#bestselling magazines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Podcasting “Capitalists Hate Capitalism”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This week on my podcast, I read "Capitalists Hate Capitalism," my latest column for Locus Magazine:

https://locusmag.com/2024/03/cory-doctorow-capitalists-hate-capitalism/

What do I mean by "capitalists hate capitalism?" It all comes down to the difference between "profits" and "rents." A capitalist takes capital (money, or the things you can buy with it) and combines it with employees' labor, and generates profits (the capitalist's share) and wages (the workers' share).

Rents, meanwhile, come from owning an asset that capitalists need to generate profits. For example, a landlord who rents a storefront to a coffee shop extracts rent from the capitalist who owns the coffee shop. Meanwhile, the capitalist who owns the cafe extracts profits from the baristas' labor.

Capitalists' founding philosophers like Adam Smith hated rents. Worse: rents were the most important source of income at the time of capitalism's founding. Feudal lords owned great swathes of land, and there were armies of serfs who were bound to that land – it was illegal for them to leave it. The serfs owed rent to lords, and so they worked the land in order grow crops and raise livestock that they handed over the to lord as rent for the land they weren't allowed to leave.

Capitalists, meanwhile, wanted to turn that land into grazing territory for sheep as a source of wool for the "dark, Satanic mills" of the industrial revolution. They wanted the serfs to be kicked off their land so that they would become "free labor" that could be hired to work in those factories.

For the founders of capitalism, a "free market" wasn't free from regulation, it was free from rents, and "free labor" came from workers who were free to leave the estates where they were born – but also free to starve unless they took a job with the capitalists.

For capitalism's philosophers, free markets and free labor weren't just a source of profits, they were also a source of virtue. Capitalists – unlike lords – had to worry about competition from one another. They had to make better goods at lower prices, lest their customers take their business elsewhere; and they had to offer higher pay and better conditions, lest their "free labor" take a job elsewhere.

This means that capitalists are haunted by the fear of losing everything, and that fear acts as a goad, driving them to find ways to make everything better for everyone: better, cheaper products that benefit shoppers; and better-paid, safer jobs that benefit workers. For Smith, capitalism is alchemy, a philosopher's stone that transforms the base metal of greed into the gold of public spiritedness.

By contrast, rentiers are insulated from competition. Their workers are bound to the land, and must toil to pay the rent no matter whether they are treated well or abused. The rent rolls in reliably, without the lord having to invest in new, better ways to bring in the harvest. It's a good life (for the lord).

Think of that coffee-shop again: if a better cafe opens across the street, the owner can lose it all, as their customers and workers switch allegiance. But for the landlord, the failure of his capitalist tenant is a feature, not a bug. Once the cafe goes bust, the landlord gets a newly vacant storefront on the same block as the hot new coffee shop that can be rented out at even higher rates to another capitalist who tries his luck.

The industrial revolution wasn't just the triumph of automation over craft processes, nor the triumph of factory owners over weavers. It was also the triumph of profits over rents. The transformation of hereditary estates worked by serfs into part of the supply chain for textile mills was attended by – and contributed to – the political ascendancy of capitalists over rentiers.

Now, obviously, capitalism didn't end rents – just as feudalism didn't require the total absence of profits. Under feudalism, capitalists still extracted profits from capital and labor; and under capitalism, rentiers still extracted rents from assets that capitalists and workers paid them to use.

The difference comes in the way that conflicts between profits and rents were resolved. Feudalism is a system where rents triumph over profits, and capitalism is a system where profits triumph over rents.

It's conflict that tells you what really matters. You love your family, but they drive you crazy. If you side with your family over your friends – even when your friends might be right and your family's probably wrong – then you value your family more than your friends. That doesn't mean you don't value your friends – it means that you value them less than your family.

Conflict is a reliable way to know whether or not you're a leftist. As Steven Brust says, the way to distinguish a leftist is to ask "What's more important, human rights, or property rights?" If you answer "Property rights are human right," you're not a leftist. Leftists don't necessarily oppose all property rights – they just think they're less important than human rights.

Think of conflicts between property rights and human rights: the grocer who deliberately renders leftover food inedible before putting it in the dumpster to ensure that hungry people can't eat it, or the landlord who keeps an apartment empty while a homeless person freezes to death on its doorstep. You don't have to say "No one can own food or a home" to say, "in these cases, property rights are interfering with human rights, so they should be overridden." For leftists property rights can be a means to human rights (like revolutionary land reformers who give peasants title to the lands they work), but where property rights interfere with human rights, they are set aside.

In his 2023 book Technofeudalism, Yanis Varoufakis claims that capitalism has given way to a new feudalism – that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism…and feudalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Varoufakis's point isn't that capitalists have gone extinct. Rather, it's that today, conflicts between capital and assets – between rents and profits – reliably end with a victory of rent over profit.

Think of Amazon: the "everything store" appears to be a vast bazaar, a flea-market whose stalls are all operated by independent capitalists who decide what to sell, how to price it, and then compete to tempt shoppers. In reality, though, the whole system is owned by a single feudalist, who extracts 51% from every dollar those merchants take in, and decides who can sell, and what they can sell, and at what price, and whether anyone can even see it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Or consider the patent trolls of the Eastern District of Texas. These "companies" are invisible and produce nothing. They consist solely of a serviced mailbox in a dusty, uninhabited office-building, and an overbroad patent (say, a patent on "tapping on a screen with your finger") issued by the US Patent and Trademark Office. These companies extract hundreds of millions of dollars from Apple, Google, Samsung for violating these patents. In other words, the government steps in and takes vast profits generated through productive activity by companies that make phones, and turns that money over as rent paid to unproductive companies whose sole "product" is lawsuits. It's the triumph of rent over profit.

Capitalists hate capitalism. All capitalists would rather extract rents than profits, because rents are insulated from competition. The merchants who sell on Jeff Bezos's Amazon (or open a cafe in a landlord's storefront, or license a foolish smartphone patent) bear all the risk. The landlords – of Amazon, the storefront, or the patent – get paid whether or not that risk pays off.

This is why Google, Apple and Samsung also have vast digital estates that they rent out to capitalists – everything from app stores to patent portfolios. They would much rather be in the business of renting things out to capitalists than competing with capitalists.

Hence that famous Adam Smith quote: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices." This is literally what Google and Meta do:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

And it's what Apple and Google do:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/27/23934961/google-antitrust-trial-defaults-search-deal-26-3-billion

Why compete with one another when you can collude, like feudal lords with adjacent estates who trust one another to return any serf they catch trying to sneak away in the dead of night?

Because of course, it's not just "free markets" that have been captured by rents ("Competition is for losers" -P. Thiel) – it's also "free labor." For years, the largest tech and entertainment companies in America illegally colluded on a "no poach" agreement not to hire one-anothers' employees:

https://techcrunch.com/2015/09/03/apple-google-other-silicon-valley-tech-giants-ordered-to-pay-415m-in-no-poaching-suit/

These companies were bitter competitors – as were these sectors. Even as Big Content was lobbying for farcical copyright law expansions and vowing to capture Big Tech, all these companies on both sides were able to set aside their differences and collude to bind their free workers to their estates and end the "wasteful competition" to secure their labor.

Of course, this is even more pronounced at the bottom of the labor market, where noncompete "agreements" are the norm. The median American worker bound by a noncompete is a fast-food worker whose employer can wield the power of the state to prevent that worker from leaving behind the Wendy's cash-register to make $0.25/hour more at the McDonald's fry trap across the street:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Employers defend this as necessary to secure their investment in training their workers and to ensure the integrity of their trade secrets. But why should their investments be protected? Capitalism is about risk, and the fear that accompanies risk – fear that drives capitalists to innovate, which creates the public benefit that is the moral justification for capitalism.

Capitalists hate capitalism. They don't want free labor – they want labor bound to the land. Capitalists benefit from free labor: if you have a better company, you can tempt away the best workers and cause your inferior rival to fail. But feudalists benefit from un-free labor, from tricks like "bondage fees" that force workers to pay in order to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

Companies like Petsmart use "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) to keep low-waged workers from leaving for better employers. Petsmart says it costs $5,500 to train a pet-groomer, and if that worker is fired, laid off, or quits less than two years, they have to pay that amount to Petsmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Now, Petsmart is full of shit here. The "four-week training course" Petsmart claims is worth $5,500 actually only lasts for three weeks. What's more, the "training" consists of sweeping the floor and doing other low-level chores for three weeks, without pay.

But even if Petsmart were to give $5,500 worth of training to every pet-groomer, this would still be bullshit. Why should the worker bear the risk of Petsmart making a bad investment in their training? Under capitalism, risks justify rewards. Petsmart's argument for charging $50 to groom your dog and paying the groomer $15 for the job is that they took $35 worth of risk. But some of that risk is being borne by the worker – they're the ones footing the bill for the training.

For Petsmart – as for all feudalists – a worker (with all the attendant risks) can be turned into an asset, something that isn't subject to competition. Petsmart doesn't have to retain workers through superior pay and conditions – they can use the state's contract-enforcement mechanism instead.

Capitalists hate capitalism, but they love feudalism. Sure, they dress this up by claiming that governmental de-risking spurs investment: "Who would pay to train a pet-groomer if that worker could walk out the next day and shave dogs for some competing shop?"

But this is obvious nonsense. Think of Silicon Valley: high tech is the most "IP-intensive" of all industries, the sector that has had to compete most fiercely for skilled labor. And yet, Silicon Valley is in California, where noncompetes are illegal. Every single successful Silicon Valley company has thrived in an environment in which their skilled workers can walk out the door at any time and take a job with a rival company.

There's no indication that the risk of free labor prevents investment. Think of AI, the biggest investment bubble in human history. All the major AI companies are in jurisdictions where noncompetes are illegal. Anthropic – OpenAI's most serious competitor – was founded by a sister/brother team who quit senior roles at OpenAI and founded a direct competitor. No one can claim with a straight face that OpenAI is now unable to raise capital on favorable terms.

What's more, when OpenAI founder Sam Altman was forced out by his board, Microsoft offered to hire him – and 700 other OpenAI personnel – to found an OpenAI competitor. When Altman returned to the company, Microsoft invested more money in OpenAI, despite their intimate understanding that anyone could hire away the company's founder and all of its top technical staff at any time.

The idea that the departure of the Burger King trade secrets locked up in its workers' heads constitute more of a risk to the ability to operate a hamburger restaurant than the departure of the entire technical staff of OpenAI is obvious nonsense. Noncompetes aren't a way to make it possible to run a business – they're a way to make it easy to run a business, by eliminating competition and pushing the risk onto employees.

Because capitalists hate capitalism. And who can blame them? Who wouldn't prefer a life with less risk to one where you have to constantly look over your shoulder for competitors who've found a way to make a superior offer to your customers and workers?

This is why businesses are so excited about securing "IP" – that is, a government-backed right to control your workers, customers, competitors or critics:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The argument for every IP right expansion is the same: "Who would invest in creating something new without the assurance that someone else wouldn’t copy and improve on it and put them out of business?"

That was the argument raised five years ago, during the (mercifully brief) mania for genre writers seeking trademarks on common tropes. There was the romance writer who got a trademark on the word "cocky" in book titles:

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/16/17566276/cockygate-amazon-kindle-unlimited-algorithm-self-published-romance-novel-cabal

And the fantasy writer who wanted a trademark on "dragon slayer" in fantasy novel titles:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/14/son-of-cocky-a-writer-is-trying-to-trademark-dragon-slayer-for-fantasy-novels/

Who subsequently sought a trademark on any book cover featuring a person holding a weapon:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/07/19/trademark-troll-who-claims-to-own-dragon-slayer-now-wants-exclusive-rights-to-book-covers-where-someone-is-holding-a-weapon/

For these would-be rentiers, the logic was the same: "Why would I write a book about a dragon-slayer if I could lose readers to someone else who writes a book about dragon-slayers?"

In these cases, the USPTO denied or rescinded its trademarks. Profits triumphed over rents. But increasingly, rents are triumphing over profits, and rent-extraction is celebrated as "smart business," while profits are for suckers, only slightly preferable to "wages" (the worst way to get paid under both capitalism and feudalism).

That's what's behind all the talk about "passive income" – that's just a euphemism for "rent." It's what Douglas Rushkoff is referring to in Survival of the Richest when he talks about the wealthy wanting to "go meta":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don't drive a cab – go meta and buy a medallion. Don't buy a medallion, go meta and found Uber. Don't found Uber, go meta and invest in Uber. Don't invest in Uber, go meta and buy options on Uber stock. Don't buy Uber stock options, go meta and buy derivatives of options on Uber stock.

"Going meta" means distancing yourself from capitalism – from income derived from profits, from competition, from risk – and cozying up to feudalism.

Capitalists have always hated capitalism. The owners of the dark Satanic mills wanted peasants turned off the land and converted into "free labor" – but they also kidnapped Napoleonic war-orphans and indentured them to ten-year terms of service, which was all you could get out of a child's body before it was ruined for further work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When Varoufakis says we've entered a new feudal age, he doesn't mean that we've abolished capitalism. He means that – for the first time in centuries – when rents go to war against profits – the rents almost always emerge victorious.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2024/04/14/capitalists-hate-capitalism/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465_-_Capitalists_Hate_Capitalism.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

#pluralistic #technofeudalism #yanis varoufakis #rents #profits #economics #podcasts #locus magazine #mp3s

1K notes · View notes

loving-daisy · 5 months ago

Text

Where’s the Trophy? | Draco Malfoy x Reader

loving-daisy masterlist

Words: 8.1k

Summary: Nothing would ever make Draco happy than holding a trophy in his arms. Wait, are we talking about the Quidditch World Cup or a certain Y/N Weasley?

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s song — “The Alchemy”

Author’s Note: I had this in the drafts ever since the 2024 Paris Olympics when edits of players running towards their s/o’s became viral :)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy wasn’t the type to shy away from a challenge, and Y/N Weasley was certainly proving to be one.

Draco had noticed her immediately when they first crossed paths at Theodore Nott’s engagement party.

Despite being a Weasley, Y/N became good friends with Theodore after meeting her at some workshop for fellow print editors. Y/N works at The Alchemy, the bestselling wizarding lifestyle magazine of all time.

Every single wizard and witch keep their hands on The Alchemy for it covers basically everything you need to know about the wizarding world from the latest news and trends, ministry politics and foreign affairs, celebrity gossip, and even covering up to the current viral beauty and fashion world. To be featured in the magazine is to be popular and Theodore’s bride-to-be knew that their engagement was to be publicized by none other than The Alchemy.

Y/N was leaning against the wall with an almost bored expression, her sharp eyes scanning the room, never lingering on anything or anyone for too long. Not even him, Draco Malfoy, England’s seeker, king of hearts, and player of all players.

Most women would have been entranced by his presence, drawn in by his reputation and charm. But Y/N? She’d barely acknowledged his arrival, too busy ranting with Theo about the piled up work for all print distributors with the rising tensions of the Quidditch world cup .

Draco had made his way over, cocking an eyebrow as he interrupted their conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said smoothly, glancing at Theo, who gave him an exasperated look.

Before Draco was able to continue what he was about to say, he was immediately interrupted by the girl, who didn’t even look up from her drink.

“And yet, you’re interrupting,” she replied dryly, her voice cool but with just enough of a bite to show she wasn’t amused.

Draco smirked, leaning against the wall beside her. “Well, Darling, what better way to write about Quidditch than with a Quidditch player himself? Not to mention, me, the star of every game.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re really not as charming as you think you are, Malfoy.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, leaning in slightly, his tone lowering with that touch of arrogance she had come to expect. “Most women find me quite irresistible.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. "Good thing I’m not most women,” she replied, turning her attention back to Theodore, clearly uninterested in his game.

Usually, Draco wouldn’t even bother wasting a breath on a Weasley but Y/N had dismissed him all too quickly. She had dismissed him, England’s heartthrob, as if she wasn’t interested in his good looks, or fame, or even popularity.

Salazar, she wasn’t even interested in writing about him for The Alchemy.

Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to chasing anything—or anyone. He had always been pursued, whether for his status, wealth, or simply because of his name. Relationships had always been transactional for him: a game of give and take, of power dynamics that were easy to navigate. But Y/N Weasley… Y/N was different.

At first, Draco had been intrigued. She was sharp, unyielding, and completely immune to his usual charms.

Where most women melted under his attention, Y/N only rolled her eyes or gave him a withering look as though he was just another distraction to be dealt with. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had dismissed him so thoroughly, and it had started to feel like a challenge for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

But it wasn’t just that.

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to see if he could break through that impenetrable wall she’d built around herself.

Over time, his interest became more than a game. She challenged him, called him out on his arrogance, and refused to let him get away with half-truths or polished façades. For the first time in years, Draco felt like someone saw him for who he really was—and she didn’t flinch.

Y/N Weasley wasn’t having it.

“You’re wasting your time,” she told him one evening at a café in London, where they’d both ended up after a mutual friend’s birthday gathering.

“Am I?” he asked, his smirk tilting into something softer.

“Yes,” she said firmly, taking a sip of her wine. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to happen.”

Draco only shrugged, undeterred. ‘We’ll see.’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Still writing about why men are hopeless, Weasley?”

Y/N looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing there, effortlessly stylish in a tailored coat and scarf that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. His silver-blond hair was tousled in that maddeningly perfect way, and he wore a smirk that could charm or infuriate—depending on his mood.

“I wasn’t,” she replied smoothly, “but if you’re volunteering as a case study, I can adjust.”

Draco chuckled, pulling out the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “I’m sure your readers would love to hear about my charms. But I’d much rather give you a private demonstration.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as her cheeks flushed. “Is this your idea of flirting, Malfoy? Because it’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and fixing her with his piercing gray eyes. “Oh, I can be groundbreaking when I want to be. But I’ll save that for when you admit you’re intrigued.”

“Who says I’m intrigued?” she countered, her quill tapping against the table's edge.

Draco smirked. “That little blush on your cheeks does.”

Y/N huffed, pretending to go back to her notes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, sliding a piece of parchment across the table with his contact information scrawled in elegant script, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”

With a wink, he stood and adjusted his scarf. “I’ll leave you to your article, Weasley. Don’t work too hard. You’ll need your energy—for when I take you to dinner.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N had no idea why she was even scrolling through the gossip pages of Witch Weekly. It was supposed to be a lazy Monday morning—tea in hand, parchment in front of her—but instead, her attention had been snagged by a headline she couldn’t ignore.

England's Star Seeker Draco Malfoy Spotted with Mystery Blonde at Exclusive London Bistro!

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the accompanying photograph.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, sitting across from a gorgeous woman who was laughing at something he’d said. His trademark smirk was firmly in place, the same smirk he’d aimed at her not two days ago.

Y/N snapped the magazine shut, annoyed at herself.

What did it matter who Draco Malfoy spent his evenings with? He was arrogant, self-absorbed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But the universe wasn’t done testing her resolve.

Later that week, as she walked through Diagon Alley, the sight of Draco leaning against a storefront with another witch at his side stopped her in her tracks. This one had dark hair and a melodic laugh that carried across the street. Draco held her hand, his expression warm and relaxed in a way Y/N hadn’t seen before.

She quickly ducked into a nearby shop, her heart racing. Malfoy was a flirt, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think he didn’t have other women hanging on his every word.

The next morning, another headline greeted her in the Prophet: Malfoy’s Match: Which Lucky Lady Has His Heart?

Y/N threw the paper aside with a frustrated groan.

Over the past months, Draco had been bothering her. The last thing she wanted was to have him bothering her even when he’s not here. The girl swore to herself that she won’t read gossip columns ever again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N was sitting in her cozy office at The Alchemy, the latest drafts of her article spread across her desk, when her fireplace flared green. She was startled as Draco Malfoy’s face appeared in the flames, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“Busy, Weasley?” he drawled.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Malfoy, have you ever heard of knocking? Oh, wait—no doors on fireplaces. How silly of me to expect manners.”

He chuckled. “If I knocked, you’d have an excuse to ignore me. This way, you’re forced to hear me out.”

“Lucky me,” she replied dryly, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Draco’s smirk softened, turning into something almost—dare she say it?—earnest. “I’ve got a match in two weeks. England versus France. It’s a big one. It’s the finals.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, arching an eyebrow.

“And,” he continued, “I thought you might like to come. Watch me fly circles around the other Seeker. Cheer me on. That sort of thing.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You mean sit in a crowd of rabid Quidditch fans and feed your already oversized ego?”

“Precisely,” he replied, undeterred. “I’ve reserved a seat in the VIP box just for you. You’ll have the best view in the house.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why me?”

“Because,” he said smoothly, “you’re the only person I know who can’t stand my ego—and yet, you’ll be impressed anyway. Admit it, Weasley. You’re curious.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “My answer is no.”

Draco grinned, pointing a finger in her direction. “I see what this is. This is you trying not to fall in love with me when you see me in action.” He concluded, earning a groan from the Weasley girl.

“There are a lot of other witches out there already in love with you, Malfoy. Surely, you don’t need another one.” She asserted, shaking her head at the Quidditch star.

Draco blinked, his smirk faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Ah. You’ve been reading the gossip columns, I see.”

“Hard to avoid when your face is splashed across every page,” she shot back. “Or when I see you holding hands with someone else in Diagon Alley.”

“Jealous, then,” he said, his smirk returning, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” Y/N snapped. “But if you’re going to act like you’re interested in me, maybe try not to make it so obvious that you’re playing the field.”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’m playing you?”

“I think I don’t like feeling like an idiot,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “So if this is some kind of game to you, just say so, and I’ll be on my way. Or better yet, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

For once, Draco didn’t have a quick retort. He stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that caught her off guard.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice lower now, almost tentative. “Those other witches? They don’t mean anything. The dinners, the pictures—they’re just...part of the circus that comes with this life.”

She arched an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “And me?”

Draco hesitated, then met her gaze head-on. “You’re different. You’re not part of the circus. That’s why I keep coming back, even when you’re determined to push me away or even make me work for it.”

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe those gray eyes weren’t just feeding her another line. But trust didn’t come easily. Not with someone like him.

“Prove it,” she said finally.

Draco’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Challenge accepted.”

And with that, his face vanished from the flames, leaving Y/N shaking her head and wondering how Draco Malfoy always managed to get under her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Over the next few weeks, his persistence continued. He sent her notes with witty remarks, often mocking her serious work at The Alchemy, trying to provoke a reaction. He’d casually show up at places where she might be—often appearing just at the right moment to interrupt her morning coffee or during late-night discussions about the Quidditch finals. At first, Y/N remained distant, always with a polite but unyielding air.

“You’re insufferable, Malfoy,” she’d said, her eyes narrowing as he leaned casually against her desk at her office.

“And yet, here I am,” he’d replied smoothly, smirking when she rolled her eyes.

“You know, Weasley,” Draco said casually, his voice low, “if you spent less time pretending to dislike me, you might realize you enjoy my company.”

Y/N looked up at him, her gaze steady but not unkind. ”I doubt that,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk. “You’re a master at charming people, but I’m simply not impressed.”

Draco’s lips curved into a small smile. “You know, you are the first person in a long time who doesn’t buy into the act.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What act?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely, smirking. “The smirking, the charm, the headlines. It works on most people. Not you.”

“Maybe because I know better,” she replied with a teasing smile.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You see through it. That’s why I…” He hesitated, then shook his head with a soft laugh. “Never mind.”

“Why you what?” Y/N prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Draco met her gaze, his gray eyes unusually serious. “Why I care what you think of me. More than I probably should.”

There was silence between them for a moment—an odd tension in the air as Y/N considered his words.

It was the first crack in her walls. Draco showed the briefest flicker of vulnerability.

But Y/N wasn’t going to make it easy.

As much as he tried to provoke her, as much as he coaxed her with his charm, he could see that she was starting to fight back. She wasn’t giving him an inch, which only made him want to push further. After all, Draco Malfoy didn’t back down easily, especially not when he was so invested in winning.

Yet, he knew—deep down—that if he ever wanted to break through to Y/N, he’d have to stop playing the game so much. He’d have to show her that, beneath the arrogant exterior, there was more to him than the world had ever known. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely what she needed to see.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N sat in her favorite corner of the café, her fingers drumming absently against her coffee cup as she stared down at the latest email from her editorial director at The Alchemy. It had been a long day, filled with deadlines and constant back-and-forths about articles. But this new email was different.

She had expected another mundane assignment, a piece on some new wizarding fashion trend or the latest potion craze. Instead, her editor’s words jumped off the screen with a new challenge:

“Ms. Weasley,

It has come to my attention that despite England’s star seeker Draco Malfoy coming in-and-out of your office, no story is being written about him for The Alchemy.

We need you to write a feature piece on Draco Malfoy.”

She blinked, rereading the message a few times, convinced she had misread it.

“Draco Malfoy?” she muttered to herself, her eyebrows knitting together.

What the hell?

Her first instinct was to toss the email aside. She wasn’t a gossip columnist, and she wasn’t the type to write puff pieces about famous Quidditch players. Y/N prided herself on the hard-hitting, serious stories she was known for—pieces that explored deeper issues, not the insipid celebrity profiles that others at The Alchemy seemed to thrive on.

But then, as much as she hated to admit it, the thought of writing about Draco Malfoy intrigued her. He wasn’t just some athlete who smiled for the cameras and spouted the usual soundbites. No, Draco had always been a more complex figure—a product of his family, his upbringing, and, she suspected, his own inner demons. She had seen the way he carried himself, the mask he wore, and the way he navigated his fame. There was more to Draco Malfoy than people realized.

Still, writing about him felt… strange. She hadn’t forgotten their previous encounters, where he’d flirted with her relentlessly, trying to get a rise out of her with his usual charm. And every time, she had shut him down. She wasn’t interested in him—at least, not in the way he clearly wanted her to be.

But now, she was being asked to dig deeper, to find the story behind the public persona. Her professional side told her it was just another assignment. The personal side of her couldn’t shake the unease in the pit of her stomach at the thought of spending more time with him.

The first meeting with Draco was set for the following week. She walked into the private room at the trendy restaurant where they had agreed to meet, her mind still swirling with questions. Draco was already there, sitting at a corner table, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Weasley, the woman who can’t be charmed,” Draco teased, his voice low and smooth. “How long did it take for you to come up with a way to make me sound interesting?”

The girl narrowed her eyes as she sat down, trying not to show discomfort. “You’re not the story I want to write, Malfoy,” she said, her tone sharp. “But my director seems to think you’re worth the ink.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Of course, they do. Who wouldn’t want to write about me?” His eyes twinkled with his usual cocky confidence, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the familiar irritation bubble up.

She set her notepad on the table and gave him a pointed look. “So, tell me, Malfoy. What’s it like to be the golden boy of Quidditch? The press loves you. The fans adore you. But what’s going on behind that perfect smile of yours?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her directness. “Is that your first question, then? Going straight for the jugular?”

“Why not? I’m here to get the truth, not some carefully rehearsed spiel.”

His eyes softened for a moment, an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, but he quickly regained his usual cockiness. “Alright, alright. It’s true—being the best is exhausting. All the expectations, the pressure to perform perfectly, to look perfect. It’s a lot more work than people think. But, hey, it’s worth it when you’re the best.”

The girl jotted down some notes, but she couldn’t help but notice the faint flicker of something in his eyes—something real, something raw. It wasn’t the image of the perfect Quidditch star she expected, but the glimpse of someone who might be tired of being in the spotlight. It was a side of Draco Malfoy that was difficult to ignore.

She pressed on, determined not to be distracted. “England’s making history with how it’s the first time that the team has entered the world cup finals. How do you feel about this?”

The boy grinned, crossing his arms in amusement. “It’s only been my 2nd year playing for England as the seeker so it honestly brings me great joy to be part of this historical event.”

Nodding, Weasley continued, “Do you have a personal goal for the upcoming match?”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair, making Y/N look up at him with a raised brow. The boy was about to say something until he hesitated for a moment, gears running in his head as he thought about his answer.

“I want the trophy.” He finally answered. “Nothing else would make me happier than raising the trophy with my own hands above my head. It’s my ultimate goal. I’ll be content for life once I finally make that happen.”

The girl continued to write in her notepad, nodding at every word the Quidditch star had spoken.

“And what about your personal life, Draco? Your time at Hogwarts? Your family?”

Draco leaned forward, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Now, you’re getting personal. I see how it is.”

“Just trying to get the truth,” Y/N replied, not backing down.

He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. ”Maybe you’ll have to dig a little deeper to get that, Weasley.”

As the conversation continued, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco was letting her in, just slightly more than he had before. But then, as quickly as the walls came down, they were back up again. He was a master at keeping things just out of reach. She could see that now.

But there was something else—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. For all his bravado and charm, a vulnerability lurked behind his eyes. The question was whether she could uncover it—and whether she even wanted to.

Draco stood to leave as the interview wrapped up, giving her one last lingering look. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said with that trademark smirk.

The reporter gathered her things, her mind racing. She’d gotten the surface-level story she expected. But something told her there was more—much more—to Draco Malfoy than she’d ever realized.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few weeks after the first interview at the restaurant, Y/N sat next to Draco in a quiet corner of a rooftop bar, sipping wine while the city of London stretched out before them. The sound of distant laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Draco had been quiet for most of the evening, a rare occurrence for him. His usual cocky smile was replaced with a more relaxed, contemplative expression as he stared out at the skyline. Y/N found herself watching him, the way the soft glow of the city lights illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes flickered with thought.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she remarked, setting her glass down.

He shrugged, but there was a softness to his movements. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

He met her gaze, his eyes intense. “About how you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t seem to expect anything from me.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true. I expect plenty from you, Malfoy.”

His lips curled into a smile, but it was different than usual—less smug, more genuine. “What do you expect?”

“I expect you to stop acting like you have to be some perfect, untouchable person,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Because no one’s perfect, and no one’s untouchable. Not even you.”

Draco’s expression softened, his gaze flicking away for a moment before he turned back to her. “I don’t want to be untouchable. Just…” he paused, then looked down at his glass, tapping it lightly with his finger. “Just don’t let me screw this up.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, though she quickly masked it with a teasing smile. “I think you’ve already screwed it up a few times. C’mon, do you think mocking some of my work at The Alchemy just to get my attention would actually make me fall for you?”

He smirked, but there was no malice in it. “True. But I’m trying.”

Y/N wasn’t sure why, but something in his tone—something in his eyes—tugged at her. She wanted to resist, to remind herself that she couldn’t afford to get caught up in someone like him. But with every word, with every glance they shared, the walls she’d carefully built around her heart seemed to crumble just a little more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the days passed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just scratched the surface of something much more complex. Draco Malfoy was precisely as she’d expected in many ways: confident, charming, and completely self-assured in the public eye. But the moments between his carefully constructed exterior, the fleeting glances and small gestures, had made her realize something deeper lay beneath.

The next few weeks were filled with interviews, photo shoots, and press events. Draco’s schedule was packed with appearances, leaving him little time for anything other than his public image. But Y/N managed to secure more time with him, squeezing moments between his practices and press conferences.

Each time they met, the conversation deepened slightly. But for every step he took toward vulnerability, he seemed to retreat just as quickly.

Y/N had asked about his past and his family—subjects that usually turned him distant and defensive. Yet there were moments when she saw a flicker of something else, something more human. He’d speak of his childhood with a mixture of bitterness and longing, a sense of loss that cut deeper than she had expected.

“My father was never proud of me for anything except Quidditch,” Draco had said one afternoon, his eyes dark as they stared into the distance. “I could win every match, and he’d still find something to criticize. I never could escape his shadow.”

It was the first time he had shared anything personal, and it had taken Y/N by surprise.

“Do you remember how I told you that nothing would make me happier than the world cup trophy?”

Y/N nodded as an answer, her gaze focused deeply on Draco.

“To earn that trophy is to finally let go of my father’s disappointment in me.” He confessed, taking a big gulp at his firewhisky afterwards.

Y/N had been so used to Draco Malfoy, who prided himself on his self-sufficiency, the one who lived in the limelight and was always in control. She had never considered that, beneath all that, he might be carrying around the weight of such a complicated family history.

Yet Draco cut the conversation short the moment she let herself lean in, to ask more, to dive deeper into that pain. “Anyway, enough about that,” he’d said, standing up and brushing off the moment as if it were nothing. “What else do you want to know?”

And so, the reporter continued to write. At first, she focused on the public figure of Draco Malfoy—the successful, well-loved athlete who was more than just a face in the crowd.

But with every interview and moment spent with him, she started questioning what she was genuinely uncovering. She was digging, yes, but she wasn’t sure whether Draco Malfoy's story intrigued her—or the man himself.

It wasn’t until one late evening, long after the sun had set that Y/N realized just how much her feelings for Draco had shifted. She had been assigned to cover a charity event where Draco was being honored for his work with the wizarding community. The room was filled with celebrities, athletes, and wealthy families, all gathered to celebrate Draco’s accomplishments. It was the perfect opportunity for him to shine and be the golden boy again.

But there, at the back of the ballroom, she caught him standing alone, leaning against a column with a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes distant, staring out over the crowd. She had always thought of him as the center of attention, always surrounded by people who wanted to be near him, but this moment—how he looked almost… lost—took her by surprise.

The girl approached him cautiously, unsure if this was the same Draco Malfoy she had spent the past few weeks getting to know.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” The girl remarked dryly, unable to help herself.

Draco’s lips curled into his trademark smirk. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the company of people who love me.” He replied.

But the lightness of his words didn’t quite match the heaviness in his eyes. The girl caught a glimpse of the façade he had built so carefully—he was pretending, and she saw right through it.

“Do you really enjoy these things, Draco?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if weighing her words. There was an unsettling quiet in the air between them, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s what’s expected of me,” he finally said, his voice low.

Y/N’s heart softened at his words, and she could feel the walls he had built around himself, those barriers keeping everyone at a distance. This was a side of Draco she hadn’t seen before—the vulnerability, the uncertainty.

Before she could say more, there was a call from across the room—another colleague, another guest. Draco straightened up, wiping the moment away like it had never happened. “Duty calls” he said, his mask back in place. “I’ll see you later, Weasley.”

But as he turned to walk away, Y/N felt the weight of the unspoken words between them. She was beginning to realize that this story she was writing about Draco Malfoy wasn’t just about uncovering his public life. It was about something far more complicated that had crept up on her without warning.

She wasn’t just writing about Draco Malfoy anymore. She was trying to understand him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a quiet evening when Draco invited Y/N to a secluded spot near a pub, a place far from the bustling streets and prying eyes. She had been hesitant at first—Draco Malfoy didn’t exactly seem like the type to indulge in quiet, intimate settings—but something about the way he had asked, the sincerity in his voice, made her say yes.

When she arrived, she was surprised to find that it wasn’t a grand, lavish affair. It was just a small, private garden lit by hundreds of softly glowing lanterns, the gentle hum of music in the background. Draco was already there, standing by a small stone bench, a hesitant look on his face as if he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

“Malfoy, what is this?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued as she took in the peaceful setting.

He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I thought you might like something...different. Somewhere, we could talk without the usual distractions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You? Trying to be quiet and intimate?”

Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying something new. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with...romantic gestures.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Draco Malfoy—arrogant, smug, unapproachable Draco—admitting he didn’t know how to do this. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, and all she could see was the vulnerability in his eyes.

He stepped toward her, offering her his hand. “I thought we could start with a walk. Maybe later we can... see where the night takes us.”

Y/N hesitated, but then she found herself taking his hand, her pulse quickening as his fingers brushed against hers.

They walked through the garden together, the soft glow of the lanterns casting a golden light over them. The path was lined with roses and jasmine, their sweet scent filling the air. Draco occasionally glanced at her, his smile more natural now, and Y/N found herself smiling back without even thinking about it.

After a while, they reached a small gazebo, draped in ivy and surrounded by flowers. Draco led her to the center, where a small table had been set up with a single candle flickering in the center. He pulled out a chair for her, a small gesture, but it made her heart flutter in a way she couldn’t explain.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Y/N said softly, her voice betraying the warmth she felt. “It’s…”

“Something I wanted to do,” Draco interrupted gently. He placed his hand on hers, his touch warm and reassuring. “Something I wanted to show you. That I can be more than the person you think I am.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes locked. There was no smugness in his expression now, no arrogance. Just sincerity—something she hadn’t expected from him, but found herself yearning for.

“I know I’ve messed up,” Draco continued, his voice low. “And I know I’m not perfect. But I want to try. I want to prove that I’m not just some spoiled, arrogant Quidditch player. I’m someone who’s willing to do this...to try for you.”

Y/N felt her walls begin to crumble. Every part of her had been bracing for him to let her down, for this to be just another game, another way to keep her interested. But something about the way he was looking at her, the way his hand remained gently resting on hers, made her believe him.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Draco,” she said quietly. “I just need to know you’re not playing games.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “No games, Weasley. I’m not that stupid.”

The way he said it—so earnestly—left no room for doubt. She could feel the truth of his words, and for the first time, she realized how much she wanted to believe in him.

The evening went on, the quiet intimacy of the garden wrapping them in a cocoon of soft light and silence. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was enough. Draco had finally shown her a side of him that was real, and in that moment, it felt like the world was just the two of them.

By the end of the night, as they stood together under the stars, Draco took a deep breath. “So, what do you think? Is this enough to make you reconsider that I might be worth it?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she smiled, the answer already clear. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

Draco’s face lit up, and he pulled her in for a hug, one that felt more tender than anything they’d shared before. And as Y/N rested her head against his chest, she realized she wasn’t just falling for him—she had already fallen.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, but still holding back, as if waiting for some sign from her.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she opened her eyes to meet his, the raw emotion in his gaze pulling her in even deeper. “Then why don’t you?”

The words had barely left her lips when his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the tension crackling between them, making it impossible to think clearly.

Draco leaned in, his lips just inches from hers, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, everything seemed to slow—time stretching out as they hovered on the edge of something they both knew could change everything.

A sudden sound broke the silence. The rustling of leaves. A faint cough.

Y/N and Draco both snapped their heads to the side, a rush of disappointment and frustration sweeping over them. Standing just at the edge of the garden path, a figure was barely visible in the dim light.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

It was a familiar voice—one Y/N would recognize anywhere.

"George?" she called out, her words laced with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Draco stiffened beside her, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

"Couldn't find you two anywhere in the pub, so I figured you might be here," George Weasley said, stepping fully into the light with his characteristic grin. He raised a hand in apology. "Did I ruin something?"

Y/N let out a soft sigh, the tension that had been building between her and Draco instantly evaporating. The weight of the moment slipped away, replaced by the sudden, unwelcome intrusion of her older brother’s presence.

"Bloody hell," Draco muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "I was about to—"

George, completely unaware of the emotional wreckage he’d just caused, smiled and raised an eyebrow. "About to what? Kiss her?" He gave a teasing glance to Y/N. "I mean, that’s the only reason I can think of you two standing so close."

Y/N could feel her cheeks burning, the awkwardness of the moment too much to ignore. "George," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "what are you doing here?"

"I told you, I was looking for you," he said with a shrug. "But I’m happy to leave you two to whatever… this is." He made a small gesture between them. "Just don’t do anything I’d do, alright?"

Draco shot him a glare, clearly less than thrilled with the interruption. "You know, George, I’m really starting to wonder what exactly you’re insinuating."

George chuckled and held his hands up in mock defense. "Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to make sure you weren't tying my little sister up in some crazy love affair."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Can’t you go bother Fred?” she said, hoping to push her brother along.

But George just shook his head. “Nah, he’s busy at the shop. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t blame me when it’s not my fault you two don’t kiss already. It’s been hanging in the air since I walked up.”

With that, George turned to leave, his footsteps growing quieter as he disappeared down the path.

Y/N exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance flood through her. "Well, that was awkward," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Draco’s posture had relaxed, but he was still watching her with an amused yet frustrated expression. "I can’t believe that just happened."

And just like that, the moment was lost—not by their own choice, but by fate and the mischievous timing of her brother. Yet, in that space between them, something still lingered, the anticipation hanging in the air like the faintest whisper of what might come next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the season finale approached, excitement buzzed throughout the wizarding world. The final game of the Quidditch World Cup was drawing near, and Draco Malfoy’s England team was on the cusp of victory. Every publication and every media outlet, was buzzing about the upcoming match. It was a culmination of years of hard work, and Draco was poised to lead his team to the win.

But as much as the excitement of the game filled the air, it wasn’t the only thing occupying Draco’s mind. Y/N Weasley had been a constant presence over the past few weeks, her insightful questions and perceptive eyes causing something inside him to stir.

It wasn’t about the chase anymore; it was about how she made him feel like someone with something real to offer, something that had nothing to do with his past. With Y/N, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, the former Death Eater, or even the star Seeker of the England team. He was just Draco.

And now, as the final match loomed closer, something in him knew that he needed her there. He wanted her to witness the moment he had been working toward his entire life, to see him in his element at the peak of his career.

There was a vulnerability in that—asking her to witness his success, to be there as something more than just the journalist writing on his feature for a magazine.

The question came as a text one evening, just a few days before the big game. Y/N was sitting in her apartment, reviewing her notes for her article, when her phone buzzed.

“You’re coming to the final game, right?”

The girl stared at the message momentarily, her fingers hovered over the screen as she debated how to respond.

“I wasn’t planning on it. You’ve got plenty of people in your corner already.”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, but a new message appeared from Draco moments later. “And you think they’re the ones I want there? You should come. I want you to see it. All of it.”

She felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words.

“Fine, I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to cheer for you.”

Draco’s reply was quick, playful, but there was an undertone of sincerity. “I’ll take what I can get. See you there, Weasley.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of the match arrived, and Y/N found herself standing in the VIP section of the stadium, her heart beating faster than she would have liked. The atmosphere was electric, the stands filled with enthusiastic supporters. Draco had ensured that she had the best seat in the house—front and center, right near the team’s private box.

As the match kicked off, Y/N was fully aware that she was there not just as a reporter, but as someone who was beginning to care, in a way she had never intended. She watched Draco carefully, noting the way he moved with precision, the intensity in his eyes, and the confidence in every pass, every dive, every goal.

There was something magnetic about watching him play, not just for his skill, but for the quiet determination that seemed to flow from him.

During the halftime break, Y/N made her way up to the private box, where Draco was standing alone, looking out over the field. He had removed his goggles and gloves.

“You’re doing well,” Y/N said, stepping up beside him, trying to keep her tone casual.

“You came,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and something else. He looked at the girl carefully. There, Y/N stood, wearing a black England Quidditch jersey with Draco’s last name on the back, the number 7 emblazoned proudly across it.

His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected her to wear it, let alone wear it like she was wearing it for him. A small thrill ran through him.

“I said I would,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite her heart racing.

Draco gave her a broad smile. “You look cute with my last name on your back.” He complimented, Y/N’s cheeks immediately turning red.

Silence engulfed their atmosphere for a while before Draco decided to break it.

“Do you think I can win?” he asked quietly, a rare moment of honesty breaking through his usual bravado.

She met his gaze, her own heart unexpectedly softening. “I think you’ve already won,” she said with quiet certainty. “No matter what happens in the game, you’ve already proven everything you set out to achieve.”

For a moment, Draco said nothing, but his eyes softened, and Y/N saw the vulnerability he had kept hidden. He took a step closer to her, his voice low. “That’s the thing about winning, Weasley. It never feels like enough. Not until I’ve got everything I want.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The game resumed, and Y/N’s focus shifted back to the field as Draco and his team pushed forward, the final match unfolding before her eyes.

On the pitch, Draco kept his focus sharp, scanning the skies for the glint of gold, but his mind wandered to her more often than it should have. Was she watching? Was she rolling her eyes every time the announcers praised him? Did she regret coming at all?

When he finally spotted the Snitch, his heart surged, not just with the thrill of the chase but with the knowledge that Y/N was here to see him succeed. He dove with precision, ignoring the French Seeker on his tail, and his fingers closed around the Snitch in one fluid motion. The crowd erupted, and his teammates surged toward him, but Draco’s gaze immediately lifted to the stands.

As the crowd cheered, Y/N found herself caught up in the moment's energy, but it wasn’t the victory that held her attention. It was Draco. She watched as he raised his arms in triumph, his face a mix of relief and elation, his hard work finally paying off.

The crowd erupted as the final whistle sounded, the golden snitch clutched tightly in Draco Malfoy’s hand. The scoreboard flashed the win: England - 310, France - 290. The stadium was a cacophony of cheers, chants, and magical fireworks lighting up the Parisian sky. His teammates swarmed him, their triumphant shouts blending into the roaring crowd. But Draco’s mind was already elsewhere.

He didn’t hear the commentators dissecting his final play or the announcer calling his name as the match’s MVP. All he could think about was her—Y/N Weasley, standing just past the enchanted barriers separating the players from the spectators.

As the crowd surged forward, Y/N made her way down to the field, determined to catch him before the madness of victory consumed him completely. She found him near the edge of the pitch, his teammates surrounding him, all celebrating their victory. But Draco’s eyes found hers immediately, cutting through the noise and the chaos.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was no crowd, no reporters, no fans clamoring for his attention. There was just Draco and Y/N—two people who had been circling each other for weeks, testing boundaries, pushing limits, and now, standing on the edge of something neither of them were prepared for.

Draco handed off the snitch to a teammate, brushing past the photographers calling his name. “Where are you going, Malfoy?” one of his teammates shouted, but Draco didn’t bother answering.

The trophy could wait. The celebrations could wait. Everything could wait.

By the time she saw him weaving through the crowd, his hair mussed from the game, a bead of sweat tracing his temple, he was already too close to ignore.

“Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice teasing and dripping with sarcasm but her eyes betraying the pride she felt.

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his chest still heaving.

“What kind of star player skips the celebration?” she quipped, but her words faltered as his hands found her waist. In one swift movement, he pulled her over to him, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of her coat.

“The kind who’s got better things to do,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her witty comeback dissolved as his lips crashed into hers, the kiss hard and desperate, as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment. The stadium, the cameras, the spectators—all of it faded into the background. It was just them, wrapped in the kind of alchemy that couldn’t be planned or controlled.

She tasted like red wine, and Draco thought, for once, he might actually have won something worth keeping.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she saw his gray eyes. “You’re insane, Malfoy,” she whispered, her fingers still gripping the front of his jersey.

“Maybe,” he replied, brushing his forehead against hers. “But I’m yours.”

As the crowd chanted his name and his teammates hoisted the trophy, Draco stayed rooted in that moment with her, knowing that whatever happened next, nothing could compare to the magic of Y/N Weasley in his arms, grinning at him.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then, in a move that surprised her, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against her cheek in a far more intimate gesture than anything he had done before.

“Thank you, Y/N.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion she hadn’t expected. “For being here. For seeing me.”

Y/N stood there, her heart racing as she tried to process the shift in their relationship. She hadn’t just witnessed his victory. She had seen him, indeed seen him—for the first time. And now, everything was different.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On my final conversation with star-seeker Draco Malfoy, there I stood, on the sides of the Quidditch pitch, asking him “Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?”

But guess what? He just comes running over to me.

signed,

Y/N Weasley | Senior Editor at The Alchemy

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter au #harry potter imagines #loving-daisy works #weasley reader #post war hogwarts #post war #quidditch #seeker malfoy

357 notes · View notes

breelandwalker · 2 months ago

Text

Witchcraft: A History in Thirteen Trials

Marion Gibson, Scribner, 2024.

Just found this book and read some excerpts. I am DEFINITELY recommending this as a must-have addition to witchy reference libraries. I'm also going to be checking out more from this author, as I'm already impressed.

Gibson, who is the author of several books on the history of witchcraft and paganism, traces the development of the idea of demoniacal witches and the public attitudes and prejudices creating them through the course of thirteen landmark trials from around the world and spanning seven centuries of history. More importantly, the author makes clear that although history may remember the victims of these trials as witches, they were no such thing.

From the publisher's description:

National Bestseller A New Yorker Best Book of 2024 A “thought-provoking and timely” (The Times, London) global history of witch trials across Europe, Africa, and the Americas, told through thirteen distinct trials that illuminate a pattern of demonization and conspiratorial thinking that has profoundly shaped human history. This “inventive and compelling” (The Times Literary Supplement, London) work of social history travels through thirteen witch trials across history, some famous—like the Salem witch trials—and some lesser-known: on Vardø island, Norway, in the 1620s, where an indigenous Sami woman was accused of murder; in France in 1731, during the country’s last witch trial, where a young woman was pitted against her confessor and cult leader; in Lesotho in 1948, where British colonial authorities executed local leaders. Exploring how witchcraft was feared, then decriminalized, and then reimagined as gendered persecution, Witchcraft takes on the intersections between gender and power, indigenous spirituality and colonial rule, political conspiracy and individual resistance. Offering a striking, dramatic journey unspooling over centuries and across continents, Witchcraft is a “well-rounded insight into some of the strangest and cruelest moments in history” (Buzz Magazine), giving voice to those who have been silenced by history.

Marion Gibson is Professor of Renaissance and Magical Literatures at the University of Exeter, UK. She is the author of seven academic books on witches in history and literature: Reading Witchcraft; Possession, Puritanism, and Print; Witchcraft Myths in American Culture; Imagining the Pagan Past; Rediscovering Renaissance Witchcraft; Witchcraft: The Basics and, with Jo Esra, Shakespeare’s Demonology. Marion has also edited five books for publishers such as Routledge and Ashgate, published around twenty chapters and articles, and she is General Editor of the series Elements in Magic for Cambridge University Press. Witchcraft: A History in Thirteen Trials is her most recent work.

#witchcraft #witchblr #book recs

148 notes · View notes

yurimother · 5 months ago

Text

Second English Edition of Independent Yuri Manga Magazine “Galette” Launches Crowdfunding on Kickstarter

On Tuesday, the independent, creator-owned Yuri manga magazine Galette launched its new Kickstarter campaign to fund its second English edition. This initiative follows the successful crowdfunding of its first English edition in August.

In the first 24 hours, the campaign raised over ¥3,000,000 (approximately $19,000), surpassing its initial goal of ¥2,000,000 (around $12,500). At the time of publication, it has doubled its goal with the support of over 300 backers contributing to the project, putting it in the top 10 of current Kickstarter campaigns.

The crowdfunding campaign is set to conclude on January 31.

The first overseas volume and special booklet can be purchased as optional add-ons, so those who did not pledge to the first Kickstarter still have the option to acquire them.

The English editions of Galette contain translated versions of selected works from the magazine’s publication history. The second volume includes seven titles, including an extra story from Milk Morinaga’s bestselling 2006 manga (licensed in English by Seven Seas). It will be published in both ebook and paperback formats and will be around 260 pages long.

The series included in the second special English edition of Galette are:

Liberty by Izumi Kitta× Moto Momono

I Want You to Show it Only to Me by Nekohariko 22

That Woman in the Infirmary by Miyuki Yorita

Fluffy, Fuzzy, Dreamy by Mera Hakamada

The Girls' Arcadia by Haru Yatosaki

Sky Blue Melancholic by Ringo Hamano

Grooming Everyday (GIRL FRIENDS extra edition) by Milk Morinaga

The Kickstarter campaign includes several stretch goals such as a new book cover, additional color illustrations, postcards, and an acrylic stand of Yuna and Rena from Milk Morinaga’s My Cute Little Kitten (also licensed in English by Seven Seas).

Additionally, backers have the option to pledge at a higher level and receive a bonus special booklet containing English editions of previously published one-shots by Milk Morinaga, Mera Hakamada, Yukino Sakuraya, Moto Momono, and Nekohariko 22.

The manga is translated by Red String Translations.

Galette is a creator-owned Yuri manga magazine, largely funded via memberships on Fantia. The first Japanese issue of the quarterly magazine was published in February 2017. Since then, Galette Works has published 32 volumes of Galette alongside multiple collected volumes of serialized works and 25 volumes of its sister publications, Petit Galette and Galette Meets, the latter of which feature more adult content than the main magazine.

Galette Works plans to crowdfund and publish seven volumes of this overseas edition, drawing from eight years of previous releases. Afterward, Japanese and English editions of Galette will be published simultaneously. However, if any future edition fails to reach its funding goal, Galette Works will cease releasing English volumes.

You can support the Galette- Special English Edition02 campaign on Kickstarter until January 31.

Sources: Kickstarter Campaign Page, Galette Works Offical Website

#yuri #lgbt #girls love #gay #lgbtq #gl #lesbian #queer #anime #manga #News

196 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Found Poetry

Found poem - a form of poetry that comprises borrowed text from different sources.

Poets borrow words, phrases, or passages from sources like novels and news articles for found poems.

Assembling the sourced texts brings a new meaning unique from the words or phrases’ original context.

Types of Found Poetry

Blackout poetry: Blackout poetry is a form of found poetry in which the poet takes an existing work—an article, a short story, or even another poem—and uses a pen or marker to black out certain lines, words, or phrases to reinterpret the original work.

Erasure poetry: Similarly, erasure poetry involves using whiteout to cover certain words. In both forms, poets create new text to celebrate or subvert the intention of the original work in some way. Graffiti that covers up words on buildings or signs may be a kind of erasure poem.

Cut-up poetry: Cut-up poetry involves cutting words out of source materials and rearranging them to create new meaning.

Ways to Write a Found Poem

You can create found poetry using books, magazines, or digital sources:

Craft a haiku. For those new to this type of poetry, creating a haiku works as an introductory writing prompt. A haiku, a Japanese poem, has three lines: the first has five syllables, the second has seven, and the third has five. To create your poems, try the cut-up method: Find words or phrases that total the syllables in each line and arrange them in a way that elicits new meaning from the found text.

Gather physical text sources. Cut out hardcopy sources like a book or magazine, then paste the words together to create found poetry.

Find digital sources. You can create a found poem from existing texts online. Write out a new poem by hand, or copy and paste words on your computer into a document.

Write in free form. Because the individual source materials will likely have their own rhythms and vocabularies, found poetry is usually written in free form; spacing and line breaks are at the poet’s discretion.

Create a blackout poem. To try a blackout poem, read an article and decide how you’d want to reimagine its text. Then, using a marker, black out specific headings, phrases, and paragraphs, leaving behind words so as to create a new work from the source text.

Examples of Found Poetry

A found poem involves a poet taking pre-existing language and reworking it into a new artwork. Consider the following examples of found poetry:

Book compilations: American poet Bern Porter published multiple volumes of found poetry, including Found Poems (1972).

Sarcastic poems: The humorists Hart Seely and Tom Peyer wrote “The Man in the Moon” (1979), reworking lines spoken by New York Yankees announcer Phil Rizzuto to reflect on the death of Yankees catcher Thurmon Munson.

Literary magazine: The poetic form even sparked its own literary magazine, The Found Poetry Review, in print from 2011 to 2016.

Blackout poetry: he New York Times bestselling author Austin Kleon has popularized the blackout form in his book Newspaper Blackout (2010), in which he redacts newspaper articles in permanent marker.

A Brief History of Found Poetry

Poets have created found poetry in various ways across artistic movements and history:

The cento: The cento, which originated in the third century, may have been the original found poem. A cento poem is a work of poetry that is composed of various lines taken from different poems. The word “cento” is derived from a Latin word meaning “patchwork garment”—and a cento poem is just that—patchwork poetry (also known as a “collage poem”). With cento poems, a writer can pay homage to another poet, or use lines from another work for satire purposes.

Dadaism: In the 1900s, visual and literary artists brought new meaning to source materials and pre-existing texts. The popularity of found poetry mirrored the Dada movement. Dadaist Marcel Duchamp’s 1917 work Fountain was a readymade sculpture that was simply a porcelain urinal. Outside of its original context, the work invited a new perspective and interpretation. During this time and in a similar artistic vein, poets like William Burroughs began experimenting with cut-up poetry, rearranging words in new order.

Modernists: In the twentieth century, poets like T.S. Eliot, Brian Gysin, and Ezra Pound included found text from various source materials in some of their works.

Media: Today, poets can create found poetry using digital sources and share works on social media platforms. For example, best-selling author Kate Baer creates found poetry by redacting comments on her social media pages.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Part 1

95 notes · View notes

fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

Text

The Radio Times magazine from the 29 July-04 August 2023 :)

THE SECOND COMING

How did Terry Pratchett and Neil gaiman overcome the small matter of Pratchett's death to make another series of their acclaimed divine comedy?

For all the dead authors in the world,” legendary comedy producer John Lloyd once said, “Terry Pratchett is the most alive.” And he’s right. Sir Terry is having an extremely busy 2023… for someone who died in 2015.

This week sees the release of Good Omens 2, the second series of Amazon’s fantasy comedy drama based on the cult novel Pratchett co-wrote with Neil Gaiman in the late 1980s. This will be followed in the autumn by a new spin-off book from Pratchett’s Discworld series, Tiffany Aching’s Guide to Being a Witch, co-written by Pratchett’s daughter Rhianna and children’s author Gabrielle Kent. The same month, we’ll also get A Stroke of the Pen, a collection of “lost” short stories written by Sir Terry for local newspapers in the 70s and 80s and recently rediscovered. Clearly, while there are no more books coming from Pratchett – a hard drive containing all drafts and unpublished work was crushed by a vintage steamroller shortly after the author’s death, as per his specific wishes – people still want to visit his vivid and addictive worlds in new ways.

Good Omens 2 will be the first test of how this can work. The original book started life as a 5,000-word short story by Gaiman, titled William the Antichrist and envisioned as a bit of a mashup of Richmal Crompton’s Just William books and the 70s horror classic The Omen. What would happen, Gaiman had mused, if the spawn of Satan had been raised, not by a powerful American diplomat, but by an extremely normal couple in an idyllic English village, far from the influence of hellish forces? He’d sent the first draft to bestselling fantasy author Pratchett, a friend of many years, and then forgotten about it as he busied himself with continuing to write his massively popular comic books, including Violent Cases, Black Orchid and The Sandman, which became a Netflix series last year.

Pratchett loved the idea, offering to either buy the concept from Gaiman or co-write it. It was, as Gaiman later said, “like Michelangelo phoning and asking if you want to paint a ceiling” The pair worked on the book together from that point on, rewriting each other as they went and communicating via long phone calls and mailed floppy discs. “The actual mechanics worked like this: I would do a bit, then Neil would take it away and do a bit more and give it back to me,” Pratchett told Locus magazine in 1991. “We’d mess about with each other’s bits and pieces.”

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch – to give it its full title –was published in 1990 to huge acclaim. It was one of, astonishingly, five Terry Pratchett novels to be published that year (he averaged two a year, including 41 Discworld novels and many other standalone works and collaborations).

It was also, clearly, extremely filmable, and studios came knocking — though getting it made took a while. rnvo decades on from its writing, four years after Pratchett's death from Alzheimer's disease aged 66, and after several doomed attempts to get a movie version off the ground, Good Omens finally made it to TV screens in 2019, scripted and show-run by Gaiman himself. "Terry was egging me on to make it into television. He knew he was dying, and he knew that I wouldn't start it without him," Gaiman revealed in a 2019 Radio Times interview. Amazon and the BBC co-produced with Pratchett's company Narrativia and Gaiman's Blank Corporation production studios, with Michael Sheen and David Tennant cast in the central roles of Aziraphale the angel and Crowley the demon. The show was a hit, not just with fans of its two creators, but with a whole new young audience, many of whom had no interest in Discworld or Sandman. Social media networks like Tumblr and TikTok were soon awash with cosplay, artwork and fan fiction. The original novel became, for the first time, a New York Times bestseller.

A follow up was, on one level, a no-brainer. The world Pratchett and Gaiman had created was vivid, funny and accessible, and Tennant and Sheen had found an intriguing romantic spark in their chemistry not present in the novel.

There was, however, a huge problem. There wasn't a second Good Omens book to base it on. But there was the ghost of an idea.

In 1989, after the book had been sold but before it had come out, the two authors had laid on fivin beds in a hotel room at a convention in Seattle and, jet-lagged and unable to sleep, plotted out, in some detail, what would happen in a sequel, provisionally titled 668, The II Neighbour of the Beast.

"It was a good one, too" Gaiman wrote in a 2021 blog. "We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published, Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD(TM) and there wasn't a good time."

Back in 1991, Pratchett elaborated, "We even know some of the main characters in it. But there's a huge difference between sitting there chatting away, saying, 'Hey, we could do this, we could do that,' and actually physically getting down and doing it all again." In 2019, Gaiman pillaged some of those ideas for Good Omens series one (for example, its final episode wasn't in the book at all), and had left enough threads dangling to give him an opening for a sequel. This is the well he's returned to for Good Omens 2, co-writing with comic John Finnemore - drafted in, presumably, to plug the gap left Pratchett's unparalleled comedic mind. No small task.

Projects like Good Omens 2 are an important proving ground for Pratchett's legacy: can the universes he conjured endure without their creator? And can they stay true to his spirit? Sir Terry was famously protective of his creations, and there have been remarkably few adaptations of his work considering how prolific he was. "What would be in it for me?" he asked in 2003. "Money? I've got money."

He wanted his work treated reverently and not butchered for the screen. It's why Good Omens and projects like Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch are made with trusted members of the inner circle like Neil Gaiman and Rhianna Pratchett at the helm. It's also why the author's estate, run by Pratchett's former assistant and business manager Rob Wilkins, keeps a tight rein on any licensed Pratchett material — it's a multi-million dollar media empire still run like a cottage industry.

And that's heartening. Anyone who saw BBC America's panned 2021 Pratchett adaptation The Watch will know how badly these things can go when a studio is allowed to run amok with the material without oversight. These stories deserve to be told, and these worlds deserve to be explored — properly. And there are, apparently, many plans afoot for more Pratchett on the screen. You can only hope that, somewhere, he'll be proud of the results.

After all, as he wrote himself, "No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone's life is only the core of their actual existence."

While those ripples continue to spread, Sir Terry Pratchett remains very much alive. MARC BURROWS

DIVINE DUO

An angel and a demon walk into a pub... Michael Sheen and David Tennant on family, friendship and Morecambe & Wise

Outside it's cold winter's day and we're in a Scottish studio, somewhere between Edinburgh and Glasgow. But inside it's lunchtime in The Dirty Donkey pub in the heart of London, with both Michael Sheen and David Tennant surveying the scene appreciatively. "This is a great pub," says Sheen eagerly, while Tennant calls it "the best Soho there can be. A slightly heightened, immaculate, perfect, dreamy Soho."

Here, a painting of the absent landlord — the late Terry Pratchett, co-creator, with Neil Gaiman, of the series' source novel — looms over punters. Around the corner is AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books. It's the bookshop owned by Sheen's character, the angel Aziraphale, and the place to where Tennant's demon Crowley is inevitably drawn.

It's day 74 of an 80-day shoot for a series that no one, least of all the leading actors, ever thought would happen, due to the fact that Pratchett and Gaiman hadn't ever published any sequel to their 1990 fantasy satire. Tennant explains, "What we didn't know was that Neil and Terry had had plots and plans..."

Still, lots of good things are in Good Omens 2, which expands on the millennia-spanning multiverse of the first series. These include a surprisingly naked side of John Hamm, and roles for both Tennant's father-in-law (Peter Davison) and 21-year-old son Ty. At its heart, though, remains the brilliant banter between the two leading men — as Sheen puts it, "very Eric and Ernie !" — whose chemistry on the first series led to one of the more surprising saviours of lockdown telly.

Good Omens is back — but you've worked together a lot in the meantime. Was there a connective tissue between series one of Good Omens and Staged, your lockdown sitcom?

David: Only in as much as the first series went out, then a few months later, we were all locked in our houses. And because of the work we'd done on Good Omens, it occurred that we might do something else. I mean, Neil Gaiman takes full responsibility for Staged. Which, to some extent, he's probably right to do!

Michael: We've got to know each other through doing this. Our lives have gotten more entwined in all kinds of ways — we have children who've now become friends, and our families know each other.

There have been hints of a romantic storyline between the two characters. How much of an undercurrent is that in this series.

David: Nothing's explicit.

Michael: I felt from the very beginning that part of what would be interesting to explore is that Aziraphale is a character, a being, who just loves. How does that manifest itself in a very specific relationship with another being? Inevitably, as there is with everything in this story, there's a grey area. The fact that people see potentially a "romantic relationship", I thought that was interesting and something to explore.

There was a petition to have the first series banned because of its irreverent take on Christian tropes. Series two digs even more deeply into the Bible with the story of Job. How much of a badge of honour is it that the show riles the people who like to ban things?

David: It's not an irreligious show at all. It's actually very respectful of the structure of that sort of religious belief. The idea that it promotes Satanism [is nonsense]. None of the characters from hell are to be aspired to at all! They're a dreadful bunch of non-entities. People are very keen to be offended, aren't they? They're often looking for something to glom on to without possibly really examining what they think they're complaining about.

Michael, you're known as an activist, and you're in the middle of Making BBC drama The Way, which "taps into the social and political chaos of today's world". Is it important for you to use your plaform to discuss causes you believe in?

Michael: The Way is not a political tract, it's just set in the area that I come from. But it has to matter to you, doesn't it? More and more as I get older, [I find] it can be a real slog doing this stuff. You've got to enjoy it. And if it doesn't matter to you, then it's just going to be depressing.

David, Michael has declared himself a "not-for-profit" actor. Has he tried to persuade you to give up all your money too?

David: What an extraordinary question! One is always aware that one has a certain responsibility if one is fortunate and gets to do a job that often doesn't feel like a job. You want to do your bit whenever you can. But at the same time, I'm an actor. I'm not about to give that up to go into politics or anything. But I'll do what I can from where I live.

Well, your son and your father-in-law are also starring in this series. How about that, jobs for the boys!

David: I know! It was a delight to get to be on set with them. And certainly an unexpected one for me. Neil, on two occasions, got to bowl up to me and say, "Guess who we've cast?!"

How do you feel about your US peers going on strike?

David: It's happening because there are issues that need to be addressed. Nobody's doing this lightly. These are important issues, and they've got to be sorted out for the future of our industry. There's this idea that writers and actors are all living high on the hog. For huge swathes of our industry, that's just not the case. These people have got to be protected.

Michael: We have to be really careful that things don't slide back to the way they were pre the 1950s, when the stories that we told were all coming from one point of view and the stories of certain people, or communities within our society, weren't represented. There's a sense that now that's changed for ever and it'll never go back. But you worry when people can't afford to have the opportunities that other people have. We don't want the story that we tell about ourselves to be myopic. You want it to be as inclusive as possible

Staged series 3 recently broadcast. It felt like the show's last hurrah — or is there more mileage? Sheen and Tennant go on holiday?

David: That's the Christmas special! One Foot in the Algarve! On the Buses Go to Spain!

Michael: I don't think we were thinking beyond three, were we?

So is it time for a conscious uncoupling for you two — Eric and Ernie say goodbye?

David: Oh, never say never, will we?

Michael: And it's more Hinge and Bracket.

David: Maybe that's what we do next — The Hinge and Bracket Story. CRAIG McLEAN

896 notes · View notes

chloegong · 4 months ago

Text

behold!!! the cover reveal for COLDWIRE is here!!!

the gorgeous artwork is by Sean + Eve (there.is.studio) and this is the cyberpunk cover of my dreams. Coldwire is my first foray into the futuristic, into a world where the cities are online and neon and throwing explosives at big corps (I suppose that’s just Nik), and I am so excited for this book to be in the world… November 4th, 2025 😁

until then, People Magazine has revealed the cover alongside the synopsis—at last, meet Eirale and Nik, and Lia and Kieren

#coldwire #cover reveal #chloe gong #woohoo!

76 notes · View notes

spotlyts · 1 year ago

Text

Denim Dreams: Bestselling Jeans Styles

Denim is the fabric of our fashionable lives, weaving its way through trends and time with effortless style. From wide-legged wonders to sleek skinny silhouettes, jeans have been our faithful companions in the ever-evolving journey of fashion. With each stitch telling a tale of comfort and coolness, denim dreams come alive in the bestselling jeans styles of 2023. Whether you’re strutting your…

View On WordPress

#bestsellers #jeans #spotlyts #the world&039;s best #the world&039;s best magazine

0 notes

books · 1 year ago

Text

Writer Spotlight: Jamie Beck

Jamie Beck is a photographer residing in Provence, France. Her Tumblr blog, From Me To You, became immensely successful shortly after launching in 2009. Soon after, Jamie, along with her partner Kevin Burg, pioneered the use of Cinemagraphs in creative storytelling for brands. Since then, she has produced marketing and advertising campaigns for companies like Google, Samsung, Netflix, Disney, Microsoft, Nike, Volvo, and MTV, and was included in Adweek Magazine’s “Creative 100” among the industry’s top Visual Artists. In 2022, she released her first book, An American in Provence, which became a NYT Bestseller and Amazon #1 book in multiple categories, and featured in publications such as Vogue, goop, Who What Wear, and Forbes. Flowers of Provence is Jamie’s second book.

Can you tell us about how The Flowers of Provence came to be?

I refer to Provence often as ‘The Garden of Eden’ for her harmonious seasons that bring an ever-changing floral bounty through the landscape. My greatest joy in life is telling her story of flowers through photography so that we may all enjoy them, their beauty, their symbolism, and their contribution to the harmony of this land just a bit longer.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do your photography and writing work together? Do you write as part of your practice?

I constantly write small notations, which usually occur when I am alone in nature with the intention of creating a photograph or in my studio working alone on a still life. I write as I think in my head, so I have made it a very strict practice that when a thought or idea comes up, I stop and quickly write the text in the notes app on my phone or in a pocket journal I keep with me most of the time. If I don’t stop and write it down at that moment, I find it is gone forever. It is also the same practice for shooting flowers, especially in a place as seasonal as Provence. If I see something, I must capture it right away because it could be gone tomorrow.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

You got your start in commercial photography. What’s something you learned in those fields that has served you well in your current creative direction?

I think my understanding of bridging art and commerce came from my commercial photography background. I can make beautiful photographs of flowers all day long, but how to make a living off your art is a completely different skill that I am fortunate enough to have learned by working with so many different creative brands and products in the past.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

Do you remember your first photograph?

Absolutely! I was 13 years old. My mother gave me her old Pentax 35mm film camera to play with. When I looked through the viewfinder, it was as if the imaginary world in my head could finally come to life! I gave my best friend a makeover, put her in an evening gown in the backyard of my parents’ house in Texas, and made my first photograph, which I thought was so glamorous! So Vogue!

You situate your photographic work with an introduction that charts the seasons in Provence through flowers. Are there any authors from the fields of nature writing and writing place that inspire you?

I absolutely adore Monty Don! His writing, his shoes, and his ease with nature and flowers—that’s a world in which I want to live. I also love Floret Flowers, especially on social media, as a way to learn the science behind flowers and how to grow them.

How did you decide on the order of the images within The Flowers of Provence?

Something I didn’t anticipate with a book deal is that I would actually be the one doing the layouts! I assumed I would hand over a folder of images, and an art director would decide the order. At first, it was overwhelming to sort through it all because the work is so personal, and I’m so visual. But in the end, it had to be me. It had to be my story and flow to be truly authentic. I tried to move through the seasons and colors of the landscape in a harmonious way that felt a bit magical, just as discovering Provence has felt to me.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do you practice self-care when juggling work and life commitments alongside the creative process?

The creative process is typically a result that comes out of taking time for self-care. I get some of my best ideas for photographic projects or writing when I am in a bath or shower or go for a long (and restorative) walk in nature. Doing things for myself, such as how I dress or do my hair and makeup, is another form of creative expression that is satisfying.

What’s a place or motif you’d like to photograph that you haven’t had a chance to yet?

I am really interested in discovering more formal gardens in France. I like the idea of garden portraiture, trying to really capture the essence and spirit of places where man and nature intertwine.

Which artists do you return to for inspiration?

I’m absolutely obsessed with Édouard Manet—his color pallet and subject matter.

What are three things you can’t live without as an artist?

My camera, the French light, and flowers, of course.

What’s your favorite flower to photograph, and why?

I love roses. They remind me of my grandmother, who always grew roses and was my first teacher of nature. The perfume of roses and the vast variety of colors, names, and styles all make me totally crazy. I just love them. They simply bring me joy the same way seeing a rainbow in the sky does.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

1K notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 1 year ago

Text

i was on NPR talking about Autism shit two weeks ago, and i have the book sales figures from that week and that national media appearance had.... absolutely zero relationship to sales. on the typical week these days, 1,400 to 1,500 copies of Unmasking Autism will sell. The week that I was on NPR there was a slight dip; only about 1,300 books were sold.

i have done a lot of press for my books. For Laziness Does Not Exist I did easily a 100 damn podcasts and radio shows and newspapers and excerpts in magazines. none of it corresponded to a noticeable bump in sales. the biggest "get" my publicist found for my latest book was the Glennon Doyle show, a booking she and her team celebrated and then spent months clamboring excitedly for... it, too, had no obvious relationship to sales.

Unmasking Autism became a bestseller because some other guy made a tiktok about it, and then a bunch of tiktokkers made videos about it too. all on their own. without any prodding from me, or any relationship to me. it was completely organic, passionate, and sincere, and rooted in the book's true merits and usefulness to other people, and that's why it inspired lots of sales. and continues to more than a year and a half later. all the press I did for Unmasking Autism prior to the release of that tiktok did relatively far less. NPR, Goop, the LA Times, Lit Hub, Jacobin, Huffpo, the New York Times, the Financial Times, MSNBC, Business Insider. Didn't matter. at least not much. so why do i bother?

publishers really ride your ass trying to make you give lots of interviews and show up for lots of events but it's all based on the worship of traditional media and magical thinking that it will somehow convert listeners into buyers. and that's just not how it works. the truth is 95% of books never sell more than 5,000 copies, and most people don't buy books or read them. i love reading but i dont think this is itself some terrible loss, as most books are padded-out commodities made for sale more than a work of true artistic passion or scholarly merit, and sometimes listening to a 90 minute interview with an author tells you the bulk of what you need to know.

it's freeing to know that the effort i put into getting my books out into the world have almost zero relationship to the books' success. marketing just does not work. it's a relief. unmasking autism did fabulously because it's actually both good and useful. laziness has had a long life span because it speaks to real problems in people's lives and gives them a message they are desperate to hear. but no amount of thirsty ass online shilling will make somebody realize that and it's maddening to try. you just gotta focus on doing good work, work that you enjoy making or need to make and that you feel good about, let things flop if theyre gonna flop, and keep on living your life.

which is all good news because i really do hate a lot of these fucking interviews. how can i stomach being on npr or in the atlantic or whatever these days given how complicit nearly all major media outlets are in justifying this genocide. like who fuckin cares about them, who wants their approval. who needs it. it's of no value

201 notes · View notes

isabelleneville · 4 months ago

Text

Does anybody have headcanons on what careers the six wives may have if they were in the modern world?. Below are mine.

Katherine of Aragon: Head of a worldwide charity. Anne Boleyn: A corporate and policy lawyer. Jane Seymour: The Head Mistress of a prestigious private school (think something like Eton). Anne of Cleves: The landlady of your local pub or local small restaurant owner. Has links to the business world through her family but moved abroad to carve out her own career. Kathryn Howard: A model turned fashion magazine reporter working to become an editor. Catherine Parr: A New York Times bestselling author. I still haven't decided if she would be a fiction or non-fiction writer.

#katherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anne of cleves #katherine howard #kathryn howard #catherine parr #may or may not have been inspired by me playing sims #reblog and add yours!

59 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

Text

Marshmallow Longtermism

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this week!

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "Marshmallow Longtermism"; it's a reflection on how conservatives self-mythologize as the standards-bearers for deferred gratification and making hard trade-offs, but are utterly lacking in these traits when it comes to climate change and inequality:

https://locusmag.com/2024/09/cory-doctorow-marshmallow-longtermism/

Conservatives often root our societal ills in a childish impatience, and cast themselves as wise adults who understand that "you can't get something for nothing." Think here of the memes about lazy kids who would rather spend on avocado toast and fancy third-wave coffee rather than paying off their student loans. In this framing, poverty is a consequence of immaturity. To be a functional adult is to be sober in all things: not only does a grownup limit their intoxicant intake to head off hangovers, they also go to the gym to prevent future health problems, they save their discretionary income to cover a down-payment and student loans.

This isn't asceticism, though: it's a mature decision to delay gratification. Avocado toast is a reward for a life well-lived: once you've paid off your mortgage and put your kid through college, then you can have that oat-milk latte. This is just "sound reasoning": every day you fail to pay off your student loan represents another day of compounding interest. Pay off the loan first, and you'll save many avo toasts' worth of interest and your net toast consumption can go way, way up.

Cleaving the world into the patient (the mature, the adult, the wise) and the impatient (the childish, the foolish, the feckless) does important political work. It transforms every societal ill into a personal failing: the prisoner in the dock who stole to survive can be recast as a deficient whose partying on study-nights led to their failure to achieve the grades needed for a merit scholarship, a first-class degree, and a high-paying job.

Dividing the human race into "the wise" and "the foolish" forms an ethical basis for hierarchy. If some of us are born (or raised) for wisdom, then naturally those people should be in charge. Moreover, putting the innately foolish in charge is a recipe for disaster. The political scientist Corey Robin identifies this as the unifying belief common to every kind of conservativism: that some are born to rule, others are born to be ruled over:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/01/set-healthy-boundaries/#healthy-populism

This is why conservatives are so affronted by affirmative action, whose premise is that the absence of minorities in the halls of power stems from systemic bias. For conservatives, the fact that people like themselves are running things is evidence of their own virtue and suitability for rule. In conservative canon, the act of shunting aside members of dominant groups to make space for members of disfavored minorities isn't justice, it's dangerous "virtue signaling" that puts the childish and unfit in positions of authority.

Again, this does important political work. If you are ideologically committed to deregulation, and then a giant, deregulated sea-freighter crashes into a bridge, you can avoid any discussion of re-regulating the industry by insisting that we are living in a corrupted age where the unfit are unjustly elevated to positions of authority. That bridge wasn't killed by deregulation – it's demise is the fault of the DEI hire who captained the ship:

https://www.axios.com/local/salt-lake-city/2024/03/26/baltimore-bridge-dei-utah-lawmaker-phil-lyman-misinformation

The idea of a society made up of the patient and wise and the impatient and foolish is as old as Aesop's "The Ant and the Grasshopper," but it acquired a sheen of scientific legitimacy in 1970, with Walter Mischel's legendary "Stanford Marshmallow Experiment":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_marshmallow_experiment

In this experiment, kids were left alone in a locked room with a single marshmallow, after being told that they would get two marshmallows in 15 minutes, but only if they waited until them to eat the marshmallow before them. Mischel followed these kids for decades, finding that the kids who delayed gratification and got that second marshmallow did better on every axis – educational attainment, employment, and income. Adult brain-scans of these subjects revealed structural differences between the patient and the impatient.

For many years, the Stanford Marshmallow experiment has been used to validate the cleavage of humanity in the patient and wise and impatient and foolish. Those brain scans were said to reveal the biological basis for thinking of humanity's innate rulers as a superior subspecies, hidden in plain sight, destined to rule.

Then came the "replication crisis," in which numerous bedrock psychological studies from the mid 20th century were re-run by scientists whose fresh vigor disproved and/or complicated the career-defining findings of the giants of behavioral "science." When researchers re-ran Mischel's tests, they discovered an important gloss to his findings. By questioning the kids who ate the marshmallows right away, rather than waiting to get two marshmallows, they discovered that these kids weren't impatient, they were rational.

The kids who ate the marshmallows were more likely to come from poorer households. These kids had repeatedly been disappointed by the adults in their lives, who routinely broke their promises to the kids. Sometimes, this was well-intentioned, as when an economically precarious parent promised a treat, only to come up short because of an unexpected bill. Sometimes, this was just callousness, as when teachers, social workers or other authority figures fobbed these kids off with promises they knew they couldn't keep.

The marshmallow-eating kids had rationally analyzed their previous experiences and were making a sound bet that a marshmallow on the plate now was worth more than a strange adult's promise of two marshmallows. The "patient" kids who waited for the second marshmallow weren't so much patient as they were trusting: they had grown up with parents who had the kind of financial cushion that let them follow through on their promises, and who had the kind of social power that convinced other adults – teachers, etc – to follow through on their promises to their kids.

Once you understand this, the lesson of the Marshmallow Experiment is inverted. The reason two marshmallow kids thrived is that they came from privileged backgrounds: their high grades were down to private tutors, not the choice to study rather than partying. Their plum jobs and high salaries came from university and family connections, not merit. Their brain differences were the result of a life free from the chronic, extreme stress that comes with poverty.

Post-replication crisis, the moral of the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment is that everyone experiences a mix of patience and impatience, but for the people born to privilege, the consequences of impatience are blunted and the rewards of patience are maximized.

Which explains a lot about how rich people actually behave. Take Charles Koch, who grew his father's coal empire a thousandfold by making long-term investments in automation. Koch is a vocal proponent of patience and long-term thinking, and is openly contemptuous of publicly traded companies because of the pressure from shareholders to give preference to short-term extraction over long-term planning. He's got a point.

Koch isn't just a fossil fuel baron, he's also a wildly successful ideologue. Koch is one of a handful of oligarchs who have transformed American politics by patiently investing in a kraken's worth of think tanks, universities, PACs, astroturf organizations, Star chambers and other world-girding tentacles. After decades of gerrymandering, voter suppression, court-packing and propagandizing, the American billionaire class has seized control of the US and its institutions. Patience pays!

But Koch's longtermism is highly selective. Arguably, Charles Koch bears more personal responsibility for delaying action on the climate emergency than any other person, alive or dead. Addressing greenhouse gasses is the most grasshopper-and-the-ant-ass crisis of all. Every day we delayed doing something about this foreseeable, well-understood climate debt added sky-high compounding interest. In failing to act, we saved billions – but we stuck our future selves with trillions in debt for which no bankruptcy procedure exists.

By convincing us not to invest in retooling for renewables in order to make his billions, Koch was committing the sin of premature avocado toast, times a billion. His inability to defer gratification – which he imposed on the rest of us – means that we are likely to lose much of world's coastal cities (including the state of Florida), and will have to find trillions to cope with wildfires, zoonotic plagues, and hundreds of millions of climate refugees.

Koch isn't a serene Buddha whose ability to surf over his impetuous attachments qualifies him to make decisions for the rest of us. Rather, he – like everyone else – is a flawed vessel whose blind spots are just as stubborn as ours. But unlike a person whose lack of foresight leads to drug addiction and petty crimes to support their habit, Koch's flaws don't just hurt a few people, they hurt our entire species and the only planet that can support it.

The selective marshmallow patience of the rich creates problems beyond climate debt. Koch and his fellow oligarchs are, first and foremost, supporters of oligarchy, an intrinsically destabilizing political arrangement that actually threatens their fortunes. Policies that favor the wealthy are always seeking an equilibrium between instability and inequality: a rich person can either submit to having their money taxed away to build hospitals, roads and schools, or they can invest in building high walls and paying guards to keep the rest of us from building guillotines on their lawns.

Rich people gobble that marshmallow like there's no tomorrow (literally). They always overestimate how much bang they'll get for their guard-labor buck, and underestimate how determined the poors will get after watching their children die of starvation and preventable diseases.

All of us benefit from some kind of cushion from our bad judgment, but not too much. The problem isn't that wealthy people get to make a few poor choices without suffering brutal consequences – it's that they hoard this benefit. Most of us are one missed student debt payment away from penalties and interest that add twenty years to our loan, while Charles Koch can set the planet on fire and continue to act as though he was born with the special judgment that means he knows what's best for us.

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/04/deferred-gratification/#selective-foresight

Image: Mark S (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/markoz46/4864682934/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #locus magazine #guillotine watch #eugenics #climate emergency #inequality #replication crisis #marshmallow test #deferred gratification

639 notes · View notes