books by David Mealing [Chains of the Earth, plus two earlier books read in previous years]

The Dumott Schunard Award for Advanced Queerness In the Field of Metaphysics, No Seriously, You Did Not Know That Fantasy Worldbuilding Could Be So Fundamentally Queer: Moon Dark Smile by Tessa Gratton

The Glandeco-Angelinian Award for Real Goddamn Outsider Art Made By a Real Goddamn Outsider Artist Who Is Definitely Thinking Thoughts That Stretch Beyond Your Trifling Mundane World: Out of Tales: Or, January by Meg Moseman

**********

This year was a lot better than it looks. I swear.

...the numbers are real bad, I know. 52 is the absolute bottom edge of "respectable" for a year's total-books-read count, for me, and no fewer than 11 of those were part of the same silly historical-mystery series. 7 is well below the absolute bottom edge of "respectable" for the nonfiction count.

But, given how shamefully little reading there was overall, there was a surprising amount of serious high-quality stuff with lasting value. Chinese Buddhism, Aztecs, and Weavers, Scribes, and Kings are all exactly what I want nonfiction tomes to be: each one left me with a sense that I understood a particular chunk of the world much better than I had before. I think any one of those three probably caused me to feel more educated than some entire years' worth of nonfiction reading. And on the fiction front, there was just a lot of excellence. Books like Pilgermann and The Saint of Bright Doors are flawed but also possessed of genuine literary greatness. Books like Of Ghosts and Goblins and the Seven Citadels novels are light-weight, but light-weight in the way that a faerie-gossamer cloak is light-weight; they possess genuine beauty that moves them into the realm of the transcendent. Even the usual genre-fiction filler stuff had a lot of semiprecious gems.

I'm still alarmingly bad at getting any reading at all done when I'm working on a serious writing project. I should figure out what I can do about that. Possibly it's time to bite the bullet and start listening to audiobooks when I drive.

[brgzmpff]

@odmnd amugy lehet csak annyit kene, hogy meg kene venni a cilineknem.hu domaint, ott arulni a sajat kepeimet, 50% mehet is jotekony celra, es mint Stuart Semple oldalain, mindenhol felpattano ablakok, hogy becsuletszavadat adod, hogy nem vagy Anish Kapoor, lehetne hogy nem vagy Rogan Cili es hozza barmilyen formaban kotheto szemely🤦🏻‍♀️

[movies-to-add-to-your-tbw]

Title: A Wrinkle in Time

Rating: PG

Director: John Kent Harrison

Cast: Katie Stuart, Gregory Smith, David Dorfman, Chris Potter, Kyle Secor, Sean Cullen, Sarah-Jane Redmond, Kate Nelligan, Alison Elliott, Alfre Woodard, Munro Chambers, Noel Fisher

Release year: 2003

Genres: science fiction, drama

Blurb: Meg and Charles Wallace are aided by Calvin and three interesting women in the search for their father, who disappeared during a government experiment. Their travels take them around the universe, to a place unlike any other.

[sundayohsunday]

In the kitchen, Ryan wears a vintage Alaïa dress with Jill Stuart shoes. Silver Windsor chair from Wyeth.

https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/meg-ryan-new-york-city-loft

[byneddiedingo]

Gabrielle Anwar and Billy Wirth in Body Snatchers (Abel Ferrara, 1993)

Cast: Gabrielle Anwar, Terry Kinney, Meg Tilly, Billy Wirth, Reilly Murphy, Christine Elise, R. Lee Irmey, Kathleen Doyle, Forest Whitaker, G. Elvis Phillips. Screenplay: Raymond Cistheri, Larry Cohen, Stuart Gordon, Dennis Paoli, Nicholas St. John, based on a novel by Jack Finney. Cinematography: Bojan Bazelli. Production design: Peter Jamison. Film editing: Anthony Redman. Music: Joe Delia. 

Abel Ferrara's version of Jack Finney's novel The Body Snatchers is nothing if not economical. The economy extends to the title: Don Siegel's 1956 version and Philip Kaufman's 1978 one were called Invasion of the Body Snatchers; Ferrara even drops the definite article. The story, too, has been pared down. Ferrara's version sets the story on a military base in Alabama instead of the urban California of the previous films. It also shifts the focus to a teenage girl, Marti Malone (Gabrielle Anwar), who comes with her family to the base when her father (Terry Kinney) is sent there by the EPA to investigate chemical pollution. The dynamic of a rebellious adolescent in a military culture is perfect for the conflict between individualism and conformity, the theme that unites all of the versions of Finney's story. In addition to her father, Marti's dysfunctional family consists of her stepmother, Carol (Meg Tilly), whom she dislikes, and her young half-brother, Andy (Reilly Muphy), who annoys her. Andy is the first to sense that something is seriously wrong in their new home when, during an art class at day care, all the other kids produce identical finger paintings. As they hold up their paintings, the teacher murmurs approvingly at each one until she comes to a halt at Andy's, which is unique. She clearly disapproves. One by one, the fact that people are being somehow replaced by identical but emotionless beings becomes clear. Ferrara is not particularly interested in the mechanics of invasion and transformation that took up more narrative space in the previous films. We get some nicely disgusting body horror scenes, but the response of Marti to the alien takeover is what drives the plot as she teams up with a handsome young helicopter pilot named Tim (Billy Wirth) to fight off the invaders. Tim's stoic military manner keeps us unsure whether he's not already one of the pod people, an ambiguity that persists until the end of the movie. Body Snatchers is a good rethinking of material whose previous versions are now considered classics. The source material was mined again for a fourth version, The invasion (Oliver Hirschbiegel, 2007), which starred Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig but bombed with the critics.   

[sronti]

Látom nem kellenek a linkek hosszú cikkekről, szóval itt a Norton motoros sztori dióhéjban:

1. adott egy csaló, aki megálmodja, hogy életre kelti a nagy hírű Norton motort. Vagy legalábbis megálmodja, hogy lehúz mindenkit a Norton motor illúzióval. Az ötlethez az angel befektetőket egy adócsalásból meggazdagott banda adja, akik hozzávágnak egy milla kezdőtőkét. Nagy stil, vesz egy kastélyt, meg olajfestményeket hozzá.

2. Stuartunkból dől a nacionalista maszlag, meg a Rule Britannia, amire mint szarra a legyek repülnek rá a politikusok. Osbourne, Cable, egyéb tory miniszterek fotózkodnak vele, Teresa May miniszterelnökként még Kínába is elviszi egy kereskedelmi témájú tárgyalására. Cable az állam nevében aláír neki garanciákat 7.5 millió font hitelre.

3. Közben a befektetések másik része ilyen cold call lehúzásokból jön, ahol tipikusan kis-közepes landlordokat, ötvenes nyugdíjba készülőket rávettek a nyugdíjbefektetéseik átirányítására a Nortonhoz, amit rövid úton nagyrészt ellopnak. Ezeket tényleg kb. úgy képzelem el, mint a Trainspotting 2 bankkártyás csalásait. Kíváncsi vagyok, honnan szerezték a listákat a hívásokhoz.

4. Természetesen a motorgyártás maga egy clusterfuck. Az egyetlen, ami működik az a fotó, az jól néz ki. Dehát beígértek egy "teljesen brit" motort, amihez nincs supply chain, gondolom egyenként legózzák össze az alkatrészeket, így egy nyomorult motorra három évet kell várni 2017-ben, amikor pedig megérkezik, nagyjából az első kilométeren darabjaira hullik, aztán várhatnak a tulajdonosok hogy majd garanciálisan megjavítják.

Mivel korlátozott azoknak az embereknek a száma, aki három évet akar várni egy nem működő motorra, így csődeljárás indul, meg lecsukják a cold callos csávót.

Stuart, aki az egészet irányította, kap nyolc hónapot, felfüggesztve (!), amiért ellopott minimum 10 millió fontot, a tory fejesek lapítanak, egyedül Cable-ban volt annyi, hogy legalább ráfogja a beosztottaira, hogy nem világították át Stuartot, mielőtt összehozták vele.

Akiknek ellopták a nyugdíját, talán kapnak valami kártérítést, az ellopott nyugdíj valahány százalékát, valahány év múlva.

Ez egy az egyben a Brexit modell, gyönyörű, annyira sajnálom, hogy nem vagyok itt elég ideje, hogy meg tudjam írni a karaktereket, pedig mindenki ott van, aki ebben számított.

[t-jfh]

Veteran UK broadcaster Sir Michael Parkinson dies at age 88.

'Best in the business': Tributes flow for legendary broadcaster Michael Parkinson.

ABC News - 17 August 2023

Five of Parky's most memorable interviews:

From Muhammad Ali to John and Yoko, Meg Ryan, Dame Edna and Billy Connolly.

By Lucy Sweeney and Riley Stuart, in London

ABC News - Posted 17 August 2023

[fishparasite]

anyway im going to reanimate stuart gordon so i can kill him. for meg and frankie and keziah.

[from-beyond]

(Fire Emoji) Re-Animator?

Unpopular opinion: I don't really agree that the lack of Meg content in the fandom is due to sexism. I just think it's the fact that she isn't a very well written or fleshed out character. She's basically given nothing to do in the movie aside from screaming crying and being sexualized. I adore Barbara, she's my queen, and I think she did the best that anyone could have done with what she was given to work with, but Stuart Gordon simply doesn't write women well at all, resulting in Meg being a fairly one dimensional character. If you want to write fics about her or make up headcanons, you really have to do a lot of the work yourself to make her a multidimensional person. The Meg stans out there are our strongest soldiers.

(That said I DO think Dr. McMichaels from From Beyond is a victim of fandom misogyny)

Send me 🔥 (optional: and a subject) for an unpopular opinion