Tag Archives: fiction

WWW Wednesday

: WWW Wednesday is a weekly meme hosted by Taking on a World of Words. To participate, just answer the following questions:

The Three W’s are:

  • What are you currently reading?
  • What did you recently finish reading?
  • What do you think you’ll read next?

What I am reading:

I spent part of the weekend at my family’s super old cabin – I am talking boiling water to wash dishes old – and so I have had more time to read than normal.

Netflix is destroying my life <3.

One fic that I am flying through is A Study in Darkness by Severus_divides_into_H. This story takes place in the Hannibal universe and, if you are not familiar, these tales can get very dark. So heads up.

In this fic, Hannibal imprints on Will Graham and has to work out the myriad of feelings he experiences. As the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal revels in the opportunity to break the mind of the very person hunting him. As an alpha, he finds himself caring for Will and desiring nothing more than to build a life together.

Oh, did I not mention this was an Alpha/Beta/Omega fic? Surprise.

Anyway, Hannibal is currently at war with himself and Will – clever, tortured Will – is trying to figure out how to best take advantage of that.

I got no sleep last night…. thanks Severus_divides_into_H.

While at work, I am listening to the audiobook “Gentleman Jack: The Real Anne Lister”.

I can’t express how obsessed I am with this book. A few people have walked past my desk to find me staring, starry-eyed, into space, just in awe of the pure lesbian power this woman exemplified.

This show captured my heart from the very beginning. Everything from her driven stride to her quick wit – each time this woman looks at the camera it is like she is connecting to my very soul and whispering to me from the past “See what I deal with?”

The show itself is a powerhouse, and the book is, if possible, even more brilliant. Seriously I can’t recommend this enough, you just need to check it out.

You can bet I will be writing some beautiful, fluffy fanfiction for this woman in the future. Miss Anne Lister deserves the entire fucking world, do you hear me? The entire world.

What I have finished reading:

Okay I can’t with this fic but here goes: Straight Until Boiled, or How Yondu Udonta Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Dick by Write_like_an_American.

See what I mean?

In all seriousness, it is such an amazing story. Warning: it is a little sexually explicit, and there are a few instances of violence. In this fic, set in the Guardians of the Galaxy universe (haha, space puns), Yondu Udonta is a super duper badass who gets a little thrown off course when Kraglin Obfonteri decides to start being super cute.

I’ve read it two times now and I found it just as engaging the second time around. If you are looking for a complex story that will give you all the feels, it is this one.

On a very different note, LGBTQ Fiction and Poetry from Appalachia is one of the most powerful books I have read in a long time. I technically finished this a few weeks ago, but I can’t stop going back to this book.

LGBTQ Fiction and Poetry from Appalachia is a collection of works by queer authors in Appalachia. It deals with the many complex intersections of identity and the deep ties the people of this region feel towards the landscape and each other. It is a beautiful, moving testament about humanity and queer voices.

I know this is another book that I am going to read time and time again.

In my youth, I hated the idea of marking a book. Now though, I know that there is nothing more deeply personal than taking a book and putting your thoughts, hopes, and fears into it; this book is going to be worn, dog-eared, and read to my children. It will have coffee rings on it and sand from the beaches of Minnesota crammed between it’s pages.


What I’ll read next:

As most prolific fanfiction readers can tell you, what you will read next is an impossible question. I’m currently on a bit of a Hannigram kick, but if, late at night, I follow a particular tag to far down a rabbit hole, who knows what I will end up reading. As always, I am just going to keep my options open and go with the fanfiction flow.

One book that I am going to go try and find at my local library is called “this is how it always is” by Laurie Frankel.

Y’all this book is going to be so good! It has won a ton of awards, which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but listen. It is about Claude, a very young boy who dreams of growing up and being a woman. His family is supportive, apparently, but confused. Secretive. Eventually the secret explodes.

It is about families and life and change and revelations and love and this crazy, crazy world. I am so looking forward to finding out what happens!


I was recently pointed towards LGBTQ Reads, a site dedicated to queer book recommendations. If you are looking for more books to read, that’s the place to go… my to-read list is now unmanageable and I am not okay.

Until next week, this was M. coming at you with my top fics and pics.


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Move-In Day

The new roommate situation was going well.

Of course there was the residual awkwardness, at least on John’s end, that came from moving into a space that felt like it belonged so entirely to someone else.

John didn’t know very much about Sherlock Holmes yet, but this flat seemed to him like a perfect reflection of the man’s soul. Parts of it were organized extensively. There were beakers in the cupboard that seemed to be arranged both by size and glass thickness, impeccably clean, yet there were dishes in the sink and sprawling all over the counter, most with dried chunks of food and many that were busy cultivating colonies of mold.

A final look around the room confirmed to John that there was not a single place in this flat for any of his personal affects. It was probably for the best, he thought to himself. A lifetime of army life had left him with sparse few belongings, and he doubted he would really be staying here long enough to settle anyway.

However there was something about Sherlock Holmes. A magnitude. An electrifying excitement that, when he was truely animated, John felt like a small planet being swept into the orbit of a larger star.

John shook his head crossly, as if clearing the clouds from his mind. Such folly. He was no young boy, staring star struck at the tall shadow of an imposing general standing in his parent’s entryway. He was a grown man, a veteran of wars, a hero according to some.

Mr. Holmes may be an oddity, but he was hardly captivating.

Sherlock himself was currently sprawled across the sofa, clothes rumpled and hair falling down to cover his face.

John had come downstairs from unpacking his room to find the man like this, and to be honest, he was a little concerned that the way the man had his face shoved into the cushion would result in his slow, embarrassing death.

The rise and fall of the man’s back was slow. Too slow. Was he getting any air?

“Mr. Holmes?” John inquired somewhat nervously, a childish quake in his voice that had him clearing his throat abruptly.

“Sherlock?” He said again, more firmly.

No response.

He supposed this was one way to get a flat to himself.

Walking over a little to quickly from the kitchen – he was not nervous – John reached the other side of the couch and crouched down, shaking the man’s shoulder with the intent to wake him.

A muffled groan and Sherlock tossed his head so that he was facing towards John. He was clearly still passed out, eyes moving below thin lids covered with spidery blue veins.

John was frozen.

This man, this strange man, was incredible to look at. His face was slightly lined with age, the indents on his forehead indicating a life spent deep in thought. His skin appeared very fine though, and his features delicate. John knew that he himself might be called rugged, if someone was being kind, but Sherlock was the epitome of aristocratic English beauty.

Hair laid across the man’s face, covering half an eye and part of his nose. Unbidden, John’s had swept it back behind an ear. Sherlock’s hair was thick and possessed a slight wave that, were it wet, John thought the man might be able to get it tied back.

When his hand had returned to his side, John flushed.

He couldn’t believe what he had done. How… improper.

Jumping away from the couch, he gathered up his hat and coat, abandoning his walking stick in his haste to leave the flat.

The soles of his shoes hit the stairs with some large measure of force. Really, it was a miracle he didn’t fall down them hat over expertly shined heel.

The front door took but a moment for his hand – his damnable hand – to open, and he was out.

As John rushed down the street in search of a nearby ale, he missed entirely the large shadow that now stood in the window of 221B Baker Street.

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