#it's really weird to see that in an international bestseller

[protoindoeuropean]

Ugh I feel the same about the Three Body Problem, I heard such good things about it too

Yeah I don't really get the popularity of it. And I wanted it to be good! Like, the ideas are interesting, which carries it quite a bit – enough that I still want to finish the whole trilogy! – but I get so annoyed with it 😒

And I readily admit that it's also because the whole cynical and nihilistic outlook is not foreign to me at all, it's just that it's been so long since I've moved on from that and so reading about all that (again) just makes me mentally go "ok, move on already" as if talking to my cringy old self. And I know different people have different journeys wrt that, but all the characters who are supposed to be the smart ones seem to be caught in this same outlook and everyone just seems to agree that that's the most rational way of looking at the world and I just get so annoyed with that :/

And the writing is just ... not good. Idk I would like to say that it's the translation or that it's a different kind of storytelling tradition that I'm just not used to, but I really don't think that's it. If the dialogues feel unnatural, if at points you feel you're being recited a summary of what happened rather than actually experiencing what happened, then that's just bad writing 🤷‍♂️ I don't get it

[bullet-prooflove]

All The Rumours Are True - Sam Abrams x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @annieradcliff @thebewingedjewelcat @cosmic-psychickitty

Brief references to Better and Will's struggles in Smoke Break

Sam doesn’t realise there’s a rumour about him until he sees two interns in the elevator tittering and nudging each other. He’s used to commanding a certain level of respect and he’s worked hard to cultivate his reputation. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and he has very little time for gossip and nonsense. He doesn’t say anything, he simply lowers the chart he’s reading and tilts his head towards them. The giggling stops immediately.

Good, he thinks. Now he can concentrate.  

“Doctor Abrams.”

He sighs and lowers the chart a second time and fixes the interns with a steely glare. The first one shrinks back, the second one straightens their shoulders before continuing to speak.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” He asks mildly irritated by the interaction.

“About your wife.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow into a frown and his heart starts to beat a little faster in his chest. He’s a logical man, but when it comes to you his brain jumps to all sorts of irrational conclusions. Are you sick? Are you hurt? Have you been brought into the E.D?

“What about my wife?” He snaps, clutching the clipboard to his chest. The intern changes their mind about the interaction and instead takes a step away from him falling silent. Sam rolls his eyes at the response before sighing and adjusting his tone. “What is going on with my wife?”

“Oh!” The intern says, their cheeks colouring as they fluster. “No, she’s fine. I think she’s fine. She’s not here, at least I don’t think she is… I wanted to ask you about her book.”

Sam leans back against the wall of the elevator and exhales loudly.

For a second there…

His brain snags on the interns’ words before he turns his attention back to them.

“Yes, my wife wrote a book.” He informs them. “It’s on the Times Bestseller’s List at the moment.”

“I’ve read it!” One of the interns abruptly tells him, before gesturing between them and the other intern. “We both have.”

“Ok.” Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Good for you.”

The doors to the elevator open on his floor and Sam is relieved to leave the weird exchange with the interns behind him.

***

It’s Halstead that brings the rumour to his attention. Ever since Jimmy Lanik made a comment that Will reminds him of Beaker from the Muppets, Sam can’t unsee it. Sometimes when he’s prattling on, Sam tunes him out and imagines Beaker’s voice just to get through the conversation.

“I didn’t know your wife was an author.” He says conversationally his elbow comes to rest on workspace that Sam is scribbling down his notes on.

“She didn’t take my last name.” Sam mutters as his pen scratches across the paper. “She’s very much her own woman.”

“Very modern.” Will remarks, nodding sagely.

As far as Sam is concerned that’s the end of the conversation. His personal life is exactly that. Only now Halstead is hovering like he wants to say something else, and Sam hates this sort of dilly dallying.

“Spit it out.” He says, setting his pen down on the clipboard.

“Her book really helped me.” Will says finally, his mouth set in a thin line as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was in a really bad place a couple of months ago and Doctor Charles recommended it. It really changed my perspective on mental health and how I view myself.”

“Oh.” Sam says, nodding his head in understanding. “Good.”

He plays with the silver Parker Pen, you had bought him for his birthday between his fingertips. He’s always wanted one, but he’s just never seen the point. He doesn’t write correspondence; everything is digital these days. His desire for it wasn’t logical, he just knew he liked it. When he’d opened the box with the rainbow-coloured bow on he had been completely delighted.

Sometimes there doesn’t have to be a point, you had told him as his thumb had trailed over the customised engraving. It’s just something you feel in your heart.

“My wife is very good at what she does.” He says to Will, his gaze lingering on the pen in his hands. “For her counselling is a calling. During and then after the pandemic, the mental health services were overwhelmed with people in crisis. It started as a blog initially and then it gained traction from there. She started writing her book in the evenings as a way of reaching people who didn’t have access to the help they needed. She wanted them to understand that they weren’t alone in their struggles, to help them find a way through the darkness. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.”

Sam sighs before clipping his pen back into the top pocket of his lab coat.

“I’m glad it helped you, that’s it’s doing the work she set out to do.”

“I went to her book talk; Jimmy’s wife was going, and she invited me along. She thought it would be good for me.” Will says abruptly as Sam is about to walk away. “There were a few others from Med there, I think that’s why…”

Will trails off and Sam finishes the sentence because suddenly it all makes sense.

“… everybody is talking about me and my wife.”

“There’s no author picture in the back of her book and her social media is private. Nobody realised that the woman we’ve seen you having lunch with is the same one that wrote the book until then.” Will tells him.

“And you’re all wondering what she’s doing with a man like me.” Sam summarises, before rapping his fingertips upon the surface of the workspace.

Will shakes his head.

“Actually no.” He informs the neurosurgeon. “Part of the talk was her discussing her own mental health issues, how the pandemic and the pressure of it, took its toll on her. She told us about how her husband had supported her through it, how he was this beacon of light in a very dark time of her life.”

“Oh.” Sam says.

He doesn’t like to think about that, about how much you were suffering. He remembers the night you broke down, sobbing into his chest because you’d spent weeks struggling and it had all become too much. The burden of other people’s hurt had become too hard to bear and you were coming part at the seams. The next day he had marched into Goodwin’s office and told her to clear his schedule. There were more important things going on at home and he needed to be there. She had been understanding, cut back his hours until the storm had passed, allowed him a phased return so he could be there when you attended your own appointments. He would take you out afterwards, the bookstore, the ice cream shop, skating once – which he was horrible at. Things to make you feel better because therapy could be brutal and all the wanted was to see you see you smile again.

“She’s the love of my life.” He explains to Will. “I hated seeing her in so much pain. It gave me a little insight into why she wrote the book. She had access to the help she needed, but what about those that don’t?”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

“Before that they were just statistics but afterwards…” He shakes his head as he recalls that moment of realisation. “It reminded me that there are people behind those numbers, individuals who don’t have the tools to cope.”

He pauses before he meets Will’s eyes. It’s rare that he is this open with anyone outside of you, but Halstead’s bore his soul by mentioning his issues. It seems only fair that Sam returns the gesture.

“My wife is a very special person.” He tells the other man. “It’ll mean the world to her to know that her book helped you through a tough time.”

“The work she’s doing…” Will says as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “It saves lives.”

Sam thinks about his own emotional state before he met you. The nights he’d come home and put on Tchaikovsky before pouring himself a Scotch, the hours he would spend pouring over medical journals, reading articles, watching highlights from seminars and conferences he’d missed. There had been no work life balance for him, there was just work and there was always plenty of it to be done. Then he had met you. His world had gone from shades of grey to erupting with colour.

Dates filled with laugher, good food, tender kisses. Late mornings spent making love, while the two of you listened to the rain patter against the windows. He’d started reading fiction again, getting hooked on Dan Brown before exploring other literary works. He’d joined a book club hosted by one of the firefighters from 51 to expand his horizons, made some friends along the way. He’s happier than he’s ever been and that’s all thanks to you.

“I know.” He tells Will frankly. “She saved mine too.”

Love Sam? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[staringdownabarrel]

Okay, so I've just finished Rise of a Merchant Prince by Raymond E. Feist. It's fucking awful.

The best way to describe this is that it's a weird capitalist fever dream in a fantasy setting. Roo just pulls himself up by his bootstraps and within a couple of years, not only is he arguably the richest man in Krondor, he's possibly the richest man in the entire Kingdom. Sure, he has a setback here and there, but he perseveres and he's resourceful, so he overcomes these things.

Even by the standards of the Reaganomics-inspired fever dreams you sometimes see, this book is absolutely wild. Most of the time when you hear about a rags to riches story, it takes more than a few years for them to actually get to the riches bit. You know, it took years for them to write the book that went on to become the international bestseller, or they had to have a second job cleaning floors at the local supermarket or something while waiting for their main thing to take off.

The other variant--and outside of a few very notable examples, I think this is more common--is that they were pretty much always going to be fine; it's just that they wanted to start a business early on in life and it took a minute for it to catch on. This is usually the case with people like tech company founders, who were in the position where they could afford (or had parents who could afford) to send them to some of the best universities in the world where they learned some of the most marketable skills in the world.

This wasn't the case with Roo Avery. It only took him a few years to go from being some guy recently out of the army to being the richest guy in town, and he didn't really come from the kind of background where this was something you'd expect from him. Yeah, there was some foreshadowing that this is the direction he was going to go down because Shadow of a Dark Queen establishes he's good at saving money, has an interest in business, and would like to go in this direction, but realistically, wild success for someone like Roo Avery would look more like he's managed to basically build a monopoly on the Darkmoor-to-Krondor shipping route.

To be absolutely fair to this book, it does get a couple of points right when it came to this plotline. One is that Roo's business is overtly favoured by the government in Krondor, and even manages to get a subsidy at one point (in a roundabout way). The other is that it recognises that someone who's as business-inclined as Roo is almost fated to be a complete jackass in his personal life.

Still, I couldn't help but hope the other shoe would drop at some point. I think Rise of a Merchant Prince tends to be a little too forgiving of Roo because while it acknowledges that he's a jackass, it's also willing to gloss over this because the Kingdom needs the taxes from his income. It also assumes that his monopolistic intent is somehow a good thing, even though historically this kind of intent, especially from people like Roo who end up in a position to actually act upon it, has never been a good thing.

It's unfortunate that the book went down this route because this would have been an amazing opportunity for Feist to say, "By the way, the 1% suck and they shouldn't exist." Instead, it leans into the capitalist propaganda and assumes that while these people are usually awful on a personal level, they are somehow vital to society.

This underlying assumption of the book contributes to its greatest sin: it's just so fucking boring. It's boring reading about Roo getting filthy rich. It's boring knowing about every business deal he made and which backs he had to stab to get there. It's boring because instead of condemning him for any of it, he's rewarded for all of it.

At least when you go watch Wall Street, the underlying subtext is that Gordon Gekko might be successful, but any sane society wouldn't wildly overvalue his skill set the way modern capitalist societies do. In Rise of a Merchant Prince, the underlying subtext (which I suspect isn't entirely intentional) is that not only should this skill set be rewarded, it should be even more overvalued than it is. You know, because what if the country is in danger from the demons across the ocean who are born evil and the government needs to take out a loan from the billionaire class to help fund the defense?

Speaking of which, this hyperfixation on Roo isn't just my hyperfixation. It's also the novel's. While he's running around doing crazy capitalist fantasy shit in Krondor, the rest of the main cast is running around doing military adventurism in Novindus.

The worst part about this B plot is that it really should have been the A plot, with Roo's storyline either a very small part of it or omitted entirely. The kind of swashbuckly stuff Erik and co. get up to in this book tends to be the kind of stuff that Feist does well.

It also would have been fairly different from what Feist has written previously. The Empire trilogy had a lot of the same kind of elements as Roo's storyline in this book. Mara came from basically nothing and, through great hardship (greater than Roo went through in this book, frankly), became a pillar of her society, much as Roo goes through hardship and becomes a pinnacle of his society here.

Had Rise of a Merchant Prince focused on what the Crimson Eagles were doing in Novindus, it could have been a new angle for Feist. While Feist has done war stories before this, they had, for the most part, focused on the great generals leading the war and deciding how they'd respond to the great sweeping movements the other side were doing.

Instead, this would have focused on the Crimson Eagles' attempts to slow the Pantathian war preparations. I think this would have been more effective than the route the book took (i.e., saying that this war will be so bad that the Kingdom will need a newly minted billionaire class to bail them out). It would have been a great opportunity to portray the Pantathians as a force of nature that can't be stopped even with newly developed tactics, and increase the sense of dread surrounding them.

It also would have been a good opportunity for Feist to explore this idea that the Pantathians were born evil. At one point in this novel, there's a council scene in which the Pantathians are described as being such purely evil creatures that they're born evil. This is meant to distinguish them from the Kingdom's other adversaries, who are characterised as having vastly different cultures, but who aren't so completely different that there couldn't one day be relatively close relationships between them and the Kingdom.

Realistically speaking, what I would actually like to have seen happen in this regard is having this notion dispelled, even if it was only in a very basic "Yeah, most of them are evil, but this is my Pantathian buddy Tyrone and he's one of the good ones" kind of way. As many issues as that kind of direction would have, it'd still be a step up from the direction the series goes where they end up committing genocide against the Pantathians. You know, who we have to take it on faith are irredeemably evil and aren't just culturally extremely different like the Kingdom's other adversaries.

In practice, I suspect that if Feist had have gone down the road of having this novel primarily be about the Crimson Eagles, it probably would have ended up defending this take. If that had have happened, I'd probably be writing a post right now about how this was also an awful direction for the novel to go down and how dare he, rah rah rah.

Books like this are why I really wish Feist was more overtly political in his writing than he actually is. There's a lot of places in these books where he includes these bizarre subtexts that I'm not entirely convinced he intended to be there. If he would just commit to it and say, "This is the political stance I'm taking and here's how I think it'd work in practice in this fictional setting."

He comes close to doing that sometimes. A lot of his political leaders often just want power for power's sake for example, even if they intend to discharge their duties in a somewhat responsible way. This book is also very close to being an explicit defense of Reagan and Clinton era economics as it's possible to get without explicitly being that, and that's how I've read it.

I'm sure someone reading this will eventually say, "But what about when Lyam was willing to put aside his claim to the throne in favour of Martin? Isn't that proof not all the leaders in these books are like that?", but also consider that even if Martin had have taken the crown, he still would have been Prince of Krondor. That's explicitly as close to being king of a separate country as it's possible to get without actually being king of a separate country. It's also still a step up in power for him, given previously he would have been the hereditary heir to the position of Duke of Crydee.

I would have preferred him be explicitly political more often because I feel like there's a lot happening just under the surface of these books that really needs to be examined. I could do that in these posts and there's an argument to be made that I even should, but by the same token it's kind of hard to do that while also keeping these reviews at an at least somewhat readable length and also without clogging up people's dashboards with posts about a fandom that doesn't really exist on Tumblr.

Plus, I sorta feel bad doing it because I honestly don't think these are intentional subtexts a lot of the time. If they were meant to be there and I disagreed with it, it'd be a fine, whatever thing. I'll get incensed by a Robert A. Heinlein novel for example, but it's no big deal because I go in knowing he's an overtly political author who had bizarre opinions no reasonable person should agree with. I know that if someone went and nailed Feist down on any specific opinion, there's a good chance I'd disagree with it, but at least that'd be an intentional thing and not something he'd accidentally put in a book he meant to be an escapist fantasy rather than overtly political.

It also feels bad for purely nostalgic reasons. There was a point in time when I was actually genuinely a huge fan of this guy's work. I've successfully gotten at least two or three people into his books. So now that I'm at a point where I'm taking a more critical eye to these books, even though I know in some ways it's a sign I've grown as a person, it also feels strange; as if an old friend has now become unrecognisable.

Still, that being said, Rise of a Merchant Prince was always one of my least favourite Feist novels, even back then. I was expecting to have a more favourable opinion of it now than I did then, similar to how I feel about Silverthorn now. I think my opinion of this one has actually gotten a lot worse.

Some of that's just because I think I'm better able at articulating it now. The last time I read this was in late 2013, and I was still in the early stages of becoming more political at that point. So while I knew there were issues with the book then, I wasn't really able to articulate them specifically then the same way I am now. The first time I read this, in 2010, my reaction was mostly just a kneejerk reaction to how dull it was reading about Roo's rise to wealth.

Besides the bad politics in this book, there's also just a lot of weird stylistic errors here. For example, there's a lot of characters with similar names or with the same name as characters from previous books. Usually this isn't the kind of thing I'd nitpick over because I think there are thematic defenses for this, and in some ways those apply here, but this is also one of those books that really highlight why you shouldn't do it.

There's one character named Jimmy Jamison, who's the grandson of Duke James. Both of these characters are involved in this book, and both are involved in the A plot. This would have been fine if Duke James had have died by this point, because Jimmy is clearly named after him, and Feist could have made some kind of broad point about some personality traits being inherited and others developing naturally.

But because that didn't happen, we're stuck with two characters with virtually the same name involved in the same plotline, and sometimes even in the same scenes. This is always going to be an issue in a book like this which is meant to be fairly easy reading.

This is a strange thing to see in Feist's work at this point. These are the kind of problems you'd ordinarily expect to see in a debut novel or soon after; not in someone's tenth novel, especially when it hadn't been an issue previously.

Stuff like this really makes me wonder what actually went wrong in the writing process here. I don't know if these books just sold well enough that editors were no longer willing to pull out the red pen as often for him, though I suspect that was a factor, or if he just ignored their advice.

All of this means that Rise of a Merchant Prince was genuinely fucking awful. I don't say that lightly. Usually there's some kind of a defense I can make for fiction, but I actually can't for this one. There just isn't anything here for me to defend. I might have to hate read this one specifically in ten years from now just to remember just how irate I am about it.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Conspiracy fantasy

When we talk about conspiratorialism, we tend to focus (naturally) on the content of the conspiracy. Not only are those stories entertainingly outlandish — they’re also the point of contact between conspiracists and the world.

If your mom is shouting about “Hollywood pedos,” it’s natural that you’ll end up discussing the relationship of this belief to observable reality. But while the content of conspiratorial beliefs gets lots of attention, we tend to neglect the significance of those beliefs.

To the extent that we consider why the beliefs exist and proliferate, the discussion rarely gets further than “irrational people have irrational beliefs.” This is a mistake. The stories we tell one another are a kind of Ouija board, with all our fingertips on the planchette.

The messages it spells out don’t describe external reality but they do reveal our internal, unspoken anxieties and aspirations.This is why we should read science fiction: not because it predicts the future, but because it diagnoses the present.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/26/meaningful-zombies/#oracles

Sf is an ever-mutating ecosystem of fears and hopes, and readers apply selective pressure to those organisms, extinguishing the ones that don’t capture the zeitgeist and elevating the ones that do, a co-evolution of our fantasies and our narratives.

http://locusmag.com/Features/2007/07/cory-doctorow-progressive-apocalypse.html

This is why Alternate Reality Games are so central to their players’ lives. They’re a form of narrative co-creation, with the players throwing out theories and the game-masters actually changing the story to incorporate the best of them.

ARGs are an environment where your coolest and most deliciously scary ideas become reality. It’s a powerful way to galvanize collective action.

As anthropologist Biella Coleman writes in Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy, it’s the organizing principal behind Anonymous.

Anon Ops begin life as victory announcement videos. If the vision of success captures enough Anons, they execute the op.

https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/the-anonymous-ghost-in-the-machine

In other words, the degree to which a shared fantasy of victory compels its audience predicts whether the audience realizes its fantasy. Long before the alt-right, Anons were memeing ideas into existence (no coincidence, as both were incubated on 4chan).

On the Conspiracy Games and Counter-Games podcast, three left academics — Max Haiven, AT Kingsmith, Aris Komporozos-Athanasiou — analyze “conspiracy fantasies” (as opposed to conspiracies, e.g. the Big Lie behind the Iraq War) for what they reveal about late capitalism’s anxieties.

As leftists, they naturally focus on the relationship between material conditions and people’s behaviors and beliefs. This is an important part of the discourse on conspiratorialism that’s often missing from liberal and right-wing analysis.

Conspiracists aren’t just “irrational” nor are they just “racist.” They may be both of those things, but unless you look at material conditions, then the surges and retreats of conspiracism are mysterious phenomena, strange tides raised by unseen forces.

A decade ago, then-PM David Cameron — the architect of a brutal, authoritarian austerity — dismissed the Hackney Riots as “criminality pure and simple,” and demanded a ban on discussion of the relationship between austerity and unrest.

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/video/2011/aug/09/david-cameron-riots-criminality-video

But without that discussion, there’s no explanation. Even if you believe that “criminality” is a thing that is latent within some or all of us, what explains a rise or fall in that criminality? Is it like pollen that alights upon some of us, turning us bad? Or the full moon?

Likewise the “conspiracists are just racists” or “they’re just deranged.” Without looking at the material world, there’s no explanation for why that racism suddenly became more (or less) important to how conspiracists live their lives.

We can’t talk about conspiratorialism without talking about material considerations, and we have to talk about the form and substance of the conspiratorial belief. The ARG-like structure of Qanon is a hugely important part of its popularity:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/05/behavioral-v-contextual/#adrian-hon

Memeing things into existence in a game-like way is hugely compelling. You can tell when a D&D game is hopping when the players and the DM start co-creating the story, with the DM slyly altering the dungeon and the NPCs to match the players’ super-cool theories.

A recent episode of the CGACG podcast present a mind-blowing analysis of the interplay of the material conditions, mythology and structure of Qanon. It’s a two-part interview with Wu Ming 1:

https://soundcloud.com/reimaginevalue/wuming-one-1?in=reimaginevalue/sets/unmanageablerisks

https://soundcloud.com/reimaginevalue/wuming-one-2?in=reimaginevalue/sets/unmanageablerisks

Wu Ming 1 is part of Bologna’s Wu Ming Collective, the successor to the 1990s Luther Bissett net-art collective. Bissett did many wild, weird things,including publishing “Q,” an internationally bestselling conspiratorial novel in 1999 (!!)

https://www.wumingfoundation.com/giap/what-is-the-wu-ming-foundation/

The plot of “Q” involves a high-level government official, privy to top-secret info about a state conspiracy. It closely mirrors Qanon beliefs, right down to a call for a Jan 6 uprising (!!!!). The major difference is that “Q” is set during the Protestant Reformation.

In the interview, Wu Ming 1 talks about the proliferation of conspiratorial, ARG-like 4chan hoaxes that predated Qanon, and hypothesizes that the original Q posts were plagiarized from the novel.

The strange experience of seeing a novel turn into a cult prompted Ming 1 to write “La Q di Qomplotto” (“The Q in Qonspiracy”), a book that defines and analyzes “conspiracy fantasies.”

https://edizionialegre.it/product/la-q-di-qomplotto/

Ming 1’s interview digs into this in some depth, including setting out criterial for distinguishing conspiracies from fantasies (for example, a conspiracy doesn’t go on forever, while a fantasy can imagine the Knights Templar running the world for centuries).

I was taken by Ming 1’s discussion of the role that “enchantment” plays in conspiratorialism — the feeling of being in a magical and wondrous (if also anxious and terrible) place. He says this is why “debunkers” fail — they’re like people who spoil a magic trick.

Ming 1 and the hosts talk about replacing the enchantment of conspiratorialism with a counter-enchantment, grounded not in the conspiratorialist’s oversimplification and essentialism, but in the wonder of reality.

Ming 1 analogizes his “counter-enchantment” to the “double-wow” method of Penn and Teller: first they blow you away with a trick, and then they blow you away with the cleverness by which it was accomplished.

He describes how the Luther Bissett collective performed a double-wow during Italy’s Satanic Panic, creating a hoax satanic heavy metal cult and a counter-cult, promulgating stories of their pitched battles, then revealing how they’d faked the whole thing.

The action was taken in solidarity with actual Bolognese heavy metal fans who’d been framed for imaginary Satanic “crimes.” Luther Bissett wanted to demonstrate how a panic could be created from nothing, to reveal the method behind the real hoax with a fake hoax.

The double-wow method reminds me of Richard Dawkins’ manuever in “The Magic of Reality,” his excellent children’s book about the virtues of the scientific world, revealing how the numinous wonder of faith is nothing compared to the wonder of science.

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

The idea that conspiratorialism is a leading indicator of capitalism’s anxieties is a powerful one, and it ties into other compelling accounts of conspiracy, like Anna Merlan’s REPUBLIC OF LIES, which discusses the importance of trauma to conspiratorial belief.

Like Ming 1, Merlan stresses the kernel of truth underpinning conspiracy fantasies — the real aerospace coverups that make UFO conspiracies plausible, the real pharmaceutical conspiracies to cover up harms from drugs that underpin anti-vax.

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

In the podcast, Ming 1 and the hosts stress the importance of identifying and addressing the kernel of truth and the trauma it produces in any counter-conspiratorial work — that is, a successful counter-enchantment must address the material conditions behind the fantasy.

I really like this approach because of its empathy — its attempt to connect with the conditions that produce behaviors and beliefs, not to be confused with sympathy, which might excuse their toxic and hateful nature.

It reminds me a lot of Oh No Ross and Carrie, whose hosts have spent years joining cults and religions and digging into fringe practices and beliefs in an effort to understand them; they laugh a lot, but never AT their subjects.

https://ohnopodcast.com/

But Ming 1 brings something new to this discussion: an analysis of the role that novels have played in conspiracy fantasy formation: not just the plagiarizing of “Q” to make Qanon, but things like the Protocols of the Elders of Zion plagiarizing Dumas.

The interview also brought to mind Edward Snowden’s recent inaugural blog-post, “Conspiracy: Theory and Practice,” which seeks to separate conspiracy practice (e.g. the NSA spying on everyone) from theories (what Ming 1 calls “fantasies”).

https://edwardsnowden.substack.com/p/conspiracy-pt1

Snowden connects the feeling of powerlessness to the urge to explain the world through conspiracies, relating this to his experience of revealing one of the world’s most far-reaching real conspiracies, and then becoming the subject of innumerable conspiracy fantasies.

Snowden’s perspective is one that has heretofore been missing from conspiracy discourse — the perspective of someone who has been part of a real conspiracy and then the central subject of a constellation of bizarre and widespread conspiratorial beliefs.

These different works, focusing as they do on the character of conspiratorial beliefs, the nature of conspiratorial practice, and material conditions of conspiracists, comprise a richer analysis of our screwed-up discourse than, say, theories about “online radicalization.”

As I wrote in my 2020 book “How to Destroy Surveillance Capitalism,” the “online radicalization” narrative requires that you accept Big Tech’s unsupported marketing claims about its power to bypass our critical thoughts at face value.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

Claims to be able to control our minds — whether made by Rasputin, Mesmer, pick-up artists, MK-ULTRA or NLP enthusiasts — always turn out to be cons (though sometimes the con artists are also conning themselves).

But there’s a much more plausible, less controversial set of powers that Big Tech possesses. By spying on us all the time, it can help scammers target people who are ready to hear conspiratorial explanations.

By monopolizing our discourse, it allows SEO scammers to create default answers to our questions. By locking us in, it can keep us using a platform even if the discourse there makes us angry and anxious.

And by corrupting our political process, it creates “kernels of truth” for conspiratorial beliefs.

As with Scooby Doo, the monster turns out to be a familiar villain in a fright mask: a monopolist whose abuses and impunity create the anxiety that make conspiracy plausible.

[bookloveravenue]

What If It’s Us (book 2): Here’s to Us by Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera

Becky Albertalli and Adam Silvera reunite to continue the story of Arthur and Ben, the boys readers first fell for in the New York Times bestselling rom-com What If It’s Us.

Ben survived freshman year of college, but he’s feeling more stuck than ever. His classes are a slog, his part-time job working with his father is even worse, and his best friend Dylan’s been acting weird for weeks. Ben’s only real bright spot is his writing partner Mario, who’s been giving him a lot of Spanish lessons and even more kisses. Mario’s big Hollywood dreams make Ben start to dream bigger—and the choices he makes now could be the key to reshaping his future. So why can’t he stop thinking about a certain boy from his past?

Arthur is back in New York City for the first time in two years, ready to take the theater world by a storm as the world’s best . . . intern to the assistant of an off-off-Broadway director. Of course, it sucks to be spending the summer apart from his sweet, reliable boyfriend, Mikey, but he knows their relationship is strong enough to weather the distance. Which is why it’s no big deal when his ex-boyfriend Ben stumbles back into the picture. And it’s definitely fine that Ben’s blissfully happy with some mystery boy. First loves are special, but it’s way too late for what-ifs. Right?

Even as the boys try to shake off the past, they keep running into each other in the present. Is this the universe trying to tell them there’s a do-over in their future?

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56554474-here-s-to-us

********

January 14, 2022

My Review: 5/5 Stars

When I first read What If It's Us, I remember how much I LOVED that book. It was the most adorable and dorky and cutest thing I had ever read. And when I looked at my review for it, I ended with I wish there another book for these amazing characters. And three years later, I got my wish! And it was once again amazing! You will not be disappointed with the sequel. Not with such amazing characters and the stories they had left to share with us. I once again, could not put the book down. The story takes place two years after the first one. Ben and Arthur have been broken up for a while. The distance and college made things complicated and neither could really get out of their own way. They both loved one another but how do you tell the other when you had agreed that things probably wouldn't work out when you lived so far? Now both are in new relationships. Arthur has a sweet boyfriend and Ben is trying to see if there is a future with this new boy he really likes. But the universe has other plans for them. Like sending Arthur to New York. To Ben. For a new internship opportunity. Perhaps this is the start to find a way back to their friendship and maybe to each other. That is, if they can once again get out of their own way and really decide what they want. This was written so well. You can see how much Arthur and Ben hurt when they had to say goodbye to one another and tried to move on, but things haven't been perfect since then. They are at a point in their lives where they are trying to figure out what they want in their lives and seeing one another again, doesn't make it that much more clear. The book really shows them slowly finding a way back to one another. And I loved every moment. And you can't forget their friends. Dylan and Samantha are Ben's best friends and they are always the highlight of these books! I laughed, I cried, and those epilogues really got me. Adored this story so much. And I'm sad their story is officially over. If you loved the first book, this is a must-read!

[rockislandadultreads]

Parapsychology titles that’ll give you a true fright

The Unidentified: Mythical Monsters, Alien Encounters, and Our Obsession with the Unexplained by Colin Dickey

In a world where rational, scientific explanations are more available than ever, belief in the unprovable and irrational--in fringe--is on the rise: from Atlantis to aliens, from Flat Earth to the Loch Ness monster, the list goes on. It seems the more our maps of the known world get filled in, the more we crave mysterious locations full of strange creatures. Enter Colin Dickey, Cultural Historian and Tour Guide of the Weird. With the same curiosity and insight that made Ghostland a hit with readers and critics, Colin looks at what all fringe beliefs have in common, explaining that today's Illuminati is yesterday's Flat Earth: the attempt to find meaning in a world stripped of wonder. Dickey visits the wacky sites of America's wildest fringe beliefs--from the famed Mount Shasta where the ancient race (or extra-terrestrials, or possibly both, depending on who you ask) called Lemurians are said to roam, to the museum containing the last remaining "evidence" of the great Kentucky Meat Shower--investigating how these theories come about, why they take hold, and why as Americans we keep inventing and re-inventing them decade after decade. The Unidentified is Colin Dickey at his best: curious, wry, brilliant in his analysis, yet eminently readable.

The Super Natural: A New Vision of the Unexplained by Whitley Strieber, Jeffrey J. Kripal

Two of today's maverick authors on anomalous experience present a perception-altering and intellectually thrilling analysis of why the paranormal is real, but radically different from what is conventionally understood. Whitley Strieber (Communion) and Jeffrey J. Kripal (J. Newton Rayzor professor of religion at Rice University) team up on this unprecedented and intellectually vibrant new framing of inexplicable events and experiences. Rather than merely document the anomalous, these authors--one the man who popularized alien abduction and the other a renowned scholar and "renegade advocate for including the paranormal in religious studies" (The New York Times)--deliver a fast-paced and exhilarating study of why the supernatural is neither fantasy nor fiction but a vital and authentic aspect of life. Their suggestion? That all kinds of "impossible" things, from extra-dimensional beings to bilocation to bumps in the night, are not impossible at all: rather, they are a part of our natural world. But this natural world is immeasurably more weird, more wonderful, and probably more populated than we have so far imagined with our current categories and cultures, which are what really make these things seem "impossible." The Super Natural considers that the natural world is actually a "super natural world"--and all we have to do to see this is to change the lenses through which we are looking at it and the languages through which we are presently limiting it. In short: The extraordinary exists if we know how to look at and think about it.

Unbelievable: Investigations into Ghosts, Poltergeists, Telepathy, and Other Unseen Phenomena from the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory by Stacy Horn

A fascinating, eye-opening collection of “Investigations into Ghosts, Poltergeists, Telepathy, and Other Unseen Phenomena, from the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory,” Unbelievable by Stacy Horn explores science’s remarkable first attempts to prove—or disprove—the existence of the paranormal. A featured contributor on the popular NPR program “All Things Considered,” Horn has been praised by Mary Roach, bestselling author of Spook, for her “awe-fueled curiosity [and] top-flight reporting skills.” Horn attacks a most controversial subject with Unbelievable—a book that will appeal to armchair scientists as well as fans of TV’s Medium, The Ghost Whisperer, and Crossing Over with John Edward.

When Ghosts Speak: Understanding the World of Earthbound Spirits by Mary Ann Winkowski

Lights flicker on and off for no good reason. You feel drained and inexplicably irritable. Your four-year-old is scared to enter her bedroom. Tell these things to Mary Ann Winkowski, and she'll tell you that you have a ghost. A happily married, devout Catholic, suburban mother and full-time paranormal investigator, Mary Ann Winkowski has been able to see earthbound spirits, spirits that are trapped on earth and haven't "crossed over," since she was a little girl. Mary Ann works with these spirits to help them make peace with what keeps them here - whether it be people they can't let go of or homes they love. In When Ghosts Speak, Mary Ann will tell the amazing story of growing up with this gift, and will share tips on how to recognize when you're not alone, and what to do if you are in the presence of a ghost.

Phenomena: The Secret History of the U.S. Government's Investigations into Extrasensory Perception and Psychokinesis by Annie Jacobsen

The definitive history of the military's decades-long investigation into mental powers and phenomena, from the author of Pulitzer Prize finalist The Pentagon's Brain and international bestseller Area 51 This is a book about a team of scientists and psychics with top secret clearances. For more than forty years, the U.S. government has researched extrasensory perception, using it in attempts to locate hostages, fugitives, secret bases, and downed fighter jets, to divine other nations' secrets, and even to predict future threats to national security. The intelligence agencies and military services involved include CIA, DIA, NSA, DEA, the Navy, Air Force, and Army-and even the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Now, for the first time, New York Times bestselling author Annie Jacobsen tells the story of these radical, controversial programs, using never before seen declassified documents as well as exclusive interviews with, and unprecedented access to, more than fifty of the individuals involved. Speaking on the record, many for the first time, are former CIA and Defense Department scientists, analysts, and program managers, as well as the government psychics themselves. Who did the U.S. government hire for these top secret programs, and how do they explain their military and intelligence work? How do scientists approach such enigmatic subject matter? What interested the government in these supposed powers and does the research continue? Phenomena is a riveting investigation into how far governments will go in the name of national security.

Monster Hunters: On the Trail with Ghost Hunters, Bigfooters, Ufologists, and Other Paranormal Investigators by Tea Krulos

Do ghosts exist? What about Bigfoot or Skinwalkers? And how will we ever know? Journalist Tea Krulos spent more than a year traveling nationwide to meet individuals who have made it their life’s passion to hunt down evidence of entities that they believe exist but that others might shrug off as nothing more than myths, fairy tales, or the products of overactive imaginations. Without taking sides in the debate, Krulos joins these believers in the field, exploring haunted houses, trekking through creepy forests, and scanning skies and lakes as they collect data on the unknown poltergeists, chupacabras, Skunk Apes (Bigfoot’s stinky cousins), and West Virginia’s Mothman. Along the way, he meets a diverse cast of characters—true believers, skeptics, and hoaxers—from the credible to the quirky, and has a couple of hair-raising encounters that make him second-guess his own beliefs.

Synopses pulled from goodreads.com

[letswritesomenovels]

How to Deal with Plot Holes In Your Story

Most novels have them. It’s okay if yours does too. 

Nothing is worse than coming up with a great new idea for your story and discovering mid-way through plotting or writing the scene that... uh-oh, there’s a huge plot hole here. Something is noticeably, ridiculously inconsistent. You’ll just have to scrap the whole thing, won’t you? 

OR you can ask yourself these questions: 

Why does Harry have detention in the Forbidden Forest when we’ve been told that students aren’t allowed? Why did the Weasley twins never see Peter Pettigrew sleeping in their dorm room when they had the Marauder’s Map? Who came up with a Triwizard tournament with two tasks out of three taking place out of sight of the spectators--did the students just stare at their reflections in the lake for two hours? And HOW can young wizards read if they only start school at 11 and don’t even take a class on it then? 

Harry Potter series is bestselling and beloved, despite these glaring problems. So maybe, just maybe, your book can have a couple of plot holes too, and you don’t have to abandon that great new plot idea just yet.

What makes a plot hole okay? 

Plots can be imperfect because the people taking part in those plots are imperfect. Your protagonist is imperfect. Your antagonist is imperfect. The people who designed your fictional city’s sewer system are imperfect. 

We make mistakes. We have flawed systems. And sometimes, that’s explanation enough. 

Like pot holes, it’s all about keeping the ride smooth. Look to see if there’s enough space on the road and, if so, just drive around it. As long as you don’t fall in or swerve wildly, the people along for the ride will still enjoy it.

Why does Harry have detention in the Forbidden Forest? Maybe Dumbledore is testing him. Maybe he figured it was safe as long as Hagrid was there. Maybe is enough to keep readers enjoying the story. 

As long as the internal logic of the world and the characters is strong enough, a plot hole won’t be enough to wreck your entire story. 

This means, you can probably get away with it if:

If it doesn’t affect the characterization of your central characters. If the Trio was using the Marauder’s Map when Peter Pettigrew was living with Ron, that plot hole would be extremely difficult to explain away because they would DEFINITELY be looking at their own location on the map, and would have to notice. This is why Scabbers is missing by the time Harry gets the map. We don’t spend much time with Fred and George, so it’s more plausible that they just never paid attention to Harry and Ron’s dormitory. 

It doesn’t interfere with a central plot point. Is it weird that the spectators can only really see two of the three tasks in Goblet of Fire? Totally. Thank goodness Hogwarts didn’t charge for tickets, because they’d probably have a riot on their hands otherwise. But does that affect the plot? Not at all. Voldemort and his Death Eaters can still use the tournament to their advantage. Harry still needs to work hard (and cheat a little bit and sometimes unknowingly) to complete the tasks. They’re still fun scenes to read. So do we really care that Zachariahs Smith is just staring at some hedges? I can’t speak for you, but I certainly don’t. 

It isn’t in direct opposition to something previously stated in the story. This should make pretty obvious sense. If Harry leaves the invisibility cloak in the Astronomy Tower, he can’t use it again until he’s either gone back to the Astronomy Tower, or someone brings it back to him. Mistakes like these don’t ruin books, but might get you characterized as a sloppy writer. What about the Forbidden Forest????? 

It’s a clue. (Even if it’s a clue for something you only created to deal with the plot hole.) After the fact, it’s revealed that Dumbledore kinda encouraged Harry’s first year adventures. He explained how the Mirror of Erised works. He gave him the invisibility cloak and encouraged him to “use it well.” And he allowed, if not coordinated, Harry’s detention in the Forbidden Forest. When we’re told in the seventh book that Dumbledore’s always been preparing Harry for a final face-off with Voldemort, this suddenly makes sense. Dumbledore wasn’t as concerned about Harry’s safety as he was preparing him to be a hero. It’s okay if the reader thinks this is a huge plot hole for a book (or seven) as long as its logical consistency is explained at the end. 

If your plot hole doesn’t pass the test and doesn’t have an easy fix...

Pretend for a second that it isn’t a plot hole, but a plot twist. What if the Headmaster isn’t looking out for Harry’s best interests, but for some sort of greater good? What if Scabbers has lived way past the life expectancy of a normal rat because he’s actually an animagus? Sometimes it’s not worth it, and it’s easier to have Harry not use his invisibility cloak to get past Fluffy because [edits earlier chapter] Whoops! he left it in the astronomy tower in that other scene. Sometimes, however, you can take a plot hole and turn it into a creative, complicating, or compelling addition to your story that actually makes it better.

[the-celluloid-correspondent]

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Based upon the international bestseller. An orphaned boy enrolls in a school of wizardry, where he learns the truth about himself, his family, and the terrible evil that haunts the magical world.

Harry Potter has been a franchise that has always been close to my heart. From reading all the books and watching all the films, this world was a part of my childhood. It feels weird that this film franchise is starting to turn 20 years old. Watching this film again in theaters made me feel like a child again.

This adaptation really brings to life the wizardry world of Harry Potter. Throughout the film, I was filled with wonder and curiosity of the world before me. Chris Columbus and Steve Kloves did a marvelous job of bringing J.K. Rowling's novel to life. What feels weird is that it is almost refreshing to see this world before Rowling decided to make unnecessary changes and making stupid storylines canon. Cursed Child I am talking about you.

For the most part, the acting was quite good. At many points in the film, the acting felt almost cheesy and overacted. I am willing to forgive this because the majority of the cast are child actors. I am amazed by how good Daniel Radcliffe's performance was. He was the only child actor performance who felt like they were really settled in their role. His performance is very natural and he was able to convey a lot of emotion without saying any words. Emma Watson and Rupert Grint are both good in their respective roles, but at some points, they feel cheesy. It was not until the next film, is when they felt like they settled into their roles. But I am willing to forgive this because this was both of their acting debuts. Richard Harris is spectacular as the soft-spoken Dumbledore. Alan Rickman is also fantastic in this film. Robbie Coltrane is great as the wonderful Hagrid.

John William's score is again timeless. The score is beautiful and helps elevate the wonder in this film. The costume and production designers are fantastic. They really immerse you into this magical world and it deserves a lot of praise. As I've previously stated this film is cheesy at many points. Some of the acting and scenes feel over the top, to the point where the immersion is broken. Other than that, this is a great adaptation.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is a great opener to one of the largest franchises in history. The film is lots of fun that will leave you in wonder.

I am giving Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, a B+.

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

aaaaand (bc i am greedy) reddie + 55 🥰

55. There are barely any people in the library so why did you have to come sit at the computer beside me??? No seriously, I need to know why right now.

* * * * * 

Eddie was over the moon when he entered the library to find the place next to empty. He made a beeline for the back computers, knowing that due to it being so empty, no-one would come and sit next to him when he was all the way over here. It was just after 8pm on a Friday night and the reason the library was so empty was probably because everyone else was out partying.

He pulled out his books and placed one earbud into his ear, choosing his classical study playlist that always helped Eddie concentrate. Within moments, he was in his own zone, working away on his homework for his sociology class on Monday morning.

Eddie was so lost in his own world, that when he felt someone take a seat next to him, he barely registered it. It wasn’t until the person sat their books on the area beside him that Eddie frowned, turning his head and pulling his earbud out. Without making it obvious, Eddie looked around the still empty library, as well as all the empty computers that were far away from him.

“Uh,” Eddie started, trying not to come off as an asshole. According to his roommate, he had a tendency of coming off harsher than he meant to. Blame it on his mother, she was the reason for most of his current issues. The boy looked up at him and Eddie felt his soul leave his body. Out of all the people to come and sit next to him, it had to be none other than Richie Tozier.

Richie Tozier was somewhat of a celebrity around the campus, even though he wasn’t actually famous. His mother was an international bestselling author, most known for her books on raising her son as well as juggling two jobs. She was a saint to most people and through her, Richie was sort of famous too. When Eddie had first seen him in their shared computing class, he had almost dropped dead. Not that he would ever admit it, but Eddie had a tiny little crush on Richie Tozier.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” Eddie started again, once he had found control over his voice. “There are barely any people in the library, so why did you have to come sit at the computer beside me?” he asked. Richie turned his head, blinking at Eddie a few times before he laughed and turned his head back to his books. The silence unnerved Eddie a little, and the curiosity was eating away at him. “No seriously, I need to know why right now.”

Richie looked back over at Eddie, raising an eyebrow at him before he turned his chair to face him completely. “Library is kinda creepy when it’s empty. You were the only person here so I wanted to be close to an actual alive person.” He shrugged and looked back at his book. “I can move though, if it makes you uncomfortable?”

The disappointed look in Richie’s eyes, mixed with the little bit of hurt in his voice made Eddie shake his head, “No wait, no. You can sit here, it’s fine.” He offered Richie a small smile. “I’m just not used to people sitting next to me, especially when I sit back here. People do not want to sit at the back of the library.”

“I don’t blame them,” Richie mumbled, looking around the now very empty library. The place was monitored by key cards, which meant students could come in and out at any time with their passes without the need for staffing during the night. It came into place during Eddie’s second semester of his first year, as some students like to study at stupid times of the day or night. “This place is haunted…”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head, “No it’s not,” he rolled his eyes, looking back at his books. “You’re lying. I’ve been here every night since they started the new pass access and it is definitely not haunted. Nice try.”

Richie grinned, “Alright, you caught me.” Once again Richie turned his whole body around to face Eddie, “I’m Richie.” Eddie looked up to see Richie’s hand was out in a greeting and he accepted it, shaking it back.

“Eddie. Nice to meet you.” He let go of Richie’s hand and turned back to his books. “So, why are you here on a Friday night and now out partying?”

“I could ask you the same question?” Richie asked, tilting his head to the side. His books were open, but Eddie could see out of the corner of his eye that he wasn’t doing any studying. His focus was entirely on Eddie. “You’re cute, you should be out living the college life.”

With a sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate with Richie sitting next to him, Eddie closed his book and turned to face Richie. “It’s not really my thing,” he shrugged. “Drinking, partying, loud music. It took a lot for me to get into this school, hell to even be in college in the first place, so I’m not going to mess it up by getting drunk and dropping out.”

Richie frowned, “One night out isn’t going to turn you into a rebel, Eds,” he laughed. “But going out on a night out to let go and de-stress? That’s actually good for you. You can’t study all the time, believe me it will drive you insane.”

“Yet, you’re here on a Friday night too? Why aren’t you out de-stressing?” Eddie questioned, crossing his arms and staring Richie down. “Unless you’re failing because of your partying and need to study to catch up.”

Laughing, Richie shook his head, “No, no no. I’m just fed up with people using me to get to my mother,” he shrugged. “I’m assuming you know who I am? It sucks when I go out and people pretend to know about me because they read about my life in my mom’s book.”

Eddie frowned, blinking a few times, “Richie I- I’m so sorry. That sucks,” he reached a hand over to place on Richie’s arm. “I can’t say I feel your pain, but I’d hate to find out my friends only wanted to be my friend because of my mother. Luckily, everyone, including me, hates my mother so I don’t have that issue.” Richie raised an eyebrow and Eddie chuckled. “Why don’t we go to that diner down the street that sells the really amazing pancakes and I’ll explain?”

At that, Richie’s eyes widened and he nodded his head. “Alright Eds, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

* * * * * 

@3tothe1 @anellope @annxmatron @appojoos @are-you-reddie-for-it @beepbeeprichiellc @bi-bi-richie @billdenbrough @bitchbrak @callmechee @dadbodrichie @derrylosers @disneyfan567 @eds-trashmouth @eduardoandale @girasol-eddie @gloire-celeste @halfway-happy353 @hawkinsbabe @inthebreadbinwrites @itfandomprompts @its-stranger-than-you-think @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @kaspzier @lifesucksheres20bucks @loserslibrary @losers-gotta-stick-together @madidraw @mars-14 @marsisaplanetyall @moonlightrichie @nancynwheeler @no-she-wasnt-reddie @oldguybones @pink-psychic @purplepoisonedgem @queen-sock @rebecca-the-queen @reddie-for-anything @reddie-to-cryy @reddieforlove @reddiesetandgo @richietoaster @richietoizer @roobarrtrashmouth @rreddies @s-onora @s-s-georgie @sashadrowned @sedanleystanley @sloppybitchreddie @sparklingrainbowdragon @spirited-marvel @stellarbisexual @studpuffin @takeourpure @that-weird-girls-blog @thegoshdiddlydangdoor @thejadeazalea @thorn-harvester-ven @tinyarmedtrex @tozier-boy @tozierking @toziesque @trashmouthtozierr @twoidiotsinl0ve @violetreddie @virgo-luthie @wilding-throught-thehallways @xandertheundead @xcottoncandykatx 

[iloveallmyocs]

Don't be sorry! I hope your WIP can get published traditionally --I also write stuff but only hearing of all the editing that has to happen before publishing makes me sick, so I applaud you :)

You can tell me about your wip, really. Especially if it's fantasy: I love worldbuiling stuff and the rules of a fantasy land (is it urban fantasy? High Fantasy?). Call me weird, but I love the ability to create a whole world from scratch, so don't dispare over info dumping me or something. Actually, I'll probably ask questions about the more technical stuff because I'm a nerd lol

Ooh so you write too! (I'd love to read your writing) Yeah I'm a bit worried if the book will get published, even more so if it does get published and no one will read it :(

Anon you just said the magic words!!! My WIP would probably be considered urban fantasy, but there are many elements of urban fantasy that it doesn’t have (like the mc is not from the normal world, but there are other main characters from the normal world).

okay so I thought I could tell you about the characters first (bc I love all my ocs)

1. T- He’s the main main character (you get what I mean, out of the four main characters he is the one with most page time). he’s a squire (training to be a knight). although he is the main character, you know very little about his appearance (you can see that he is wearing a helmet in all the artworks)(he’s a bit like Daisy Buchanan in that way). Not really very very with a sword. Loves writing (he’s not my self insert, I swear this is the only thing we have in common. That and the fact that we both sweat a lot when excited). He’s sixteen years old. Has a good relation with parents (his mom is pregnant, idk why I added that here). Keeps saying bad puns (there’s a lot of them). Straight.

2. Beth- From the normal world. Has the ability to get rid of pain (it is really important to note that she is not a healer but can only make your physical pains go away), she accidentally ends up killing a person by using her gift on them before fully getting to know her abilities. She thought she was healing the person (who had internal bleeding) but instead only ended their pain, which resulted in them thinking they were healed as they could no longer feel pain. Has a shitty father. I recently decided that she would dye her hair green midway through the book in a moment of angst (in all the arts she is dark haired). Bi (racial and sexual, not lingual tho). 17.

3. Anjali- From the normal word, but not from the present (she’s from british raj era India)(yeah ik time is weird in this). Things weren’t so great for her in the normal world due to the time period she was living in so she saw the fantasy world as this safe haven. The fantasy world turns out to not be as perfect as she had imagined. Eighteen years old, the oldest one in the group (and therefore the mom friend). Lesbian. Always overlooked and hates it. For instance, she knows five languages (excluding sign language) and yet is not given a position of importance while the person sitting on the throne knows just one. (that probably was a weird example, but my point is that she’s capable).

4. Jacob- cinnamon roll. Beth compares him to a golden retriever one time. Sunshiny personality. Deaf. Sorry can’t give much backstory about him without giving spoilers. His older brother is married to the empress of the entire fantasy kingdom. youngest person on the gang and therefore always babied. fourteen, almost fifteen. Aroace. Has the ability to see fragments of the future.

These details might change over time, I’m still not done writing about them. I haven't mentioned much about the world due to spoilers (I like pretending as if I am some bestselling author even though I don't even know if it will get published)

Tysm for you ask anon, sending thousands of hugs and good vibes your way 🥰🥰🥰

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 246: Plot Whiplash

Previously on BnHA: Hawks handed Endeavor a copy of Re-Destro’s NYT bestseller and was all “ಠ_ಠ READ THIS!!” He then flew off back to the PLF and was all “hey guys just got back from handing out free copies of Destro’s book to everyone in a 1000-mile radius, which absolutely nobody asked me to do, well anyways you can thank me later” and they were all “SWEET.” Back at the Endeavor HQ, Bakugou got all fired up to BUST SOME HEADS but Endeavor’s sidekicks were all “WAIT FOR THE PLOT YOUNG MAN.” Meanwhile in his office, Endeavor discovered a secret code in the book Hawks gave him, which basically read “HEY WHAT’S UP THE LEAGUE HAS TAKEN OVER THE MLA AND HAS AN ARMY OF 100,000 PEOPLE” and Endeavor was like “!!!!” And then we cut to the League and Toga was all “IN FOUR MONTHS TOMURA IS BLOWING THIS SHIT TO KINGDOM COME” and then the chapter just ended. Sometimes it be like that.

Today on BnHA: Tomura sits down with Ujiko who monologues a bit about Quirk Singularity and then starts some sort of quirk-upgrading process which will apparently take four months to fully set in. And also he’s like “oh btw let me tell you about One for All” so THAT’S A THING NOW, GREAT. We then cut back and forth between Endeavor and Hawks, who both somehow come to the weird conclusion that THE INTERNS ARE OUR ONLY HOPE NOW using logic that is hard to explain on account of THERE ACTUALLY ISN’T ANY LOGIC BEHIND IT, SHHH. But anyway, so Endeavor figures out the rest of Hawks’s message and he knows that Hawks is trying to figure out what the League is up to, and something something that’s why the internships are so important. Like, I get that the Terrible Trio are future legends in the making, but these guys are seriously like “well okay let’s just go ahead and rest all our hopes on them” out of the blue, and Hawks has this big monologue about how “THINGS WON’T GO ACCORDING TO YOUR PLAN, VILLAINS” and okay then!! And then the last two pages are basically just DID SOMEBODY ORDER SOME HYPE with more shit going on than I can possibly sum up so I won’t even try lol. But damn.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.) 

okay guys, I’m feeling kinda under the weather today, but I know this chapter’s gonna be good so lesssssss gooooooo. bring me back to life Horikoshi

(ETA: lol well there sure was a lot happening in this chapter, that’s for sure. my head hurts.)

oooooh it’s a sexy Jump cover celebrating season 4!

I really need the anime team to step up and give Ochako and Tsuyu some more screentime in the Basement Arc since the manga did not do them justice. there’s only like a 20% chance of that happening, which is depressing, but it’s 2019 and the winds are slowly changing, albeit at a geriatric pace. so I’ll allow myself to have some hope. you never know

YEAH SON LOOK AT THIS COLOR SPREAD Y’ALL THIS IS RAD

hello I love everything about this. the colors, the focus on our best girls, Deku’s bizarre-yet-awesome assorted sci-fi accessories (Deku do those headphones let you communicate with space or what), and of course, the five million TVs in the background which for some reason all appear to be from the 70s. all of this to remind us to TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE LONG-AWAITED SEASON 4 DEBUT. I will definitely tune in! the first episode is just gonna be the usual half filler/half clip show, but honestly season 3 was so good that I could sit through a whole hour of nothing but highlights and still be thoroughly entertained

anyway let’s move on because there are GAMES AFOOT, and we’re hopefully about to learn which direction this arc will be headed in!

OH SHIT OH FUCK

yep, that’s him. Shigaraki “destruction incarnate” Tomura. I see we’re getting our weekly dose of “just a reminder that WE ARE SCREWED” even earlier than usual this chapter, huh

so does anyone else get a chill up their spine every time Ujiko makes an appearance, or is that just me? like, god. he may honestly be even creepier than AFO. he’s just completely soulless, this guy. he’s got like this Mengele vibe to him (though that may be kinda dicey to compare horrific real-life atrocities to fictional ones in a shounen manga, but I’m just trying to explain why I find him so disturbing) and it really freaks me the hell out, ngl. anyways so him wearing a surgical mask and standing in front of this weird examination chair is pretty much the last thing I need right now. go away Ujiko

so Tomura is all “I want it cuz you promised, so pay up jackass”, and like. fair, though

I really like this new art style Horikoshi’s been using for him since his Awakening. kinda curious how it’s going to translate to the anime, or even to a color spread. but at the very least in black and white it looks siiiiick

smh look at this little punk trying to downplay how insanely freaking overpowered his quirk currently is

okay first of all, “President Baldy” is only alive because you left him alive. and he also had to chop off his own legs to stay that way. like, what kind of argument is this, Tomura? “this power is far from invincible, all my enemies have to do is amputate their own limbs and then they’ll have me right where they want me.” you know what, just go on and destroy the world right now kid. you’re getting greedy now and it could be your undoing

that is a nice parallel between him and Deku there, though. now I’m craving some Symbolic Artwork of them standing back to back each holding out their scarred right arms. maybe with their respective mentors in the background. here at BnHA we prefer our parallels nice and dramatic

sdskfjlaskdj

son of a bitch. I really wish he wouldn’t say that with such utter certainty. “the next conflict will be our last.” cue me flipping through the BnHA table of contents and trying to determine just how far along we actually are here, because this is veering dangerously close to Final Battle signaling, and like, ALREADY?? TOMURA ARE YOU JUST BEING THEATRICAL OR ARE YOU FOR REAL OMG. motherfucking DARK LORD’S LIPS curling into the WICKEDEST FUCKING CRESCENT I’VE EVER SEEN, fuck me

(ETA: it occurs to me on readthrough #2 that “the next conflict will be our last” could be interpreted to mean him and All Might specifically. like, the last conflict between the two of them. and that might very well be true, and would not surprise me at all. shit.)

fjsgk now Ujiko’s talking about research. and quirks!! glkjlkl

fully expecting the camera to cut to some NOUMUS any second now oh my god. also trying not to think about how crazy ominous that fucking chair looks. and how many people this maniac has probably strapped down to it and done god knows what to them. hey Horikoshi you know what, I’ve had just about enough of this dark shit, can we please cut back to my kids now I’m feeling too unsettled. goddammit

anyhow of course we are NOT cutting away, and Ujiko is continuing to talk about quirk evolution, and now segueing into a speech about that quirk singularity thing. -- which he apparently named?? wow

is he actually going to do something to Tomura? holy shit?? this whole time that they’ve been talking about this “power” I’ve just been assuming it was something external, like some other handy dandy villain resource that AFO’s just been sitting on or something. this is not where I expected things to go. didn’t he just get an upgrade??

anyway so here’s a brief summary I just wrote up of The Past Six Months of BnHA:

Deku: [gets a new quirk]

everyone: bruh. Horikoshi really out here giving Deku AFO Powers while Tomura just sits around starving to death on a couch. what the heck

Horikoshi: [powers up Tomura to the point where he can destroy anything just by it being in contact with something that Tomura happens to be touching] [has Tomura use this power to level an entire city]

everyone: -- oh. okay, you know what, never mind --

Horikoshi: [gives Tomura an army of 100,000 people] [also gives him command of 11 extremely lethal and nigh-unstoppable killing machines, just one of which was almost enough to take out the number one hero, LITERALLY THE STRONGEST GUY THE GOOD GUYS CURRENTLY HAVE IN RESERVE]

everyone: okay we’re sorry we get it you can sto --

Horikoshi: APOCALYPSE IN FOUR MONTHS!!!

everyone: WE GET IT WE’RE SORRY PLEASE

Horikoshi: [GIVES TOMURA ANOTHER POWER-UP]

everyone: [curled up in fetal position sobbing]

starting to think the mangaka might be the actual final villain here. hmm

anyway. so I guess we have four months until Tomura ascends to Actual Godhood and proceeds to rain hellfire down upon the world. what are you all gonna do with your four months. I personally have a lot of stuff to binge, but knowing me I’ll probably just waste all my time reading fanfic while youtube videos play in the background which I’m not paying any attention to. what am I doing with my life

oh were we not done hyping him up? there’s more??

(ETA: I got so caught up in the OFA comment I didn’t pay attention to Tomura becoming a beautiful decayed butterfly in this exquisitely creepy panel here. but damn.)

-- HOLD THE FUCK UP. does Tomura know about One for All??? because I was under the impression that AFO hadn’t told him? this would change a lot if he knew this entire time, holy shit?!

aaaaaaaaand exactly one panel later Horikoshi is all “no he didn’t know calm the fuck down” lol

okay then. so he didn’t know, and he’s only just finding out now. well tbh that’s still worthy of a smiling crying emoji face though :’) this is fineeee

shit here we go oh shit

-- WAIT, SO WE’RE JUST CUTTING AWAY FROM THEM? NOW YOU CUT AWAY? YOU GET WITHIN INCHES OF CONFIRMING THE FUCKING ALL FOR ONE FOR ALL THEORY AND THEN IT’S JUST “ANYWAYS HERE’S ENDEAVOR” YOU KNOW WHAT, HORIKOSHI, I --

just. come on dude. AFOFA 2019! let’s make it happen! dammit

sigh, so looks like it’s back to the admittedly-still-epic “Hawks passes down secret information about the villains to Endeavor” plot. I guess we’re not exactly hurting for good plots all around. I may complain but honestly we are spoiled

so Hawks is saying that he actually doesn’t know the specifics of the villains’ plans yet. well shit

apparently his feathers can only pick up sounds from short range, and the villains keep escorting him away whenever they get to talking about the good stuff. well at least that explains that potential plot hole from last week. Hawks’s feathers may have a short range, but Horikoshi’s plot hole caulking gun can fill in leaky plot holes from fucking miles away. amazing

ffffffff

don’t mind me I’m just sitting here fretting about Hawks continuing to be in mortal danger and risking his life to gather information in a race against time against the end of the world. Horikoshi out here piling up stakes like a freaking vampire hunter

but in the meantime, everyone please stop what you’re doing for a moment to look at this absolute unit of a bellhop slash security guard

apologies Lord Vader he was just trying to get to the dining hall. my bad. as you were

and holy shit I hope you enjoyed that light comedic break because two seconds later Re-Destro has dropped in to fixate Hawks with one of those Lightly Menacing Smiles he’s so infamous for. so that’s just fucking great!

HAWKS WATCH OUT FOR YOUR FINGERS

omg. imagine, a showdown between the two stealth murder MVPs of the series, Yotsubashi “Sleeper Hold” Rikiya (yes I did have to look up his real name just now) and Takami “Tag Em And Bag Em” Keigo. true, RD may no longer have legs, but he didn’t need them to choke out our little mouse buddy now did he? anyways speaking of which I just remembered that I fucking hate Re-Destro and I honestly hope Hawks does kill him. it’d be pretty easy to fit him into a bag too. he’s basically just a torso and arms now

oh sure Horikoshi go ahead and spring this on me after all of that ranting why don’t you

by the way does Re-Destro have Robot Legs now, or

looool he does

I will say this for Horikoshi, he knows my weaknesses. more robot limbs please. either badass or memeable ones, either is fine

meanwhile I skipped over this panel of Hawks and Twice being buddies in order to get to the legs, and shame on me for that. let’s go back

Twice is a genuinely good guy and I hope Hawks can tell. I wonder how fake this smile is. I feel like it’d be easy to relax around Twice regardless of how tense you are about your secret spy mission which could go south at any time. anyways this is wholesome

and now we’re cutting back to Endeavor who is taking his sweet time reacting to this whole thing. Endeavor can you fucking chill with the poker face already geez

okay wait, what

are you serious?! I fucking can’t with this lady. “now make sure to throw these children directly into the line of fire! it’s good for them and builds character!” I’m sorry, I thought this was the Hero Public Safety Commission, not the Putting Juveniles Directly Into Harm’s Way Commission?? at least change the acronym to something more appropriate then. Heinous Pathetic Soulless Cowards. just a suggestion. jesus

anyway so for a moment I got confused as to whether this was implying that she’d told Endeavor about Hawks’s undercover mission. but it seems like he’s still unaware. shouldn’t be too long before he puts the pieces together though at this rate

lol in the very next panel, even

meanwhile you’re just sitting on your ass reading a book! FUCKING DO SOMETHING ALREADY, ENDEAVOR

so he’s thinking that the “preparation” part of Hawks’s message is referring to the interns. let me back up a sec and write down the entire message as he’s read it thus far

“four months from now / rising to action / until then / will send / signals / in case / of failure / preparation / numbers”

...read like that, it really does sound like Hawks is advocating to get as many soldiers ready as possible. even if that includes actual children. including Endeavor’s own son. shit. I mean, I get that they don’t have much of a choice, but that’s still so fucked up. sure, we as omniscient readers know that Deku is their one and only hope, but they don’t know that. as far as they know these are just a bunch of teenagers with less than a year’s worth of experience that they’re propping up on the front lines. and the plan is then... what? hope they don’t die too quickly?? fuck

Hawks is out here having an argument with me in his thoughts. you wanna play it like that, Hawks? fine

I don’t know what kind of “but” you can tag on to the end of that paragraph that could possibly win me over, dude, but go for it I guess

and we’re finally cutting back to the kids in question now! with Burnin’ casually trying to crush Kacchan’s hopes and dreams

okay but I love how both Deku and Shouto are like “easy there buddy, we got you” and trying to keep Kacchan from having a fucking aneurysm sob. JUST TRY AND HOIST HIM ONTO SOME DUMB SIDEKICKS, LADY. YOU’VE MADE A POWERFUL ENEMY HERE TODAY

oh shit

oh my god. are we going to get our first actual interaction between the three of them that doesn’t consist of them grumbling annoyed introductions at each other and then running off to fight an old fortune teller omggggg

I love how Deku and Bakugou look weirdly intimidated by him lol. Bakugou where did all that “YOU’RE KIND OF A JERK” confidence go all of a sudden

YESSSSSSS

GODDAMMIT, I’M STILL SO MAD AT YOU GUYS FOR BEING ALL “LET’S JUST MAKE THE CHILDREN DO IT,” BUT DAMMIT THEY KICK ASS THOUGH SO I CAN KINDA SEE YOUR POINT

NOW HAWKS IS METAING ABOUT THEM AHHHHHHH

DAMN STRAIGHT THEY WOULD HAVE. BRING ON TOMURA AND ALL OF HIS STUPID POWER-UPS. WOW I’M WEIRDLY HYPED UP ALL OF A SUDDEN WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME

AND FUCKING LOOK AT THIS TWO-PAGE SPREAD AHHHHHHHHHHH

MOTHERFUCKER [WHIPS OUT PEN AND NOTEBOOK] TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BITCH

so Ochako and Tsuyu did indeed go back to intern with Ryuukyuu again! makes sense, she is a top ten hero after all. who’s that with them, though? almost looks like Yanagi from the hair and the mask, but the costume looks different? hmm

I CAN’T BELIEVE IIDA WENT BACK TO INTERN WITH FUCKING MANUAL AGAIN. THIS GUY IS THE BRAN CEREAL OF HEROES. though I fucking love him though so yeah it’s fine

JIROU AND SHOUJI TEAMING UP WITH GANG FUCKING ORCA AW YISS BOYS THIS IS THE GOOD SHIT LET’S GOOOO

KOUDA AND MANGA TEAMING UP WITH WASH OMG. MANGA IS THE ONLY ONE ON THAT TEAM WHO ACTUALLY FUCKING SPEAKS. IS WASH’S SIDEKICK SOME SORT OF BROOM PERSON OMG

A WHOLE FUCKING ACRE OF KIDS HAVE ALL GANGED UP ON THIS CAVEMAN-LOOKING FELLA I DON’T EVEN RECOGNIZE. WHO ARE YOU. DID YOU CROSS OVER FROM THE FANTASY AU

KIRI BACK WITH FG AND BROUGHT TETSUTETSU ALONG FOR THE RIDE HELLS YEAHHHH

KAMINARI AND SERO WITH KAMUI WOODS AND EDGESHOT I’M HYPERVENTILATING AHHH. AND SHIOZAKI TOO!! I’LL JUST PRETEND I DON’T SEE MINETA THERE IN THE CORNER. MIGHT BE TIME TO DUST OFF THE OLD “CANCELLED” STAMP AGAIN BUT WE’LL SEE HOW THINGS GO

WHO ARE MOMO AND TOKAGE AND MINA AND AOYAMA (WHICH BTW IS THE GREATEST HERO TEAMUP OF ALL TIME HOLY SHIT) TEAMING UP WITH!? TELL US. AND PONY AND MONOMA. GODDAMMIT HORIKOSHI

whew! anyway. they’re all still screwed, but by golly that was nice to have that little invigorating breather of life and hope

LOL OH SHIT THERE’S ANOTHER ONE

okay, SOMEONE TELL ME RIGHT THE FUCK NOW WHAT ALL MIGHT IS LOOKING AT OR I’M GONNA LOSE IT. holy shit. he was researching the past users of OFA, wasn’t he? WHAT DID YOU FIND OH GOD. he’s not just upset, he looks one step shy of fucking crying?? did he learn about what happened to Nana’s son and his family, maybe? shit shit shit

so Yanagi is interning with Kendou then? so who was that with Hadou and Ryuukyuu and the rest. one of Ryuukyuu’s sidekicks?

IS THAT FUYUMI (SPOILERS FUCKING YEAH IT IS) AND WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE SHE’S FUCKING PRAYING OMG. it looks like she’s kneeling at a family altar?? like saying a prayer for someone who is PRESUMED DEAD, maybe?? LIKE MAYBE A LONG LOST TWIN BROTHER OH SHIT OUT OF NOWHERE THE HYPE DON’T STOP!!

AND WHY DOES NAO HAVE HIS HAT OFF AND CLUTCHED TO HIS CHEST LIKE HE’S TELLING SOMEONE BAD NEWS. GOD WHAT THE HELL EVEN ARE ALL OF THESE PLOT THINGS HAPPENING ALL OF A SUDDEN. LIKE I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO LOOK NEXT

KUROGIRI AHHHHHHHH

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ERI’S HORN!? DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS?? AIZAWA??? HELLO!?!?

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, TEAM OT3. TIME TO FUCKING SUIT UP. APPARENTLY. WELL ALL RIGHT THEN. [JACKET ZIP] [GUN COCKING SOUND EFFECT] LET’S GO PUNCH ‘EM IN THE MOUTH

y’all. this chapter was like plot whiplash. this went in so many different directions and hinted at so many different things that I’m at a complete fucking loss as to what to process first. but I guess the interns are gonna save us all, somehow. lol okay then

[darlingpetao3]

Seducing the Gem (Nash Wells x Reader, Chapter 1/9)

Rating: M (Smut in Chapter 6 only)

Summary: When a mysterious package shows up at your front door, you (a famous Romance novelist) are hurtled from your virtually uneventful life and into one of danger and adventure. In a quest to save your captured friend Caitlin from impending harm, you run into a suave adventurer named Nash who helps you along the way. Or is the charming Nash simply after something in your possession...?

A/N: My Romancing the Stone AU is finally here!! Again, check out the film if you haven’t already (it’s one of my favourites). This has been such a fun series for me to write and I really hope you enjoy it! Major MAJOR thanks to @mintchipcupcake​ for being my beta-reader for this story! (You’re amazing!!) Let me know if any of you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters. There will be nine installments total and I will do my best to post every Tuesday.

The altered-human stood before me, looming in the shadows of my apartment. His fists glowed with the light of a thousand suns.

“I know who you are,” his voice croaked. A shiver ran down my back. Yes, I was only in my lace nighty, but I was by no means cold.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I feigned innocence. He took calculated steps towards me, and I knew I’d have to act quickly. This guy was not about to try to kill me a second time.

Luckily, ‘acting quickly’ was something I was exceptional at doing.

The brusque altered-human grunted, then lunged at me with a fiery fist. Little did he know that wouldn’t do much.

I saw the punch coming as if it was in slow motion and dodged his attack, watching his hand glide by my head at a turtle’s pace. I let the momentum return to normal before grabbing his wrist and uttering, “You came to the wrong house, pal.”

It was easy to flip him; he made a thump on my hardwood floor and groaned at the impact. I took that opportunity to run circles around him so fast that I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins until it culminated into a bolt of lightning in my hand.

Power up, baby.

I let the bolt fly, dead straight, until it connected with the altered-human’s chest. He shouted, and the impact of the shot hurtled him out my window to the street below.

There was a commotion outside - voices of distressed concern. I knew I’d be in some serious shit, and not just because I threw a man out my window.

I’d be locked up for being an altered-human too.

There was no time to collect any personal items, just my coat, and I knew my powers wouldn’t work again right away. It always took a while for them to store back up. The sirens already blared, announcing the authorities’ arrival. I climbed out the window of my bedroom and shimmied down the fire escape. Only, in my haste, my bare foot slipped and I lost my hold on the wet metal ladder. I screamed for what I thought would be my final act as a living being.

But there was suddenly a big, muscular arm wrapped around my nearly naked self. The wind whipped at my face, blowing my hair every which way. It wasn’t until I was safely set on the ground that I finally saw the face of my swinging saviour. But I’d know that touch anywhere.

My beloved Chase. The one man I trusted. The only real man in this godforsaken city.

“Aw, did you dress down for me?” he said cheekily, looking my scantily clad body up and down.

“Shut it, the cops are here,” I replied, trying to hide my blush, “and they’ll be after you too.”

“Then we better high-tail it.” Chase summoned his grappling hook into the barrel of his gun. “How ‘bout a kiss for the road?”

I pressed up onto the balls of my feet to ghost his lips with mine.

“How about I save us first, then you kiss me later?” I snatch the device from his hand. “Hold on.”

~

You can’t help but swoon at your desk, fanning your face with your hand. You could write about these two forever! However, you think that this is the perfect cliffhanger ending to your latest fantasy-romance manuscript. It will set up Book Two in the series wonderfully.

“You’ve done it again,” you congratulate yourself on a job well done. It’s been quite the journey in writing this, and of course, you’ve fallen in love with yet another male character you’ve created.

But there’s just something about Chase that makes him your favourite. You think that your readers are really going to like him, fall in love with him as you have.

Deciding you need to celebrate finishing your draft, you make your way to the kitchen in your sweats, hoodie, and fluffy socks. In doing so, you pass the numerous hanging posters of your New York Times bestselling novels and fanart done by fans.

Humming a tune to yourself, you make a beeline for the fridge, and - there it is - the small personal-sized cake you had bought for this moment. You knew you’d finish the book today, and if the happy-cliffhanger-ever-after ending wasn’t something to look forward to, the cake definitely was.

Maybe you’ll bust out the hot chocolate too.

And perhaps some Bailey’s to go with it. And a bubble bath? Oh, tonight was going to be fabulous!

It’s just you living alone in your apartment, along with all the characters you’d created, residing in your head and begging to have their stories told on paper. You didn’t win the Romance Writer of the Year Award for being a slacker. You didn’t have time for anything else. You didn’t have time for anyone else, or so you continuously tell yourself. However, if a handsome and dashing man like Chase were ever to enter your life, who knows?

What would it be like to be swooped in on and saved like that? What would it be like to save him in return? Alas, you think, you will never find out. You live a virtually uneventful life. You don’t have fictitious altered-human powers (though you wished you did), there’s no one chasing you or wanting to kill you. Likewise, there was no significant-other on the horizon, and now you feared that no one would ever compare to the fictional man you’d created for your latest novel.

These novels are your only means of romance and fantastic adventures. You live in your own creations. It’s an escape - An opportunity to live something so impossible.

Curling up on the couch, you sip your spiked hot cocoa and shovel spoonfuls of the delicious cake in your mouth.

“Here’s to you, Chase,” you toast the imaginary hero in your life.

***

You wake up to an incessant vibration. And while that may sound like a fun way to wake up, it’s just your phone.

Ew, someone’s calling me.

You give a quick stretch from your position on the couch where you’d fallen asleep last night before answering the call.

Strange… it’s an Unknown Caller.

Normally, you’d leave it. After all, as you like to say, “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.” But today, you think, why not? You’re still on cloud nine from finishing your book.

“Hello?” you answer. There’s no reply, but the call still hasn’t dropped. Someone is still there. “Hello?” you try again.

Whoever it is on the other line ends the call, and you’re left incredibly confused. It’s too early in the morning for this-

Oh, shit!

You just remember you have a meeting with your publisher this morning! Shit! You throw your blanket off of you and dash to your bedroom to make yourself at least semi-professional looking. You think you manage to pull it off, too, but you know you won’t look half as gorgeous as Mrs. West-Allen.

As you scoop up your manuscript and take one step out the door, you see a small package that must have been delivered recently. What shocks you most is the name of the sender.

Ronald Raymond.

But that’s impossible. Ronnie, Caitlin’s fiancé, he’s dead…

You shove it back inside your apartment with your foot. That weirdness can wait, you’ve got a book to sell. Ahh!

It’s a brisk nearly-winter day in Central City. The snow hasn’t begun to fall quite yet, but you’re anticipating it. I wonder what it would be like to write about Chase and his adventures in the snow. Imagine being cozied up next to him in an abandoned cabin with a fireplace and a bearskin rug-

Okay, you are so going to write these thoughts down when you get the next chance. It could be fodder for the sequel!

By the time you make it to Jitters, Iris West-Allen is heading to sit down in one of the large comfy leather chairs in the middle of the cafe with two coffees. You sigh in relief that she’d only just arrived too.

“Hey, you!” she greets you. “There’s my favourite author!”

“Iris, hi,” you take the coffee she offers and you both air kiss each other’s cheeks.

“Is that the manuscript?” Your publisher points to the massive tome of printed-out pages under your shoulder.

“It most certainly is!”

Iris claps her hands together once. “I’m so excited to read it. Now sit, sit. We have lots to discuss.”

Over the next forty-five minutes, you both discuss the book itself, new book tour information starting in the new year, and everything in between. At one point, the conversation takes a turn when your friend and boss starts pointing out various men around the café. She’s always been keen to set you up with someone, as you have been incredibly single for a very long time now.

You wish she wouldn’t, though.

“What about that guy?” she points out a man at the order counter, but adds, “No, never mind. Too bland.” She eyeballs the room looking for eligible bachelors.

“Too gross.”

“Too desperate.”

“Too hipster.”

“Too happy.”

You laugh. “Iris, your husband is actual sunshine, remember?”

“Well, what about him, hmm?” Iris motions with her eyes off to the side - a man with a too-perfect coiff and a shit-eating grin. He winks at you.

You internally cringe. “No, no, it’s just, he’s not…”

“What? He’s not Chase Hutton? Come on, (Y/N).”

“I know, but Iris, I believe there’s someone amazing out there for me. I don’t know where, and I don’t know how, but I’ll find him. And he’s not that guy. Why do you have to bring this up all the time?”

Iris places a hand on yours. “Because I can’t stand seeing you lonely and waiting for someone who’s not real.”

“One - being lonely and being alone are two different things. And two - I’m not waiting for someone who’s not real. Here-” you slide the manuscript across the coffee table to her. “Read it and swoon. I did. Hundreds of times.”

Iris gives you a look.

“Let me know what you think,” you add, standing up and getting ready to leave.

“You’re leaving already?” she asks. “Stay, I’ll get you another coffee. I’m ordering you to. I’m your boss.”

“I can’t.”

“Listen, I’m sorry for that, (Y/N). I didn’t mean anything by what I said or for making you come out here. I just want you to get out, you know? You’ve worked so hard and are doing amazing work, and I know you’re still worried about Caitlin. Because I sure as hell am.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you muse at the mention of your mutual friend, “I thought she’d still need me to talk to about everything, but maybe she needs some space? I’m pretty sure she’s still in Africa doing Doctors Without Borders because I haven’t heard otherwise.”

Iris seems like she’s debating on saying something.

“Did they ever find her husband’s body?” she whispers.

“Ronnie? No, but no one could have survived such an explosion... But you know what’s even weirder? I got a package from Ronnie. Today. Which is totally impossible, though depending on when it was sent… I don’t know. It was just really strange.”

“Wow, yeah. God, I hope Caitlin’s okay. Can you imagine having your husband blown up? You’ll keep me posted if you hear anything?”

“Yeah… but yes, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

***

Fishing out your keys from your coat, you can’t help but think about everything Iris said. How could she think you were lonely? You are a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man (but would like one very much, maybe)! But he can’t just be any man. He’s got to be brave, and he’s got to be strong, and yup, now you’re singing Bonnie Tyler in your head.

You turn the key in the door, but it’s already unlocked. I did lock it when I left, didn’t I?

It only takes you a few steps inside before you see it all.

Your entire apartment has been completely and utterly destroyed.

Furniture flipped, cushions ripped, bookshelves fallen and books scattered everywhere, glass broken. There’s so much going on in this picture that you almost can’t believe this has happened to you.

You bring a shaky hand up to your mouth. It’s nearly impossible to catch your breath because it’s been stolen from you out of fear. As you survey the wreckage, you give a jolt when your phone rings and vibrates in your pocket.

Damn phone calls, Jesus Christ!

“Hello?” you answer, eyes still fixed on the disaster.

“(Y/N), it’s Caitlin.”

Why is she calling me now, all of a sudden? It’s been forever.

“Caitlin?”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me.”

There’s a quiver in her voice, which is very unlike the Caitlin Snow Ph.D. you know and love.

“Cait, what’s going on?” you press.

“I’m in trouble,” she replies slowly. “Did you happen to receive a package from Ronnie? A small, brown package?”

“Yes,” you draw out the word, “Why, what is it?”

“Oh, thank God. Inside is a sort of GPS beacon for a kind of treasure? I don’t know anything about it, but that’s what these men are telling me. I need you to bring that device here to me in the Congo as soon as possible-”

“Caitlin, the Congo? My God, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“Please, just- I need you to go to the Pullman Kinshasa Grand Hotel. When you arrive there, call this number-” Your friend rattles off a series of numbers. “But listen, you cannot tell anyone. They said they’d kill me if you alert anyone.”

This is all too much, too fast. It’s almost impossible to comprehend. “I can’t go to the Congo! And what men-?” You hear the sound of a weapon firing up. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll do it, I’ll be there!” You shout into your phone so these men can hear you.

But the line goes dead.

[ryanmeyerart]

Meeting Jenny Odell and Creating Demarcated Spaces (or how a photo I took was seen by Barack Obama but it doesn’t really matter)

In spring/winter 2017 I was in the middle of a creative crisis. It was my first year in the MFA studio program at the University of California, Davis and I had just moved across the country from Birmingham, Alabama. I was having troubles communicating with the faculty, I was having personal troubles with people close in my life, and I was having troubles staying positive in a pretty depressing world. Consequently, I was having troubles making art.

Then summer came around and this creative block began to come down. I was accepted into an artist residency on an island in the arctic circle, off the northern coast of Norway. On the way there I took the opportunity to do some traveling and see a lot of art. By the time I got to the island I was ready to unplug and reset with the goal of clearing my head and starting a new body of work. One of the ingredients of this self-prescribed creative cleanse was an essay that went viral on Medium called “How to Do Nothing,” by Jenny Odell.

This essay changed everything. Odell had communicated what was still a mess of ideas and feelings in my head. It was like someone had said out loud a word or a name that had been eluding me. It was simultaneously a relief from frustration and a validation of the work I was wanting to make. Before reading the essay I knew I wanted to construct sanctuary-esque spaces that could be entered but I struggled to communicate why I felt this was important. After reading the essay I had the beginnings of a vocabulary that would lead to a series of works called “Demarcated Spaces.”

After returning home, the director of the residency wrote this about my pieces:

“Meyer built two Demarcated Spaces with materials found on the island at Arctic 78° N. These contained spaces have interiors that can be accessed by crossing the entrance threshold. Participants were asked to not take electronic devices into the space with them so as to have fewer distractions from interior acts of imagination, meditation, deep listening, etc. These acts of rest are not efficient and produce no monetary value. The physical structure and the interior act forms a symbiotic relationship that serves as a small form of resistance against the manipulative and exploitative forces that seek to drain the mind, body, and soul. While inside a demarcated space the participant aims to be in a mental state at least partially removed from advertising, propaganda, surveillance, and monetarily productive work.” — Sofie Iversen

When I got back to my studio in Davis I decided to contact Jenny Odell in the hopes of finding time to meet her and discuss these ideas in person (she lived about an hour from me in Oakland, CA). She responded and agreed to meet at one of her favorite coffee shops where we eventually had one of the most stimulating conversations of my time in California. This is where she explained that she had been offered a deal to turn the essay into a book that would be published by Melville House. It came up in conversation that she needed an author headshot for the book and I offered to take the photo to show my gratitude for her making time to meet with me (I had experience working in the advertising industry as a photographer/designer).

We met a few weeks later at the Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland where she talked about night herons and I talked about where to stand for good lighting.

Fast forward a few years and her book has entered the New York Times’ Bestseller list after getting a boost from Barack Obama as one of his favorite books of 2019. Her book has seen incredible (and deserved) levels of success to the point that Odell has described the weirdness of it all like, “a hall of mirrors where I encounter myself over and over again.”

And now I’m marveling at the weirdness of my name tagging along wherever she goes through photo credits. It has appeared in many major newspapers and media outlets such as New York Times, LA Times, The Guardian, Vox, etc. I mean, c’mon, Barack Obama has seen it… So is it normal to feel a tiny bit of pride? Trust me, I know it doesn’t really matter. No one cares about who took a photo. This is not about me, it’s Jenny’s book and Jenny’s success. Nevertheless it feels good to tag along for the ride.

I’ve since moved back to Birmingham where I can work and live much more affordably. This past winter I was at an open studio night and one of the artists had “How to Do Nothing” on her bookshelf. I brought it up in conversation and told my story about the original essay and the meeting with Odell that helped me through a rough creative period. The whole time I was internally debating whether or not I should open the book to the back cover and show the photo. It seems like a jerk move to open someone else’s book and talk about yourself. Likewise I debated if writing this essay was equally self-absorbed and a tacky attempt at self-promotion. I decided to complete the task for the sake of telling a personal story and using the opportunity to express gratitude. Art CAN change lives. I owe a major bump in my creative timeline to the thoughtful words of Jenny Odell.

“A quietist spirit imbues Ryan Meyer’s “Demarcated Space 2,” a photograph of a sanctuary-like space within a stone structure he created as a “container of meditation and deep learning.” Calling up associations with cairns, altars, towers, and other ancient spiritual foci, this and the rest of the images in the series by Meyer document his practice of building temporary retreats from the hectic, monetized culture we live in…”

— Victoria Dalkey (edited for clarity)

[sustainhealthmagazine]

Southbank Centre announces it's new series exploring mental health in literature

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Southbank Centre today announces its most jam-packed literature season to date with more than 35 events taking place from September - December 2019 across its three auditoriums (Royal Festival Hall, Queen Elizabeth Hall and Purcell Room) as well as in its National Poetry Library, Hayward Gallery and foyer spaces.

The season sees an expanded programme of non-fiction talks and discussions with leading writers and thinkers on topics from atheism to parenting to talking to strangers. As part of the non-fiction programme, Southbank Centre is delighted to launch a new series of events Reading the Mind exploring mental health and wellbeing through literature. The series begins in September with award-winning writers and qualified nurses Nathan Filer and Christie Watson, in conversation together for the first time, and continues into 2020 with events in the Spring and Summer seasons.   

Louis Theroux © Paul Mark Mitchell; Nadiya Hussain © Dan Kennedy; Sara Pascoe © Sara Pascoe; Lenny Henry © Jack Lawson

Alongside Anthony Anaxagorou, Raymond Antrobus, Nihal Arthanayake, Liz Berry, Adam Buxton, Leo Boix, Anne Carson, Russell T Davies, Richard Dawkins, Inua Ellams, Salma El-Wardany, Nathan Filer, Hannah Gadsby, Salena Godden, Will Harris, Lenny Henry, Lisa Jewell, Etgar Keret, Mariam Khan, Zaffar Kunial, Theresa Lola, Sabrina Mahfouz, Hollie McNish, Nico Muhly, Paul Muldoon, Randall Munroe, Daljit Nagra, Courttia Newland, Joo Yeon Park, Bobby Parker, Sara Pascoe, Philippa Perry, Antoni Porowski, Yara Rodrigues Fowler, Luzia Sauma, Joelle Taylor, Christie Watson and more

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Alongside this, the bumper season features leading authors discussing new works of fiction, TV personalities and comedians reflecting on their careers with the launch of new books, live readings, panel discussions and new creative writing and poetry courses. In addition, Southbank Centre continues its commitment to present the best in spoken word and poetry with events and exhibitions curated by its National Poetry Library, the largest collection of modern poetry in the world, and the continuation of Out-Spoken’s year-long residency.

Autumn 2019 Season highlights include:​

Talks and in conversation events with leading writers and thinkers including psychotherapist Philippa Perry, science writer Richard Dawkins, cartoonist Randall Munroe, writer Will Self and journalist Malcolm Gladwell

Appearances from TV personalities including documentary filmmaker Louis Theroux, Queer Eye’s Antoni Porowski and The Great British Bake Off’s Nadiya Hussain who launch new books

Comedians Richard Ayoade, in conversation with Adam Buxton, Sara Pascoe and Lenny Henry discussing new books whilst Hannah Gadsby brings her live show Douglas to Royal Festival Hall

London exclusive appearances from award-winning fiction writers Malorie Blackman, Etgar Keret and Celeste Ng

The continuation of Out-Spoken’s year-long residency at Southbank Centre with monthly masterclasses and live poetry and music nights featuring Anthony Anaxagorou, Hollie McNish, Liz Berry, Zaffar Kunial, Salena Godden and more

London Review of Books celebrating its 40th anniversary with an exclusive, collaborative literary-music event featuring Anne Carson, Nico Muhly, Paul Muldoon and guests

The return of National Poetry Library Lates and new free exhibitions in Southbank Centre’s National Poetry Library

Schools National Poetry Day Live featuring workshops and live poetry readings from Theresa Lola, Raymond Antrobus, SLAMbassadors and more

The return of the Booker Prize Shortlist Readings

The return of Polari, London’s leading LGBTQ+ literary salon featuring screenwriter and TV producer Russell T Davies and writer Lisa Jewell

Readings, performance and discussion from contributors to new anthologies Smashing It: Working Class Artists on Life, Art and Making It Happen, Un Nuevo Sol: British Latinx Writers and It’s Not About the Burqa: Muslim Women on Faith, Feminism, Sexuality and Race

New six week autumn courses in poetry and creative writing

Southbank Centre’s thirteenth London Literature Festival featuring 11 days of talks, readings, poetry and performance, opening with Poetry International (programme to be announced)

Ted Hodgkinson, Head of Literature and Spoken Word at Southbank Centre said: "It's a thrill to present an Autumn Season brimming with big personalities, the world's most exciting literary talents and the very best of the poetry and spoken word scene in London and beyond. From striking up conversations with strangers to unlocking the mysteries of the human mind, our expanded array of talks with leading thinkers and cultural commentators promises to provoke and challenge. Appearances from beloved storytellers alongside frank reflections on life from celebrated comedians will delight and disarm in equal measure, in a season that will make us think, make us laugh and bring us together.”

Tickets go on sale to Southbank Centre Members on Tuesday 25 June and to the General Public on Wednesday 26 June with the exception of Will Self on a Life in Writing, London Literature Festival and Poetry International which will go on sale at a later date. Hannah Gadsby: Douglas and Malorie Blackman: Crossfire are already on sale. For more information please visit the Southbank Centre website HERE.

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Further Programme Detail

TALKS AND IN CONVERSATION EVENTS - NON-FICTION

Southbank Centre expands its non-fiction programme this season with writers, thinkers and experts exploring key issues and topics in today’s society in London exclusive events. Science writer Richard Dawkins puts forward his argument for atheism as he discusses his new book Outgrowing God (QEH, 22 Sep); American cartoonist and creator of webcomic xkcd Randall Munroe presents his latest book, How To, offering audiences an entertaining insight into the science and technology behind the everyday (RFH, 7 Oct); journalist Malcolm Gladwell explores how and why we so often misread other people, discussing his new book Talking to Strangers (RFH, 25 Nov); acclaimed writer Will Self opens up about his drug addiction in the 1980s as he launches his new memoir Will (QEH, 9 Nov); psychotherapist and author Philippa Perry explores parenting in conversation with broadcaster Nihal Arthanayake as she discusses her bestselling The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read (QEH, 19 Sep); and launching a new strand Reading the Mind, Southbank Centre presents a special event chaired by journalist Christina Patterson with Costa Prize winning authors and qualified nurses Nathan Filer and Christie Watson in conversation together for the first time as they explore mental health through literature (PUR, 9 Sep).

TV personalities discuss their work and present new books. Documentary filmmaker Louis Theroux reflects on a weird, wonderful journey through two decades of groundbreaking television as he presents his new memoir (RFH, 25 Sep); and in London exclusive events, Queer Eye’s Antoni Porowski invites audiences to ask him questions on healthy living and eating as he celebrates the publication of his first cookbook, Antoni in the Kitchen (QEH, 25 Sep) and fellow chef and bestselling author Nadiya Hussain reflects on her life and roles as mother, Muslim, working woman and celebrity as she presents her brand new memoir Finding My Voice, in conversation with broadcaster and cultural commentator Emma Freud (RFH, 1 Dec).

The season also features appearances from some of today’s most entertaining comedians in London exclusive events. Acclaimed writer and director, and star of The IT Crowd, Richard Ayoade reflects on his award-winning films and comedy as he discusses his new book Ayoade on Top in conversation with fellow comedian, actor and director Adam Buxton (RFH, 5 Sep); cherished comedian and national treasure Lenny Henry takes the stage to share his long-awaited autobiography, Who Am I, Again?, reflecting on his early years and sudden rise to fame (RFH, 30 Sep); award-winning comedian Sara Pascoe explores what really matters to humans as she discusses her new book, Sex Power Money (QEH, 8 Sep); and following the success of Nanette, Tasmanian comedian Hannah Gadsby presents her new stand-up show Douglas for three performances in Southbank Centre’s Royal Festival Hall (RFH, 25 Oct & two performances on 27 Oct).

IN CONVERSATION EVENTS - FICTION

Award-winning writers present new works of fiction in exclusive London events. Beloved Young Adult writer Malorie Blackman presents her long-awaited new novel in her Noughts and Crosses series, Crossfire (QEH, 8 Sep); renowned short-story writer Etgar Keret presents his new collection, Fly Already, in conversation with Associate Professor in English Literature at the University of Southampton, Devorah Baum (PUR, 3 Sep); and bestselling author of Everything I Never Told You and Little Fires Everywhere Celeste Ng makes her first London appearance following the publication of her acclaimed novels to discuss her work, in conversation with Southbank Centre Chief Executive Elaine Bedell (QEH, 6 Oct).

POETRY AND SPOKEN WORD

Out-Spoken, one of London’s premier poetry and live music nights, continues its year-long residency at Southbank Centre. Hosted by poet and founder of SLAMbassadors national youth slam, Joelle Taylor and featuring the beats of DJ Sam 'Junior' Bromfield, the first of three live events sees poet and founder of Out-Spoken Anthony Anaxagorou take the stage alongside writer and visual artist Bobby Parker and legendary spoken-word artist Salena Godden and features music from Nigerian Afro Fusion musician Villy and singer-songwriter Azekel (PUR, 26 Sep). The second edition kicks off Poetry International with a stellar line up of poets to be announced (PUR, 17 Oct) and the third features Forward Prize winning poet Liz Berry, acclaimed Faber poet Zaffar Kunial and Ted Hughes Award winner Hollie McNish (PUR, 28 Nov). Three corresponding masterclasses open to anyone with an interest in poetry, are hosted by leading poets including internationally touring poet, playwright and performer Inua Ellams (SUN, 21 Sep; FOY, 12 Oct; FOY, 23 Nov).

Southbank Centre’s National Poetry Library presents a number of events and exhibitions across the season. National Poetry Library Lates, Southbank Centre’s series of poetry salons in the Hayward Gallery Cafe returns, showcasing performances and readings from today’s leading poets and emerging talent (HGC, 20 Nov). The National Poetry library also presents regular free exhibitions: Guernica Remakings displays new audio-visual responses to Picasso’s anti-war masterpiece and includes commissions from poets So Mayer and Richard Price embedded within the work (NPL, until 22 Sept); and the library marks the 30th anniversary of Samuel Beckett’s death with Library of the Unword, a new exhibition from South Korean artist Joo Yeon Park who has created new works in response to Beckett’s poems (NPL, 5 Dec - 29 Mar 2020). Further events at the library include A Homage to Raaz, an evening of readings and tribute to poet and founder of Survivors’ Poetry, Razz (NPL, 4 Sep); A Bargain with the Light which sees poet Jacqueline Saphra reflect on photos of and by photographer and war journalist Lee Miller (NPL, 2 Oct); and Beyond Imitation, a discussion examining poetry’s relationship with art featuring special guest speakers and poets Tammy Yoseloff, Claire Collison, Abegail Morley and Kathryn Maris who read from their work (NPL, 4 Dec).

To celebrate National Poetry Day on 3 October, Southbank Centre and The Poetry Society jointly present a range of poetry workshops and free performances, open to school pupils aged 7-11. Featured poets include Raymond Antrobus, Jade Cuttle, Dzifa Benson, Daljit Nagra, Young People’s Laureate for London Theresa Lola and winners of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award (CBR, 3 Oct).

LIVE READINGS, PERFORMANCE AND DISCUSSIONS

The Booker Prize Readings are a major highlight of the literary calendar, and once again return to Southbank Centre, showcasing the authors shortlisted for the 2019 prize reading from their work, on the evening before the winner is announced (RFH, 13 Oct). London’s leading LGBTQ+ literary salon, Polari, returns for three events this Autumn Season hosted by Polari founder and writer Paul Burston. The first takes place during London Literature Festival with line-up to be announced. The second marks its twelfth birthday and features BAFTA-winning screenwriter and TV producer Russell T Davies in conversation about his work including Queer as Folk and Years and Years (L5FR, 25 Nov) whilst the third is headlined by writer Lisa Jewell who reads from and discusses her new book The Family Upstairs (L5FR, 9 Dec). As part of its 40th anniversary celebrations, the London Review of Books brings the acclaimed New York literary-music series Against the Grain to the UK for the first time in an exclusive event. The evening of readings, conversation, contemporary music and one-night-only collaboration features Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Paul Muldoon, Canadian poet and translator Anne Carson, American composer Nico Muhly and guests (QEH, 30 Oct).

The season additionally features discussions with contributors to new anthologies. Editor and activist Mariam Khan is in conversation with Salma El-Wardany, fellow contributor to a new collection It’s Not About the Burqa: Muslim Women on Faith, Feminism, Sexuality and Race exploring contemporary Muslim female experiences, alongside additional panellists to be announced (PUR, 7 Nov); artists and contributors to a new collection Smashing It: Working Class Artists on Life, Art and Making It Happen including poet and editor of the collection Sabrina Mahfouz and Southbank Centre Creative Director Madani Younis, who chairs the session, showcase and perform their work, offering tips and personal insights on how to make it into the arts (PUR, 23 Sep); and Brazilian British novelists Yara Rodrigues Fowler and Luzia Sauma as well as award-winning Argentine British poet Leo Boix, contributors to the first ever anthology of British Latinx writers, Un Nuevo Sol: British Latinx Writers, read from their work in an evening hosted by writer and publisher Nii Ayikwei Parkes, the founder of flipped eye publishing (L5FR, 19 Nov).

COURSES

Continuing its education offer, alongside the monthly Out-Spoken poetry masterclasses, Southbank Centre presents a six-week poetry writing course How to Be a Person, led by poet Will Harris (25 Sep - 4 Dec) and acclaimed writer Courttia Newland leads a six-week creative writing course City Lights exploring the theme of urban metropolis (30 Oct - 11 Dec). LONDON LITERATURE FESTIVAL AND POETRY INTERNATIONAL

Southbank Centre's London Literature Festival returns for its thirteenth year this October (17th - 27th), bringing together today's leading writers, thinkers and cultural observers for 11 days of talks, readings, poetry and performance. This year's edition once again opens with Poetry International (17th - 20th), Southbank Centre's longest running festival, founded by former Poet Laureate Ted Hughes in 1967, with four days of poetry and performance from today's leading poets and spoken word artists from across the world. Previous London Literature Festival participants include Salman Rushdie, Akala, Margaret Atwood, Philip Pullman, Claudia Rankine, Carol Ann Duffy, Louis Theroux, Roger Daltrey, Chibundu Onuzo, Lauren Child, Juno Dawson, Nikesh Shukla, Joy Harjo, Terrance Hayes, Tom Hanks, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Sally Field. The programme for London Literature Festival and Poetry International 2019 will be announced in July.

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READ NEXT

[bookaddict24-7]

FIRST CHAPTER CHALLENGE! 

This week was a little harder with the two young adult books that I picked because I was torn with one book. As for the sole fiction title I picked up, it was a thriller that I thought I would really enjoy. Again, the whole thriller thing falls on the idea of having a book that I like the idea of but might never actually pick up. 

I’m also trying a new thing that I began last week, but didn’t mention here. I will be adding books that I choose to continue reading to my TBR for the following month. This way, I don’t feel overwhelmed with the need to read them right away AND if I don’t finish them in that following month, then they’re leaving.

So, as it stands, here’s how my decisions go for this challenge: Save for another round, Unhaul, and Next month’s TBR.

A gentle reminder: Just because I’ve unhauled the books in this post and in future posts, it doesn’t mean that they’re books not worth reading. They’re just not right for me. This is more of an incentive for me to free up space and give these books better homes than my basement.

Also, there might be some spoilers. If you’re interested in reading these books, tread with care.

Read my original post and how I’m going about this challenge here.

Have any of you practiced this challenge this past week?

The Favorite Sister by Jessica Knoll

Decision: Unhauled

This was one of those thrillers that I really wanted to read because I loved the concept of Knoll’s prior novel. Also, look at that cover! Despite having the idea of liking thrillers, I’ve honestly never gotten into any thrillers--unless you consider something like You by Caroline Kepnes as a thriller. Anyway, I noticed right away that I wasn’t into this book. The writing was heavy and that Goodreads rating--wow. I’m sure it’ll find a better home!

Synopsis: 

“When five hyper-successful women agree to appear on a reality series set in New York City called Goal Diggers, the producers never expect the season will end in murder…

Brett’s the fan favorite. Tattooed and only twenty-seven, the meteoric success of her spin studio—and her recent engagement to her girlfriend—has made her the object of jealousy and vitriol from her cast mates.

Kelly, Brett’s older sister and business partner, is the most recent recruit, dismissed as a hanger-on by veteran cast. The golden child growing up, she defers to Brett now—a role which requires her to protect their shocking secret.

Stephanie, the first black cast member and the oldest, is a successful bestselling author of erotic novels. There have long been whispers about her hot, non-working actor-husband and his wandering eye, but this season the focus is on the rift that has opened between her and Brett, former best friends—and resentment soon breeds contempt.

Lauren, the start-up world’s darling whose drinking has gotten out of control, is Goal Diggers’ recovery narrative—everyone loves a comeback story.

And Jen, made rich and famous through her cultishly popular vegan food line plays a holistic hippie for the cameras, but is perhaps the most ruthless of them all when the cameras are off.”

Riders by Veronica Rossi 

Decision: April TBR

I’ve always been really interested in the Horsemen of the Apocalypse mythology and frankly, this is probably why I’ve held on to this book for so long. The first chapter shows a lot of promise and I love adventurous stories. I’m willing to give this a shot because I remember how excited I was when I first received this book. 

Synopsis: 

“Nothing but death can keep eighteen-year-old Gideon Blake from achieving his goal of becoming a U.S. Army Ranger. As it turns out, it does.

While recovering from the accident that most definitely killed him, Gideon finds himself with strange new powers and a bizarre cuff he can’t remove. His death has brought to life his real destiny. He has become War, one of the legendary four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Over the coming weeks, he and the other horsemen—Conquest, Famine, and Death—are brought together by a beautiful but frustratingly secretive girl to help save humanity from an ancient evil on the emergence.

They fail.

Now—bound, bloodied, and drugged—Gideon is interrogated by the authorities about his role in a battle that has become an international incident. If he stands any chance of saving his friends and the girl he’s fallen for—not to mention all of humankind—he needs to convince the skeptical government officials the world is in imminent danger.

But will anyone believe him?”

The Waning Age by S.E. Grove

Decision: Unhauled

I was originally torn about this book. I kind of enjoyed the first chapter and was even intrigued, but then I did what I always do when I’m not fully sure about a book: I flip through the book and see if anything jumps out at me (both in a positive or negative way)--nothing really did. Also, two points: This ARC had a weird thing going on with the font where it looked like it was badly printed, and I also may have peeked at the Goodreads rating. Oops. 

Synopsis: 

“In a parallel present San Francisco, Natalia Peña works as a hotel maid, practices martial arts, and cares for her eleven-year-old brother, Calvino. In this version of our world, all children start to "wane" when they reach Cal's age; by their teen years, they've lost their ability to feel emotion. But Cal isn't waning. When a mysterious corporation kidnaps him for testing, Natalia's reaction surprises her: she's crushed, and she'll do anything to save her brother from their experiments. But the road to his rescue leads her into the path of a dashing but troubled billionaire's son, a cadre of killers, and, eventually, the shocking truth about waning. Filled with twists and turns, The Waning Age is a powerful mirror that shows us the danger of becoming desensitized to violence and the remarkable, transformative power of love.“

Have you read any of these three books? What were your experiences with them?

I’ll be back next week with another three picks!

Happy reading!