#yet another thing that makes succeeding that much more difficult for smaller acts

[dreamings-free]

Music Business Worldwide | April 25, 2023

[excerpt]

[..] Perhaps the most discussed driver behind vinyl’s rise in music biz circles, though, is the so-called “superfan”.

In a 2020 interview with The Times of London, Rob Crutchley of the UK music trade industry group BPI [167 articles]">BPI said “superfans” were powering a “buy-to-own rather than buy-to-listen” trend.

“A proportion of people are buying vinyl because they’re a superfan, so even if they don’t actually have a turntable they’re still keen to support the artist and have the artifact itself,” he said.

“Sometimes it can be because they’re catalog titles that are being re-pressed in a new edition — maybe a run on a different colored vinyl — other times it might be a new title that has a limited press on a certain format.

”In its 2023 report, Luminate defines superfans as “music listeners who spend above average (median) time AND money on music, actively discover new music, participate in music-related activities on social media, and plan on attending a live music event in the next 12 months.

”Three core behaviors set these ‘superfans’ apart from others, Luminate found:

First, they engage in social signaling (i.e., they want people around them to know about their passion for a particular genre or artist);

Secondly, they view music as an expression of their identity;

Thirdly, they engage in a community centered around music.

All of which suggests that the music industry could make serious money off of superfans’ love for vinyl in the coming years – regardless of whether or not they end up playing the format on a turntable.

[read the full article here]

[melanielocke]

An experiment with a Fairchild

Alastair goes to the Fairchild's house to visit Charles, but finds only Henry home, who is working on something.

CW for toxic relationship

Taglist: @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

I don't think this really adds up with the timeline since I'm not sure Henry was actually in London at the time but I don't care. It's somewhere during early Chain of Gold.

Alastair knocked on the door of the house in Grosvenor Square. The consul was currently in Idris and would not be home, and Alastair was fairly certain Matthew was someplace else with his band of bandits or whatever they called themselves nowadays. Charles’ father he wasn’t so sure about, but Alastair imagined he would have gone with her. He sincerely hoped Charles would be home. He’d missed Charles and hoped they could talk about his engagement. Alastair could make him understand, how unhappy it made him. They would work something out, Alastair was sure of it. It would be like Paris again, just the two of them. He could be happy, as long as he had Charles’ love.

The door opened, but it wasn’t Charles standing in the doorway, nor any of the servants. Instead, sitting in a bath chair, was Charles’ father. Henry Branwell, known for inventing the portal, although Alastair didn’t think he got the recognition he deserved. He didn’t know much about Henry beyond that, Charles was far closer to his mother than his father and Alastair didn’t think Charles really understood his father’s work.

‘Good afternoon,’ Henry said. ‘I’m not sure we’ve met? I’m Henry Fairchild.’

Alastair didn’t realize Henry used his wife’s name. He knew Charles’ mother had chosen to give him her last name instead of Henry’s because of her position as consul, which was an unusual decision, but he’d never heard of a husband taking his wife’s name.

Charles often claimed his parents hadn’t married out of love either, that his mother had married his father because she needed the support of a husband to advance her career. Therefore, it was fine he was marrying for political reasons and would never love his wife. But Henry Fairchild must love his wife very much, to have taken her name.

‘I’m Alastair Carstairs,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m here to see Charles, is he home?’

‘Right, you must be Charles’ friend. No, I don’t think he’s at home right now.’

‘Oh that’s too bad,’ Alastair said, attempting to hide the disappointment in his voice. ‘Do you know where he is?’

Perhaps he was at his club, Alastair thought. He’d been there once before with Charles, who’d wanted to introduce him to the club. Alastair had not yet managed to win much approval there, but he was determined to keep trying. Many high standing shadowhunter men were members of the same gentleman’s club Charles went to, and Alastair wanted so badly to fit in there. Even if deep down, he knew he never would, not really. Even with his hair dyed blonde, his skin was still too dark to pass for a white English man. At most they would accept an act he put on. Still, Alastair tried the best he could to be what they wanted and win their approval, especially Charles’.

‘No, I’m not sure. But I expect he’ll be home soon. Why don’t you come in and wait there. I am working on something fascinating.’

Alastair hesitated, but he guessed it couldn’t hurt to come in. If at any point Matthew arrived, he could always make his way out. He didn’t hate Matthew, not really. He thought Matthew was immature, and sometimes Alastair was jealous that it was so easy for Matthew to be himself, but that was all, and Alastair deeply regretted his behavior at school.

However, Alastair thought it was best for all parties involved if he stayed away from Matthew, who was clearly still mad with him. Who could blame him, honestly? Charles knew, of course, about the bad blood between them, but had chosen to believe Matthew had been a brat at school and did not blame Alastair for his behavior. While that was true to some extent, Alastair had been far worse. However, if he was to be accepted, he should not show such weakness, and the best course of action was to stay away. Perhaps coming here was a bad decision.

Henry retreated into his lab, and while Alastair waited with some tea provided by a servant, he felt very awkward. What were his duties here? He would have expected someone inviting him in to stay with him, although a conversation with Charles’ father would have been just as awkward. Where was Charles? Was he coming?

In the end, Alastair did decide to take a look in the lab.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Henry said. ‘You were taking your time with that tea. Do you prefer it colder?’

Truth to be told, Alastair didn’t like the way the English made their tea at all, but he reserved his complaints about the awful food and drinks of this country for when he was having tea with his mother and Risa.

‘It was quite hot,’ was all Alastair said.

‘After some deliberation I’ve decided to give the Phosphor another chance,’ Henry said. ‘It was unfortunately, a failed invention, but I still believe I could make it work.’

‘What is it supposed to be?’ Alastair asked.

Henry fell into a lecture of his work, how he’d wanted to invent a light source five times brighter than witchlights. So far the Phosphor had mostly resulted in fires, and Henry had abandoned the project in favor of the portal. Alastair noticed how passionate Henry seemed when he talked about his interests. He could be passionate too, but Charles said that was not a good thing. It was important that he appeared rational at all times, not clouded by emotion.

‘Nor did I like working with something so highly flammable while Charles and Matthew were small,’ Henry said. ‘It would be too dangerous with small and vulnerable children depending on me. But they’re growing up so fast. Charles will be married soon and move out with his wife.’

Alastair wasn’t so sure what Charles intended to do. He’d assured him the engagement was temporary, that he would not marry miss Bridgestock. But she was under the impression the marriage would take place. Then who was Charles lying to?

‘So now is the right time to give it another try?’ Alastair concluded.

‘Precisely. However, something is not right with my calculations, and I cannot figure it out. Do you have an interest in science yourself, Mr. Carstairs?’

Alastair had once, although not to the extent Henry did. He was good at math, at least, and fascinated by the theory.

‘A little,’ he said. ‘But I’m mainly interested in politics.’

Alastair glanced over the calculations Henry had written down. They were complex, but Alastair was good at math and at least this part of the inventing process he could follow along.

‘There’s a mistake here,’ Alastair said. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s not working.’

Henry moved over to look at the calculations, and Alastair pointed out the errors, working with Henry to fix the errors. Would it work now?

‘Are you sure you’re not interested in becoming a scientist or an inventor?’ Henry asked. ‘You’re quite clever. I think it is limiting, to think of shadowhunters only as warriors. Some are, and that’s fine, but there are more ways to make the world better than just killing demons. The experiments Christopher and I do all serve the purpose of improving life for shadowhunters, yet so few understand.’

Henry sounded resigned, had he accepted the way he was viewed? Alastair found it difficult to imagine. He knew what it was to be mocked, and he never wanted to experience that again. He didn’t think he could bear it, but perhaps Henry was simply stronger than he was.

‘That’s their loss,’ Alastair said. ‘There are many ways to improve the world beyond fighting. I’m not an inventor, but I hope I can improve the Clave by getting into politics someday.’

Alastair wasn’t completely sure it was what he wanted anymore. Even if he did succeed, he knew people would gossip. He could never be the perfect politician shadowhunters expected, not without a wife, and Alastair was determined that no matter how much he pretended to be something he was not, he would never pretend to love someone he could never have such feelings for. He admired Henry, for not caring what people thought of him. He wished he could be like that, be himself, and be appreciated, if not by society then by a smaller group of people who loved him. But Alastair didn’t think that was possible, because no one could love the real him, could they? After pretending for so long, he didn’t even know who the real Alastair was anymore.

‘Ah, like Lottie,’ Henry said. ‘I so admire what she does. I could never make people listen like she does. And Charles wants to be just like her. Truth to be told, he’s a far better assistant to her than I could ever hope to be.’

‘Charles is good at what he does,’ Alastair said.

Alastair hoped some day he would be too. He read all the books Charles recommended, he worked tirelessly on formulating his own ideas. But whenever he presented his ideas to Charles, he was met with laughter. As if his ideas were just a joke to him, as if he were far too young and silly to understand. It made him feel awful. Alastair usually tried to downplay it then, pretend he hadn’t been absolutely serious about these ideas. Because clearly if Charles didn’t take him seriously, his ideas weren’t as good as they’d seemed at first and he needed to do better. He’d convinced his mother that he could help their family’s social standing by succeeding in politics rather than marrying, but how could he if not even Charles thought his ideas were worth anything?

‘I must admit I don’t understand his work nearly as well as you must,’ Henry said. ‘I’m glad he has a friend like you. I have worried about him. Always so focused on work, he doesn’t have many friends and I worry he’s lonely. I think he finds it difficult to make friends. But you and he, you are good friends are you not?’

‘We are,’ Alastair said, suddenly terrified Henry would suspect he and Charles were not quite friends, but lovers instead.

He wasn’t quite sure what Henry meant about Charles not having many friends. Charles attended his club along with many shadowhunter men, and he seemed friendly with many of them. Of course, even then he mainly talked about politics and tried to build alliances to further his career. Alastair wasn’t sure Charles really cared about any of them, perhaps he was the only one Charles had former a true connection with. If anything, it made him feel more special to be the only one trusted and appreciated by him.

‘He’s lucky to have you,’ Henry said.

‘Father, what are you doing here with Alastair?’

Charles was standing in the doorway. He looked weary, and Alastair wanted to go to him, but he didn’t dare, not when Henry Fairchild was still here to witness them. Although strangely, he suspected if there were shadowhunters who did not condemn men like him and Charles, it would be Henry.

‘Ah, there you are, Charles. Your friend has been waiting for you.’

Charles sighed. ‘Please do not bother my friends with your experiments. I am sorry for this, Alastair. I was caught up at the Institute, you know how it is.’

Alastair was a bit shocked by the way Charles spoke to Henry. Compared to his father, Henry seemed kind, if only a bit absent minded. He knew Charles did not understand his father well, but it was quite rude to speak to him in such a manner. His mother certainly wouldn’t tolerate it if he spoke to her like this.

Henry didn’t say anything else, and Alastair left the lab with Charles to go upstairs, to his bedroom. As Alastair understood it, Henry rarely left his lab and there was little danger of him interrupting him.

‘Are you very tired?’ Alastair asked.

‘Just work,’ Charles said. ‘It’s becoming a bit much lately, but that’s alright. This is my chance to show my best qualities, after all. Exhaustion is a small price to pay. And I have you with me now, and that more than makes up for it. I could use some relaxation.’

And Alastair obliged, as he always did. Even if part of him was still upset with Charles, he knew that if he wanted to earn his lover’s affection and loyalty, he would have to be there for him when Charles needed him and give him what he wanted. At least now he could experience what if felt like to be loved, and Alastair knew love was supposed to hurt. It was better than nothing, better than being alone. Still, he wished he could be more like Charles’ father, doing what was right for him and being who he was regardless of what anyone else thought. But Alastair had lost himself a long time ago, the only time when he felt even remotely like himself was when he was in Charles’ arms. And even then, he still did not feel quite right and couldn’t figure out what was missing. He did not know who he was anymore.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

If you were put in charge of the Dream SMP's storyline (from the exact moment that Tommy got exiled from L'Manburg.), how would you move said storyline forward?

Hmm...

I feel like that’s kind of an impossible question to answer. Not one that I could answer well, at least. I’m not a good writer. And, mainly just because the story as it exists hasn’t ended yet. Everything to do with Pandora’s Vault? The Blood Vines? Whatever is going to happen on Wednesday? We don’t know where all these threads are going to end up tying in together, so attempting to create an alternate path where they end up is difficult, since I don’t know where they’re meant to end yet.

All these little hints and pieces of foreshadowing or set-up, I don’t know what missing pieces they’re meant to fit with.

That being said, I’ll try and give a proper answer. 

I think the Exile Arc as it went was fantastic, and easily one of the best arcs when it came to pacing and acting. The build-up was great, it had its combination of fun moments, funny moments and sad moments, and Tommy’s realization at the end was a very powerful scene. It changed the status quo of how a plot could be, the stakes felt genuinely high in a way that Tommy’s previous exile didn’t, and by separating the clingy duo, we got to see both characters react to the plot in different ways and show how they differentiate from each other in their philosophies.

Loved it! 

The ending, though, with Tommy escaping to Techno -- while I love the interactions we got between Tommy and Techno -- I feel like that could’ve gone differently. Most of the issues we’ve found with Tommy and Techno being pitted against each other and both suffering for it came about because their partnership was doomed to fail, just by nature of how their characters are.

Techno was too stubborn in his ideologies to ever come to an agreement with Tommy to let L’manburg live, and Tommy would never agree to hurt Tubbo like that, and I don’t think it’d make writing sense to change either character’s beliefs just so that Techno and Tommy could remain together. That’s not how Techno’s character has ever been written.

I think Tommy could’ve gone to live with someone else. 

I think he could’ve gone to live with Sam. 

Think about it -- the Blood Vines arc was beginning, Pandora’s Vault was commissioned, Sam is involved in both plots. He already established that he was willing to give Tommy a home on the first day of exile, he’s got Sapnap and George as roommates, and he’s a major player in both the Badlands and the prison plot. 

This gives him some added conflict, and ties the threads into each other a bit sooner. 

He’s already got some tension between his allegiance to the Badlands and his alliance with Dream at the moment, why not throw Tommy into that mix? He’s the one Badlands member who’s favorable to Tommy. It would make sense.

You’ve got a similar plot to Techno’s where Sam has to hide the fact that he’s got Tommy as a refugee, but without the disagreement in their ideologies that leads to them falling out.

I think the main issue with this would just be that Sam was very busy with building the Vault all this time, which is why it couldn’t have feasibly happened in canon. It’s just a nice idea.

Maybe just the Badlands in general could’ve housed Tommy? Get Antfrost and Bad involved? I dunno.

I also think it might have been better to have Techno actually die at the execution? Don’t get me wrong, the Totem exploding was really cool, and his escape to the Final Control Room was cinematic as hell, but I feel like his outrage at L’manburg for attempting but not succeeding in killing him made his subsequent destruction of L’manburg feel a lot less justified. 

Now, with Niki’s arc, while I like that she’s getting into the lore a bit more, it just feels a bit sudden. She hasn’t had much development since the Finale of Season One, so unlike Fundy and Jack, whose arcs have been getting that gradual build-up throughout the season, Niki’s feels too unexpected.

I think instead, Niki and Puffy could have an arc together where, as the relationship between the Dream SMP faction and L’manburg shifts, they could reconcile the fact that they’re on separate teams a bit more. Puffy’s new hero arc is fantastic and I’d rather Niki join her on that than take out misdirected frustration on Tommy. Plus, the groundwork for it was already set at the time of the exile itself, as Puffy and Niki were the ones to witness Dream first building the walls.

That being said, I do get how that would be an unrealistic wishlist plot since Niki’s been busy with her other series and hasn’t had as much time to stream the SMP. A lot of the time, real life things interfere with the SMP’s plot, and that’s just kind of a fact of the medium that we’ve gotta deal with.

But again, who knows where the plot will end up going? I’m very intrigued by the Blood Vines and the prison, and those plots are still developing. 

The use of environment in the plot especially has been what’s gotten me most excited. Pandora’s Vault and the Blood Vines would never have happened in Season One. Heck, there was a whole set up for a jail time plot point in the Manberg arc that was just never followed up on, even though that was a considerably smaller scale build. The Manberg Hotel never happened. The lakes were never filled. 

But that’s a bit of a tangent for another time.

As much as it is easy to get caught up in what things could be, I’ve been enjoying seeing where everything’s going so far. It’s very different from Season One, but I appreciate that they’re evolving the story in these new ways and experimenting with the medium of the game more and more. 

As chaotic as the plotlines can be, and how messy everything is, I also appreciate that it’s a very collaborative story right now. It’s far from perfect, but... I feel like for all its chaos, Season Two’s really been taking advantage of this extremely unique format of storytelling. So many characters who were sidelined in Season One as side characters are getting a chance to tell their stories. I like that.

There’s been a lot of comparison between Wilbur’s writing style and the current group writing style going around, and honestly?

I like both!

It’s a grass is greener situation. This is a bizarre medium to work with. There’s no established “right way” to run a Minecraft roleplay server storyline, so there are going to be pros and cons to any approach.

But yeah. I am not a writer! Who knows if it would actually have been any better with those changes. 

And again, I have no idea how the story will go, because from what we’ve heard from Tubbo and Dream, a lot is about to happen. Doomsday wasn’t a season finale, it was just a midpoint. 

[cxffexngel]

[ @aaetherius​ ]

Bright eyes admire the vivid, colorful lights dangling from various pieces of furniture in his room - the Singularity having insisted they be hung up in every nook and cranny of the ship. Despite the warmth of the ship, his breath is visible against the chilled air as he inhales with all of his delight and wonder at the sight despite the certain heaviness that lingers in his core. That same gentle smile that always seems to linger on his lips is ever present. The pearly hue of his wings only seems to shine all the more with the array of colors being cast upon them in the darkness of the room. His fingers, which had been gingerly running through Sandalphon's hair, suddenly retreat - index tapping softly once against the other's nose to get his attention. " Sandalphon, it has come to my attention that it is customary to give gifts to those one cares for on this holiday. " He speaks as if this is a dreadfully serious matter, despite his joy. "And since there is no one I care for more than I do you, I wish to give you something." He pauses for a moment, head lowering a bit, and long lashes coming down slightly to hide the collection of emotions that dances through his eyes. "However, it was difficult for me to find something that would express the depths of my feelings for you, and I spent quite some pondering over it before coming to this," He seems hesitant - uncertain - for once, but he shifts, reaching down to where his swords are resting, and takes one of them in his hands. Fingers brushing over the intricate embellishment that decorate the sheath before it's offered over. "This may seem a strange gift; however, I hope you will accept it. This sword has been at my side for countless battles, and kept me safe for many years. Now, I pray that it will come to protect you instead." His hand, free of the sword where he sets it down, reaches out to bush auburn locks back from the other's forehead so he can lean forward to press a soft kiss upon freshly exposed skin. "Merry Christmas, Sandalphon, I pray it will be one of many that I am able to spend beside you."

         Sandalphon, ever since having grown more and more familiar with the long lost sensations of serenity simple things such as the feeling of hands of someone running through messy locks of aurburn, long lashes having since a while fallen to the weight comfort seduces with, content with the ministrations as the room dimly lit by those ornaments only could hear the gentle breaths of the archangel, and the taller’s as he continued with the stubborn wishes to show the many ways love took form of for him. Thankful that, this time, it wasn’t out from one of those somewhat dusty books the archangel, for the most part, absolutely not because he felt self-conscious, kept neatly hidden from prying eyes. All until his own mouth had betrayed him into hinting about such thing existing a now fated to the cruel truth of sharing the overly sappy pieces of texts he’d come to stash.

         The gesture winning a rather lazy, yet curious look back, scarlet gaze hazily making out from the past bliss that kept it’s spell until words get processed, more complex fellings to sort out, the year had gone with a blink of an eye and so has the fateful moment of sharing these holidays along with lucifer, missing the warmth those hands brought to him yet trying the best to not let it show at the slight pout that worms it’s way to his lips momentarily, like the blink of an eye. Christmas being the one Sandalphon came to understand the most yet still hardly had sought to try giving presents to anyone; Lyria, the captain, maybe something funny for the crimsom dragon. And a Rose for the lone ethereally pale pinnion that used the place that now Lucifer has taken rightfully in it’s place, even if he hadn’t lost or discarded the memento as it still resides within Sandalphon’s room visible for anyone who dared to enter, atop a careful wooden box of letters the archangel has still need to finish it’s words – a slow process for both to bear and sort in the list of wishes the two archangels had yearned for, finally granted. But yearning didn’t mean being totally prepared, emotionally. Oh the more he listened, the more the smaller archangel’s face sumbits to surprice, fluster and another mundled array of emotions even he can’t get a grasp on the moment his core seemed to twist and seep in warmness, completely forgotten the slight chill had he felt before when they had been in silence enjoying their moment, burning the hours until it was time to properly sleep.

          Endearment marring his features at that sincere uncertainty, something unusual to ever be shown on Lucifer’s array of expressions that Sandalphon had come to slowly rediscover and treasure whenever chances bless him with those rare sightings, taking his time to listen, and then let the surprise once more take on his body in a blur, spade offered and taken almost out of habit alone despise the need to deny such thing, lips hanging open as if it were a dream - shaking his head a bit to make sure it really wasn’t one and Lucifer is, in fact, giving up one of those prestigial swords from a set of three, the very same ones centuries ago a lone angel had always sought to try and replicate just to mirror the very art of the swordsdance Lucifer always seemed to have when sparring with the air alone, bushes of untended leaves concealing the smaller angel from the act of prying the other whenever possible to later try and replicate those strokes of the blades, an art Sandalphon by now had mastered but not without his own flaws, not the same grace as Lucifer’s own yet still as fast and powerful. Ah... but he still has to actually say something, despise the slight quiver lips seemed to have, a tremble barely perceivable which colors a hitch in his voice when finally having enough consciousness grounded back to feel that kiss on his forehead. Free gloved hand gently coming to glide that very spot while trying to compose crumbled pride – and he counts to ten, inhales to himself and then brings the offered blade into an embrace so the hilt can rest on his chest. ‘‘ I... I really don’t know how to properly thank you. Lucifer. ‘‘It’s another way of his to admit that he’s happy. If the blush that darkens in red had anything to hint. ‘‘ Thankful is a short word and I feel like it doesn’t encompass enough of what I feel at this very moment, and... If you really are trusting me with this sword, then I promise, ‘’ Another shuddered, elaborated exhale, and a gaze full of melancholic fondness rises to meet those blue hues that very much were the skies for the smaller. ‘‘ -that I’ll protect you with it, both the one you first ever let me wield, and this one. ‘‘

         And he, too, had one of these gifts for Lucifer, having procured to wait until midnight to properly sweep it under plush pillows for the other to find, but now it felt hopeless. The urge to just shove it right into his chest and later share yet another round of endless kisses burning the archangel’s core with desperation, ablaze, and yet – despise how it hurt, it was a welcomed feeling. Something that Sandalphon prays to never get used to and always feel like a first time, which so far has succeeding crushing much of the composure left built in feeble granite. As if a mere touch of the other’s man, gentle and loving, were enough to push a crack open – and never would have it any other way. ‘‘ Believe it or not... I also had something for you, Lucifer. Please allow me a moment. ‘‘ Tone shy, somewhat silent. But even amidst all of that there’s seeping confidence and some anticipation in there, as he takes a step back and carefully let the large sword rest on the sheets of Lucifer’s bed, core beating a tad faster and he has to quietly clutch his chest before it could rip it’s way out - even if logically impossible. ‘‘ Those days I was busy, I apologize for being too secretive on my whereabouts. But it all was because of this... I know you fancy the scarf I wore in local events, along it’s brooch. ‘‘ Continues, most of his willpower set entirely on keeping the gentleness of his voice steady before it all overwhelms him. Not yet... ‘‘ So, I used some of my own savings, so the very same individual who made the brooch that decorates my scarf, could also make one for you, but adding a pinion of mine – I really hope it protects you from the cold, and... reminds you of me, for those times I have to go on missions without assistance. ‘‘ And he produces from the folds of his skirt a sky blue and white scarf, a mirror design of Sandalphon’s folded perfectly as it rests on the small archangel’s extended arms, offered to the other as on the top sits a silver brooch, one of the smaller feathers that the archangel sports embed perfectly on it.

[jadelotusflower]

Roundup - September 2021

This month: Saving Fish From Drowning, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, Anne Boleyn, Cruella, The Chair

Reading

Saving Fish from Drowning (Amy Tan) - I've always enjoyed Tan's work (particularly The Joy Luck Club, both the book and film) - Fish is somewhat of a departure, following a group of American tourists in Myanmar, narrated by their recently deceased friend Bibi Chen. The novel begins with a preface in which Tan explains she drew inspiration for the novel based on real events chronicled by a San Franciscan psychic's "automatic writing" channeling Chen's spirit (in truth a complete invention on Tan’s part, both literary device and metaphor).

Bibi is a compelling narrator, full of wry commentary of her friends as they bumble their way through their trip, the tone of the novel quite light despite some of the dark subject matter around the political situation in Myanmar (the novel was written in 2005 and set several years earlier) and the nature of intervention - the title referring to fisherman who "save fish from drowning" by netting them. It was at times difficult to keep track of all twelve (!) of the main characters and who was who outside of the few who get the most attention of the narrative.

An interesting read, about the stories we tell ourselves and others, and the fictions we believe for comfort and hope.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass and what Alice found there (Lewis Carroll) - I've been making more of an effort to work on my novel lately, which makes some reference to these works so thought it was due for a re-read. It seems impossible to consider these separate novels given how conflated they have become in pop culture - even the Disney film takes elements from both - they act as either a duology, or alternatively a single story told in two parts.

I personally much prefer Looking Glass, perhaps because I imprinted on the 1985 miniseries as a child (which adapts both novels, but we only had the second part on tape) - best known for it's celebrity cameos in silly costumes - including Sammy Davis Jnr, Donald O'Connor, Ringo Starr, and Carol Channing, among others, and the danger of the Jabberwocky as a manifestation of Alice's fears quite a nice idea that isn't found in the original text.

Perhaps Looking Glass, while remaining absurdist, is more cohesive than Wonderland with the chess motif and central motive for Alice to reach the Eighth Square and become a queen. I do however find the constant poetry tedious, and wonder whether both Wonderland and Looking Glass are better remembered for the concepts rather than the actual text.

Watching

Anne Boleyn (episodes 1-3) - I didn't think we needed another film/show about Anne, but I was always going to watch it. This series relies upon familiarity with history as it begins with Anne's final, doomed pregnancy - opening with the haunting words “Anne is the most powerful woman in England - she has just five months to live.”

There's nothing especially new here; rather a mood and character piece as Anne's isolation and desperation grows. It is of course built around the central, compelling performance of Jodie Turner-Smith, in every single scene and not afraid to shy away from Anne's sharper edges while remaining profoundly sympathetic, surrounded by a court of whispers, her existence on a knife's edge. We know only what Anne knows, and we see the smaller, heartbreaking moments usually passed over in other adaptations - in her grief following the stillbirth, Anne sits up in bed almost catatonic, milk leaking from her breasts, her attempt to walk back the infamous “dead man's shoes” comment, and the long days of her imprisonment.

Then there’s the beautiful costumes - in a court of dark furs, Anne wears bold primary colours and velvets that catch the light, that them become more subdued prints once she is in the Tower.

The other notable feature is the casting - described as "identity conscious" rather than colour-blind, representative of the othering of Anne and her relatives. Another standout is Thalissa Teixeira as Anne's cousin Madge Shelton, fleshed out as her confidant and the only one who remains true to her. It's a fresh perspective and a worthwhile watch, particularly for Turner-Smith's performance.

Cruella (dir. Craig Gillespie) - Spoilers. I wasn’t planning on bothering with this, but my sister wanted to watch it and I’d been told by several people that it was actually quite good. Look, I'm not saying they lied, I just think they were able to look past things that I was not.

Because actually, the core story has potential and the film has enjoyable elements (notably Emma Thompson), but simply falters every time they try and shoehorn references to the source material, and there are some truly egregious attempts - Roger is the Baroness’s lawyer for some reason? And writes the familiar Cruella De Vil song about how awful she is when she's just given him a puppy?

It doesn’t work as a prequel, or villain origin story, or even a reboot, since Cruella’s character journey is over by the end of the film (I have no idea what the purported sequel is going to be about) - in fact "Cruella" is just a persona Stone's Estella adopts (complete with a terrible affected accent), and there is no conceivable way for her to become the wannabe puppy murderer we know from the book or any of the film adaptations. Oh, and Pongo and Perdita are siblings! Well done, Disney. Slow clap for you.

Also, with a runtime of 2 hours 16 minutes it is Interminable and the whole thing is saddled with a terrible, unnecessary voiceover. Seriously, they should show this in film class to demonstrate when v/o hinders not helps.

They were likely going for a Maleficent-style re-imagining, but where that succeeded (somewhat) in a completely new retelling right down to a different ending to the source material, this wants to have it's cake and eat it too - it wants to have the Cruella aesthetic (the car, the hair, Hell Hall, the camp accent) but doesn't ever let her be a villain, or even the beginnings of a villain, but that's that's reason she's so memorable in the first place. It puts all the pieces in place for the story we know, and yet that story simply cannot happen with this version of Cruella.

In the end, it's a story of a fundamentally decent person who maybe goes a bit overboard in retaliating to bullies, and swindles a sociopath to reclaim what's rightfully hers. Cruella De Vil! I just couldn't get over this fundamental misapplication of the source material.

In many ways, it almost feels as if this was pitched as a sequel, with Cruella in the Baroness role. It would have fit a lot better with the aesthetic, the time period, and the concept of punk disruption of classic fashion. Or, it was a completely unrelated story of a plucky orphan who rises in the fashion world, that at some point was grafted onto the Dalmatians property. Either one would have worked better, frankly.

I am probably being overly harsh. If you switch off your brain and enjoy the clothes it’s fine. But honestly, if you want your live action Cruella fix, just watch the Glenn Close version, because it is superior in every way.

The Chair (season 1) - I watched this for Sandra Oh, and I was not disappointed, because I got to watch Sandra Oh. On the other hand...it's not that I didn't like it, I just...wish it had been better?

The story revolves around Ji-Yoon Kim, the first woman (let alone woman of colour) to become Chair of English at a "minor Ivy" university, as she tries to juggle the clash of old style academia and new, raise her daughter as a single mother, and deal with a series of controversies caused by one of her professors (and love interest). It's the latter I feel sucked up way too much time and was ultimately unsatisfying - particularly the end, which was played like a moral victory but really rubbed me the wrong way. If this gets a season 2, I hope they dump Jay Duplass' fuckup sadsack because hoo boy, am I sick of that kind of male character.

But Sandra Oh is wonderful.

Writing

The Lady of the Lake - chapter 5 posted, 4215 words (10,261)

Against the Dying of the Light 1954 words (11,976)

Here I Go Again - 414 words (12,948)

Novel - 1039 words (1484)

Total this month: 7,622

Total this year: 48,435

[elendeare]

The Meeting of Fendithas and Claragosa

          After slaying Altrethir, Fendithas fled aimlessly into Azsuna in grief. He needed to get away. He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d done. Having found a spot to sit and mope, an hour passes before a rather unhappy dragon of the Blue Dragonflight discovers a shal’dorei a little too close to the pond of Senegos. Her lack of trust for his kind presents conflict, but then slowly takes a turn.

She’d heard the cries from the innocent whelplings, how they pleaded and screamed for aid. The once-noble and sophisticated elves of Suramar went beyond mad with an overwhelming lust for magic when cut off from their font of power; they would result to feeding on the young dragons, ones who couldn’t put up a fight. They were weak and they were cowards for doing so.

Still, it was rare to see one of those elves who wasn’t completely withered, or in the beginning phase of withering at all, within Azsuna. It would be a mere matter of time before his mind began descending into madness, though. She had to eliminate the threat before it was too late.

The dragon swooped down from the sky with a solid thud, marching straight up to the elf with her wings up and outstretched. Her voice practically boomed at him in anger. "Give me a reason not to incinerate you where you pathetically sit."

The man weakly stood up; having heard of the events within Azsuna, he replied sternly, "I've no interest in you nor your whelplings, dragon. My state of mind is not lost, unlike my withered brethren." Though as he spoke, the arcanist could feel the Nightwell's power slowly draining from his being. Certainly, it was the combination of his intense grief mixed with the cut-off from the font of power that caused him to tremble. A strong puff of air left the dragon’s nostrils as she scoffed, “I do not trust you or your any of kind. Blood stains your robes and your sword.”

Fendithas would tentatively reply, “The blood that soaks my clothing is of my kin. That which stains my blade is from shal’dorei who wish to see Suramar burn.”

She felt just the slightest tug at her heart strings, yet her expression hardly shifted. The dragon opened her mouth to speak again but the man spoke before she could; “My hand was forced. In self-defense, I killed my own brother. The man who had been at my side since childhood, the only person to never abandon me. I killed him. If that puts me at the same level as the whelp-slaying withered in your eyes, then I await your judgement, great dragon.”

The dragon heard the strain of his voice, noticing the darker purple tint around his eyes. Even now, in his state of grief, the man seemed to have given up. Oh, but those pesky nightborne were always scheming. Beings that lived for thousands of years were crafty and manipulative. It could all be a mere act.

She let out another huff before taking a few slow steps closer, leaning down to get rather close to him with her head, before taking a couple of deep sniffs. Fendithas shut his eyes, tensing, as if preparing for the worst. But the blood... smelled of fel. Corruption. It was unlike the blood of a blue dragon, let alone a whelpling. She backed away, eyes narrowed still in suspicion. “Elisande has brought destruction and devastation upon her people, and her city.” She stated. Fendithas shook his head, “The Legion is wholly at fault.”

“You express sympathy for your queen of poor choices?”

“I express my sympathy for my former queen who did not have a choice.”

The dragon let out a quiet growl. “... Then instead of giving up, you should make your brother’s death mean something, by putting in some effort to drive the Legion back.” She grumbled, “Save your city.” The arcanist was a bit surprised at the reply, swallowing dryly before responding. “The Rebellion will not take me. I have-”

“How do you know?” The dragon interrupted, her wings drooping to relax against her back. “I know, because they’ve sent assassins to kill me.” He paused. “Well, to try to kill me.” The dragon hummed lowly in thought. “Prove to them that you have had a change of heart.”

“That is much easier said than done, I fear.”

“So you will do nothing, then? Will you sit and sulk, wishing to change someone’s actions of the past? Will you become one of the withered who will eventually feast upon my siblings? Or will you go to the First Arcanist with the body of your brother, proving to her that you are serious about your change?” She paused. “What do you have to lose at this point, elf?”

Fendithas’ jaw clenched as his whole body tensed as she spoke. Her words held truth, yet in this state, it was beyond difficult to muster the courage and motivation to do as she said. His gaze had fallen to the lush grass below, slowly backing away and against the tree behind him. Gradually he would sink to the ground against it, burying his face in one of his gloved hands. As he sobbed quietly, the dragon adjusted into a more crouched position, shifting into a smaller elven form. Despite her size, she would still manage to pack a punch, should the stranger try to double-cross her.

“If he was an individual who wanted to see Suramar burned, as you claimed, then you did the right thing. That’s one less threat to your city, and to your people.” Her voice was softer, higher-pitched, but gentle. “Carry on with that. Save your city. There’s no sense in stopping, now that you’ve started.” She knelt to his level, slowly reaching to touch the back of his hand with her fingers. Her fingertips glowed a soft blue as she channeled mana into the elf, restoring some of his lost energy. He blinked a few times as the dim glow of his eyes slowly brightened.

“None of the assassins succeeded in taking you out. You mustered the courage to eliminate the threat that was your own family.” She withdrew her hand, figuring that was enough before she herself would be drained. “You’re strong.” The dragon then stood, brushing off the front of her robes. Fendithas would follow suit, staggering just a little as he stood and smoothed his hair.

“What is your name?” She asked, her tone a bit more demanding and less gentle than before. The man collected his sword, “Fendithas.”

“Your full name, elf.”

He swallowed dryly again, sheathing his blade at his hip; “Arcanist Fendithas Valran, firstborn of Falaern Valran.”

The dragon gave a small smirk, “Good. That’s how you’re going to introduce yourself to the First Arcanist.” She said with a wink, canting her head lightly to the side. “I am Claragosa. I shall remember you, as I’m certain this won’t be the last time we meet.” She took a good few steps back before beginning to crouch; her body glowed and she shifted into the larger form of the blue dragon from before. Not another word was spoken between the two as she took off in flight, heading in the direction of Senegos’ pond.

Fendithas watched quietly. Part of him couldn’t believe he was still alive after the encounter; the Blue Dragonflight had every right to be angry with the shal’dorei. The desperation for mana and magic that the withered starved for was found within those dragons. Needless to say that, in their craze and drive to madness, they’d stop at nothing to satisfy that hunger, even if it meant feeding on helpless whelplings. It was a tragic fate, but one brought upon the shal’dorei by the Legion.

He wondered if the Blue Dragonflight would ever help the Rebellion drive demons out from his city.

[inmytaste-blog]

Irreplaceable

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Swearing, anticipation and salvation.

A/N: Another update! Sorry for taking a while to complete and post this but I was extremely busy. This piece is inspired by this request and I hope I lived up to the anon’s expectations! Once again, feedback is very much appreciated and I would be more than happy to hear what you want me to write next! Till next time, happy reading! x

____________________________________________________

‘’Shawn Mendes and Y/N Y/L/N’s relationship is thriving and we couldn’t be more happy’’. That was what all the famous tabloids were saying about yours and Shawn’s relationship but it was pretty much expected since he was the worldwide phenomenon of pop music and you were a very big name in the industry of acting with over ten movies in your history.

The thing with Shawn came as something completely unplanned and unexpected which turned out to be beautiful and priceless. He had attended one of your movie’s premieres and he was congratulating on you and your acting abilities all night long being the gentleman you were soon about to find out he was. You had hit it off pretty well even from that very first introduction to one another. You were familiar with his music and his touring and you had always wanted to meet him in person. So when that happened you couldn’t help but feel yourself explode with happiness and a little bit of fangirling. He was a heartthrob for God’s sake.

The thing is that he was also a fan of your own work and career and he would be pleased if he had the chance to chat with you and perhaps catch your number in order to keep in touch. His friends would make fun of him telling him that he was being crushing on you and even stalking your Instagram account behind their backs which was partly the truth. He was stalking your Instagram account even when they were in his close proximity with no shame whatsoever. So when he saw your post that you would be attempting both the premiere and the after party for your movie he knew this was his chance to make a good first impression to you and chat you up.

And this is exactly what had happened that night. He had made his way towards you and started with his good words and his wishes for your future in the industry, something you gladly welcomed and appreciated. He made it his mission to keep the conversation going that night and he succeeded since you were stuck to the hip throughout the after party as well, sharing glances and drinks along with funny stories about what made you choose acting as your profession and how Shawn had eaten all of his sister’s birthday cake, on her birthday.

Things were pretty easy from there. It was pretty visible he fancied you and you fancied him and many people even urged you to get together since they couldn’t handle the mystified glances and the romantic activities you two shared together. At first, you would laugh at their efforts and tried to cut them off by telling them that you weren’t Shawn’s type and that he had no time for romances since he was working on his upcoming album at that time. Deep down, you were only saying those things in order to persuade your own self that maybe Shawn hadn’t properly asked you out yet because he was so caught up in his work and his music.

This was soon to be changed though when he had asked you to go to his place to run movie marathons with lots of candy and beers. You had thought nothing of it when this proposal was aimed at you since this was something very normal and ordinary for you. What you hadn’t expected though was the fact that Shawn had thought everything through and he was about to ask you to be his girlfriend that night. Something that indeed happened. And something you eagerly accepted. You had waited far too long for this moment to finally arrive and when it did, you thought that everything made sense.

Shawn was over the moon when you had announced your decision to his proposal, which wasn’t very difficult to be made anyway. He was the definition of boyfriend material and you wanted to be the only one who got to experience it.

‘’I can’t stand you anymore guys. You are always so lovey dovey and you make nothing to hide it. Yuk!’’ Brian had playfully commented on your sitting on Shawn’s lap when you were all together one night in Shawn’s place.

‘’You are only jealous because you don’t have what we have mate. And especially, you don’t have her’’ Shawn replied to his friend and averted his gaze to you, kissing you gently on your lips.

‘’I love you’’ you had truthfully said and his smile lit up the whole room.

‘’And I you’’ Shawn had confessed and continued to hold you tight to his chest, his heartbeat being your favourite soundtrack.

Everything seemed perfect and ideal and you couldn’t ask for more. Shawn’s fans were somewhat encouraging your relationship with their idol but there were also the ones who made everything in their power to bring you down and make you feel insignificant next to Shawn. Comments like these made you want to call it quits with him and exit his life thinking it would be for the better but then Shawn would come along and reassure you that you were giving him the strength to move on and keep going with his music. You were his muse and he would be damned if he let you go.

Apart from the hurtful fans though, many other obstacles started to appear in your relationship with Shawn such as his management and their plans to grow his fame and his streams. One particular plan which was employed for those reasons was the promotional stunts with famous models and singers that Shawn was made to commit to and pull off. He knew this was something you deeply despised because it made you feel like you were coming second in his heart even when he was just pretending.

He had spent countless nights explaining to you that you owned something that no one could ever own even if they tried and that something was his heart. You knew Shawn was trustworthy and faithful to whoever was by his side. Besides, he had never showed anything to you to make you question his loyalty and his devotion to you but it weren’t Shawn you were afraid of; it was all the other girls seen with him. You feared they wouldn’t pay attention to his companion-you-and that they would make a move nonetheless. That is what bothered you.

Shawn always had an ear for your darkest fears and worries and he made sure all those thoughts were erased from your mind before they took their toll further on you. But the glass was already fragile and unfortunately Shawn was the one to break it even though he tried to assure you he would never do something to hurt your or your relationship.

You had arranged a peaceful night at the pool Shawn had in his mansion with two glasses of white wine and some of your favourite snacks in order to celebrate your one year anniversary. Minutes kept ticking by and Shawn was nowhere to be seen until the front door was opened and closed almost immediately. You waited for Shawn to spot you by the pool and when he did you really wished he hadn’t. He was wasted out of his logical mind, his appearance was muffled and his clothes messily put together.

You didn’t want to believe that your boyfriend of one year had forgotten all about your anniversary but more importantly you didn’t want to believe that he had preferred a packed club to an affectionate night with his girlfriend. Just when you thought you had seen it all, your attention was casted upon his shirt’s collar which had a pinkish hue onto it. Just then, the whole yard started spinning and you swore you could faint any time.

How did that spot make its way there? Who got too close to your Shawn? But above all, how did Shawn allow it to get this far? So many unanswered questions were swirling in your mind and your tried to stop the tears which had already made their way down in your eyes threatening to spill right now and then.

‘’Really Shawn? After all we’ve discussed and solved? You just go ahead and crush it all just like that?’’ you had risen from your previous spot by now and you were walking towards him, wanting to rip that disgusting laugh from his lips.

‘’What are you talking about baby?’’ he said, briefly slurring and tripping.

‘’This! This is what I am talking about!’’ you frantically moved your hands around including your surroundings and raising your voice.

‘’I don’t think I understand Y/N. Had you been drinking?’’ Shawn had the nerve to joke around and you had just enough.

‘’What is this? Who was this close to you and why didn’t you push her off of you Shawn? Goddammit!’’ you screeched and turned your back to Shawn after tilting his shirt towards him showing the rosy mark.

‘’Ohhhhh you’re talking about this one!’’ Shawn stressed but you wanted to hear nothing.

‘’Yes this and the fact that on our one year anniversary you decide to go out, have fun doing God knows what and who knows with whom and leave me waiting here looking like a complete idiot for trusting you completely ignorant’’ your tears were spilling now and you cared less how defenseless you were appearing. You just wanted all of this to be a bad dream which would come to an end with Shawn cuddling you in your sleep.

But no. Shawn was standing right in front of you, grinning like a child and watching become smaller and smaller in a matter of seconds.

‘’You know what? I think I am going to head outside for a little while. Clear my mind of this… new you. I hope she deserved it Shawn’’ you said, putting on your coat and going inside the house, ready to storm off.

‘’Baby wait, I don’t underst-‘’ Shawn started to chase after you but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the front door being slammed at him. He took a seat on his sofa and tried to call your number before collapsing and passing out right there with his clothes on.

The next morning found him in the same spot he chose the previous night but instead of being greeted with your warm and gentle kisses he was met with a cold and a disheartening silence that tore his ears apart. He tried to stand and cursed at himself when he felt his head spinning and ready to explode, being unable to fully concentrate on what happened yesterday. The only thing he saw were the two wine glasses standing by the pool along with some snacks. He tried to connect the dots while climbing up the stairs to your bedroom, hoping he would see you peacefully sleeping, wiping all of his building worries and questions off his mind.

When he made it in your shared bedroom though, he was disappointed to discover that the sheets were covered in rose petals but you were missing. Going into the bathroom in a final attempt to find you there, he came across his awful state in the mirror and his eyes moved to his collar which was still marked by some rosy shades of lipstick. Instantly, he put the pieces together and he saw everything clear as day.

‘’Shit, shit, shit. No please no’’ he frantically pleaded while looking for his phone, ready to dial your number and spill his guts about what really happened the night before. No matter how many times he tried to contact you, his calls went straight to voicemail not giving him the chance to explain himself.

‘’Fuck! This isn’t supposed to end and it won’t! Please!’’ he desperately cried at an invisible friend in the living room as if trying to make him help him fix the mess he had made.

‘’Y/N please, give me the chance to explain. I know it seems like I fucked up big time but it is not what it seems. Please. Answer my calls and you’ll see I’m still your Shawn please’’ he cried through his speaker, leaving what felt like the hundredth voicemail to your number.

Part of you wanted to give in to his pleas and hear him out but the other part of you felt humiliated and stepped upon. How could the one you were helplessly in love with treat you like this? It was just too much to take in and you knew that if you heard his voice, your walls would come crushing down one by one. However, you felt it was unfair not letting him voice his opinion on the matter no matter what difference it would make if it would make any concerning your feelings.

-Meet me in the park in one hour.

Was the only thing you allowed yourself to send him and tried to collect yourself and prepare mentally for what was to come out of this meeting. Deep down, your decision had been made and you weren’t exactly sure if Shawn would be able to get out of this that easily. Your heart was aching at what happened and you wished it hadn’t happened but reality was there to make you see things objectively and clearly.

After one agonizing hour of thinking and crying in the depths of your bed sheets, you reminded yourself of the meeting you had arranged with Shawn in the park. The walk there was filled with anxiety, nervousness and nerves ready to snap at any given moment. You had to make sure not to let your feelings overflow and just listen to what he had to say on the situation. You wanted to make clear that he hurt you and that he cut too deep with his actions and his behavior afterwards.

Your steps came to a halt when you saw a familiar mop of curls waiting patiently under an oak tree, ready to be faced with truth and facts. You made your way to where he was standing and you cleared your throat to let him know that you had arrived.

‘’Y/N you came’’ he said letting out a breath of relief seeing you standing before him.

‘’Yes, I am curious about what you have to say so desperately’’

Shawn’s face clouded at your harsh statement but you couldn’t help how shattered you felt inside. This was something beyond your powers as it was so he needed to make it easier for both of you.

‘’I see. Y/N please I know I messed up but I want you to know that nothing happened that night at the club’’ Shawn started and you folded your arms in front of your chest in an attempt to keep yourself together.

‘’It seemed more than something to me. I can’t believe you let that happen to us Shawn’’

‘’Y/N please let me be clear. This is not what you think it is. I was at the club with the boys and then all of a sudden a girl approached me and tried to reach my neck for some reason but the boys stopped her before she could go away further. I was shocked at first but I tried to get her off of me which worked. But it was too late because she had already marked the shirt with her lipstick. I swear nothing else happened and I can get the boys here to confirm that too!’’ Shawn said all in one breath and you tried to process all the new information.

‘’And what do you have to say about being outside and having fun with your friends on our one year anniversary Shawn? You don’t know how it felt to see you coming home drunk while I was waiting for something good to celebrate back home. I felt… stupid’’ you said looking down but immediately looking at his hooded eyes.

‘’It totally slipped my mind Y/N. You know that I would cancel everything if I remembered’’

‘’That’s the thing Shawn. That you forgot. Maybe I am an obstacle in your career after all. So I’m making it easier. I will walk away so that you can be free to do whatever you want and continue with your career. Besides I have a career I need to take care of myself’’ you said and Shawn felt his heart clenching at your words. Never had he imagined that you would ask him to part and live separate lives.

‘’Y/N please don’t do this. You know you are all I need and I will make it up to you every day for the rest of my life. Just… stay’’ he pleaded and if you weren’t so hurt and damaged you would have said yes in a heartbeat. But all the hurtful comments, the stunts and Shawn’s pressuring career made you stern and cold.

‘’I am sorry Shawn but I don’t think it will work. I wish you all the best’’ you said and with that you exited a world you thought it was yours as well.

What you hadn’t thought about was the aftermath of your breakup with Shawn. Somehow, the news had leaked and all of the Instagram, the Twitter, the Pinterest and every single platform was posting things about your split up with the dearest boy of pop. You decided it was best if you just disappeared from all the social media for a little while since it wouldn’t do you any good seeing pictures of him pop up every single time of the day. You wanted to forget or at least numb the pain you were feeling and shutting off for a while seemed like the best option.

That little while lasted more than you expected however and even after two months after your parting with Shawn, you couldn’t stand seeing his face being plastered all across your account or even in the TV and the newspapers. Your social life had come down to the minimum and the only thing that kept you sane was your job on a new movie you were currently finishing. To say that your job worked as an antidote to all the aching you had built up inside of you was an understatement. It even made you more passionate in the character you had to impersonate for the movie resulting in a better outcome for the movie.

‘’Okay guys. In five days we have the grand premiere of the movie and I want you all to be there. There is going to be an after party as well but I cannot expect from all of you to be there. It would be a pleasant surprise if you did though. So clear up your schedules from now in order to be free in five days’’ the director told to the crew of the movie and everybody cheered that their newest work would be published soon, except from you.

You loved your job, you really did but the only thing your head wrapped around were the words premiere and after party remembering damn well that those were the circumstances under which you had met Shawn and started talking and hanging out. You didn’t think you had the strength to come to terms with seeing him again, let alone converse with him. Trying to push those thoughts aside, you decided it was best if you just kept your focus solemnly on your new movie and the work you had so passionately invested in it.

‘’Hey don’t you hear me girl? Wait up!’’ you suddenly heard your colleague call after you and you waited for her to catch up with you.

‘’Sorry didn’t hear you. Everything okay?’’ you asked her once she was walking beside you towards the exit of the building you were currently shooting at and offered her a small smile.

‘’I am good I wanted to ask you how you are doing though’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ you were a bit lost and you wanted to make sure you understood completely before providing your answer.

‘’I mean how are you handling your break up? I know it’s been two months but it must be hard seeing it everywhere’’ your friend explained and you were more confused than before.

‘’Can you be more specific please? I don’t think I am following’’ you honestly replied and you saw your friend fishing her mobile phone out of her pocket showing you a picture.

Just when your eyes landed on the picture held in front of your very own eyes, your breath caught in your throat and you felt like the walls were closing in on you. You felt like someone was playing tricks with your mind and just wanted to see you suffering. All of this time, you thought you had made a good job at getting over Shawn or at least trying to escape the aching feeling in your chest but this picture was the proof that you were nowhere near that point.

Right in front of you was Shawn in one of the most attractive suits you had ever seen worn by him hugging and smiling to a very pretty lady. You thought you knew she was Hailee Baldwin from what you had heard before but the sight in front of you pained you.

‘’Oh’’ was all that you said and your vision got blurry. You weren’t ready to face and accept the fact that Shawn had moved on so quickly and so effortlessly like you meant nothing to him.

‘’I thought you knew that’s why I asked you’’ your friend said feeling guilty looking at your saddened gaze.

‘’Well, it’s good I found out this way I guess. No worries though. He belongs in the past and that’s where I intend on keeping him’’ you said more to yourself than to your friend, unable to identify where this certainty came from. Was it sadness? Was it anger? Whatever it was, it hurt. A lot.

‘’I think I’m gonna head home for now. Gotta start getting ready for our movie’’ you said fake-excited and exited the building with hot tears cascading down your cheeks. You didn’t want to accept that Shawn was over you with a snap of his fingers while you were still struggling to make the day without breaking at least one vase in your apartment. Maybe you were never good enough for him and you breaking up with him was the perfect opportunity for him to be freed from you. You didn’t know what to believe anymore. All you knew was that you had to prepare for a premiere which was coming closer and closer.

What you really wished for was for Shawn to be absent and especially unaccompanied by his new lover. You couldn’t have him ruining you both with his physical appearance which was always tempting and pleasant to have around but with this Hailee girl with him as well. You were just human after all and you wanted to finally find some peace. The only thing close to peace you could find was shopping your dress for the big night and that’s exactly how you decided to spend your day.

Walking through busy streets and gazing at beautiful pieces of clothing outside of big windows till a particular one would catch your eye. Just when you were ready to enter a shop, you saw a familiar face coming towards you to greet you. It was Josh, another one of your coworkers who was very friendly and extremely funny to be around.

‘’Y/N! What a coincidence! Shopping for the premiere night aye?’’ he said after giving you a warm hug which you gladly accepted.

‘’Of course. You too?’’ you said giggling.

‘’I have to find a suitable suit I guess. Hey, I wanted to ask you something now that I have you here’’ he said and he grew hesitant by the minute.

‘’Yes of course, go on’’ you encouraged and you sensed him getting nervous.

‘’I was wondering if you’d like to go together to the premiere. Unless of course you have other plans’’ he quickly said and you contemplated your answer for a minute. If you had to endure Shawn coming with his girlfriend, you surely wouldn’t be able to get it through the night alone. Plus, it would be good to finally socialize with someone else rather than your mom and your fridge.

‘’Well, I’d love to’’ you finally agreed and he smiled up at you.

‘’Great. Pick you up at nine then?’’ he asked.

‘’Sounds good to me. See you then!’’ you said and entered the shop, wanting to buy a dress you had been eyeing for far too long.

You weren’t really sure whether what you had just gotten yourself into was for the better or for the worse but the premiere night was finally here and there was no going back now. The only thing remaining was you having fun with Josh and enjoying the thing you had poured your heart and soul into.

Josh was punctual and you both made your way to the crowded venue in which the premiere was going to take place. Arriving there, the flashes of the cameras were blinding as always and you felt thankful that you had Josh to rely upon while trying to get out of the car, ready to answer some of the paparazzis’ questions. You knew there would be a lot of Shawn related questions and you knew you had to answer them no matter what you felt inside.

What you couldn’t handle at all though was seeing him getting out of a car and waving at the screaming crowds like he was born to do this. You wanted if not needed to turn your head elsewhere but Shawn beat you to it and turned his head around first searching for someone and locking his eyes with yours when he found that someone. When your eyes locked, you saw some things that you knew he covered very well even though everyone thought he was ok. You saw sadness, despair and hope. Not wanting to ruin the night further, you averted your gaze towards Josh telling him to move in the building.

Shawn saw that your arm was locked with another guy’s and he felt like the earth was shaking and he was going to collapse at any second. He had come all the way to the premiere because he wanted to have a word with you about your relationship. For him, it was far from over and he wanted to give it another shot no matter the cost. He missed waking up next to you, hearing your steady breathing when he felt like panicking but most importantly he missed how you could keep him down to earth when everything felt a little too much. And he wasn’t willing to lose that.

The movie went smoothly and everyone was congratulating you and all the other actors on the perfect job you had done. You were proud with the outcome and you felt like something was finally going well. Up until Shawn was up next to come and speak to you.

‘’Awesome movie. Congratulations Y/N’’ he said and he shook your hand a little bit longer than necessary. His touch felt warm against your cold skin and for a moment it took you back to the days when you got to experience this every single day. But this was now and he had no right to come here and manipulate you.

‘’Thanks Shawn’’ you replied trying to keep the conversation as small as possible but Shawn had other plans. Gently, he grabbed you by the hand and guided you a bit further from the people in order to be able to talk.

‘’Shawn what are you doing? I need to speak to those people’’ you said and he wasted no time.

‘’Y/N I miss you. Us. And I know you do too. You also know that I am innocent and that nothing happened in the club that night. Please. Look what has become of me. I am half without you’’ Shawn said not caring if people could hear him and he searched in your eyes for any hint of forgiveness or consent.

‘’Who do you think you are Shawn? Coming here and telling me all this stuff while your girlfriend is patiently waiting on you in your house? Please, let me be’’ you said and Shawn was taken aback.

‘’What girlfriend? Y/N I can barely write any music or sleep for that matter and you think I replaced you? I could never do that. You are you Y/N and there is no one else I’d rather be with’’ Shawn tried one last time but you were more determined this time.

‘’Bye Shawn’’. Deep down, you were happy that he didn’t find anyone else and that he was in the same condition as you. It is not that you didn’t want to see him happy, it was just that seeing happy with someone else pained you. Even now. You wanted to jump up in his arms and forgive his stupid mistake of forgetting your anniversary but something was stopping you.

‘’Nothing is stopping you. You have to acknowledge that everyone makes mistakes and that since he didn’t cheat on you, he deeply means all that he is saying’’ you heard a voice from beside you and jumped a little.

‘’I was thinking out loud, wasn’t I?’’ you facepalmed and Josh nodded his head in agreement.

‘’I say you go over there and give him another chance. I feel sorry for him’’ he tried to joke but you knew he was right. You missed him like crazy as well. You missed how goofy he was first thing in the morning or how serious he became when he sensed that something was off with you and wanted to help. You missed how precious he made you feel without really trying or how many times he made you feel loved just by looking at you.

‘’Ugh, I love him so much but-‘’

‘’But what? Y/N I know you miss me baby. I just heard you’’ Shawn said appearing from behind you and you turned crimson red in a matter of seconds.

‘’I could always say you’re crazy and that you misheard’’ you thought for a while and he placed his strong arms around your small frame.

‘’I am crazy but only for you. Let’s go home babygirl. We waited long enough’’.

[random-imagines-blog]

In Between Days {Kiernan Shipka x Platonic!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @h-a-j-i-m-e-ru Wordcount: 2422 Synopsis: Your best friend is away filming her hit Netflix show. You miss her and decide to do something about it.

Kiernan’s face finally came up, replacing the blue Skype loading screen. You could see your own face in the corner, much smaller than hers, and made yourself laugh by making a face at her. “And here I thought you were too busy out in Studio-land, earning your fortune.” You said, laying down on your bed. She rolled her eyes, shook her head and made a face back at you, making you laugh again. While she was distracted, you looked behind her to see a grey screen - she was probably in the middle of filming an interview or something, which made you feel a bit downhearted. “Are you ever coming home? Your mom misses you.”

“First of all, it’s Vancouver.” Kiernan said, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. “Your hair looks cute, did you get it cut? And soon, I hope. There’s a couple more weeks of shooting left and then I can take a break.” You knew what she was doing - using the haircut thing to attempt to distract you from missing her. It never helped. Kiernan could act but she was never able to fool you. She smiled though, and that made you feel a bit better. She was happy - that’s all that really mattered.

“Kiernan, my hair always looks cute,” You joked, going along with her. You brought your legs up behind you, kicking at the air in the stereotypical female fashion. “You said break, that means you’re not going to be back for long, am I right?”

There was a pause as Kiernan looked past her phone at something, and then back to you. Icicles hung near your heart as you knew what her answer was going to be. You sighed before she even opened her mouth. “The break is only for two weeks...” She said nervously.

“You might as well start waving around a Canadian flag, you’re there enough. You know the national anthem yet? Lunch everyday is poutine and freedom? How is your igloo doing, is it warm enough?” You stuck your tongue out at her, making her roll her eyes.

“I think you’d actually like it up here. Vancouver is really nice - it’s a mix of city and nature, right on the water.” She said, enticing you. The thought was nice, actually. The fact that your best friend was working so far away made you realize that you were feeling stuck where you were at, and like your life wasn’t really moving anywhere. A plan started to hatch in your mind, and you had to turn your face to hide it from Kiernan.

“It sounds nice,” You said, rather flatly. You avoided looking into the webcam, and feigned like you heard something in the background. “You know, I think there’s someone at my door, and since I know it’s not you, it’s probably my dinner. You going to be around later?”

“I might be, text me first!” Kiernan said, leaning forward to look at you in her monitor, sensing that something was going on. “You aren’t very good at hiding things, I know all your tells.”

“Kiernan, I’m shocked and appalled that you think I would hide anything from you!” You acted dramatically, giving her your best Macauley Culken in Home Alone impression. You laughed afterwards, and hovered near the end call button. “Love you, talk to you later.”

You signed off of Skype, effectively getting rid of your friend for the next couple of hours. But you did open a couple of websites and started to do some researching.

“Kiernan...” Lucy Davis said, shuffling towards her young co-worker. After her came you, bent down low and hiding behind her dress, hand over your mouth to stiffle your giggles. It took all of your muscles not to burst out into laughter at the anticipation of seeing your best friend again. Kiernan was not expecting anything, as far as you knew, since you had skyped her the night before from your room, signing off just as your cab came up to take you to the airport so you could fly up to Canada for the next week. Much like Kiernan thought you would, you did find what you saw of Vancouver to be beautiful.

“Socks are a bit loose, they keep falling down,” You heard your friend telling the wardrobe woman. But she did eventually notice the woman who played her Aunt Hilda come into the room. “Morning, Lucy!” She said, cheerfully. “Your carrying a stowaway, I think.”

Your cue, you assumed. There was a moment of confusion when Lucy didn’t move out of the way quickly to expose you, so you stuck your head up over her shoulder and gave your friend the biggest grin that you could muster, and it was entirely real. The blonde gasped and jumped up from the chair where they were trying different length socks on her, in different colors, since apparently Sabrina is really into socks.

You shuffled past Lucy and gave your best friend a hug that took up most of your strength. This wasn’t very much since you were a bit jet-lagged and had to wake up early to take a cab to the studio and meet the people you talked to in order to let you onto the set in the first place.

You both wore the same perfume, and you could smell it on her while the two of you were so close. Kiernan was the first to pull away, look at you, shake her head, then hug you again. The wardrobe woman laughed and excused herself so that you two could have some time to catch up before the scene would begin to be shot, and Lucy left as well, claiming to need to go over her script again.

“You are actually here, in Vancouver?” Kiernan said, her expression a mixture of shock and happiness.

“There just so happened to be a couple of vacation days saved up, so I took them all now. Surprise!” That made Kiernan laugh and shake your arms to make sure that you really were there. “Later though, show me the set Miss Sabrina!” You insisted.

Forgetting about the socks, which were starting to fall down on her calfs and puddle around her ankles, Kiernan took your arm and started to show you around. There were plenty of people to meet, and things to see. It was a whirlwind adventure, being on a TV set like this. Too much was happening that it was hard to learn it all. You weren’t used to this hustle and bustle, even though your own job could be a bit busy at times.

“Your job is way cooler than mine,” You said, walking into Sabrina’s room. You made sure not to touch anything, because you figured that these people would be nitpicky about that. You whistled and settled your gaze back on your friend, who had her thinking face on. It was a face you recognized well, since her thinking got the two of you into trouble many times.

“They might let you be an extra, if you wanted to be. So you can maybe be in a school scene we’re shooting later!” It wasn’t a bad plan, and one that probably wouldn’t turn out to be troublesome so you eagerly agreed to it. It only took a second for Kiernan to grab your arm and drag you over to the director to ask them on your behalf.

It was soon time for your first scene. You weren’t a character that was even named, but you were put into a more trendy outfit and positioned down the hallway from where Kiernan’s character, and another girl you hadn’t been introduced to, were standing.

And then, it was go time. You started to walk down the hall, adjusting your backpack strap, doing your utmost not to look at the camera. The first half of it started off well, but when the camera went into the other actress’s face to get a clear look at her expression, Kiernan turned her head sharply to look at you, and made an ugly face. You attempted to keep your composure as you were walking, and you almost succeeded. Almost.

The bulky shoes that they put on your feet, some sort of heel because apparently people wore those everywhere these days, bumped into one another and you fell onto the floor, laughing in shock at the fall and in amusement at your friend’s face. You weren’t embarrassed or ashamed, but you did cross your eyes at Kiernan and blamed her for making you fall.

“Cut!” The director called out. “Tell me that it won’t happen again, we don’t need another long day.”

Kiernan was about to speak for you but you got onto your feet and smiled as sweetly as you could. “You got it boss!” You returned to where you were before walking onto the scene to get ready to do it again. You had no idea that just walking through a hallway in front of a camera could be so difficult. That it would play at your self-conscious like were you making an odd face, did you have a weird walk, were your shoes making squeaky sounds? Really, you had no idea how Kiernan did this so often.

You waited for the director to call action and walked out again. The scene went smoother this time, and you didn’t have to do a reshoot. Kiernan didn’t make any faces at you, or acknowledge you, though you could see that she angled her body so she would be able to see you walk past. Even that was nearly enough for you to start giggling but you held it all in, as painful as it was.

You had a couple of other scenes together, and were getting ready to film one of them now. It was during a party scene, so you could be more loose, you could smile and laugh.  But you weren’t prepared for your best friend’s tricks.

“You better be on your best behavior.” The make-up artist said after sweeping a bit of powder onto your face to reduce any shine from the lights. “It annoys the director that you have more chemistry with Kiernan than any of her on-screen friends do.”

Kiernan and you really did have that connection. Which, of course, made it hard not to talk to her during shooting. She always seemed to catch your eye and you had to stop yourself from referencing a private joke or making one of the faces you knew would make her laugh. You knew it was probably hard for her too since the director always called her out on taking too many steps away from her co-stars towards you. Kiernan did her best to remain professional, since this was her career, but you quickly realized that acting wasn’t going to be in the cards for you after this.

The scene had to be re-shot five times before the Director finally pointed at you as you were talking in the background to one of the other extras, telling the story about the time that you and Kiernan went swimming when it was too chilly and ended up with blue lips. Kiernan had overheard what you were saying and laughed, which certainly was not in the script.

“You, you’re outta here.” You looked at the director to see that he was indeed pointing at you. The rest of the actors looked at you, and Kiernan whispered a sorry in your direction. In your defense, all you did was give a sheepish smile then made your way off of the set to get a cup of coffee. Helpful was the director’s assistant who came with you and explained that it wasn’t really your fault, but you did take responsibility anyhow. You were a distraction.

You met up with Kiernan in her trailer once she was done shooting the party scenes. The actress had all but run towards you, and wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You didn’t deserve to get fired, I’m so sorry!” She rambled about how she was going to talk to the director tomorrow but you laughed and stopped her.

“You know me, I’m not great in front of cameras.” Your face scrunched up as you remembered some of the god-awful pictures that you two had taken together, which no one else in this world would ever see. “Kiernan, I came here to hang out with you, not to be on set. I’m totally fine with just hanging out with the wardrobe woman or making sure that everything catering makes is wonderful.”

“You sure?” Kiernan asked you, looking into your eyes to make sure that you were telling the truth. To be absolutely sure, she always knew exactly where to look.

“You know it,” You scoffed. Kiernan smiled, seeing that you were being honest with her, and hugged you again.

“It doesn’t mean that you can’t be around on set, you just can’t tell those embarrassing stories about me anymore.”

“It probably means that I can’t go on set since I’m ‘such a distraction’” You said the last three words in an imitation of the director that wasn’t entirely kind. “That’s okay though, I’ll just be surprised like everyone else when I binge your face on Netflix. Really though, it’s going to be so weird seeing me on TV.”

“You get used to it.” Kiernan laughed. “It gets less overwhelming over time. Are you sure you’re okay though?” She asked, still looking a little guilty.

“Psh,” You waved your hand. “This is just one of your many acting jobs. To be honest, there’s going to be so many directors out there who will love me and beg for me to do a scene with you, I might just overpower your career.” You joked, making Kiernan nudge you. She did smile though, which made you feel a bit better.

“You’re going to be my best friend forever, you know that?” She said, finally relaxing and sitting down on the bed of her trailer. Your legs followed hers and you sat down beside her, stretching out.

“You can’t get rid of me, duh.”

[salemsaberhxgen-a]

re; salem’s magical abilities

this covers powers from the original comics, the 1996 sitcom, & the chilling adventures of sabrina

disclaimer: i try to state what is canon & what is my interpretation as well as which canon is being referenced but researching this, i’ve found that the information is relatively jumbled up & there are many different story lines & origin stories so there’s a lot of contradictions as well as overlap. that being said, the information regarding his powers are very limited so please bear that in mind while reading this as these apply only to my own portrayal of salem, do not assume all other salems follow suit.

tl:dr version below:

salem can fly unaided, time travel with seemingly no limitations, shapeshift into any living thing, communicate with & understand animals, can communicate telepathically with the witch for whom he is a familiar, travel in a method similar to apparating in harry potter, & use another witch to complete spells while essentially transferring power for the sake of completing said spell.

one last note, is that i didn’t pull any of this stuff out of thin air. these are things you can find information about, however difficult or limited. the only reason i’m saying salem can do it, is because there’s information on it either from the sitcom or the comics. this isn’t me trying to make salem op, these are facts that i think make total sense for him. also keep in mind, that while he may have all these powers, he is not all powerful & has limitations to his skill or strength, some of which i mention but many of which i don’t. this is kind of just the bare bones of the list

canonically in the sitcom salem has absolutely no powers as a cat but he had some powers in the comics, as well as abilities as a goblin in the chilling adventures of sabrina & i take influence from all of them. today i wanna talk about what powers he had as a regular witch as well as abilities that he may have been able to keep despite his sentence as a cat.

to start, some of the known abilities we have involve the ability to time travel, fly as well as shape-shift. i also think that once he became a cat, he gained the ability to connect & speak with animals either telepathically or just simply understanding the noises an animal makes. this i think he would keep after returning to his regular body again since becoming human would simply mean gaining his full powers back as well as being freed from his confinements as a cat. i also think that he retained the ability to shift into a cat but can do so without the help of incantations where as normally he would require a spell of some kind to facilitate the shift. both of these abilities require concentration & effort to complete & are not snap your fingers fast.

if we’re to go by his powers via the comic books, ( which i also take influence from ), & although this was story line dependent, then salem maintained his powers, although they were very limited. the only catch was that he needed someone else’s fingers to act as a sort of extension of himself. in essence, he could perform magic by siphoning off his power for use of his spell but this is something that required a willing assistant; he couldn’t just use any old witch without permission to do so.

it’s still unclear the extent of his shape shifting abilities so i can’t go into full detail now, though i’ll be making a follow up post about this specifically at some point. anyway, i’m assuming it’s based off typical shifting rules where you need something to imprint off of so if you have something as a reference, you can transform into that. however, i would assume that this only applies to outer appearance & does nothing to affect him physiologically. theoretically he could turn into a chair if he wanted but why would he i guess is the question.

this shifting abilities are very much so present in the caos. as a goblin, salem can shift into anything. he does have a default form, link here for description & photo. be warned, it’s creepy af but most things from coas are.

moving on, this is where i really stray from canon, be it the comics, the sitcom, or even the chilling adventures of sabrina. for this i take some influence from harry potter.

already we know that salem & his coven have no use for wands, instead they use their fingers or simply just willing something to happen. the latter required a lot more practice & skill & i think salem’s time as a cat where he couldn’t use his hands to facilitate his spells that once he returned to his original form, he no longer required the use of his hands. i also believe that on top of being able to perform ❝ wandless ❞ magic, he also honed his skills to allow him to simply think of or imagine a spell in his mind rather than having to speak an incantation aloud. i do however thing that if he wanted to use some powerful magic, he had to then return to speaking aloud so really non-verbal magic was restricted to smaller spells that required no ongoing effort.

going back to his powers as a witch before his sentence, i mentioned the ability to time travel, fly, & shapeshift. it’s difficult to get any concrete information about the extent of these powers so from here on out is just my interpretation. with that in mind, let’s continue.

time travel. of course salem has to abide by the rules of time travel. not to risk sounding confusing but i was reading up on time travel & i found a couple lines that sum it up reasonably well ❝ something is whatever it is, & was whatever it was, & will be whatever it will be, once & forever.... [ once something happens ] there is nothing you can do to change it, because it happened. you can no more change events in your past in a space-time with closed timelike curves than you can change events that already happened in ordinary space-time, with no closed timelike curves. ❞

in essence, nothing he does can change the future because any event he thinks he might influence already happened & it will always happen the way it did. knowing this, the stress of time travel & worrying about fucking up a timeline disappeared, not that it was something he was especially worried about anyways. mostly he time travels to experience things, not to attempt to alter reality for one reason or another.

if he has any limits when it comes to time travel, he doesn’t know what they are & doesn’t care to find out. it works for what he wants it to & has yet to run into any issues or limitations pertaining to it.

next up, flying. so typically witches require something to ride in order to fly. originally witches rode brooms but the sitcom implies that modern day witches ride vacuums instead the reason for which is beyond me. but i’ll take a second to mention that there are vacuum riding witch traffic cops in the sky to make sure witches are using their vacuums within the law which is just a really funny visual. later in the sitcom sabrina moves away from her vacuum & we’re left to assume that she likely shifted to using molecular transference as means for travel. the equivalent would probably be something along the lines of floo powder in harry potter without needing the use of a chimney to do so.

for a quick second i’m also going to explain molecular transference as it’s something that salem also has the ability to do, given that you must take a test to prove you know how in order to gain your witches licence. in short this can be used to travel great distances & between realms in a matter of seconds & most witches can transport people with them as we see later in the series. skilled witches can change the way this ability manifests ie. travelling by smoke in place of a witch’s usual magical form. along with this, forms that create a lot of noise upon entrance can also be changed so that the user can use their usual magic to dematerialize, but then quietly flash into the desired location silently, but again, this isn’t the case for all witches & many have no need for this extra step — salem among them. after all, he likes to make an entrance.

in sitcom canon, the first witch to fly on an object other than a broom was irma spellman who rode a large brazil nut. this implies that witches are capable of charming various ( if not any ) objects for air travel. knowing this, i think salem would have played around with both this & molecular transference in order to find a way to fly without the use of a broom or anything else for that matter. the fact that this ability was specifically mentioned leads me to believe that salem may have succeeded in his attempts to fly unaided since there are other abilities ( ie. molecular transference ) which he had but were not mentioned. 

this is all i have atm. might add more or rewrite sections with more detail at some point but yeah !

*slaps* this bad boy can fit so much magic in it

[dratchet-fan]

So well, I wanted to try a little something since I never do anything for Christmas, or Easter for example. This will be random, but I hope you will find it kinda entertaining at least. XD

A perfect gift – A Valentine's Day story. Written by Troiz

This was the most difficult thing he's ever been challenged to in his whole life. He was standing in front of the door that was the entrance to a very magnificent store that had... Pretty much everything you needed to celebrate Valentine's Day. Now he just had to take the final step and be one of the... Crazy costumers that were rummaging through the merchandise, screaming to each other. Hoo boy. ”Okay... I can do this.” Raphio took a deep breath before opening the door and marched into the store, quickly surrounded by the people of different sizes and shapes, the only thing they had in common compared to Raphio was that they were all women. Before he could start reacting over how they were acting, or over the merchandise that were sold here, he got interrupted by a very cheeky shop-assistant, a girl of course, a fox girl to be exact who weared a big smile. ”Welcome to A-Little-Mor, how can I help you Sir?” She asked with a very entusiastic voice, still smiling at Raphio who realised that he had to answer her question. He stared, still a bit shocked over her acting before finally finding the words. Kinda. ”Well, it's this day today... The day when everyone... Yeah well. I uh.... I need something for someone that's important for me.” Raphio answers while stuttering, before getting grabbed by the wrist of the hyperactive girl. ”Oh, I know what you need!! Follow me!” She chirped, being very eager to sell something so she would get her ”employee of the month” award. Not that Raphio was aware of that part. The only thing he knew was to try not to stumble while the girl dragged him over to a shelf with lots of perfumes. ”Every lady wants a perfume, we will find the perfect scent for you- I mean her, or well, you know what I mean!!” She concludes while preparing herself to make her dream come true, rather than his. ------ 4 hours passed and the perfume wasn't a lucky pick. Neither was the stuffed bears and rabbit plushies, wearing pink frilly dresses with lots of glitter, or the dresses that was in the colours pink and red. Raphio had gone trough most of the stuff that they sold there, but alas no. He still had nothing to give his best (and only) friend as a present for Valentine's day.

This was the day when he was supposed to show that something else has happened after the time they had spent together. After all the wanderings, some fighting (or well, he didn't fought, his friend did that pretty good herself on her own while he tried to distract the others) and learning more about each others different but still similar backgrounds they were good friends now. But could it be something more? Raphio sighed and raised a hand when the fox girl was about to show him many heartshaped balloons and chocolate boxes. No, It still felt so wrong. This wasn't right at all. But it changed when Raphio noticed something he had completely missed. ”Actually... I think I might have found something now.” He says, making the foxgirl happy, but probably not for long. ---- Some more hours passed by and Raphio finally arrived to the cave where he and Neferia had taken as their temporary residence, but he wasn't carrying anything from the store, except for a envelope in his left hand. Yet he looked happy about it. ”I'm back.” He called after entering the cave that were lightened up by candles, almost stumbling over a heap of golden fabric. Neferia who was studying 2 shades of green fabric turned around when she heard Raphio's voice, smiling at him. ”Oh hello, how did the errand go for you? Did you found what you were searching for?” She asked, putting the fabrics away on a box, waiting for him to answer. Which he didn't. Raphio seemed to be a bit... Nervous? But why? ”Raphio...?” Neferia gave him a worried look. He still didn't said anything, just giving her a glance before reaching his hand, holding the envelope to Neferia. His hand was shaking a bit. ”Huh? What is this?” Neferia asked, while she curiously looked at the envelope Raphio gave her. It was creamcoloured and had no special features. Just an ordinary envelope. She looked at Raphio again who made a gesture at her to open it. ”Guess I'll find out now.” She said jokingly, but got silent when she pulled out a card in the same colour from the envelope. It was all blank. Was this some kind of a bad prank? She turned the paper to look at the other side of the card. It was something there. At first she didn't got what it was she was looking at. But when Neferia finally figured it out she gasped and dropped the card, looking shocked at Raphio while trying to covering her red cheeks with her hands. ”Oh... You...” She couldn't end the sentence, starting to look flustered. Raphio was already blushing a lot, crossing his arms over his chest, mostly in a try to make his hands stop shaking.

”I- I couldn't find anything in the stores that you would appriciate so I um... I got another idea instead.” Raphio said, while hesitating a bit. Maybe this wasn't a really good idea after all. Neferia nodded and waved her hand at Raphio to continue while she picked up the card again, then holding it with both her hands like it was a fragile as a butterfly. She looked at it once more, still having blushing cheeks, but she was smiling and actually looked flattered.

”So I guess I um, well... You know...” Raphio had a bit hard to find the words, looking a bit embarrased. But he managed to continue. ”I know we haven't known each other for a long time, but you have showed me more empathy, kindness... Than I have ever got in my whole life. And I appriciate it. You're also trustful, fun to be around and you have so many talents. I mean... You're so good at crafting!  Like... Wow... You're someone I value a lot as a friend but I also... I also... Hm..” He got quiet and scratched his foot against the rocky surface. ”What I'm trying to say is... I...” Raphio started to mumble something, looking away from Neferia. ”I...” But before he could say something more he felt his hands being hold gently but steady by the other riptoc. ”Hey, I have something for you too Raphio. Calm down.” Neferia said with a kind tone in her voice, before letting his hands go again, walking over to a bench to get something and then returns. She took his hand once again, still with her big smile, reassuring him that everything was okay.

”Here you go.” The male riptoc could now see what she gave him. An envelope... ”Huh? But you didn't had to-” Neferia hushed him, and waited for him to open it, while looking very eager too. He obeyed her and started to unfolding the envelope, picking out a card which at first seems to be empty like his, but the other side is another story. He gaped, being really shocked over what he saw, and his blush which had managed to dissapear returned once again. ”You mean...?” He asked, but the answer he got was pretty simple. Neferia took some steps closer to him, reached out her hand and grabbed his with a firm grip. She then looked in his eyes for a few seconds before she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Raphio blushed even more, and giggled nervously, but reached out his free hand at her direction, giving her a questioned look as if in asking for permission. ”You may.” Neferia answered, then giggled when Raphio pulled her into his arms, but he was too shy to do more than that. He was holding his right arm around Neferia's waist and his left hand was still holding her smaller right hand. They looked at each others for some seconds, both still blushing until Neferia finally spoke. ”And here I though I was going to be the one that confessed first.” She said jokinly while giving the cards a amused glance. They had ended up falling on the floor, but their love for each other wouldn't end that easy. Heck, it had just begun. ”You did. I never did.” Raphio answered, still blushing, but he gave her a warm smile. ”I... I love you Neferia.” There, now he succeeded in saying it at least! And the reward was being kissed on both his cheeks. ”And I love you too, Raphio.” Neferia happily answered him. The End / A new beginning

[maryxglz]

Sir Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet starring Tom Hiddleston was the third prolific Hamlet I’ve seen since moving to London two years ago. It started with Cumberbatch, then Andrew Scott earlier this year. All three productions had both good and bad elements, and if you were to ask which I preferred I don’t think I could tell you. They were all just different. I will say, the smaller spaces in which Hiddleston and Scott’s productions were staged (the Jerwood Vanbrugh Theatre and Almeida, respectively) aided their productions much more than the grand Barbican, though the set in Cumberbatch’s production was worth the ticket price alone.

Before I go into Hiddleston’s performance, I have several other things to say first. The first thing I’d very much like to say is THE. LADIES. IN. THIS. PRODUCTION. BROUGHT. IT. Branagh’s cast of ten was split evenly by gender, with Rosencrantz (Rosacrantz), Gildenstern (Guildastern), and Horatio (Horatia) all played by women, and my goodness what a difference it made. There were new layers to explore, new motives and reasons for characters’ actions, and, most importantly, all of these women were given agency. Each of them, at one point or another, where I had seen in other productions female characters sit back, made active, bold choices, that may not have always worked perfectly but were almost always far more satisfying to watch. Guildastern shouts angrily at Hamlet that he has offended his mother with the play, Rosacrantz pulls a gun on Hamlet after he has hidden Polonius’ body and resists being brought before the King, Gertrude actively spurns the King after learning his true nature (also gone was the Oedipal nature of her relationship with Hamlet, instead it was a relationship based purely on affection, which was a nice change). For the first time I thought Horatia was an active participant in the story, rather than a spectator, and there was a hint of a possible past relationship with Hamlet that informed their closeness. But most notably, Ophelia was a strong, intelligent woman, who may have respect for her father but makes her own decisions in the end. Her body is her own – she kisses Hamlet and removes her blouse during the “get thee to a nunnery” scene, actively pursuing him. Absent was the traditional abuse in this scene, Hamlet doesn’t toss her about, pull her hair, or throw her on the ground as I’ve seen staged many times. His rejection of her is more flippant, careless, which in many ways seems far more hurtful – that he is so easily able to let go of their relationship. When she goes mad she is not listing pointlessly across the stage scantily clad, singing weakly – she was downright furious in her madness, whirling about and threatening everyone with a gun should they resist mourning her father. Branagh also chose for Ophelia to be pregnant, which contributes greatly to her madness and explains her angry desperation, for not only has she lost her love and her father, her child will grow up fatherless and grandfatherless, and she will be cast out of society with nothing.

A second, just as important casting choice was the completely color-blind casting. The cast was wonderfully diverse, succeeding in making the story even more universal. It in no way affected the story, it was still crystal-clear what the relationships were between characters, and it was all effortless. Sure, there are always plays and productions that require specific casting when it comes to gender and race, but Shakespeare is not one of them. If we are to argue that Shakespeare’s work is timeless and universal yet fail to cast it diversely in both color and gender it is nothing short of lazy. I could go further into this but will let it go for now.

The style and design of the production was highly traditional, so traditional that it was a bit boring.  While I believe the intention of this was to put focus purely on the words and the acting, it grew a bit boring to constantly be staring at various shades of navy blue and beige. If a stripped-back production had been what they were going for I’d have liked it to go even further, less costumes, less set, less props. The cast overall was strong, and the doubling worked better than productions with bigger casts I’d seen – though sometimes characters could have used a bit more change in terms of costume to indicate they were playing a different character. A stand out was Ansu Kabia, who played King Hamlet, the Player King, and the Gravedigger. For the former two parts he was greyed up and I truly didn’t realize he wasn’t actually age 50+ until the grey was removed for the Gravedigger scene. His presence was that of an actor three times his age. This is also one of the first times I’ve really liked the portrayal of Claudius. Nicholas Farrell played him in such a way he would fit right into today’s politics, with his slimy, used-car salesman enthusiasm. He was unrepentant, failing to even briefly regret his actions, and it really worked.

Now, to Tom Hiddleston. He made for a really wonderful Hamlet. I felt that both he and Branagh’s direction worked actively against the dramatic, as it’s so easy in this play to fall into being over the top. There weren’t any moments of pause where Hamlet broods, no dreary silences between lines as he mourns his position. When he was sad he was truly sad, rather than melancholy. When he was happy, he truly was happy. When he was angry, he was frighteningly angry. Everything he did was done with sincerity, not with the intention of building suspense or, as sometimes is crudely said,  for masturbatory purposes – in that everything Hiddleston did he did for us. There was an utter lack of selfishness and an inherent joy that never really left, even in the saddest moments. There was a constant momentum – where many would take a pregnant pause before “To be or not to be,” Tom walked right on stage, planted his feet, and began speaking, not moving an inch the entire speech. He actively made the choice to make eye contact with audience members, scanning the theatre – even the balcony – ensuring everyone felt a part of the story. There was no calculation, no contemplation, just feeling that was launched through action. He laughed at himself, laughed at his inadequacies and indecision, at his circumstances. It was a believable interpretation of the character – that Hamlet doesn’t do anything because he still cannot truly believe the situation in which he’s found himself. This played out in a moment of absolute elation, after Claudius storms out of the play, effectively confirming his guilt, Hamlet breaks into ecstatic laughter, smiling from ear to ear, lifting Horatia off the ground. He finally has something tangible, and from then on there is far less laughter.

To no one’s surprise, the most enjoyable part of Hiddleston’s Hamlet was his voice. Yes, he sang, played piano, danced and fought, but above all else Hiddleston handles the text with complete control, weaving the syllables in their pleasing iambic pentameter, using the structure of the sentences rather than fighting against them. I could have closed my eyes this entire production and been content just to listen to him. That being said, the final fight scene was extraordinary, with some of the more believable stage combat I’ve seen in a while. Hamlet’s death was, I felt, more heart-wrenching than the other recent productions that I’d seen, but for different reason. Usually, I am somewhat relieved for Hamlet, almost pleased that he can finally rest, as there is so little for him left and so much of himself has already died. In this production, where Hiddleston played him with such inner joy, despite his extreme sadness and anger, I felt there was something still left for him on earth – a zeal for life, a love for his friends, a desire to continue on – and in that way I found it more heartbreaking that usual. That being said, the staging of the death did him no favors. As he died, feet towards the audience, his final words are said as his head drops back, which makes it difficult to both hear and see his final expression. Unfortunate really.

The choice was made, similarly to the Andrew Scott version, to scrap Fortinbras, which I thought was wise, though it does mean the production fails to end on an even remotely hopeful note which Shakespeare’s tragedies traditionally end on. Hamlet is carried out by his fellow cast members, arms hanging biblically to the sides. Watching his body, once bouncing around the stage with endless energy, now limp and lifeless refocused the story to the needless loss of human life, and the ultimate fruitlessness of revenge. There were, of course, things about this production that did not work, and several cast members I thought were ill-suited to their parts, which I could wax lyrical about, but overall, this Hamlet was simple, engaging, and, most importantly, human.

[askdemtekkens]

New Feelings

(Okay. Here’s a little warning. This is my first attempt at any form of romance. This was requested by @dragunsqueen!)

It was another day for Sergei as he sat in his office. There wasn’t anything in particular for him to do; all was peaceful now that the Mishima line had decided to get their acts together (one can only dream). Now, all that was left for him were quiet and peaceful days. That is, until some new issue was to be brought to his attention.

Sergei was currently doing nothing of significance as he sat behind his desk, currently contemplating what to do next. He didn’t have to be here anymore. There was nothing for him to do.

So he left.

He began his walk home from his office, passing many people on the street. Some were chatting, some were spending time with their families, and others were walking their dogs. There wasn’t much out of the ordinary.

Until he got home.

He had been greeted with something rather unusual; that is, unusual for his street to put it simply. Someone had finally decided to move into the place across from him, which was normally unheard of. With the rumors that had surrounded the place, it’s something that no one expected.

Which kind of annoyed him.

He tried to push the thought from his mind as he fished for his keys from his pockets. When he found what he was searching for, he inserted the key into the lock and turned, only to look over his shoulder at the slamming of a car door. He tried to find the subject of the slamming with a scowl, and soon succeeded once he saw her.

She was absolutely stunning; with her light brown skin that went perfectly with her shoulder length black hair and bangs, her dark brown eyes that were full of emotion; they held a certain power to them, yet they also held playful mischief. Her outfit seemed to perfectly compliment her curves, which only made it more difficult for Sergei to look away.

She was absolutely beautiful.

He couldn’t help but stare at her as she moved things from her vehicle, watching as she grabbed a bag or two from the trunk. It wasn’t until too late that he realized she had caught him looking.

Oh dear.

She didn’t seem to notice that he had been staring like she was the last woman on Earth as she waved at him in a friendly manor.

Sergei.exe has broken down.

He was too busy staring into her eyes to notice what was happening, but once he saw them looking at him in confusion, he blinked several times and gave a small wave back as he finally turned and opened his door, stepping inside and slamming the door behind him.

What just happened?

His heart was leaping out of his chest as he leaned his back against the door. He clutched his chest in confusion, and attempted to calm his breathing, but to no avail. His face grew hot at the thought of her, but he wasn’t sure if that was the cause of it. Was he sick? Perhaps that was the case.

It must have been nothing.

** ** **

By the next morning, Sergei had completely forgotten of the events from the day before. He didn’t think much of the ‘new girl’, and he continued to go about his daily ritual unaffected. After getting dressed and ready for the day ahead, he prepped his breakfast by putting some oats on the stove and putting some toast in the toaster.

Ding dong!

An eyebrow was raised in confusion at the resonating sound that emanated from his doorway. He wasn’t sure how to handle this. No one ever visited him. Who could it be?

He decided to go and investigate as he abandoned his breakfast and opened the door to reveal the one person he was incapable of facing properly.

His new neighbor.

He could feel his heartbeat once more as it raced faster than it had the day before. His face heated up as he looked down at her, curious as to why she had shown up. He remained calm in front of her though, raising an eyebrow questioningly as he waited for some form of answer.

“Hi! I’m your new neighbor, Mina!” She seemed unfazed by the small choking sound that Sergei had made as she continued. “I didn’t get to greet you yesterday, since I was getting everything moved in, but I thought that now would be as good a time as any!”

Sergei could only watch her speak. The way her lips moved as she spoke was mesmerizing to him. Was she real? He wasn’t thinking properly, and he subconsciously stepped to the side and indicated for her to come in.

“Oh?” She tilted her head curiously as she made sure that he was indeed allowing her inside. “Thank you! It is sorta chilly out here.” She stepped inside and seemed not to notice that his eyes hadn’t left her figure once. She looked around the place, and Sergei was perfectly fine just standing there and looking with her.

That is, until he remembered breakfast.

Once he remembered the food, he began to move towards the kitchen, his large footsteps were echoing in the room, but it couldn’t fully mask the smaller padding of Mina’s steps. When he reached the kitchen, he saw that everything was as he left it, which made him nervous as he had nothing to keep him busy.

“It’s a nice place that you have here.”

Just as he went to turn and face her, his toaster shot up, making him jump. He looked at it for a moment before he realized that he didn’t actually know what to do, so he simply removed the toast and handed Mina a slice. She took it, much to her surprise, and blinked in confusion as to what she was supposed to do with it. When she didn’t get a ‘give me that’, she held it up and asked, “do you…… have any butter? Or jelly?”

Sergei looked down at the slice of toast in her hand as he realized ‘Oh YeAh, PeOpLe PuT tHiNgS oN tOaSt’. He indicated the fridge rather than getting anything out for her, so he was left to watch as she got out the butter (which was all he really had). He got lost in thought as he watched her, and nearly jumped once more once he realized she was speaking to him.

“Umm……? Hello….? Are you alright?”

He quickly nodded in response.

“I just asked if you noticed that the stove is kinda on fire?”

He looked over at the stove to see that the stove was indeed on fire. He frantically scrambled to get some salt, and nearly poured all of it just to put it out. He heard Mina chuckle behind him, which only made him all the more nervous about what had happened. A sigh parted from his damaged lips as he leaned against the stove, hoping that he hadn’t made a fool of himself.

“Well, that was certainly quite the show. Does this happen everyday?” There was a small pause as she let out a giggle to his annoyed reaction. “I may have to come over more often.”

He may have melted.

“Thank you for the toast, by the way.” She smiled up at him gratefully, which killed Sergei on the inside. “Unfortunately, I have several things to unpack, so this is where I leave—”

“—Would you like me to help you?”

She paused at this; this was the first time she had heard him speak since their encounter, and she wasn’t entirely sure on how she was to take it. She smiled at him, which made his heart flutter for the hundredth time, and she nodded in confirmation at his request.

“I’d like that.”

He wasn’t all too sure as to what he was feeling, and he wasn’t all too sure as to how he was supposed to handle it, but all he knew was that it was okay. And as he helped her unpack her things into her new home, he knew that he was ready to greet these new feelings with open arms.

Fin~

(YEAH, IT WAS BAD. I GET IT.)

[eris0330]

The human weapon | Part three

Pairing: JungkookxReader

AU: Robot!Cyborg, Sci-fi

Genre: Angst - Romance

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: I’M SO SORRY!! I’m so late and had this in my draft for ages because i wasn’t satisfied. Been all around on the floor the past days TT-TT Hope you will enjoy it anyways! 

☽M. List☾ ; 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 [END]

While you decided, a discussion was closed, you glanced over to your side, seeing the boy overwork himself. His huffing and puffing were so loud, his gears were about to collapse, or at least it sounded like it. He had been trying a flying kick, as well to hang onto the “inverted triangle” move. It was rarely used in MMA, and more rarely, succeeded. For his strong thighs and high jump, he couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Was amusing, until he gave up and fell to the ground. Walking over to the tired robot, his eyes were closed and the sweat ran down his temples and neck. His teeth were showing, making him look like a bunny, as he tried to regain is energy by breathing.

“I wonder if Namjoon did it on purpose… he looks cute though” You wondered, kneeling down to sit beside him. Pulse pumping and soaked clothes, he sat up to be on the same level as you.

“Tired?” You questioned sarcastically, as he gave you an unamused expression. “Here, might help” You suggested, handing him your baby blue water bottle. A doubtful look was displayed, before grabbing the cold metal. You knew why he gave you that. He was a robot; would they even need water? Within seconds, he had gulped it all down, with a satisfied smile and less sweaty. A light rumble escaped his lips, making him shocked out of the surprise.

“Seems like you burped, it happens. No need to be embarrassed” You chuckled, seeing the red tint on his cheeks turn brighter.

“Thank you… It helped me cool down” Jungkook spoke, making you smile in return. Without asking, you wondered where the water went, if he didn’t pee? Jin isn’t wrong about one thing, Jungkook is a mysterious boy, or rather, robot. There is so much to learn about him, and for you to teach.

“I can’t do the inverted triangle…It’s too complicated.” He sighed, closing his eyes against the beaming sunlight. The light breeze keeping his sweat at bay, while you adored the scene. Looking over at the dummy, you gave him a clap on the shoulder. “Hey- It takes time and practice. Also, I doubt you will get use of it in the war anyways…” You trailed off, feeling a slight pain cross your chest. It was almost a taboo for the both of you, to speak of what is going to happen. What his purpose was, and yours. His nose scrunched, looking at the same dummy with an unpleasant smile.

“I know, but it would be cool. Who knows, if someone would tackle me from behind” He chuckled, erasing the awkward atmosphere. Nodding at his idea, he reminded you of yourself when you were younger. The way everything seems so difficult, but after a few tries, it went to your bones naturally.

“Then- Look here.” You suggested, standing up from the grass to meet the dummy. Taking your jacket off, you were left in nothing but leggings and a loose top. It wasn’t your plan to wear it, to do any work out, but thought it was a clever idea, because you never knew what would happen.

“See- Strategy and a quick mind, is what you should focus on. Don’t act, because it might result in self-injury. Feel, where his hands and arms are. His head, legs and posture. It’s hard on a dummy-“ Explaining in every detail, his eyes grew bigger of the information and tactics. He nodded like a little chicken, ready for feeding time. Taking in a deep breath, you took the dummy and acted out a situation. Jungkook was amused, seeing your state of frustration that it wasn’t working the way you wanted.

“See? Not so easy~” He cooed, making you blush. Taking a strand of hair away from your forehead, you walked over to him with determination in your eyes.

“Okay ‘Mr. Jeon’. Be my dummy then?” You dared, making him bite onto his bottom lip. Reaching your hand out to him, he took it with pleasure, and a sly smirk appeared on his face. “Fine, just don’t kill me” He joked, making you scoff.

“As if I was able to do that anyways..” You commented, tugging on his arm towards a free area on the grass. Standing in front of the tall boy, you noticed his muscle built, were incredibly larger than yours. Gulping of the dare you just made, a slight regret grew in your stomach. “What? Scared now?” Jungkook managed to comment, making you feel offended. Wanting to ‘win’ this thing, you ordered him not to take this to a level of death. He was in fact, someone who was made for killing.

Taking in a deep breath, you noticed his posture was relaxed but his biceps were flexing. It made you uneasy, how he took this situation. Were you even a threat to him? Exhaling once, you ran towards the ‘dummy’. His hands were ready to grab your arms, but noticing his slow reflexes, you ducked between his legs. In state of his confusion, you jumped to his back. High enough, to wrap your thighs around his neck into a lotus position. Weight drifting to the top of your body, to let yourself rest against his back and holding to his legs, you had him in a locked position. Being careful not to strangle him, you held your legs tight for a few seconds. His body reflexes were increasing and were desperate to get out of the hold, trying to swing you off. Within defeat, he tapped you on the leg to make you notice, he gave up. Releasing your legs from his neck, your hand slipped from the hold of his thighs. Not being able, to save yourself. Knowing your back wouldn’t be able to take the fall, your eyes went dark and sounds were muffled.

“Y/N?” Shuffling your eyes open, you saw the same boy hovering above you. The sounds of birds chirping coming back and breezes against the leaves in the trees. His eyes were scanning your face, making sure you weren’t in danger. His arms and hands, were wrapped around your body close to his as you fell. Humming to the calling of your name, you felt his muscles relax around you.

“Jesus… Were you trying to stimulate a heart attack on me?!” He scoffed, leaning onto his elbows to not strangle you with his weight. “No, of course not” You answered, realising you haven’t even passed out, but was close to being in shock.

“Just a few milliseconds too late and your back would have cracked, or worse, your skull” He spoke relieved, checking you for injuries yet again with his eyes. “Jungkook, I’m fine. Thanks, without you I would probably be on the hospital by now” You spoke with a light smile, but his eyes were different from joy.

“No…” He trailed off, avoiding eye contact. Making your eyebrows furrow of his reaction, you were close to call out for him before his eyes landed on you again. “Because I don’t know where the hospital is…” He admitted, making you giggle. Even for a serious situation like this, it still made you laugh. Jungkook was rather confused, seeing your reaction under him. The sounds of bells ringing in his ears, as it made him laugh too.

“It’s 10 blocks from here, you can see the top of it right over there-“ You spoke, calming down from the laughing attack. Pointing across the field, his eyes followed your finger. A white clean building could be seen in between the trees, as he nodded while the information got stored. “Oh…okay” Jungkook answered, with a heartfelt smile. His brown orbs focusing on your long lashes, and how your pupils got smaller when the sunlight caught you in the perfect angle. Your long hair spread across the grass, and your pink lips were slightly gapped apart. It was like looking at the painting in a museum, so beautiful and yet, too scared to touch, if it’s real. The same strand of hair, blocking your forehead, disturbing your eyes to keep them open. His fingers naturally stroked it away, as he let his fingertips slide against your delicate skin.

The cold of his fingers and hot breath, made your go in a daze. His eyes were so beautiful, like a deer in the universe. Brown strands of hair, blocking his sweaty forehead and mesmerising imperfections like any human. He was close, so close. Your flushed cheeks, mirroring against his golden skin, making seconds last for hours. Just you, and Jungkook.

“Excuse me, Kids. This isn’t a place for things like that!” A squeaky voice of an older lady, yelled from across the field directed at you. Stopping the bliss of a moment, Jungkook pushed himself off you. With a blank facial expressions and harsh posture, he shot the lady a question. “I’M SORRY. BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN WITH ‘THINGS LIKE THAT’?” His pure, yet confused question made you giggle. Clearly, to the lady he looked like an adult, but if just she knew, he was nothing but a curious kid.

“ARE YOU BEING RUDE, KID??!” The lady yelled back, stomping her way towards you and Jungkook. In the state of panic, you grabbed your most important essentials and took his hand. “Let’s go, nothing good will come out of this!” You explained, pulling him along. She was maybe an old lady, but your body wasn’t ready for another knock down, at least not in the state of a ‘daze’. His body following like a magnet, not even questioning the sudden rush. Your hair flaying to each side, and hand in yours, was all he needed.

“THAT’S RIGHT! We have been so caught up in training, I completely forgot about the idea of a movie night!” You spat, turning the stove off. Jungkook’s eyes brightened, remembering the red suited man on his boxers.

“Should we watch one, while we eat dinner?… Or, while I’m eating dinner” You chuckled, making him nod of the great idea. The past few weeks has been filled with nothing, but training and working out. Jungkook wanted to become the best, and push his limits. He wanted to be finished with skills and strategy, and use his weapons on a field. The things that had been bothering him the most, was the fact he had weapons but wasn’t ‘ready’ to use them yet, and the room in the hallway. Sometimes, it was locked. Sometimes, it wasn’t. Whenever you were gone, the room was locked and the curiosity was about to take the living out of him. While you started to continue the cooking, Jungkook motioned around the house like usual. Embracing, imprinting every corner and smell. The mixture of a flower-like-perfume, food and warmth were increasing in the hallway.

His eyes landed on the creaked door, that he always stood in front of when you didn’t notice. Trying to scan the inside of the room, it was too dark. Why was the door always locked? Is it a secret room? Bondage room? Dead bodies? Jungkook pursed his lips, before he pushed against the wooded plate. Finding the switch was easy, turning the room into a library. Eyes widened of the sight, a mess but with a hint of beauty. Stacks of books in each corner, bookcases embracing every wall. A small window, letting the evening moonlight shine through. Glass cages with golden awards and medals, with your name engraved. A desk filled with scattered paper and old pictures, while a few were framed onto the white wall.

“You seem surprised?” Your question made him jump, turning around to see your darkened face. “I-I, N-No, I mean… I’m sorry… I should have asked” He managed to stutter out, making a sly smile appear on your lips.

“What did you expect? Dead bodies?” You joked, making him get an airless laugh. Walking further inside, you examined the awards you won, like you always did when walking in here. “Are all these, really yours?” He questioned curiously, seeing you pick out a specific crystal award. Biting onto your lower lip, you nodded. “It took, Blood, Sweat and Tears.” Chuckling in response, to him.

“You’re amazing.” Jungkook was in awe, seeing the number of awards displayed. Everything, with your name on it. His comment made you blush, as you put the crystal award back to its original place. Dust collected on top, making it obvious, you barely touched any of them. “You mean, I was” You commented, taking him aback of your answer.

“Remember? I don’t do any of this anymore. It has been ages, since I have won an award.” You explained leaning against the woodened bookcase. Jungkook felt guilt over his comment, and then again, he didn’t. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t do it anymore, I think you’re amazing. Still memorising the inverted triangle, and other things to every detail. I bet you have read every book in here. To me, that’s amazing.” He trailed off, scanning the books, one by one. His answer made you chuckle, feeling defeat of your own denial. At least, one person hasn’t lost faith in you.

“If you want, you can come in here and read whenever you like. Some of them are lexicons, old college books, and comics. It varies from Romance, comedy, thriller and horror.” You suggested, seeing light shine in his eyes. “Really??” He spoke astonished, making you nod with a smile. His eyes began to scan the books more intensely, trying to find the right one. Again, he reminded you of yourself. The book store, selling the most significant and popular books, from old to new, making your collection grow wider by the weeks. Your eyes adverted to the window, the moon light shining right through the glass, as the pavement glittered. Street lights turning on, one by one, as people got inside to start dinner.

“Who’s this?” A voice interrupting, making you turn around. Jungkook were pointing on an old polaroid photo of you and a boy. His hand wrapped around your waist, as he kissed your cheek with passion. Remembering, holding onto the camera was a drag because he couldn’t stand still and stop touching you. His light brown hair and piercing gaze, while his significant boxy smile could erase every bad feeling in seconds. Thinking about it, pained your heart.

“It’s Taehyung” You explained, keeping your voice steady. Even though, you felt every memory you left behind, creep along your spine. “Is he special?” He was.

“No, he’s nothing.” Your voice was low, but loud enough to be heard. Jungkook’s eyes found your face, but it was covered by the shadows. “Who was he?” He questioned again, making you bite onto your bottom lip. Jungkook was curious, but was feeling something else, than curiosity. He needed to know, who this ‘Taehyung’ was.

“He was my boyfriend, maybe a year ago?” 11 months.

Jungkook’s finger stroked against the paper picture, feeling every crease along his skin. “Why did you leave him?” He asked, eyes still on the picture. Why was he this curious? Is this Namjoon’s fault? Even though you wanted to explain, something kept you away. “Or was it him, that left you?” Another question, eyes pointing at your shaking body in the light. Unable to form words, because the pain is too much. A heart break, you never got over. The way Taehyung left like nothing, to find better in your best friend. At least, she could give him, what he wanted. Not wanting to be vulnerable, you tried to speak, but not a single sound came. Jungkook’s eyes softened, as he put the picture away. His tall body coming closer, as his hands stroked your cold arms. Goosebumps creeping along your skin, as his hands travelled to your shoulder and back. Tugging you into a hug, you naturally buried your face into the crook of his neck. The warmth and smell, calming you down.

“He was an asshole… and left me… for my best friend. I wasn’t good enough, Jungkook.” You muttered into his skin, making him inhale sharply. Your fast confession, was created of his aura. He was protecting you, and wouldn’t dare, to hurt you like Taehyung. His embrace that assured you, he’s gone. Telling you, that you’re amazing.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Jungkook could pull out, feeling your hand disappear from his arms. Seeing your doe eyes with water threatening to fall, it pained him. Giving him your most calm smile, you dried your tears away with your fingers.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. He’s out of my life” You chuckled, letting his hand fall from your body. “Now, pick a book and let’s watch that movie” You spoke excitedly, walking out of the room. His body turning to watch your figure disappear, unsure what to feel of the information he received. At these times, he wished he knew what to do. Scanning the books once more, Jungkook finally picked out a book. Dear John. His fingers wrapping around like feathers and holding it tight to his chest, as he turned off the light, walking in your direction, he was met with an angel-like-smile. Pouring up your ramen into a bowl, you both walked over to the wide soft couch. Settling the hot food on the table, you walked further to find the movies hidden in a drawer.

“The only thing I’m saying is, do not be as sassy as him towards me. I might not be able to handle it” You joked, putting the DVD into the player. Catching the remote, he smiled and almost jumped in excitement to see the display flash in front of his eyes.

“How can I not be as sassy? DID YOU SEE THAT. CAN I DO THAT TOO??” Jungkook’s constant questioning and excitement while you were eating, was pure satisfaction. The never-ending smile on his face, as he saw his character that was so close to being him, show off his skills. Putting your ramen away, you sat yourself comfortably against the couch. Holding onto a pillow, like you always did when watching a movie. Your eyes slowly closing together, feeling a wave of exhaust rush over you. Within minutes, you were fully asleep, on Jungkook’s shoulder. His body, frozen of the sudden ‘attack’. Your scent, that buried and made him dizzy inside, while your heavy breathing crossed his skin. Looking down at your sleeping face, he couldn’t make himself wake you. Leaning against the couch, your head fitted perfectly in the crook of his neck. Legs so close it vibrates of the touch, and his head slowly leaning against yours. Your face so peaceful and innocent, his jaw clenched. He didn’t understand, why. Why, would anyone hurt you? His feelings were jumping from anger, doubt, pain, sadness and joy. He didn’t know what he should feel, what was right. All these things, made him tired. His muscles aching, but relaxed in your touch to ease the pain.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Jungkook muttered, closing his eyes to sleep. If there was one thing he was certain about, it was that he wouldn’t let anyone, hurt you like that. Not when he’s around, you’re too precious, too fragile. He would never let that happen.

The sound of loud banging made your eyes flutter open and see a sleeping boy in front. His mouth slightly open and messy hair, with the sunlight shining against him. Your legs wrapped onto his lap, and his hand resting on your bare thighs. His warmth, breathing and touch, made you flustered. A familiar burning sensation, growing on your cheeks and unable to ice down. A piece of you wanted to stay like this, but the knocking at your front door, told you otherwise.

Untangling your legs from his warm hands, you prayed he wouldn’t wake up. Not knowing, if he was a deep or light sleeper, nether less, escaping was a piece of cake. Feather-like-steps towards the entrance, and a lock turned, you were met with another familiar boy. His cheeks puffed, a long crème coloured jacket, with glasses making him look incredible. A smile so dazzling, it made your eyes hurt. Without protest, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into a long-needed hug. Your hands finding place on his back, where they used to be.

“Who’s here?” A voice from behind, making you turn around. Jungkook were rubbing his yes, as he yawned at the both of you. His mind still processing what’s happening, he realised that you were hugging him. Jungkook didn’t know how to act and seeing another male, in the entrance, was a new thing. Looking at you for answers, all you did was stepping to the side to let the man come inside.

“Who are you?” He questioned again, a little sharper than he intended. But he didn’t know, if this person, was a good or bad. The man in front of Jungkook, smiled at the boy. Almost the same height, but taller and skinnier. Big eyes, blonde hair and dimples.

“Jungkook, I’m your father.”

[bansheemilktales]

Proof You Are A Dummy If You Think Jack Nicholson Is Overrated

          People make too big of a deal about actors, don't they? They call some geniuses on a regular basis. Don't get me wrong, some are amazingly talented. But actors are told where to stand, what to say and what to do. They're people who are paid to pretend, okay? They're like hookers faking an orgasm. So maybe we could calm down on the genius talk. Some are good at it and some are not. It's that simple. And yet, as simple as this concept is, I have noticed most people don't understand it at all. 

      I've heard dumb people of my generation say that Jack Nicholson is overrated a million times. Here is why you are dumb if you say this: MATH exists.

     With MATH, one can use the ancient art of counting the skills a person has at acting to determine whether or not an actor is good without having to rely on feelings which are an invalid way to form an opinion. I know we have a right to feel what we want, guys, but be reasonable. Feelings are for feeling, not for thinking. If you dropped acid this morning you might feel you are an orange. But you are not an orange. If you say, "I think ___ is a bad actor" you must back it up with evidence.

     The reason I hear dummies of my generation (Generation X) give when they say Jack is overrated is that "All he does is use a nasal voice and twitch his eyebrows...he is always the same." And then they give nothing but examples from 1980 and on. Movies like Batman, Wolf, The Shining, As Good As It Gets.

     Listen here, dumb folks. His career begins in 1958. That's when Eisenhower was President. If you only watch movies made when you were alive you are a fucking idiot. QUESTION: Why would Hollywood have waited until you were born to start making movies good? Answer: They didn't. They haven't even heard of you.

     You see, even if you do not like a movie, that doesn't mean it is bad. It simply must succeed at the majority of it's goals to be good. Because you hated "that one part" does not mean the whole movie stinks. There have been good movies being made for over 100 years. Good meaning it succeeded at it's goal. Meaning a comedy that makes people laugh, a thriller that made people feel excited...etc. 

Here is a list of the 5 things a great actor should be able to do:

1) Can they emote well? Do they convince you that they are feeling what their character is supposed to be feeling in the scene? Do they seem angry, happy etc.? Most actors who have been successful for more than a decade can do this at least competently whether we like them or not. People get tired of watching someone who cannot simply pretend they are feeling something. It is a useful skill and perhaps the most common among decent actors.

2) Chameleon Powers: Can they do accents, can they change their body language and physical tics, are they willing to change appearance drastically due to make-up, dieting, etc? This skill is a bit more rare. Good examples of this style of acting are Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, Daniel Day Lewis, Robert Downey Jr, Al Pacino and Gary Oldman. In fact, Day Lewis and Oldman are probably the best chameleons currently working. De Niro, Nicholson & Pacino in the 70s and Brando in the 50s and 60s. (Yes, Nicholson has done it many times whether you saw the films or not).

3) Do they pick challenging scripts that will force them out of their comfort zone and into new territory as an actor? It is a good thing to do but sadly, dramatic actors and action stars are the worst at this meaning, once they are successful at a genre they tend to stick with it. Jason Statham does not appear to be interested in picking something out of his comfort zone. In the 70s, Stallone showed great range and was compared to Brando, James Dean & De Niro but then he mostly played guys who blew stuff up ever since. So with few exceptions like Copland and Oscar, picking challenging parts is not one of his best attributes. While many enjoy his action films, he desperately needs to do something challenging or his memory will always be as the guy who had a good relationship with the pyrotechnic crew. That gets boring. 

4) Do they ever pick something that is a crowd pleaser? This one is tricky. We want them to pick challenging work, yes, but if they never pick a "fun" movie or a "popcorn" movie, actors come off as self important. For all the money actors make they owe their audience a good time now and then and, let's face it, a movie about babies dying in the congo doesn't cut it for most people. So I am referring to comedy, action, horror, sci fi...some kind of a tentpole picture. Do they ever even try at these things? Daniel Day Lewis for example, will not do a movie unless it has a disturbing death scene, and/or a scene where he yells needlessly. (We heard you say "Now" the first time, Lincoln) Is he good at these things? Hell yes. He is perhaps the best "intensity" actor working today. But since acting is not necessarily always about being intense, Day Lewis needs to lighten the fuck up sometimes. Makes sense, right? If you knew a great chef would you tell him to just make one type of meal all the time? Perhaps you criticize an action guy like Stallone for doing the same "type" of movie repeatedly. Day Lewis, like Stallone, is an great actor who needs a new trick. Look at Gary Oldman. Every bit the chameleon Day Lewis is but he will throw in a Batman or Harry Potter role to mix things up. Gary Oldman delivers to both his "artsy fartsy" fans and his "I wanna see something blow up" fans. Demand more from actors who have shown great skill. Don't let the Daniel Day Lewis types off the hook of responsibility to their audience if you are quick to ridicule the Stallones. Be consistent or you are one of the dummies I'm referring to in this article.

5) Comedy. Virtually every actor says it is the hardest genre to perform in and many people do not understand why. Allow me to show you why this is absolutely true. When watching a really good drama, one can have many reactions, right? You can cry, you can think, you can even become disturbed to a point you have to leave the room. For a comedy to be good, it is forced to try to get one reaction: Laughter. If it does not make you laugh, it has failed. Since the target they are aiming for is smaller, they are taking a more difficult shot. This is why so many comedies suck balls. Serious films are shooting at a bullseye the size of a battleship. Hence, whoever the greatest actor on Earth is, he or she MUST be able to handle comedy. Without some funny, you are at best, in the second tier of great actors.

     So, all one has to do to form an opinion that matters is see how much of this criteria an actor fits. I won't tell you who the greatest actor on Earth is, but clearly they excel at all 5 things on this list. If it is 4, they are damn good, too. Just not the best. 

     Let's look at Jack Nicholson and see how he holds up: #1 is chameleon abilities and yes, if you have looked at his pictures as much as I have you will notice accents and characteristics changing (lesser so in the last 35 years which is why my generation fails to see this talent in him as they tend to only watch movies made after Star Wars. Seriously guys, it is a fact. He changes. Read up on it. He just became so famous after 1980 or so that audiences wanted to see a certain persona from him and won't accept another kind.).  #2- He emotes well. Even his detractors agree about this. The man convinces you he feels what his character feels. #3- He has done every single genre. Seriously. So while I don't know what his comfort zone is, he definitely left it since he has done every type of movie under the sun. #4- Does he ever do one for the audience-a "crowd pleaser"? Yes, he has. Again, he has acted in every genre except perhaps silent. #5- Comedy? He has won Oscars for his performances in BOTH comedies and dramas. Think about that. Whoever you think is the best, did they win in different genres?

You don't have to like him if you don't want to. But he fits the bill. This is a great actor and you are just dumb to say otherwise.

     Again, keeping emotion out of this, let's look at Daniel Day Lewis, who clearly holds up numbers 1 (chameleon) and 2 (emoting) quite well, perhaps better than anyone else alive. But if we are honest, he suffers in the other 3. This is the guy who everybody says is the greatest actor of his generation. Yet, he won't do anything outside of drama and he stays in his comfort zone of playing super intense dudes who make everyone else in the scene nervous. What's that? I forgot about that hilarious comedy he made? No, I didn't. Cuz he didn't make it. 

     But don't worry, Day Lewis fans. I will now go after someone else you probably love to hate. Let's look at Stallone. Yeah, Stallone may have proven he emotes well in films like Rocky, and he may have proven he has the ability to change up his mannerisms and voice in movies like First Blood and Copland, but, let's face it, he fails pretty miserably at #3 by making way too many action movies and he hasn't strayed from his comfort zone since 1997's Copland. What's that? 1997 is a real life date that happened? Wow, you're right. So while it has been too long, he has, in fact, strayed from his comfort zone. Maybe not enough but he has done it. What's that? He just made a comedy with De Niro and was lauded by many as being very funny? And did you just say that half of his lip and jaw and tongue are paralyzed from an accident at birth and this gives him the "snarl-like" smile and slurred speech that you so readily make fun of? So he has given ALL of his performances disabled and he never uses that to sell himself or ask you, the asshole public, to stop mocking his disability? Holy shit. You're right. Stallone is one of the greatest actors on Earth. Writing is a talent, as is acting, bodybuilding, doing stunts, painting and overcoming immense physical obstacles.

     See what I mean? You thought Jack Nicholson sucked because you've seen 5 of his 100 movies and were disappointed. Now you know that he is awesome. You thought Stallone sucked and now, unless you are close-minded and screaming "No, No, No, No" you see that he is a disabled guy who manages to be way more talented than you, a person who judges actors by a "gut feeling". No? You disagree? You think feelings are more real than facts? So you really are an orange when you drop acid? Just a quick FYI: Another great thing about some actors is when they have other talents outside of acting that can inform their performances. Nicholson can write & direct. Stallone is a successful painter, directed 5 of his most successful films, a gifted writer (he wrote Rocky in 3 days and it won Best Picture), a talented body builder who was willing to throw that away and get fat for Copland, and you still are going to say DD Lewis is more talented than him? Is this because he is good at pretending? I agree. He is awesome at pretending. I also used the art of counting and it turns out pretending is only one talent. Sorry. MATH wins again.

Jack Nicholson: 5 out of 5 required skills in acting.

Stallone: 4.5 out of 5. I am taking half a point off because while he has gone out of his comfort zone it has been far too infrequent.

Daniel Day Lewis: 2 out of 5. 

        Dumb people of the world, stop saying people suck when you haven't given it much thought. You might be mocking someone with a disability you didn't even know about. Plus, it isn't your opinion that Day Lewis is the best since his skills end at pretending and being intense. It is your feeling that he is the best. And yeah, he feels like the best to me, too. We hear it being said so much on TV that we tend to believe it. Or some of you feel like agreeing with the masses so you won't get mocked. I have OCD. I obsess about my opinions and analyze them. Then I destroy people who say stupid shit. Seriously, every actor picks a stupid script sometimes. People used to say "Not Johnny Depp". You still saying that lately? It's been like 5 bad movies in a row. Day Lewis did a movie called "9". That movie is a fart of a movie. I am convinced the director was just a butt. Dustin Hoffman did Ishtar. De Niro made 3 movies about the "Fockers", each one more Focking stupid than the last. So, yes. Jack Nicholson and Stallone have made some stupid movies. But so did your favorite actor. And did your favorite actor WRITE his or her Best movie? No? Then shut the fuck up with your hand me down thoughts while the rest of us invent our own. 

written by Michael Anthony (Tony) Santiago, painting by Michael Anthony (Tony) Santiago @BansheeMilk  

[inhumansforever]

Inhumans Versus X-Men #5 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

The Inhumans/X-Men War comes hurdling toward its conclusion in this fifth and penultimate chapter to the event, from the creative team of Charles Soule, Jeff Lemire, Javier Garrón and David Curiel.  Full recap and review following the jump.  

The Terrigen Cloud is dissipating, certain to kill thousands and make the world completely uninhabitable to the Mutant race.  Desperate to prevent this terrible fate, The X-Men have leveled a preemptive strike against The Inhumans of New Attilan, hoping to buy the time needed to destroy the cloud.  Unaware of the critical matter of the dissipation of the T-Cloud, the Inhumans have fought back, freeing themselves from their imprisonment and turning the tides against The X-Men.  

Meanwhile, the newer Inhumans, those The X-Men neglected to factor in to their stratagem, have succeeded in evading capture and have abducted Forge (the one X-Man most crucial to destroying the cloud).  These Inhumans have recently discovered the truth about the Terrigen Cloud and the reasons behind the X-Men’s attack… and what these young heroes choose to do next will have lasting ramifications for both races.  

The issue begins with Karnak’s continued efforts to escape from ‘The World’ (an artificial realm that had once been the home of the Weapons Plus Program).   Jean Grey had successfully kept Karnak trapped in a psychic illusion but he’s finally found the flaw in her illusions and willed himself to consciousness.  Once awakened, Karnak makes short work of both Jean and Fantomex and locates Lockjaw who has also been imprisoned in The World.  Unfortunately, Lockjaw is still heavily sedated and Karnak is unable to wake him and utilize his teleportation powers to facilitate an escape.  

Meanwhile, in Limbo, Colossus is the sole X-Man able to respond to The Royal Inhumans escape.  Gorgon chooses to battle Colossus on his own, allowing he others to seek out Black Bolt.  

Gorgon and Colossus engage in a drawn out slugfest in which Colossus ultimately emerges the victor.  Still, Gorgon has managed to buy Medusa the time needed to discover Black Bolt locked up in Forge’s laboratory.  There he is guarded by Havok, who threatens to use his solar-beam powers to kill Black Bolt if Medusa or any of the others attempt to free him.

Medusa and Havok bicker with one another.  Medusa calls his bluff and Havok folds.  He’s a broken man, uncertain what he believes in.  Havok mourns his brother but refuses to kill in his name. �� He backs down and allows Medusa and the others to free Black Bolt.  It’s a rather odd scene.

Back in New Jersey, Iso and the NuHumans have revived Forge.  They’ve decided to help him to destroy the Terrigen Cloud before it is too late.  They feel loyalty to Medusa and the Inhumans of Attilan, but not to the extent that their willing to participate in a genocide.  

Forge is not sure he has enough time to recreate a new Terrigen nullifying contraption.  Fortunately, Moon Girl is there and is able to help out, pointing out a way in which the machine can be consolidated into a smaller, portable unit.  

Now all they need is the space and resources to build such a machine.  Iso suggests Ennilux, the industrial conglomerate currently run by Medusa’s son, Ahura.  Inferno is uncertain Ahura will be wiling to assist, but Iso is confident that she can convince him.  Iso, Moon Girl and Forge head off to Ennilux’s headquarters in Italy while the rest take their stolen Blackbird jet to track The Terrigen Cloud.  

Reader gets the unenviable role of playing taxi-cab, teleporting everyone everywhere.  He takes Iso, Lunella and Forge to Italy, then collects Karnak and Lockjaw from the World, and finally shoots off to Limbo to gather up Medusa and the others, bringing them all to a beach in the Philippines.  Why the Philippines?  I don’t know… perhaps it’s nice this time of year.   Anyways, once there Black Bolt is relieved of his gag, yet it seems that whatever The X-Men did to neutralize his powers seems to have some lasting effects. 

All of them continue to be confused as to why The X-Men had so attacked them...  Reader is there but he has yet to inform Medusa and the others the critical information regarding the dispersement of The Terrigen Cloud (maybe he’s too tired from all that teleporting).  In any case, Karnak has a suspicion that things may be much more than they seem.  

Ms. Marvel, Cyclops, and the NuHumans touch down off the coast of Iceland where the Terrigen Cloud is shortly to make landfall.  They hope that Forge is able to arrive in time to destroy it.  Somehow the X-Men have found them (likely they tracked the Blackbird) and they show up in attack formation.  The NuHumans are too surprised to shout out ‘wait, we’re on your side now!’ and a battle ensues.  

Cyclops is now fighting not he side of The NuHumans and is especially eager to take on Emma Frost (having only recently learned the truth about his older self’s death and the role Emma played in the whole ordeal).  Emma psychic blasts Cyclops and Ms. Marvel comes to her fellow Champions teammate’s aide.  Mosaic body-jumps into Storm.  There’s all sorts of mayhem.  

Magneto can see the Terrigen Cloud gradually encroaching int he yonder.  He has no more time for all this and decides to end the battle by magnetically lifting up the Blackbird and sending it crashing down onto both X-Man and Inhuman alike…  And it’s here that the issue ends with the promise of conclusion in the sixth and final installment.  

Okay, so a lot of cool things happened in the issue, as well as a lot of stuff that was… how should I say, not so good… On the plus side of things, the Nuhumans definitely show up as the true good guys of the event.  All this may as well be a dress rehearsal for Secret Warriors because they’re the only ones who show a lick of sense in the whole ordeal.  Both The X-Men and The Royal Inhumans are acting quite foolishly and it’s becoming increasingly clear that this whole war may have been avoided had the two parties merely been open in their communications with one another.   

Havok’s cameo appearance was very confusing.  It wasn’t at all clear what he was doing here nor why he so quickly backed down.  I’ll admit that I haven’t kept up with what’s been going on for Havok of late, why his face is all scared up like that, so maybe there is some key detail I’m missing.   His exchange with Medusa kind of felt like an online chat forum disagreement between fans.  Which is fine because it offers up a convenient screen-cap for me to use the next two dozen times an X-Men fan comes at me with some weird ask regarding Cyclops being likened to Hitler…

Back on the plus side, Gorgon’s battle with Colossus was pretty good.  Although I was bummed to see Gorgon lose, his comment about actually being a big fan of metal at the end was a nice touch.  

On the negative side, Black Bolt once more gets nothing to do.  I’ve very few complaints regarding Charles Soule’s stewardship of The Inhumans.  He’s done great work with the books and I’m really going to miss his being on The Inhumans.  The one thing I will not miss, however, is Soule’s reluctance, disinterested and/or discomfort with writing Black Bolt.  BB has been continuously sidelined for one reason or another, not just in this series but throughout Soule’s work on Inhumans.  Writing extremely powerful characters must be difficult, but surely there is a better option than just continually nerfing the guy.  

Garrón’s art kicks it up a notch in the issue.  I’m still getting used to his interesting use of facial expression, but the action sequences are quite fluid, dynamic and well done.  Curiel does especially impressive work keeping up with huge shifts in color pallet as the scenes move from The World, Limbo, New Jersey and Iceland.

Perhaps it’s ‘event fatigue,’ but I’m seeing the preview art for The Royals, Secret Warriors, and Black Bolt, covers to upcoming issues of Moon Girl, Ms. Marvel, Mosaic, and now Monster Unleashed, and it’s all leaving me feeling pretty much ready to have IvX be done with.  Let’s get this X-Men business done with and move on.  Or maybe it’s just Karnak’s words ringing especially true to me ears.  His noting that ‘this conflict with the Mutants was inherently flawed from the beginning’ is all but meta-contextual.  I almost wish he had been looking at the camera like one of the character from The Office.  

This two week’s time brings us the grand finale.  I’ve got a pretty decent idea of what is going to go down, but am looking forward to it nonetheless.  Bring on the final battle!  

Two and a half out of Five Lockjaws.  

[topsolarpanels]

Is it too late to save the world? Jonathan Franzen on one year of Trump’s America

As the ice shelves crumble and the Twitter president threatens to pull out of the Paris accord, Franzen reflects on the role of the writer in times of crisis

If an essay is something essayed – something hazarded , not definitive , not authoritative; something ventured on the basis of the author’s personal experience and subjectivity- we might seem to be living in an essayistic golden age. Which party you went to on Friday night, how you were treated by a flight attendant, what your take on the political outrage of the day is: the presumption of social media is that even the tiniest subjective micronarrative is worthy not only of private notation, as in a diary, but of sharing with other people. The US president now operates on this presumption. Traditionally hard news reporting, in places like the New York Times, has softened up to allow the I , with its voice and opinions and impressions, to take the front-page spotlight, and book reviewers feel less and less constrained to discuss books with any kind of objectivity. It didn’t use to matter if Raskolnikov and Lily Bart were likable, but the question of “likability,” with its implicit privileging of the reviewer’s personal impressions, is now a key element of critical decision. Literary fiction itself is appearing more and more like essay.

Some of the most influential fictions of recent years, by Rachel Cusk and Karl Ove Knausgaard, take the method of self-conscious first-person witnes to a new level. Their most extreme admirers will tell you that imagination and invention are outmoded contrivances; that to occupy the subjectivity of a character unlike the author is an act of appropriation, even colonialism; that the only authentic and politically defensible mode of narrative is autobiography.

Meanwhile the personal essay itself- the formal apparatus of honest self-examination and sustained engagement with notions, as developed by Montaigne and advanced by Emerson and Woolf and Baldwin- is in eclipse. Most large-circulation American magazines have all but ceased to publish pure essays. The kind persists mainly in smaller publications that collectively have fewer readers than Margaret Atwood has Twitter adherents. Should we be mourning the essay’s extinction? Or should we be celebrating its conquest of the larger culture?

A personal and subjective micronarrative: the few lessons I’ve learned about writing essays all came from my editor at the New Yorker, Henry Finder. I first went to Henry, in 1994, as a would-be journalist in pressing need of money. Largely through dumb luck, I made a publishable article about the US Postal Service, and then, through native incompetence, I wrote an unpublishable piece about the Sierra Club. This was the point at which Henry suggested that I might have some aptitude as an essayist. I heard him to be saying,” since you’re obviously a crap journalist”, and denied that I had any such aptitude. I’d been raised with a midwestern horror of yakking too much about myself, and I had an additional racism, derived from certain wrongheaded notions about novel-writing, against the stating of things that could more rewardingly be depicted . But I still needed money, so I maintain calling Henry for book-review assignments. On one of our calls, he asked me if I had any interest in the tobacco industry- the subject of a major new history by Richard Kluger. I rapidly said:” Cigarettes are the last thing in the world I want to think about .” To this, Henry even more quickly replied: “ Therefore you must be talking about them .”

This was my first lesson from Henry, and it remains the most important one. After smoking throughout my 20 s, I’d succeeded in ceasing for two years in my early 30 s. But when I was assigned the post-office piece, and became terrified of picking up the phone and introducing myself as a New Yorker journalist, I’d taken up the habit again. In the years since then, I’d managed to think of myself as a nonsmoker, or at the least as a person so securely resolved to quit again that I might as well already have been a nonsmoker, even as I continued to smoking. My state of mind was just a quantum wave function in which I could be totally a smoker but also totally not a smoker, so long as I never took measure of myself. And it was instantly clear to me that writing about cigarettes would force me to take my measure. “Thats what” essays do.

President-elect Donald Trump speaks at his election night rally in New York in November 2016. Photograph: Carlo Allegri/ Reuters

There was also the problem of my mother, whose parent had died of lung cancer, and who was militantly anti-tobacco. I’d concealed my habit from her for more than 15 years. One reason I needed to preserve my indeterminacy as a smoker/ nonsmoker was that I didn’t enjoy lying to her. As soon as I could succeed in discontinuing again, permanently, the wave function would collapse and I would be, one hundred per cent, the nonsmoker I’d always represented myself to be- but only if I didn’t first come out, in publish, as a smoker.

Henry had been a twentysomething wunderkind when Tina Brown hired him at the New Yorker. He had a distinctive tight-chested manner of speaking, a kind of hyper-articulate mumble, like prose acutely well edited but scarcely legible. I was awed by his intelligence and his erudition and had promptly come to live in dread of disillusioning him. Henry’s passionate emphasis in “ Therefore you must write about them”- he was the only speaker I knew who could get away with the stressed initial “ Therefore ” and the imperative “must”- allowed me to hope that I’d registered in his consciousness in some small way.

And so I went to work on the essay, every day combusting half a dozen low-tar cigarettes in front of a box fan in my living-room window, and handed in the only thing I ever wrote for Henry that didn’t need his editing. I don’t remember how my mother get her hands on the essay or how she conveyed to me her deep sense of betrayal, whether by letter or in telephone calls, but I do remember that she then didn’t communicate with me for six weeks- by a wide margin, the longest she ever ran silent on me. It was precisely as I’d dreaded. But when she got over it and began sending me letters again, I felt insured by her, insured for what I was, in a manner that is I’d never felt before. It wasn’t just that my “real” self had been concealed from her; it was as if there hadn’t really been a self to see.

Kierkegaard, in Either/ Or , builds fun of the” busy human” for whom busyness is a style of avoiding an honest self-reckoning. You might wake up in the night and realise that you’re lonely in your matrimony, or that you need to think about what your level of consumption is doing to the planet, but the next day you have a million little things to do, and the day after that you have another million things. As long as there’s no end of little things, you never have to stop and confront the bigger questions. Writing or reading an essay isn’t the only style to stop and ask yourself who you really are and what your life might mean, but it is one good way. And if you consider how laughably unbusy Kierkegaard’s Copenhagen was, compared with our own age, those subjective tweets and hasty blog posts don’t seem so essayistic. They seem more like a means of avoiding what a real essay might force on us. We spend our days reading, on screens, stuff we’d never bother reading in a printed book, and bitch about how busy we are.

I quit cigarettes for the second time in 1997. And then, in 2002, for the final time. And then, in 2003, for the last and final day- unless you count the smokeless nicotine that’s coursing through my bloodstream as I write this. Attempting to write an honest essay doesn’t alter the multiplicity of my egoes; I’m still simultaneously a reptile-brained addict, a worrier about my health, an eternal adolescent, a self-medicating depressive. What changes, if I take the time to stop and measure, is that my multi-selved identity acquires substance .

One of the mysteries of literature is that personal substance, as perceived by both the writer and the reader, is situated outside the body of either of them, on some kind of page. How can I feel realer to myself in a thing I’m writing than I do inside my body? How can I feel closer to another person when I’m reading her terms than I do when I’m sitting next to her? The answer, in part, is that both writing and reading demand full attentiveness. But it surely also has to do with the kind of ordering that is possible merely on the page.

Former FBI director James Comey testifying before the US Senate select committee on intelligence in October. Photograph: Saul Loeb/ AFP/ Getty Images

Here I might mention two other lessons I learned from Henry Finder. One was Every essay, even a think piece, tells a story . The other was There are two ways to organise material:” Like goes with like” and “This followed that.” These precepts may seem self-evident, but any grader of high-school or college essays can tell you that they aren’t. To me it was especially not evident that a believe piece should follow the rules of drama. And yet: doesn’t a good debate begin by positing some difficult problem? And doesn’t it then propose an escape from the problem through some bold proposition, and put in obstacles in the form of objections and counterarguments, and finally, through a series of reversals, take us to an unforeseen but fulfilling conclusion?

If you accept Henry’s premise that a successful prose piece consists of material arranged in the form of a story, and if you share my own conviction that our identities consist of the narratives we tell about ourselves, it stimulates sense that we should get a strong make of personal substance from the labour of writing and the pleasure of reading. When I’m alone in the woods or having dinner with a friend, I’m overwhelmed by the quantity of random sensory data coming at me. The act of writing subtracts almost everything, leaving merely the alphabet and punctuation marks, and progresses toward non-randomness. Sometimes, in ordering the elements of a familiar tale, you discover that it doesn’t mean what you thought it did. Sometimes, especially with an debate (” This follows from that “), a completely new narrative is called for. The discipline of fashioning a compelling tale can crystallise thoughts and feelings you merely dimly knew you had in you.

If you’re looking at a mass of material that doesn’t seem to give itself to storytelling, Henry would say your merely other option is to sort it into categories, grouping similar components together: Like goes with like . This is, at a minimum, a tidy route to write. But patterns also have a way of turning into stories. To make sense of Donald Trump’s victory in an election he was widely expected to lose, it’s tempting to construct a this-followed-that narrative: Hillary Clinton was careless with her emails, the Justice department chose not to prosecute her, then Anthony Weiner’s emails came to light, then James Comey reported to Congress that Clinton might still be in difficulty, and then Trump won the election. But it may actually be more fruitful to group like with like: Trump’s victory was like the Brexit vote and like the resurgent anti-immigrant patriotism in Europe. Clinton’s imperiously sloppy handled in her emails was like her poorly messaged campaign and like her decision not to campaign harder in Michigan and Pennsylvania.

I was in Ghana on election day, birdwatching with my brother and two friends. James Comey’s report to Congress had unsettled the campaign before I left for Africa, but Nate Silver‘s authoritative polling website, Fivethirtyeight, was still giving Trump only a 30% opportunity of winning. Having cast an early vote for Clinton, I’d arrived in Accra feeling only moderately anxious about the election and congratulating myself on my decision to spend the final week of the campaign not checking Fivethirtyeight 10 times a day.

I was indulging a different sort of compulsion in Ghana. To my shame, I am what people in the world of birding call a lister. It’s not that I don’t love birds for their own sake. I run birding to experience their beauty and diversity, understand better their behaviour and the ecosystems they belong to, and take long, attentive walkings in new places. But I also maintain way too many listings. I count not only the bird species I’ve seen worldwide but the ones I’ve seen in every country and every US state I’ve birded in, also at various smaller sites, including my back yard, and in every calendar year since 2003. I can rationalise my compulsive counting as an extra little game I play within the context of my passion. But I truly am compulsive. This builds me morally inferior to birders who bird exclusively for the joy of it.

It happened that by going to Ghana I’d dedicated myself a chance to break my previous year-list record of 1,286 species. I was already over 800 for 2016, and I knew, from my online research, that trips similar to ours had produced virtually 500 species, merely a handful of which are also common in America. If I could see 460 unique year species in Africa, and then utilize my seven-hour layover in London to pick up 20 easy European birds at a park near Heathrow, 2016 would be my best year ever.

Hillary Clinton …’ Careless with her emails .’ Photograph: Jewel Samad/ AFP/ Getty Images

We were assuring great stuff in Ghana, spectacular turacos and bee-eaters found only in west Africa. But the country’s few remaining woodlands are under intense hunting and logging pressure, and our walkings in them were more sweltering than productive. By the evening of election day, we’d already missed our only shot at several of my target species. Very early the next morning, when polls were still open on the west coast of the States, I turned on my phone for the pleasure of confirming that Clinton was winning the election. What I found instead were stricken texts from my friends in California, with pictures of them staring at a TV and seeming morose, my girlfriend curled up on a sofa in a fetal posture. The Times headline of the moment was ” Trump Takes North Carolina, Building Momentum; Clinton’s Path to Victory Narrow .”

There was nothing to be done but go birding. On a road in the Nsuta forest, dodging timber trucks whose momentum I associated with Trump’s, and yet clinging to the idea that Clinton still had a track to victory, I insured Black Dwarf Hornbills, an African Cuckoo-Hawk and a Melancholy Woodpecker. It was a sweaty but satisfactory morning that objective, when we re-emerged into network coverage, with the news that the” short-fingered vulgarian”( Spy magazine’s memorable epithet) was my country’s new president. This was the moment when I insured what my mind had been doing with Nate Silver’s figure of 30% for Trump’s odds. Somehow I’d taken the figure to mean that the world might be, worst case, 30% shittier after election day.

What the number actually represented, of course, was a 30% chance of the world’s being 100% shittier.

As we travelled up into drier, emptier northern Ghana, we intersected with some birds I’d long dreamed of watch: Egyptian Plovers, Carmine Bee-eaters and a male Standard-winged Nightjar, whose outrageous wing streamers devoted it the appear of a nighthawk being closely pursued by two bats. But we were falling ever further behind the year-bird pace I needed to maintain. It occurred to me, belatedly, that the trip lists I’d seen online had included species that were only hear , not ensure, while I needed to see a bird to count it. Those lists had raised my hopes the way Nate Silver had. Now every target species I missed increased the pressure to find all of the remaining targets, even the wildly unlikely ones, if I wanted to break my record. It was only a stupid year listing, ultimately meaningless even to me, but I was haunted by the headline from the morning after election day. Instead of 275 electoral elections, I needed 460 species, and my route to victory was becoming very narrow. Finally, four days before the end of the trip, in the spillway of a dam near the Burkina Faso border, where I’d hoped to get half a dozen new grassland birds and see zero, I had to accept the reality of loss. I was abruptly aware that I should have been at home, trying to console my girlfriend about the election, exerting the one benefit of being a depressive pessimist, which is the propensity to chuckle in dark times.

How had the short-fingered vulgarian arrived at the White House? When Hillary Clinton started speaking in public again, she gave credence to a like-goes-with-like account of her character by advancing a this-followed-that narrative. Never mind that she’d mishandled her emails and uttered the phrase ” basket of deplorables “. Never intellect that voters might have had legitimate grievances with the liberal elite she represented; might have failed to appreciate the rationality of free trade, open perimeters, and mill automation when the overall gains in global wealth came at middle-class expenditure; might have resented the federal imposition of liberal urban values on conservative rural communities. According to Clinton, her loss was the flaw of James Comey- maybe also of the Russians.

Admittedly, I had my own neat narrative account. When I came home from Africa to Santa Cruz, my progressive friends were still struggling to understand how Trump could have won. I remembered a public event I’d once done with the optimistic social-media specialist Clay Shirky, who’d recounted to the audience how “shocked” professional New York eatery critics had been when Zagat, a crowd-sourced reviewing service, had named Union Square Cafe the best eatery in township. Shirky’s point was that professional critics aren’t as smart as they think they are; that, in fact, in the age of Big Data, critics are no longer even necessary. At the event, dismissing the fact that Union Square Cafe was my favourite New York restaurant( the crowd was right !), I’d sourly wondered if Shirky believed that critics were also stupid to consider Alice Munro a better writer than James Patterson. But now Trump’s victory, too, had vindicated Shirky’s mockery of pundits. Social media had allowed Trump to bypass the critical establishment, and just enough members of the crowd, in key swaying states, had find his low comedy and his incendiary speech “better” than Clinton’s nuanced arguments and her mastery of policy. This follows from that : without Twitter and Facebook , no Trump.

After the election, Mark Zuckerberg did briefly appears to take responsibility, kind of, for having made the platform of selection for fake news about Clinton, and to suggest that Facebook could become more active in filtering the news.( Good luck with that .) Twitter, for its part, kept its head down. As Trump’s tweeting continued unabated, what could Twitter possibly say? That it was constructing the world a better place?

Mark Zuckerberg suggested that Facebook could become more active in filtering the news. Photo: Steven Senne/ AP

In December, my favourite Santa Cruz radio station, KPIG, began operating a fake ad offering counselling services to addicts of Trump-hating tweets and Facebook posts. The following month, a week before Trump’s inauguration, the PEN American Center organised events around the country to reject the assault on free speech that it claimed Trump represented. Although his administration’s travelling regulations did afterwards make it harder for novelists from Muslim countries to have their voices heard in the United States, the one bad thing that could not be said of Trump, in January, was that he had in any way curtailed free speech. His lying, bullying tweets were free speech on steroids. PEN itself, only a few years earlier, had given a free-speech awarding to Twitter, for its self-publicised role in the Arab spring. The actual outcome of the Arab springtime had been a retrenchment of autocracy, and Twitter had since uncovered itself, in Trump’s hands, to be a platform made to order for autocracy, but the ironies didn’t end there. During the same week in January, progressive American bookstores and authors proposed a boycott of Simon& Schuster for the crime of intending to publish one book by the dismal right-wing provocateur Milo Yiannopoulos. The angriest of the bookstores talked of refusing to stock all titles from S& S, including, presumably, the books of Andrew Solomon, the president of PEN. The talk didn’t aim until S& S voided its contract with Yiannopoulos.

Trump and his alt-right supporters take pleasure in pushing the buttons of the politically correct, but it merely works because the buttons are there to be pushed- students and activists claiming the human rights of not hear things that upset them, and to shout down notions that offend them. Intolerance particularly flourishes online, where measured speech is punished by not getting clicked on, invisible Facebook and Google algorithms steer you towards content you agree with, and nonconforming voices remain silent for fear of being flamed or trolled or unfriended. The outcome is a silo in which, whatever side you’re on, you feel absolutely right to detest what you detest. And here is another way in which the essay distinguished from superficially similar kinds of subjective speech. The essay’s roots are in literature, and literature at its best- the work of Alice Munro, for example- invites you to ask whether you might be somewhat wrong, maybe even entirely wrong, and to imagine why someone else might dislike you.

Three years ago, I was in a state of fury about climate change. The Republican party was continuing to lie about the absence of a scientific consensus on climate- Florida’s Department of Environmental Protection had gone so far as to forbid its employees to write the words “climate change”, after Florida’s governor, a Republican, insisted that it wasn’t a” true fact”- but I wasn’t much less angry at the left. I’d read a new volume by Naomi Klein, This Changes Everything , in which she assured the reader that, although” period is tight”, we still have 10 years to radically remake the world economy and prevent global temperatures from rising by more than two degrees Celsius by the end of the century. Klein wasn’t the only leftist saying we still had 10 years. In fact, environmental activists had been saying the exact same thing in 2005.

They’d also been saying it in 1995: We still have 10 years . By 2015, though, it ought to have been clear that humanity is incapable in every way- politically, psychologically, ethically, economically- of reducing carbon emissions quickly enough to change everything. Even the European union, which had taken the early lead on climate, and was fond of lecturing other regions on their irresponsibility, needed only a recession in 2009 to change its focus to economic growth. Barring a worldwide insurrection against free-market capitalism in the next 10 years- the scenario that Klein contended could still save us- the most likely rise in temperature this century is on the order of six degrees. We’ll be lucky to avoid a two-degree risebefore the year 2030.

In a polity ever more starkly divided, the truth about global warming was even less convenient to the left than to the right. The right’s denials were odious lies, but at least they were consistent with a certain cold-eyed political realism. The left, having excoriated the right for its intellectual deceit and turned climate denialism into a political rallying cry, was now in an impossible posture. It had to keep insisting on the truth of climate science while persisting in the fiction that collective world action could stave off the worst of it: that universal acceptance of the facts, which really might have changed everything in 1995, could still change everything. Otherwise, what change did it build if the Republicans quibbled with the social sciences?

Because my sympathies were with the left- reducing carbon emissions is vastly better than doing nothing; every half-degree helps- I also held it to a higher criterion. Denying the dark reality, pretending that the Paris accord could forestall misfortune, was understandable as a tactic to hold people motivated to reduce emissions; to keep hope alive. As a strategy, though, it did more damage than good. It conceded the ethical high ground, insulted the intelligence of unpersuaded voters (” Truly? We still have 10 years ?”), and foreclosed frankfurter discussion of how the global community should prepare for drastic changes, and how nations like Bangladesh should be compensated for what nations like the United States have done to them.

Dishonesty also skewed priorities. In the past 20 years, the environmental movement had become captive to a single issue. Partly out of genuine alarm, partly also because foregrounding human problems was politically less risky- less elitist- than talking about nature, the big environmental NGOs had all invested their political capital in fighting climate change, a problem with a human face. The NGO that especially enraged me, as a bird lover, was the National Audubon Society, once an uncompromising defender of birds , now a lethargic organization with a very large PR department. In September 2014, with much fanfare, that PR department had announced to the world that climate change was the number-one menace to the birds of Northern america. The proclamation was both narrowly dishonest, because its wording didn’t square with the conclusions of Audubon’s own scientists, and broadly dishonest, because not one single bird demise could be directly attributed to human carbon emissions. In 2014, the most serious threat to American birds was habitat loss, followed by outdoor cats, collisions with buildings, and pesticides. By invoking the buzzword of climate change, Audubon got a lot of attention in the liberal media; another point had been scored against the science-denying right. But it was not at all clear how this helped birds. The only practical effect of Audubon’s announcement, it seemed to me, was to discourage people from addressing the real threats to birds in the present.

Snow Geese in New Mexico, USA. Photograph: Nature Picture Library/ Alamy/ Alamy

I was so angry that I decided that I’d better write an essay. I began with a jeremiad against the National Audubon Society, widened it into a scornful denunciation of the environmental movement generally, and then started waking up in the night in a panic of repentance and doubt. For the writer, an essay is a mirror, and I didn’t like what I was find in this one. Why was I excoriating fellow liberals when the denialists were so much worse? The prospect of climate change was every bit as sickening to me as to the groups I was attacking. With every additional degree of global warming, further hundreds of millions of people around the world would suffer. Wasn’t it worth an all-out effort to achieve a reduction of even half of one degree? Wasn’t it obscene to be talking about birds when children in Bangladesh were threatened? Yes, the premise of my essay was that we have an ethical responsibility to other species as well as to our own. But what if that premise was false? And, even if it was true, did I genuinely care personally about biodiversity? Or was I just a privileged white guy who liked to go birding? And not even a purehearted birder- a lister!

After three nights of doubting my character and motives, I called Henry Finder and told him I couldn’t write the piece. I’d done plenty of ranting about climate to my friends and to likeminded conservationists, but it was like a lot of the ranting that happens online, where you’re protected by the impromptu nature of the writing and by the known friendliness of your audience. Trying to write a finished thing, an essay, had made me aware of the sloppiness of my reasoning. It had also enormously increased health risks of shame, because the writing wasn’t casual, and because it was going out to an audience of probably hostile strangers. Following Henry’s admonition (“ Therefore “), I’d come to think of the essayist as a firefighter, whose undertaking, while everyone else is fleeing the flames of shame, is to run straight into them. But I had a lot more to fear now than my mother’s disapproval.

My essay might have stayed abandoned if I hadn’t already clicked a button on Audubon’s website, confirming that, yes, I wanted to join it in fighting climate change. I’d only done this to gather rhetorical ammunition to use against Audubon, but a spate of direct-mail solicitations had followed from that click. I got at least eight of them in six weeks, all of them asking me to give money, along with a similar deluge in my email inbox. A few days after speaking to Henry, I opened one of the emails and discovered myself looking at a picture of myself – fortunately a flattering image, taken in 2010 for Vogue magazine, which had dressed me up better than I garment myself and posed me in a field with my binoculars, like a birder. The headline of the email was something like” Join Author Jonathan Franzen in Supporting Audubon “. It was true that, a few years earlier, in an interview with Audubon magazine, I’d politely praised the organisation, or at least its publication. But no one had asked for my permission to use my name and image for solicitation. I wasn’t sure the email was even legal.

A more benign impetus to return to the essay received from Henry. As far as I know, Henry couldn’t care less about birds, but he seemed to see something in my argument that our preoccupation with future catastrophes discourages us from tackling solvable environmental problems in the here and now. In an email to me, he gently suggested that I lose the tone of prophetic disdain.” This piece will be more persuasive ,” he wrote in another,” if, ironically, it’s more ambivalent, less polemical. You’re not whaling on folks who want us to pay attention to climate change and emission reductions. But you’re attentive to the costs. To what the discourse pushes to the margins .” Email by email, revise by revision, Henry nudged me toward framing the essay not as a denunciation but as a question: how do we find meaning in our actions when the world seems to be coming to an end? Much of the final draft was allocated to a pair of well-conceived regional preservation projects, in Peru and Costa Rica, where the world really is being made a better place , not just for wild plants and wild animals but for the Peruvians and Costa Ricans who live there. Run on these projects is personally meaningful, and the benefits are immediate and tangible.

In writing about the two projects, I hoped that one or two of the big charitable foundations, the ones expending tens of millions of dollars on biodiesel development or on gale farms in Eritrea, might read the piece and consider investing in work that produces tangible results. What I get instead was a missile attack from the liberal silo. I’m not on social media, but my friends reported that I was being called all sorts of names, including “birdbrain” and” climate-change denier “. Tweet-sized snippets of my essay, retweeted out of context, induced it sound as if I’d proposed that we abandon the effort to reduce carbon emissions, which was the position of the Republican party, which, by the polarising logic of online discourse, attained me a climate-change denier. In fact, I’m such a climate-science accepter that I don’t even bother having hope for the ice caps. All I’d denied was that a right-minded international elite, meeting in nice hotels around the world, could stop them from melting. This was my crime against orthodoxy. Climate now has such a lock on the liberal imagination that any attempt to change the conversation- even trying to change it to the epic extinction event that human beings are already generating without the help of climate change- amounts to an offence against religion.

I did have pity for the climate-change professionals who denounced the essay. They’d been working for decades to create the alarm in America, and they ultimately had President Obama on board with them; they had the Paris accord. It was an inopportune time to point out that drastic global warming is already a done deal, and that it seems unlikely that humanity is going to leave any carbon in the ground, given that, even now , not one country in the world has pledged to do it.

In 2015, President obama described the Paris accord as the best chance to save the planet. Photo: Pool/ Getty Images

I also understood the ferocity of the alternative-energy industry, which is a business like any other. If you allow that renewable energy projects are only a moderating tactic, unable to reverse the damage that past carbon emissions will continue to do for centuries, it opens the door to other questions about the business. Like, did we really need quite so many windmills? Did they have to be placed in ecologically sensitive regions? And the solar farms in the Mojave desert- wouldn’t it induce more sense to covering the city of Los Angeles with solar panels and spare the open space? Weren’t we sort of destroying the natural environment in order to save it? I believe it was an industry blogger who called me a birdbrain.

As for Audubon, the fundraising email should have warned me about the character of its management. But I was still surprised by its reply to the essay, which was to attack, ad hominem, the person whose name and image it had blithely appropriated two months earlier. My essay had, yes, devoted Audubon some tough love. I wanted it to cut out the nonsense, stop talking about 50 years from now, and be more aggressive in defending the birds that both it and I love.

But apparently all Audubon could see was a threat to its membership numbers and its fundraising endeavors, and so it had to disprove me as a person. I’m told the president of Audubon fired off four different salvos at me personally. This is what presidents do now.

And it worked. Without even reading those salvos- simply from knowing that other people were reading them- I felt ashamed. I felt the style I’d felt in eighth grade, shunned by the crowd and called names that shouldn’t have hurt but did. I wished I’d listened to my anxieties in the night and maintained my opinions to myself. In a country of some anguish, I called up Henry and dumped all my dishonor and regret on him. He replied, in his barely legible route, that the online reaction was merely weather.” With public opinion ,” he said,” there’s weather, and then there’s climate. You’re trying to change the climate, and that takes time .”

It didn’t matter if I believed this or not. It was enough to feel that one person, Henry, didn’t detest me. I consoled myself with the thought that, although climate is too vast and chaotic for any individual to alter it, the individual can s

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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