things that make me happy
1. Having commodorified and fairestcat over.
2. The strange and wonderful combination of Richard II and booze. We drank far too much port while watching the Fiona Shaw production and I got into this weird state where it was the only thing in the world that seemed at all coherent, because, well, you know, me and Richard II.
3. Having sufficiently hydrated myself so that I do not actually feel like total death today. YAY.
4. HISTORIES FICATHON OMG. It is totally the most talented fandom EVER.
I'm not going to do a recs post because I organized the ficathon, but I did want to point you all to the one written for me:
Mine Honour Lives, Richard II, modern AU, PG-13, Richard/(Edward, the Duke of) Aumerle, Anne/Aumerle, implications of Anne/Richard/Aumerle (and a couple of others), and I will reproduce the author's warnings because the phrasing made me smile: "Cousins in love, post-coital touching, death, rotting. Not all at once." This is a fandom where that last bit probably does need to be specified. In this fic, Aumerle is completely adorable and a bit of a slut, Richard and Anne have an unconventional marriage, and then later really bad things happen. It made me both happy and sad. So, you know, win.
"I am determined," said Richard. "You mustn't cross me, Aumerle; caprice is in my blood."
"Like haemophilia."
"Very like." They settled closely together, chuckling and whispering endearments, trading touches and kisses until Richard drifted to sleep.
He was beautiful, thought Edward--classically beautiful, all soft hair, lean frame and fine lips and excellent bone structure. He was a subject for art and music, a cultural icon more than a political figure; there were glam revivalists who affected his style, their hair dyed and combed just so. There were slow, minor-key rock ballads about the doomed love of Richard and Robert de Vere.
Wasn't exactly unusual, that no one wrote love songs for fat, bluff Edward of Aumerle. Art loved the queer nexus of excess and asceticism that Richard and Robert could inhabit; it was interested in the kind of bone-deep longing that could never be satisfied by having. It had little to say about contentment.
Also! If you can guess which fic I wrote (unless you already know!), I'll write you a ficlet (I know I still actually owe a few of those from Yuletide, because I am a bad person. I also owe kindkit one for the Translation Party quiz.)
2. The strange and wonderful combination of Richard II and booze. We drank far too much port while watching the Fiona Shaw production and I got into this weird state where it was the only thing in the world that seemed at all coherent, because, well, you know, me and Richard II.
3. Having sufficiently hydrated myself so that I do not actually feel like total death today. YAY.
4. HISTORIES FICATHON OMG. It is totally the most talented fandom EVER.
I'm not going to do a recs post because I organized the ficathon, but I did want to point you all to the one written for me:
Mine Honour Lives, Richard II, modern AU, PG-13, Richard/(Edward, the Duke of) Aumerle, Anne/Aumerle, implications of Anne/Richard/Aumerle (and a couple of others), and I will reproduce the author's warnings because the phrasing made me smile: "Cousins in love, post-coital touching, death, rotting. Not all at once." This is a fandom where that last bit probably does need to be specified. In this fic, Aumerle is completely adorable and a bit of a slut, Richard and Anne have an unconventional marriage, and then later really bad things happen. It made me both happy and sad. So, you know, win.
"I am determined," said Richard. "You mustn't cross me, Aumerle; caprice is in my blood."
"Like haemophilia."
"Very like." They settled closely together, chuckling and whispering endearments, trading touches and kisses until Richard drifted to sleep.
He was beautiful, thought Edward--classically beautiful, all soft hair, lean frame and fine lips and excellent bone structure. He was a subject for art and music, a cultural icon more than a political figure; there were glam revivalists who affected his style, their hair dyed and combed just so. There were slow, minor-key rock ballads about the doomed love of Richard and Robert de Vere.
Wasn't exactly unusual, that no one wrote love songs for fat, bluff Edward of Aumerle. Art loved the queer nexus of excess and asceticism that Richard and Robert could inhabit; it was interested in the kind of bone-deep longing that could never be satisfied by having. It had little to say about contentment.
Also! If you can guess which fic I wrote (unless you already know!), I'll write you a ficlet (I know I still actually owe a few of those from Yuletide, because I am a bad person. I also owe kindkit one for the Translation Party quiz.)