#his posts really give me the urge to explore italy

[ladysalieri]

It makes me happy to see him out and about without a mask/hoodie/glasses disguise. Enjoy all these little moments of anonymity, GG!

Xiao Zhan Douyin update 3.2.2023 “Rainy day 🚶”

[drarryruinedme7]

Last year I made a post with all my fave Drarry fics from my first year of fandom. Have my second year wrap up! Listed by Rating and then length. 

RATING: TEEN AND UP AUDIENCES

Beautiful by @xx-thedarklord-xx​​ (2017; 8.9k)

Summary: With the second task looming closer, Harry escapes to the Black Lake to open the egg, in the hopes of avoiding Myrtle. The Mersong isn't just helpful in figuring out that Mermaids are real, it attracts his very own handsome Merman.

*I didn’t know I love merpeople AUs until I read this one. It was cute and sweet and I’m really glad I read it. 

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by @waspabi​​ (2017; 93.3k)

Summary: 'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

*What can I say. This is a masterpiece, it absolutely entered my heart to never leave it again. Best AU ever!!!

Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered​​ (2018; 153.8k)

Summary: Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

* This has been the turning point of my Drarry passion this year. First, I discovered Lettered (good Lord why hadn’t I before?!) and then, well. This fic brought out so many feelings in me and I’ve already re-read it something like 5 or 6 times in the span of a few months. Amazing.

RATING: MATURE

you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (2018; 20.7k)

Summary: When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

* The angst!! It’s usually not my cuppa, but this was bittersweet and just so well written, I couldn’t stop reading. Find the rec for this one at this post.

RATING: EXPLICIT

Give Me Sweet Oblivion by @tryslora​​ (2012; 4k)

Summary: Italy seems like a long way to go to keep a fetish secret. But the club is exclusive, and the far away location, and Muggle nature, promises anonymity from Wizarding Britain. The only problem is that sometimes, great minds think alike.

*Super hot, I love finding old gems like this one. Plus, Italy. Go, folks!

Shiny Things, Slightly Damaged by @lqtraintracks​​ (2020; 5.3k)

Summary: Harry may not ever have had to see it if McGonagall hadn’t decided it was a good idea to hold a ceremony on the grounds outside before the Sorting in the Hall. And by ‘it’ he’s referring to Draco Malfoy on a motorbike.

*jsklajdksajfa This one! THIS ONE! Slayed me. I read it feverishly and then like, fainted at Draco on a motorbike.... this fic surprised me and I 100% loved it.

A Ghost of Blissful Feelings by @alpha-exodus​​ (2020; 6k)

Summary: Harry hadn't expected to spend his eighth year fucking Draco Malfoy, but it's the only thing that helps him let go.

*Dunno guys, I’m amazed by how much this one hit me. You should read the tags before diving in, but it was darkish in the right way, Harry and Draco suffers and find peace in a ‘’special’’ way, but I stand by it. Hot and intense.

Tell Me (What you Need) by @keyflight790​​ (2019; 6k)

Summary: Even though Harry was paying for his Dom, there were limits; breaking points in which someone would refuse, no matter how many Galleons were pushed in their direction.

*Okay, I may be biased because this is a gift for me, but Chris never lets down with her amazing writing and this has everything I need and more: Dom!Rentboy!Draco and a perfectly sweet Harry with a Daddy!kink. I mean.

Dangerous by Faith Wood (2014; 6.3k)

Summary: Being trapped in a dungeon with Malfoy — who's a werewolf, a former Death Eater, and a giant git — is definitely dangerous. Harry has no reason to be excited. None at all.

*Y’all know Faith Wood is like my n.1 fave Drarry author. I have no idea why I had never read this one though!!! It’s actually phenomenal, scorching hot and just dsjkafjaks love this werewolf!Draco. OMG.

Scent and Sensibility by aidaninkling (2018; 7.5k)

Summary: [...] Draco's always known he'd be married off as a trophy omega, but suddenly his mother's trying to make him king by promising him to some stupidly good-looking alpha and she just won't stop smiling at him. Does fate's cruelty know no end?!

*This blew my mind. A/B/O AU so hot I melted while reading it and I loved it so much that I re-read it three times IN A ROW. No kidding. Read it. 

The Eighth Tale by @letteredlettered​​ (2012; 12k)

Summary: Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

*Back to Lettered. I love Time Travel fics, and this just delivered perfectly. The ending was also enigmatic enough to keep me wandering, which I always appreciate in these kind of stories. 

Sex, Lies and Veritaserum by @letteredlettered​​ (2011; 17.9k)

Summary: This entire fic is one long conversation about sex.

*LOL alright, I’ve developed a new obsession this year (clearly). This was ...gosh! Hot but it also gives away a certain level of intimacy and trust between Draco and Harry to be so open about their kinks... it was perfect.

On One’s Knees by pir8fancier (2008; 33.8k)

Summary: The war is over and to the victors go the spoils.

* The fic which made me fall in love with DownAndOut!Draco. 

The Pirate and the Prince by @nerdherderette​ (2019; 49.2k)

Summary: Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met.

*Okay y’all. Nerd is a great person and author. She is phenomenal. And this fic shows it so well. The pirate!AU the Drarry fandom both needed and deserved. Sublime.

Unhook the Stars by jad (2016; 70.5k)

Summary: [...] Seventy-thousand words of pornographic discourse between two boys-turned-men that still haven't learned how to communicate like normal people – with words. Guest appearances by Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Teddy Lupin, Gregory Goyle, the Weird Sisters, ex-wives, several Weasleys, a Boggart, and a Honey Badger.

*Again, Dom!Draco and such a beautiful sub!Harry. They stole my heart. In this fic they grow up together through the aftermath of the war and they just... they have this intense Dom/sub relationship, I can’t... explain how much I loved this. Scorpius also makes his appearance and it’s so real and cute!

Such Great Heights by aideomai (2015; 93.3k)

Summary: Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating. Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

*This is one of the last ones I’ve read. Find my rec for it here. Such a cool fic, with a shunned Draco who gets to be so happy in the end, it made me happy too.

Burn The Witch by @lettersbyelise​​ (2019; 95.8)

Summary: When Harry Potter is sent in to investigate Draco Malfoy’s successful potions company, posing as Draco’s bodyguard, he doesn’t know the case will launch a series of events that will change his life — and Draco’s. A story about choices, scars, Chopin piano pieces, and finding all kinds of love in the most unexpected places.

*I do not have the words to express what this fic means to me. First of all, it’s how I met Elise who’s an amazing person and who I’m glad to call friend. She’s the sweetest. And also incredibly talented. This fic will take your breath away from the first word to the last one. Smol!Scorpius is perfectly characterised and my absolute favourite bit of the fic. 

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid​​ (2019; 99.7k)

Summary: What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

*Another incredible person who I got to know better thanks to her breathtaking storytelling and her sweetness for sharing it with me. Quick made something amazing with this fic and I urge you to read it. It was my first creature fic ever, first time I read about werewolves and I totally fell in love with it. Sheer perfection. 

Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid​​  (2019; 169.5k)

Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

*Well, could I just miss out on another one of Quick’s great works? With, again, Dom!Draco!??? No, I couldn’t! This is such a great exploration of BDSM and what it means and Harry’s path into it. 

19 Years and 5 Minutes Later by TheMightyFlynn (2015; 202.8k)

Summary: Five minutes after his happily-ever-after, Harry finds himself locked in the public loos with an angry Draco Malfoy and a need that he has denied for 19 years.

*Find my rec for this fic here. It’s really long and has Ginny bashing, but it’s totally worth it!! 

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 44

read chapter one

read on ao3

Taking a picture from the window of the private jet, Alec leans back in his seat as he starts fiddling with filters.

Their flight took off less than an hour ago and as Magnus reads a journal-- one of seven he’d brought along to Alec’s amusement-- Alec posts the picture to Instagram.

It’s obviously taken from a plane with a view overlooking the sunset above the clouds. It’s a pretty cool picture even if it is pedestrian. The caption is unforgivably sentimental but Alec shrugs. He’s entitled, he thinks with a little laugh.

Leaving his phone in his cup holder, Alec leans down and digs out the book he’d thrown into his bag right before leaving. It’s a thriller and from the synopsis, he knows that he’s in for a treat.

Before he can do more than reread the back page, though, the flight attendant is coming over and asking for drinks.

“Just water for me, thanks.” Alec smiles at Selina as she hands him a glass of ice water. She’s flown with him before and is exceedingly good at her job.

Magnus looks up from his journal, raising a brow as he asks, “What are the chances I could get a martini?”

Selina raises a brow right back as she offers, “Vodka or gin?”

Chuckling, Magnus asks for vodka and she returns just a moment later with his glass.

Settling back in his seat, Magnus nudges him with his shoulder. When Alec looks over, Magnus’s eyes are dancing over the rim of his martini as he takes a lingering sip.

“I’ve got to admit, this is nice,” he says. “No security lines, no crying babies or crowded rows of travelers. Be careful, darling, or I’ll get used to this.”

Linking their hands, Alec brings them to rest on his thigh as he sends his boyfriend a droll look. “Traveling is a nightmare under the best of circumstances. Flying internationally? I can’t remember the last time I flew commercial.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Magnus speaks again. “Thanks for taking me on this trip, Alexander. Knowing that I had a few days alone with you after midterms is what kept me sane.”

“It’s as much for me as you,” Alec says with a little grin. “I love travelling but I’m usually by myself or with the crew during tour. Plus, I’ve been working on my album so much that I could use a break, too.”

Magnus laughs. “Well, you certainly weren’t too busy to plan this trip. I’m still afraid that I don’t quite know what I’ve gotten myself into.”

“I was shocked that you let me have carte blanche.”

Leaning into his side, Magnus burrows deeper as Alec lifts an arm to wrap around his shoulders. “You seemed excited at the prospect of planning everything. I was pleasantly surprised when you chose Florence, though. I’ve always enjoyed Italy but I’ve never been to Tuscany.”

“I thought it might be nice to go someplace neither of us had been yet. You know, getting to explore the same city for the first time together? That sounds pretty damn nice.”

Magnus’s voice is soft as he lifts their joined hands up to his lips for a quick kiss across Alec’s knuckles. “You know what? It really does, darling.”

The two of them spend the next couple of hours reading and listening to music through their respective headphones. Magnus scours the latest issue of The Public Historian and Alec has to gently yet insistently pull the magazine away from him halfway through the flight.

Magnus glares at him with little heat and Alec just laughs as he urges him to stand up.

“C’mon,” he says. “We’re landing early in the morning, Florence time, and we need to sleep now if we want to beat jet lag.”

Sighing heavily, Magnus stands and follows Alec to the back room. “I was in the middle of a particularly engrossing article about Australian Aboriginal picture archives.”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow,” Alec says easily as he closes the door that separates the bed from the rest of the cabin.

Their bags are on luggage racks and while Alec just falls into bed, Magnus changes out of his day clothes into a tank and sweatpants. They’d left right after Magnus’s last class this afternoon and Magnus moans a little as he slides in between the sheets.

“God, this feels good.”

Moving over until he can kiss the back of Magnus’s neck, until he can through an arm around his waist and pull him closer, Alec just replies, “You did have a busy day. Get some sleep while you can, babe.”

It seems like no time at all before the stewardess is knocking on the door, calling out that they’ll start their descent in thirty minutes.

Alec groans a little. He hears Magnus laugh and when he opens his eyes a few minutes later it’s to see Magnus studying him with warm eyes.

“Time to get up, Alexander. We do want to hit the ground running, after all.”

They’re back in their seats twenty five minutes later, seat belts fastened, dressed and ready for the day. Their landing is uneventful and as they disembark, Alec throws an arm over Magnus’s shoulders.

“What about our luggage,” Magnus asks as they walk through the gate and right towards the taxi lane.

“Someone from the hotel will pick them up and send them over,” Alec explains and the two of them wait in line for the next cab.

Magnus sends Alec an arch look but doesn’t say anything else and then the two of them are climbing into the back of a taxi.

They’re taken to the city center and dropped off near the Duomo. Paying the driver, Alec is the last one out and as they gain their bearings on the sidewalk-- not too busy since it’s so early-- Alec takes a moment to just breathe.

He really does love Italy and he’s looking forward to the next few days where his biggest worry will be where to eat dinner or how much gelato is too much gelato.

While Magnus had put everything into his hands, he’d told Magnus almost two weeks ago where he was booking, just in case his boyfriend had a secret, passionate hatred for the city and to give them both a chance to decide on absolute musts for the trip.

When Alec traveled, he like to wander around and get lost. He usually only had one or two things he wanted to see or do and everything else was just a matter of getting a feel for the city. By contrast, Magnus liked to sightsee and check things off a list. There were a few museums and sights that Magnus had put on their list in between aimless wandering and Alec was excited. This trip was a representation of the both of them-- likes and dislikes, everything a perfect mix.

He thinks that he heard once that if you were serious about someone, then a good test was travelling with them. Alec can’t help but think that so far-- and yeah, they did just land but still-- that everything was going smoothly and held the promise of continuing to do so.

Friday goes by quickly. They grab breakfast at a little crêperie called La Milkeria. Magnus goes for a savory option while Alec enthusiastically dives into his nutella and strawberry crepes. It’s a great start to the day and the spend the morning walking around the near the Duomo. They stop wherever their eye catches and take an embarrassing number of pictures. They linger at street vendors and wander around an outside market where Alec picks up a few souvenirs for his family and Magnus does the same for his.

They stop and have lunch, lingering over glasses of wine and a charcuterie board. Magnus, the frustrating man, tries to pay and Alec just scowls as he grabs for the receipt.

“I don’t know why you insist on paying for shit,” he says as he reaches for his wallet. “I invited you on this trip. I pay.”

Magnus just stares at him, unimpressed. “I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own wine, Alexander. I wouldn't want you to think I was only after your money after all,” he teases and Alec rolls his eyes even as his mouth tilts up.

“I’d have to be a fucking idiot to think that,” he scoffs and tosses a few euro onto the table as they stand up.

Walking towards the river, it’s much more of a slow stroll. They linger on the river side for awhile, people watching and taking in the scenery.

“It’s beautiful here,” Magnus says as they watch a rowing team go by below.

“I love Italy but I think Florence might just be my favorite city after today.”

Crossing the river, Alec and Magnus pop into shops and stop by a gelateria. They take a selfie with their cups and miniature spoons and this time, it’s Magnus who posts the picture.

The company’s sweeter.

There are a line of emojis after the scant words and Alec rolls his eyes as he likes the picture on his own phone.

“You’re such a nerd,” he mutters under his breath with a grin and Magnus takes a bite of gelato before replying, “You know you l-like it.”

Magnus’s voice falters a little on the latter half of the sentence and Alec frowns a little, though he doesn’t wait a second before sighing and nudging Magnus’s foot with his own.

“Unfortunately, I do,” he teases and watches as Magnus’s face eases into amusement.

In the late afternoon, Alec starts leading them towards their hotel. Arms linked, they stroll along the river and Alec can’t remember ever feeling so relaxed.

They come to the entrance of the hotel and Magnus pauses, a little incredulous. “We’re staying here?”

Tilting his head a little, Alec starts toward where the doorman is waiting. “Yup,” he says. He looks back with laughter in his gaze. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Is it alright-- my God, Alexander, this place looks amazing.”

“They had good reviews on Google,” is all Alec says and Magnus glares at him before shaking his head.

Making their way to the reception desk, it’s only a few minutes before they’re being shown to their room.

Looking around the suite, Alec nods, pleased. “Not bad,” he says absently and reaches for a bottle of water in the mini fridge.

Magnus snorts. “It’s taken a little while,” he says as he takes the bottle Alec holds out with his free hand, “But I do believe I’m finally seeing Alec Lightwood, celebrity.”

“What do you mean?”

Opening the doors to the balcony to let in the cool breeze, Magnus leans against the railing as he takes a drink of water. “This is a five star hotel and even my credit card might wince a little at the nightly rate but to you, it’s acceptable.”

He grins over at Alec, winking. “You’re a travel snob, darling.”

Shaking his head, Alec protests. “Just because it looks nice and I said so doesn’t make me a travel snob,” he says defensively. “I like a nice hotel-- especially when I’m trying to impress someone.”

The last bit is said low as he joins Magnus on the balcony, ducking close to lay a kiss below his ear. “I can’t let it be said that I did anything by half measures, now can I?”

Magnus doesn’t take the bait, instead looking at Alec with pity. “Darling, the summer I graduated from Yale, Ragnor, Catarina, and I toured Continental Europe on a shoestring budget. We stayed in hostels-- and for the last week, we managed to sleep in hotel lobbies when our savings ran out. You don’t have to impress me. If you’d taken me to a hostel this afternoon where we would've had to sleep in the same room as twelve other strangers, I’d be just as happy and excited as I am now. I’m just looking forward to spending time with you somewhere new. That’s it, that’s all.”

“Aren’t you a sweet talker,” Alec whispers before he leans in and kisses Magnus. When they break apart a little while later, the sun’s almost set.

Alec yawns and it turns into a laugh when Magnus pokes him in the side. “Is that jet lag I’m seeing?”

He glares. “Shut up,” he says, hiding another yawn behind his hand. “We’ve been on the go all day and I got three hours of sleep last night.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours,” Alec says, mockingly scowling. “You act like it wasn’t appallingly obvious what you were doing on your side of the bed.”

Magnus sniffs, turning away to watch the water. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Alec’s voice is wry as he merely says, “Babe, not only was your cell phone flashlight on but I could hear the pages turn as you finished reading that journal.”

Grumbling a little, Magnus just throws up exasperated hands. “I told you it was a fascinating article and I knew we wouldn’t have time today. It’s not my fault you’re a light sleeper.”

“I’m not a light sleeper,” Alec laughs. “I’m over here trying to cuddle my boyfriend and he won’t stop muttering about Australian photography. I think anyone would have trouble falling asleep to that.”

Magnus shrugs before he finally relaxes, smiling. He moves closer to Alec and sweeps a hand through his hair so that it’s off his face before tilting his head.

The kiss is soft with a hint of bite towards the end and when Magnus pulls away, Alec chases his lips. When they break apart the second time, Magnus sweeps a thumb over Alec’s cheek. “Sorry that I kept you up, darling,” he says, eyes amused. “I’m sure you’ll sleep good tonight, though.”

Alec huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure you’re right,” he agrees.

The two of them head back inside and get ready for dinner. They’d seen a little ristorante during the day that they’d agreed to go back to for dinner and as they turn the corner of the hotel, he hears the shutter of a camera as a flash goes off in the night.

Rolling his eyes, Alec keeps his gaze forward, though he doesn’t hasten his pace. To his relief, Magnus does the same and it’s only a minute before the reporter seems to have gotten all he needs and they’re left alone.

The restaurant is small and intimate and they pass a few hours at a little table in front of a window. They drink a little too much wine and enjoy food that just can’t be found in the States. It’s the perfect ending to a wonderful day and as they take their time walking back to the hotel, Magnus pulls him just into a small side street and kisses him until he can’t think straight.

He doesn’t know how long they spend there, kissing while people walk by on the main street just a few feet away but when they finally pull apart, it takes everything Alec has not to dive back in.

Magnus’s expression is warm and open, eyes shining in the low light and mouth bruised and red. He’s damn near irresistible.

When Alec takes his hand a minute later and all but drags him in the direction of their hotel, Magnus’s laughter rings out in the narrow street.

Later, when the moonlight drips over their balcony and his ears are filled with Magnus’s gasps, with the way he says Alexander like it’s both a curse and a prayer, Alec kisses that laughter off his lips and sinks into the feeling squeezing his chest.

Alec wakes slowly, the sun shining into his eyes. Jerking his head away from where they’d left the curtains open, he lifts up onto his elbows and rubs his eyes blearily.

He has no idea what time is is but Magnus is still sleeping soundly under him. Shifting carefully so as not to disturb him, Alec rests on one elbow as he watches Magnus in the morning light.

His eyes trace the steady way his chest rises, the way his hair falls over his forehead. Magnus hadn’t taken his makeup off last night and there’s glitter trailing over his cheek, black smudges under his eyes.

Alec’s breath catches and his heart cracks open for what feels like the hundredth time since he met Magnus all those months ago.

Words come to him, unbidden, and Alec leans forward to plant a soft, barely there kiss on Magnus’s jaw before climbing out of bed.

He rummages around his bag for his songbook and then curses under his breath as he realizes he’s not even wearing underwear. Pulling on a pair of sweats with Magnus’s shirt, he slowly opens the balcony door and breathes a sigh of relief when it doesn’t make a sound.

Settling into a chair that offers a hell of a view-- they’re on the fifth floor and he can see the morning traffic below him and the gold tinted river right there-- Alec opens the book and starts writing.

He pours everything out. He remembers the first time he saw Magnus and the first time they properly talked. Everything from the terrible night where he’d felt like nothing more than a goddamn commodity to just last week when Magnus had surprised him at the studio with food just when he’d been about to tear his fucking hair out in frustration over a recording snag.

It could be ten minutes or an hour later when something breaks his focus. Looking up, Alec sees Magnus watching him with a barely there smile. He still looks mostly asleep and everything rushes through Alec-- the words he’s just written, the way they barely scratch the surface of what he feels for Magnus, the sight that he realizes with a shuddering sigh that he could wake up to for the rest of his life.

Before he quite knows what’s going on he’s tossed his book to the ground and is standing. He strides over to the bed and Magnus doesn’t move, just tilts his head to keep his eyes locked on Alec’s.

Alec climbs onto the bed, crawling up until he’s straddling Magnus and Magnus still doesn’t move. His smile grows imperceptibly as Alec cages him in, as he leans down and catches his mouth in a searing kiss that does nothing to dampen the desire that’s lighting him up from the inside.

His hands go to Magnus’s face and he rests his forehead against his boyfriend’s and works like hell to get his breathing under control. Magnus’s doesn’t say anything, just wraps his hands around Alec’s wrists and breathes in sync.

When Alec pulls back and opens his eyes, he takes another moment and sears it onto his memory.

Magnus studies him, brow arched expectantly.

Alec opens his mouth. He takes a deep, grounding breath. His thumbs stroke over Magnus’s cheeks and he smiles.

It’s small at first but then it grows until he feels his own cheeks aching.

“I love you,” he says hoarsely. “I am so goddamn in love with you.”

He watches the way Magnus’s eyes widen, hears the sharp intake of breath.

It’s funny, Alec has a second to think. He’s never said these words before. They’ve never weighed on his tongue like honeyed gold before. He’s never, ever felt this exhilarating, terrifying mix of love and lust and hope swirling around him fast enough to make him dizzy.

It doesn’t feel strange, though. It’s a good fear because it means that it matters. This matters-- they matter.

He’s waited so long to say them, has fought to keep them in when they wanted to fall from his mouth so desperately. He’s bit them back when Magnus made his head spin with want, when he’d done nothing more than text him a silly picture of an adorable animal.

They feel right. Now that Alec’s said them, now that they’re out there, most of him breathes a sigh of relief.

For better or worse, this is the last piece of him. He’s given everything to Magnus and now that his heart is out there, waiting, Alec finds that he’s not as worried as he always thought he’d be.

For better or worse, he thinks.

He doesn’t have long to think it, though, because almost immediately Magnus is grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight and happiness and-- dare Alec say it-- love.

Magnus blinks furiously and Alec watches as he closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. When he opens them a moment later, they’re full of everything Alec’s always dreamed of.

“I love you too, Alexander.”

The words are simple and said on a whisper and Alec shuts his eyes to savor them.

He feels them wind around his heart before settling. He feels Magnus pull him closer and place the most gentle of kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

Opening his eyes, he meets Magnus’s gaze and it’s silent in the room as they study each other, sharing the same breath.

And then Alec’s laughing and falling forward to nose along Magnus’s throat. “God,” he says. “I don’t know why I waited so long to say that.”

Humming a little, Magnus sweeps a hand down his back. Alec shivers a little as Magnus’s lips touch his ear. “I could say the same.”

“How long have you known,” Alec asks idly as he settles on top of Magnus, a leg thrown over his.

Magnus doesn’t stop his slow touches and Alec crowds infinitesimally closer. “Honestly? Probably whenever you came over to Catarina and Ragnor’s for Sunday Dinner a couple of months ago. You just fit and I realized that the thought didn’t make me want to run for the hills. I liked that you fit in with my family.”

Raising up a little, Alec just gives Magnus an incredulous look. “That’s what Jace and Izzy said at my birthday party last month-- that you fit. I really liked it, too.”

Reaching for his hand, Magnus laces their fingers together. “We fit together pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Perfectly,” Alec murmurs and smiles before resettling over Magnus.

“What about you,” his boyfriend asks. “When did you know?”

“It’s cliche,” Alec tries to deflect but Magnus doesn’t take that for an answer, instead poking him in the side until he jerks away, scowling.

“Fine,” he mutters. He doesn’t move from where he’s laying on Magnus and the words get caught against his throat. “It was the first time we slept together. That shit with your dad happened and I realized that I believed you and that everyone else could go to hell.” He laughs shortly. “I figured if I was willing to choose you over my career then you meant a lot to me, more than I even realized. And then after-- after we slept together that night, the words were on the tip of my tongue.”

His voice is quiet, as he adds, “You were perfect, everything I could’ve wished for.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a minute but then he’s kissing the top of Alec’s head. “I love you so much, darling. I’m glad you finally said something. I’m glad you feel the same.”

Scoffing, Alec just replies, “Of course I feel the same. I never stood a chance, babe.”

The two of them fall quiet after that, dozing in the morning sunshine. A little while later, Magnus wakes Alec up with a kiss and Alec urges him onto his back as the sun warms them.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” he whispers hoarsely against the hollow of Magnus’s throat. “Let me love you, okay?”

He feels Magnus nod shakily before he sighs, fingers coming up to curl in Alec’s hair. Alec kisses a path down Magnus’s front, mapping a trail of adoration for just the two of them to see.

His efforts are stalled a few minutes later, though, as a knock sounds loudly in the room.

“Housekeeping,” the maid calls out and both Alec and Magnus freeze at the voice.

They look at each other, askance and a little panicked before they both start laughing. It’s nothing delicate, all gasping breaths and deep chuckles.

“Answer her, Alexander,” Magnus pleads as he wipes his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Alec doesn’t immediately reply only for his eyes to widen as they hear a key in the lock. Clearing his throat hurriedly, Alec all but shouts, “Busy!”

There’s a pause on the other side of the door before they hear the key being taken out. “So sorry,” she replies. “I’ll be back this evening or I can put the do not disturb card on your door?”

Magnus actually fucking giggles at Alec’s exasperated expression but nonetheless replies, “The do not disturb sign works just fine, thank you!”

They hear a rustle at the door-- presumably the maid hanging the sign up-- before there’s silence.

Alec sighs and all but collapses on top of Magnus, hiding his face against Magnus’s hip. “Oh my God,” he whines. “That could’ve been so bad.”

“At least you’re still wearing pants,” Magnus points out reasonably. “She would’ve seen me in all my glory if she’d walked in without warning.”

Humming a little, Alec starts mouthing against Magnus’s hipbone. “At least we’ll be left alone for the rest of the day,” he murmurs and Magnus’s easy agreement is choked off as he takes Magnus in his mouth without warning.

“Give a guy some warning, Alexander,” Magnus wheezes and Alec just hums again as he works him over.

A little while later, sated and happier than he can ever remember being, Alec uses all his residual strength to lean over Magnus and kiss him.

Later that night, when they’ve finally left the bed and gotten ready for the evening-- after an exceptionally long shower-- Alec looks up as Magnus comes out of the bathroom, having just finished putting his makeup on.

“God, I love you,” he blurts out, grinning as he takes in his boyfriend.

Magnus had definitely dressed to impress for an evening out and Alec can’t think of anything he’d like more than to show him off.

Magnus laughs at his reaction but as he walks over and wraps his arms around Alec’s neck, he treats him to a slow once over in return. “Love you too, darling. Though I do hope you’re not just saying that because of my looks.”

His voice is teasing and Alec rolls his eyes. “Trust me, babe, if I’m not only willing but excited to listen to one of your diatribes on medieval Southeast Asian pottery, then you have nothing to worry about.”

His voice lowers a little as he continues, “I fell in love with you because you’re wise and you’re generous and you’re brave. You’re incredible,” he says, ducking a little to catch Magnus’s eyes when he tries to look away, abashed. “When you walk into a room, there’s a spark in you that lights everyone and everything up. I’m just lucky that you let a little of your light warm me up.”

“God, Alec, you can’t just say things like that.” Magnus’s voice is raw, awed and disbelieving.

Shrugging, Alec just asks, “Why not? It’s how I feel and you deserve to know how I feel-- how you make me feel.”

“I never expected this,” Magnus says, studying Alec. “I never expected you. But how lucky I am that we ended up in the same shitty diner one night.”

Alec laughs, shaking his head as he leans close for a quick, smacking kiss. “Who knows? Maybe it’s fate. I guess we’ll have to just wait and see.”

“I guess we will,” Magnus says warmly in a voice that’s almost too low to hear.

With that, they leave their room and head towards the lobby, both of them looking forward the rest of the night.

[nitrateglow]

A few hours ago, my browser recommended me the article “There is No Case for the Humanities” by Justin Stover. At first I thought it would be a call to reform of the humanities departments in academia, which I could totally get behind. It was not. If anything, it was painfully regressive in its views on the place of humanistic subjects in everyday life. Apparently, only scholars should bother with literature, history, art, and language. Apparently, this matters to no one outside of a lecture hall.

Such thinking appalls me to my very core.

If you were to buy into Stover’s ideas, then the humanities are only of interest to the scholastic elite. He actually compares humanities professors to members of a golf course, imparting a sense of frivolity to the study of literature, rhetoric, history, art, and religion. To him and to many, the humanities are worthless because they do not give people immediate economic benefit. Hence why everyone insists you’re better off sticking only to STEM majors or business or trade schools. He says the humanities are only really meant for academics who shut themselves off from the world and publish overly-specialized articles in publications no one but other academics read. Of course, they’re useless.

I take issue with the idea that the humanities are entirely frivolous: I have seen how students still write at a fifth-grade level or use strawman arguments when they leave high school; they NEED to learn how to properly write a sentence and communicate their ideas. That’s just part of the working world. Learning to fact-check is also rather important given the media atmosphere of our times. Considering how multicultural the world is becoming, learning how other people see the world isn’t so frivolous an idea either. And do I need to argue that history is important? Like, really? Of course, I do have my own problems with academia, having worked in it, but that isn’t my point here. I just take issue with the frankly elitist notion that “normal,” non-academic people have no use for the humanities. So did someone else as I came to discover. 

This rebuttal by Roberto Fubini is simple and direct: yes, we do not need the humanities to continue breathing. However, a world without myth or art or language is a dismal one. Our biological functions do not need these things, but as human beings, we absolutely do.

Fubini argues that the humanities should not be seen as the study of irrelevant, dead things only of interest to specialists, but of things vital to our lives and our understanding of the world. Anyone can benefit mentally and spiritually from the humanities. Here’s his defense for the humanities:

The humanities need no case: a response to Justin Stover and many others.

Editor’s note: This letter was written by a reader of the site; I have provided the links to posts he addresses in his remarks and include his references.

Rimini, Antica Cafeteria, Piazza Tre Martiri / January 2018

Dear Editor,

Your excerpt and publication of Justin Stover’s piece, “There is No Case for the Humanities,” brought to mind the ironies in the attempts to marginalize the study of literature, language, history, philosophy, or religion – in short, those areas we now call the humanities. All these attempts, Stover’s included, create puppets of the humanities and give them voice from their ventriloquism: squeaky, insecure sounds, which offer caricatures and puffed-out straw men. Stover would have us imagine the humanities confined to the university library and lecture hall, with their professors holding forth on the narrowest of subjects. Small wonder, then, that scientists push them aside and receive greater recognition.

These ventriloquists of the humanities may be staging their spectacle with the aim of delighting or antagonizing their readers, but they miss the central point. The staging and spectacle employ the very means they would caricature, namely the humanities. Rhetoric, logic, and language are at the heart of the humanities, and their opponents – as well as many of their would-be advocates – secretly make use of the humanities in their speeches about its worth.

Language: if one sits in a café in a busy square and listens to the conversations, not to eavesdrop, but rather to take in what language reveals, then one comes closer to the heart of the humanities. It is the language of gossip, anger, excitement, exhaustion, distraction; it is the language of lies and love. Federico Fellini in his Amarcord, his film of remembrance, traveled back to this seaside city to record this language. Recording this language, he made a work of art. But this art is not above us, foreign to us. It is not a learned abstraction. On the contrary, its language illuminates our lives. The groundlings in the Globe Theater could applaud Shakespeare’s Tempest, and follow Ariel as much as Caliban.

Stover speaks for many others who would make the humanities into fragile, erudite, and airy subjects. They are much more basic and durable. In fact, they preside over the means of their making. He argues that the humanities produce overspecialized and effete scholarship. We could try to defend this humanities hologram. But this would be only more theater of the absurd, when the drama itself lies in the language of argument. Stover overlooks the real stakes of his “case” against the humanities: the loss of language, or more specifically the loss of care for and love of language.

If we look to poets and thinkers across the centuries, we discover, repeatedly, that they have criticized scholars for their narrow pursuits, and also for their quest for fame and money. So Socrates mocked the sophists, and Lucian the philosophers. Seneca ridiculed their excesses, a theme picked up by Erasmus’s Folly, and then by Rabelais and Montaigne, who stated (or understated) that “the greatest scholars are not the wisest men.” This resonated with the words of Seneca, who called them “a spiritless lot: for people are forever acting as interpreters and never as creators, always lurking in someone else’s shadow” (letters 33 and 87).

But – in case you think I am now being pedantic myself – the point is to learn from the humanities, the range and depth of its literature. By this means we might more fully understand ourselves by understanding others. Scholarship, at its best, serves as the café waiter or maître d’ to these literary offerings.

The humanities are so fundamental that critics (and advocates) easily overlook them, but this oversight is part of our modern malady and one-sidedness. Here Italians are more alive to the dangers of this one-sidedness, which is why Rimini will always celebrate Fellini, and Certaldo its Boccaccio, and why Roberto Benigni, the actor and comedian, can read Dante before thousands of people on the steps of Santa Croce in Florence. The leading television program right now is a tour of Italy’s cultural heritage by Alberto Angela.

Russia, too, has long explored this modern urge to isolate and limit the humanities through science and scholarship. Gogol, in his brilliant Dead Souls, has his protagonist Tchitchikov visit two estates: one is run according to the latest scientific methods; on the other, the learned landowner yearns to educate the peasants in German arts and manners. The first farm is a model of utility and proficiency and the second is in disarray. Gogol shows us the ‘triumph’ of the sciences at a cost, the cost of character and personality, as well as the vanity of erudition. Both extremes exist to the detriment of both.

This is comical, but relevant, as relevant as the question raised in Dostoevsky’s Devils: what is more important, Pushkin or a pair of boots? Stover would have the humanities push literature into scholarly insignificance. But the humanities, at heart, tend Pushkin’s fire, so that his words could warm the spirits of Dostoevsky, Tchaikovsky, and Akhmatova, and through them untold numbers of readers for generations to come. As Joseph Brodsky observed, Dostoevsky found inspiration and insight in the very syntax of the Russian language, in its use of dependent clauses, which led to the spiraling psychological digressions that wind through his work.

Does all this that the humanities provide then need a “case”? Can we ever stand as advocates or lawyers for the humanities? Or do they not, rather, wait upon us to become more alive to their resources? They require not a case, but care. They remain in patient uselessness; they guard the gifts of language, which we all need though too little respect in our preoccupations with science and technology.

Rabindranath Tagore a century ago contemplated the advance of the sciences in words that were pungent and prescient. Tagore held science in esteem and met with Einstein in 1930 to discuss the nature of truth. Yet as an educator, poet, and philosopher, he warned against the single-minded mania for science as the path to fulfillment. He spoke to Japanese students in 1916 just as Japan was pursuing Western technological ‘advancement.’ The life of science, he told them, was a “superficial life”:

Science, when it oversteps its limits and occupies the whole region of life, has its fascination. It looks so powerful because of its superficiality – as does a hippopotamus which is very little else but physical. Science speaks of the struggle for existence, but forgets that man’s existence is not merely of the surface. Man truly exists in the ideal of perfection, whose height and depth are not yet measured. (“The Spirit of Japan,” July 2, 1916)

The height and depth of humanity, then: these are the coordinates of the humanities. We may ignore them as we ignore our inner lives, our need for myth and stories, even our love for flowers: all “useless” things that, somehow, we secretly recognize as essential to who we are, to our self-knowledge and our self-realization. Erwin Chargaff, the great biochemist who explored our DNA, echoed Tagore’s warning, with greater pessimism: “Our time” – he wrote some forty years ago – “when even Old Testament prophets must disguise themselves in laboratory gowns, will not understand when I say that the majority of those things that concern or should concern humanity plays out in realms in which the natural sciences have not bearing at all.”

It is pleasant to be idle in a city like Rimini and sit outside in warm January weather and, like the statue of Julius Caesar in the Piazza, observe the passeggiata of life. Life in the round is the realm of the humanities. This realm is more than the courtoisie of an educated few, as Stover imagines the culture of the humanities. If we listen to the poets and singers that voice our mythologies, our lives follow a richer cadence. Schools and universities may have retreated from these voices, but they have never left us, nor do I think they ever will, if the gods are kind. It falls to us to watch our language more intently, with a sense of wonder before what may appear on the horizon, what new vessel may bring the wandering poets home after what seems so long an exile.

Cordially,

Roberto Fubini

Amen!

[femme-liberee]

a year later

Here I am again, writing to no one but myself. 

a lot has happened since the last time i wrote someting: i met a lot of shitty guys (as usual), a couple of weeks after my last post, my social life stopped existing (a big thank you to corona), i had the most amazing holiday in Italie with my forever best friend... About that friend, we made one hell of a duo: two single, independent and splendid 20 year olds. we managed to make people believe we were the coolest, happiest, most adventurous, smartest, strong women. i say make believe, but aren’t we really? to be honest, i believe we are: we explore, we enjoy, we make mistakes, over all: we live our lifes to the fullest, without regrets (or at least we try). and isn’t that what it’s all about. 

i have come to the conclusion that she was the perfect person to feel, experience and do all these things with. it wouldn’t have been even a slice better if it would have been with my ‘soulmate’, my ‘other half’. what if there is no such thing? as the main character in Into the Wild says: “happiness only real when shared”. in a way, he is definitely right, but i strongly feel the “shared” doesn’t necessarily have to refer to a person whom you’re in love with. 

the other day, i had a (philosophical) discussion with two friends (L and J), and we were talking about ‘le bonheur ultime’. in their opinion, they will only feel it once they will have found their other half. love, romantic love more precisely, is an absolute condition to make it to the ultimate feeling of happiness according to them. 

but, as my quarantine lasts, i’m starting to wonder: is my bonheur ultime conditionned by finding my one true love? i doubt it. 

i haven’t felt that kind of love (yet) (and i’m starting to doubt i ever will; maybe no one’s worthy of that kind of love, or at least that kind of love, felt AND expressed - because let’s face it: there is chance (quite a big one, even) i will fall in love one day, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that person will be worthy of my love (i hope love won’t make me a fool and i still will have some self respect when D-day arrives. love can be felt, expression of it, on the other hand, mustn’t happen if the person’s a total shithead) by me) and i have been perfectly happy my whole life (on an average base: everyone has their moments of emotional depths, that’s undeniable). 

there’s another important thing that happened to me, that i haven’t mentionned so far: i had sex. i mean real sex. after 20 years. and it was... well pretty fucking basic. when i think about it, it feel nothing. i can’t say i chose the wrong guy, the wrong moment, the wrong way: none of that was the case: we met on a dating platform (the sucky part of the whole stry), he’s very nice, older, not very attractive, but, as cliché as it may sound: he has a beautiful soul and is very smart: we went for a very long autumn walk in the woods, he asked me to go back to his place, bought me sushi and a bottle of red wine, and then we sat there, with his room mate, drinking, listening to old vinyls. when his room mate decided to go to bed, hE kissed me, on ‘sweater weather’. we talked a bit more, and he asked me to kiss him, with ‘another love’ in the background. so i did. 

i guess i saw it coming. it had to happen, at last. he was very kind, gentle, empathic (the circumstances weren’t really ‘perfect’, if you know what i mean, but he understood and made sure i felt comfortable). and then it happened. i even closed my eyes a couple of times. i don’t think that’s a good sign, but i think a part of me wanted to deny what was really happening (and the fact that my expecations weren’t met at all (maybe they will, it was the first time so there’s some space to grow) and with who, although there’s nothing wrong with him. he did it slowly, made sure he didn’t hurt me. and then it was over. 

just like that. 

no fireworks, no amazing feeling, no ‘feeling more connected to the world’, none of that crap. i lied there for a while. a tear even rolled down my cheek. he held me, we talked for a bit, and then he fell asleep. and that was that. i didn’t sleep that night, or certainly not much. i thought about my life, about men, about my feelings. but i don’t think i regret it. it had to happen some day, and it did. so that’s a good thing. not the best story to tell my children (or my friends, they don’t know about it yet and i don’t know if they’ll ever know the details). 

i kind of like keeping it to myself. it makes it more real, but also more unreal. as long as i haven’t told anyone, it hasn’t really happened, or it has, but it’s my little secret. i don’t know...

i do feel weird about the guy though. i don’t like him. or i do, but not really in a romantic way. i know i want him to send me something, but not for the romantic reasons. just for my ego. so that i know he slightly interested in me. not in an ‘in love way’, but that he thinks i’m sexy enough to sleep with again, or fun enough to spend the day with one more time. i don’t think it’ll be much more that 1 time, if we ever meet again. i just feel it. i can’t really describe it. 

i know it’s bad, but i can’t help thinking like that. and no one knows about my thoughts except for me, so it doesn’t matter. a part of me assumes he’ll send me something, but a part of me thinks he wont. i wouldn’t really mind, emotionally, but my ego, my ‘woman side’ would: a woman wants to feel desired, or i do at least, that’s for sure. i don’t say it aloud, but i feel it. i try my best to suppress this feeling though. i know it’s a bad one. with hard work and training, i’ll manage to ban that kind of feelings from my thoughts. plus, i strongly believe women are wanted to feel shitty after sex, that goddamned society! i even think he knows i still think about what happened, and he knows that i’d feel better if he’d send me a message. but he doesn’t, just because he can. because he knows he has that little grip of power over me. i bet all men enjoy it. that’s why i have decided i won’t let him, or any man for that matter, have that power over me. i am just as strong as them in this kind of situation. if you don’t let it get to you, it simply doesn’t. (i think i have just found the key to the mystery of men, halleluja!!)

i’ve decided that if i don’t hear from him, i’ll start exploring the world of sex by my own, with different men. i don’t know how i’m going to meet them yet, but i’ll have to find a solution soon enough. i’ll also have to convince them to teach me stuff, but i’m hoping that won’t be too hard.

i don’t want to give the guy a deadline either. if he wants to see (or sleep, because that’s really why he’d want to see me again) me again, he’ll send me something. when and how, that, i don’t know, but time will tell (or wont! isn’t life so very exciting!). 

there is, however, something i’ll never forget. the things he said, were the exact right things to say at that moment. he told me two things i will love and cherrish forever: 

- this spot right here, i’ve just discovered it, but i already like it. it feels like it has been made only to put my hand in it. 

- you looked beautiful. 

i might have scared him with silly things i said in the morning, but hey, if he didn’t like what i said, he’s not ready for me and all that comes with. 

and that’s fine. 

once again (i repeat it because i don’t want to confuse my future self, when rereading this, bc i know i will): i DON’T have romantic feelings for him. i just want him to want to see me again, because - once again - i’m only human. and humans want to please. i don’t even know if i would say yes if he were to ask me. i probably would, but then i’d slightly regret it (i’d probably not even really enjoy the sex part), because i know i would be doing it for the wrong reason: because i simply have no other men right now. 

and i’ve come to realize that that is the reason women do the things they do most of the time: they settle for unworthy men, bad treatment, and even for men who don’t interest them, just because; there; is; no; one; else. and how unfortunate is that? does there REALLY always have to be someone. we’re already abso-fuking-lutely amazing on our own. so why oh why do we need men to confirm that, to make us feel what we (already) are: just great? 

it’s about time i start changing that for my self. it’s stupid, a waiste of time, energy, brain space and a whole lot more. in conclusion: i don’t always need a man in my life (a man in general - the man can be an abstract character (which is even more absurd, but not less true): a man i think about, a man i want to look good for, a man i want to impress, a man i want to hear from again... any kind of man really). a no man period in life is also a period, just without a man. and that doesn’t make the period any less interesting. period. 

also, it’s not because i don’t want to please the male gaze anymore (or not all the time, bc i’ll need to please it if i want to become a sexual discoverer) that i can’t/don’t have to look fabulous anymore. i’m going to work on myself (body AND way i feel about myself) for me, and no one else. 

sidenote: that being said, a no man period does not include sexual experimenting. since i am at the beginning of my sexual rollercoaster, i feel the urge to get out there and find my inner sexual animal (i hope it will be any good, because so far i can’t say i’m very impressed. the mandem has got some impressing to do, i say). 

[the-master-cylinder]

SUMMARY It is nighttime in a dark, foreboding cemetery. Inside a moss-covered mausoleum, the sound of someone chipping away at the cement crypt bearing the name of Caleb Croft can be heard.

On a nearby college campus, a party at a Fraternity house is celebrating the winning of the 1940 New England Seaboard Conference championship. A young couple, Leslie (KITTY VALLACHER) and her boyfriend Paul (JAY SCOTT), decide they want to be alone and drive off in Paul’s car for the damp and eerie privacy of the cemetery. When Paul slips an engagement ring on Leslie’s finger, she unabashedly leads him to the back seat of the car where they proceed toward love-making, unaware that Caleb Croll (MICHAEL PATAKI) has risen from the grave and is stalking through the cemetery in their direction. With more than human strength. Croft rips the door of the car, brutally murders Paul and when Leslie tries to escape. traps her in an open grave and rapes her.

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Police are puzzled: Paul’s body has been drained of blood, but there is no evidence of it in the car or on the ground where his body was found. When detectives talk to Leslie in her hospital room, she seems unable to comprehend until they show her a photograph of the man who is missing from the crypt, Caleb Croft. Leslie becomes hysterical and the woman in the next bed. Olga (LIEUX DRESSLER), screams at them to leave. Olga is a strong Id and had warned police to leave Leslie alone, stating that she was possessed. Shortly. Leslie will have complete faith in Olga. One of the policemen, Lt, Panzer (ERIC MASON) senses something of the supernatural about the case but cannot express his thoughts officially. After all, Caleb Croft was electrocuted three years ago.

Several months later, when Leslie, now very obviously showing the pregnancy which has resulted from her ordeal in the cemetery, and Olga move into the old house Leslie’s parents have left her. Panzer is on hand to help with the luggage. His offer is spurned but as he turns to leave, he notices another man watching them from a distance. The man turns, gets into a car and drives away. Panzer follows. all the way to the cemetery and the mausoleum where he finds the empty crypt. Croft savagely kills Panzer. His secret is safe.

With Olga acting as midwife, Leslie gives birth to a boy – although doctors have told her the baby was not alive. Unlike normal babies, her baby does not cry. giggle or drink milk. Its color is a sickly grey. Accidentally. Leslie discovers nurses her son by making small cuts on her breasts where the boy feeds. As time passes. Leslie grows weaker, age’s prematurely and goes insane. By the time the boy. James Eastman (WILLIAM SMITH). has grown to manhood. Leslie and Olga have died.

James attends the local university. He is almost devoid of ordinary human reactions. In an anthropology class, he meets Professor Adrian Lockwood. the same man who earlier was Caleb Croft. He is well groomed, about 30 years old and exerts a strange control over everyone in the class. Anne Arthur (LYN PETERS). an extremely attractive girl. finds James mysteriously fascinating. Lockwood in turn has eyes for Anne. Lockwood’s lecture centers on vampires and a legendary figure named Charles Croyden. Croyden’s wife was burned as a vampire in 1846 but Charles was never seen again. James knows that the story is not legend. but fact, and that Croyden is Caleb Croll, who is Professor Lockwood.

Anita Tacoby (DIANE HOLDEN), another very attractive student. tells the class of the existence of a book which links Croyden to Croft. Lockwood finds a small town library where a copy of the book exists: to steal the book and satisfy his lust, he kills the spinster librarian.

That evening, James drops in on a party at the apartment Anita shares with Anne. Not quite at ease, he is about to leave when Anne arrives. tired and more in the mood for a quiet dinner than a party. James offers her the use of his apartment upstairs and they leave. Alone. James finds his human characteristics and emotions emerging as he and Anne fall into an immediate and passionate attraction.

Passion also drives Lockwood to seek Anne. In the middle of the night he goes to her apartment, only to find Anita, who has uncovered his secret and strangely, has fallen in love with him. She asks him to transform her into a vampire to become his wife. Lockwood agrees to comply with her request. then kills her. When Anne returns to her own apartment, she finds Anita’s body in the shower, and Lockwood is still there. Her screams send him running and bring James and other students in the building – Brian (FRANK WHITEMAN) and Tex (INGA NEILSEN). Sam (CARMEN ARGENZIANO) and Carol (ABBI HENDERSON) to the scene. Sam calls the police. Despite the tragedy, James and Anne. Brian and Tex and Sam and Carol meet the following day at Lockwood’s house for a scheduled séance. They are gathered in the room where the seance is to take place when Lockwood enters and announces that Anne will be the medium. When Lockwood tries to call upon his wife, Sarah. it is Anita who answers. She tells everyone that she will assume Anne’s body. but it is her spirit which will serve the vampire. When Anne begins speaking in Anita’s voice. Lockwood takes her face in his hands, urging her to cast Anita out. She does, and passes out. exhausted. When James takes her upstairs. Lockwood turns on the remainder of the group and announces he is going to kill them. Sam pulls a .45 and fires bullets into the professor. The bullets go right through. One by one. Lockwood drains his victims of blood.

James returns to find the doors to the seance room locked. He crashes them open and sees the blood orgy before him. James and Lockwood struggle in fierce combat, which ends when James tells Lockwood that he is his son and has but one purpose: to kill his own father. He rips a post from the banister and drives the pointed stake into Lockwood’s heart. As Lockwood dies, a strange transformation comes over James. As he realizes what is happening, he urges Anne to run away from him. While she hesitates, he feels complete emotion and glories in the evil of being a vampire. Anne screams at the sight of him and runs. James goes after her. to kill her, his face contorted. his fangs hungry for blood.

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BEHIND THE SCENES It is now a well-known bit of trivia that “The Sopranos” creator David Chase wrote Grave, his first feature screenplay. The then-neophyte had been hired by Hayes’ production company Clover Films for some archival tasks, and previously served as production manager on Hayes’ WWII action film The Cut-Throats. In an interview for the Archive of American Television, he remembered, “I was there off and on for a year. They’d hire me, and they wouldn’t have anything and they’d fire me and I had to look for work again, and then they’d have a project and I’d go back, or they’d recommend me to somebody else…it was an internship, essentially.” Hayes suggested the primary father/son vampire concept, and Chase wrote the screenplay, reportedly from an unpublished novel he’d composed called The Still Life. Both men had endured unhappy childhoods – Hayes’ parents had split when he was four and he was raised by his grandmother and an addict uncle, while Chase’s parents fostered an environment of hostility and erratic behavior that often left him physically sick – thus Grave functioned as an exploration for both of them on the effects of youth trauma. Hayes shot the film in 11 days on a $50,000 budget. Of the production, Chase said, “That was sort of during my knocking-around phase…I was starting to learn how it all actually worked. I think I did visit the set once…I wrote the script and then he completely rewrote that. I was invited to the screening, and I was aghast, it was really not what I’d written at all.”

“My last three pictures before ‘Vampire’ were made in Spain, Bolivia and Italy,” William Smith related. “When I finish this picture, I take off for Mexico City, then the Philippines. If I’m lucky, I’ll be making another film in Hollywood before this year is over.

Bill rode his own motorcycle back and forth from his Hollywood Hills home to the set every day while filming “Vampire.”

“Although we were supposed to be filming all over Texas, we seldom left the Universal back lot. And you know. it was nice to go home to your own bed at night.”

The climactic scenes of “Grave of a Vampire.”  take place in the darkly paneled rooms of a foreboding looking mansion which is actually located in one of the most elegant sections of Los Angeles.

“We needed a somber looking house where a terrifying seance and the key point of our story take place.” said producer Daniel Cady. “Two vampires go at each other’s throats, fighting up and down wide staircases and crashing through heavy balustrades. We had to have a house to match our bizarre script and we found one.”

The house which Cady and director John Hayes found is in the Fremont Place area of Los Angeles’ mid-Wilshire district near the famous La Brea tar pits. Like neighboring Hancock Park and Rossmore. Fremont Place is an exclusive residential section where the early wealth of Southern California settled. High walled and formerly guarded by a private patrol, it is an area of mansions built by millionaires. The city of Los Angeles has exploded in all directions in both residential and commercial development but Fremont Place has resisted successfully to this point all attempts at urban progress.

“Some of the mansions which were built for $40-50,000 half a century ago today are being remodeled al costs in excess of $200,000.” Cady said. “Such was not the case with our house.”

“Our” house was built in the early 1920’s and contains 18 rooms plus an entry hall big enough to hold a party of 200 people dancing to Lawrence Welk’s orchestra-using the stairway landing as a bandstand. Its present owner is a retired clergyman who also has deed to a couple of other mansions in the area. In his heyday, the reverend was a legitimate but highly controversial figure when Los Angeles was the mecca for high powered religionists of varying persuasions-and credentials.

“There was one advantage filming there,” director Hayes said. “We did quite a bit of night shooting-and we never had to worry about our leading ladies wandering very far from the cameras. The far reaches of the house at night were almost as frightening as what we were doing in front of the camera.”

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CAST/CREW Directed John Hayes

Produced Daniel Cady (producer)

Written David Chase (screenplay) John Hayes (screen treatment)

Based on The Still Life by David Chase

William Smith as James Eastman Michael Pataki as Caleb Croft/Professor Lockwood Lyn Peters as Anne Arthur Diane Holden as Anita Jacoby Lieux Dressler as Olga Eric Mason as Lieutenant Panzer Jay Adler as Old Zack Jay Scott as Paul William Guhl as Sergeant Duffy Margaret Fairchild as Miss Fenwick Carmen Argenziano as Sam Frank Whiteman Abbi Henderson as Carol Moskowitz Inga Neilsen Lindis Guinness Kitty Vallacher as the unwilling mother

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY thenewbev Grave of the Vampire (1972) Movie Pressbook

Grave of the Vampire (1972) Retrospective SUMMARY It is nighttime in a dark, foreboding cemetery. Inside a moss-covered mausoleum, the sound of someone chipping away at the cement crypt bearing the name of Caleb Croft can be heard.

[chestnutpost]

Some People Are Giving Up Flying. Here’s Why.

This post was originally published on this site

Customs and Border anxiety, the boredom of endless lines, and jet lag: flying sucks. Add guilt over carbon emissions and it becomes harder to justify why we still do it.

The aviation industry is currently responsible for about 2 percent of global greenhouse gas emissions. This figure is set to grow as air travel becomes increasingly popular. Airlines transported 4.3 billion passengers worldwide last year, an increase of 38 million over the year before. For every round-trip flight from New York City to London, which releases a ton of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, 30 square feet of Arctic ice is lost.

Efforts to reduce the effects of aviation are moving at a very slow pace. Emissions-cutting innovation is still many years, maybe decades, from implementation. Electric and solar-powered airliners are reportedly in development at Wright Electric and Airbus among others, but battery technology still lags behind jet fuel.

The startling effects of aviation are why a number of people are choosing to quit, or hugely restrict, flying. While “staying grounded,” as activists call it, might not make the biggest difference to your carbon footprint ― a study last summer found that cutting meat, eggs and dairy was the best thing people can do for the planet ― it can still make a huge difference.

One of the more noteworthy non-flyers in the news lately is climate activist Greta Thunberg. The 16-year-old took a 32-hour train from her home in Sweden to Switzerland to deliver her speech at Davos. She hopes to join a bigger movement for changes to the aviation industry ― and wants her behavior to make a statement.

“I’ve decided to stop flying because I want to practice as I preach, to create opinion and to lower my own emissions,” she told HuffPost by email. “One person who stops flying will not make a difference. But if a large number of people do then it will. It sends a message that we are in a crisis and have to change our behaviour.” 

Peter Kalmus, an author and climate scientist living in Altadena, California, stopped flying in 2012 after clocking 50,000 miles in 2010. He set up the website No Fly Climate Sci for others who are doing similar things. His wife and their two kids, 10 and 12, agreed to swap plane journeys for car journeys.

He says he feels frustrated by arguments that pit personal choices against wider movements for change.

“The whole ‘individual versus collective’ thing is a false dichotomy,” he said. “We have to stop having this fruitless debate because action at any level leads to more action at every level. All these levels of action ― community, individual, national, international ― they’re all feeding back on each other.”

Courtesy of Peter Kalmus Peter Kalmus, an author and climate scientist, quit flying seven years ago.

Zoe Hatch, who lives in Maidenhead in the U.K., stopped flying in 2015 after reading up on climate change and learning about climate feedback loops. Her husband and their two children, 11 and 15, joined her in a family decision to switch to slow travel.

Hatch hasn’t found it inconvenient or expensive, she says. She uses apps and sales alerts to find affordable train tickets. Being connected to continental Europe by the Eurostar train makes it relatively easy to travel abroad without needing to fly.

“I wanted to introduce my kids to just being able to pick up a bag and travel,” she said. “When you’re flying it’s like you’re beamed into a different location, whereas when you go on a train journey, you can feel the transition.”

Dave Ogden from Edinburgh, Scotland, managed to avoid planes for four years after reading up on climate change when the Paris agreement was in the news in 2015. He was inspired by an article by climate change professor Kevin Anderson.

“It was targeted at climate researchers but it resonated with me and changed the way I was thinking about burning carbon,” he said. “I started to learn about the [United Nations��] carbon budgets and something clicked in my mind.”

His commitment is not rigid, however, much as the emphasis on more planet-friendly diets has led more people to follow a “flexitarian” diet, rather than becoming vegan. Ogden has managed to travel to France and Germany by train but, after doing a doctorate in renewables, hopes to travel to the U.S. for work: “You have to be realistic really. I mean, we emit carbon all the time. It’s just about being more mindful of how much you’re emitting.”

Kim Cobb, a professor of earth and atmospheric sciences at the Georgia Institute of Technology, was also shocked by the stats. In 2017 she calculated that 85 percent of her carbon footprint came from flying. She used to fly 120,000 miles and has since cut that down by three-quarters.

The toughest part for Cobb is finding a way to see her husband’s family in Italy. “This year, I am reserving the biggest chunk of my flight emissions for this one trip. This will have to go from being a once every year or two trip to a once every decade or so trip. But we’ll see what my husband thinks. He has not curtailed his flying yet, and that is fine with me,” she said.

Courtesy of Kim Cobb Kim Cobb, a professor of earth and atmospheric sciences, has hugely reduced her flying.

Sophie Voillot, a translator from Montreal, last flew in 2014. She made two trips ― one of which was to France to organize her father’s funeral.

Before her father’s death, Voillot flew there every year. Now that he’s gone, she says, her main reason to travel has disappeared. “I still have friends and a few distant relatives over there,” she said. “Of course I miss them, but we still have the internet to stay in touch and feel connected.”

Before she quit, she’d had “bucket list” trips to the West Coast of the U.S., India and Nepal. Now a “splurge” trip for her is a long and expensive train trip to Alberta for the summer. She acknowledges that having traveled extensively before, she doesn’t now feel like her decision to quit flying means giving up anything.

Steve Melia, Ph.D., is an expert in sustainable transportation at University of the West of England in Bristol, U.K., who stopped flying in 2005. He agrees that individual change, in itself, won’t prevent climate crisis. “The sort of rapid change we need to avert the collapse of the ecosystem through climate change ― that’s not going to come about by people voluntarily choosing to change their behavior,” he added.

A survey compiled by one of his students last year found that, of 153 people who’d cut back on flights, 76 percent said it felt like “doing the right thing” and 69 percent said “information about environmental impacts” changed their minds.

Melia adds that it’s important that people who feel the need to quit don’t talk themselves out of it. “If we are going to achieve the sort of rapid change that is necessary, some people have to initiate that change, and if all of the people who might be initiating change are themselves flying and convincing themselves that they can’t live without flying, then where’s the initiative for change going to come from?” he asked.

Kalmus knows quitting flying is not going to work for everybody. But, he says, those worried about climate change would probably benefit from acting on how they feel. “At this point, we just need to explore every avenue,” he said. “That’s going to mean different things for different people because we all have different skills and interests. I urge people to get creative, and that may or may not include flying less.”

Cobb agrees: “I am not a policewoman on this issue. Everyone has to do what feels right to them.“

Thunberg feels it’s urgent to act now. “I know that many scientists are working with new techniques to reduce the emissions of the aviation industry, biofuel and creating electric airplanes,” she said. “But they will not be ready anywhere near the scale required within the timeframe of the Paris agreement. Therefore I stay on the ground.”

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HuffPost’s “This New World” series is funded by Partners for a New Economy and the Kendeda Fund. All content is editorially independent, with no influence or input from the foundations. If you have an idea or tip for the editorial series, send an email to thisnewworld@huffpost.com

The post Some People Are Giving Up Flying. Here’s Why. appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

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