#Slanted Publishers

[guy60660]

Hans Lebert | Slanted

#artsy #design #Hans Lebert #slanted publishers

[drawdownbooks]

Recently added at Draw Down—

Slanted's Yearbook of Type 2022/23: Movie Edition

"... a selection of contemporary typefaces from around the world—from larger publishers to smaller, independent typographers and foundries. Includes a selection of short essays and supplementary sections: indexes of designers and foundries and a glossary of OpenType features."

Creative Direction: Lars Harmsen Art Direction & Managing Editor: Juliane Nöst Graphic Design Assistance: Saehyeen Shin, Clara Weinreich

Published by Slanted Publishers, 2022

Hardcover, 504 pages, color and b&w, 6.3 × 9.5 inches

#Yearbook of Type #movies and typography #type specimen #type design collection #type books #typography books #graphic design books #Draw Down Books #Slanted Publishers

[ervotica]

Inspired by the moment in ACOSF when it’s mentioned Cassian likes physical contact. A fic where reader and cassian are besties and hanging all touchy, maybe reader is braiding his hair and the mating bond snaps.

Kindly requested to be tagged if written/published.

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞

pairing; cassian x fem!reader

warnings; porn with plot, basically just smut tbh but smut with FEELS (the best kind), p in v, oral (f!receiving), cassian is a sexy bitch

word count; 2.4k

a/n; dooo we want a p2 (and to find out what reader has planned...) i'm planning one in my head so if you guys are interested please let me know! @bxm-1012 enjoy!

Cassian shows love through touch- whether that be an affectionate squeeze, a kiss on the forehead or a playful shove; it's how he expresses love for the people around him.

You often take the brunt of this, being his best friend. You walk the streets of Velaris arm in arm, squeeze into one armchair that really isn't built to hold even Cassian alone, but somehow manages to fit the both of you, fall asleep on top of each other in a heap of skewed limbs after hours of partying and drinking and dancing at Rita's. You fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

You're really not sure how you didn't see it earlier.

You're lounging in the aforementioned armchair when the bond snaps. Your legs are thrown over the arm and Cassian is settled in the centre, head to your chest as you scratch and tug at his shoulder-length hair, pulling it up into a braid. He tilts his head up, grinning at you through the dark lashes framing his eyes, and the whole world shifts on its axis.

Something stirs to life inside of you, a warmth blooming and spreading and seeping into your every pore; you can feel the way you're tethered to him, the gravitational pull between you.

You go stock still and your lips part in a silent gasp. Cassian's grin grows tenfold.

"You knew?"

"I suspected," he murmurs. He twists his body to face you. "I hoped."

"Oh," you breathe. You can't help it when your hand comes up to trace his cheekbones, the tip of your thumb skimming the bridge of his nose. His eyes fall closed and the bastard tugs on the bond so hard it emits a squeal from you, and you're pressing a palm to the centre of your chest to soothe the entirely unfamiliar feeling.

His mouth opens to break the silence but you're already moving, careening into his chest and burrowing yourself in tight. Your body sags with pure, uninhibited relief.

"You feel the same, then?" he teases.

Your eyes are glassy when you peel your face far enough to meet his stare.

"I always thought I'd have to make peace with it when you found your mate. I'd have to settle for loving you from a distance and that would be enough. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." He softens at the admission- your voice rasping and raw as you lay your feelings bare for him- hooking an arm beneath your own to drag you up his chest until you're nose to nose. "But I guess I can be selfish now, and keep you to myself," you whisper.

"Mm," he purrs, and the sound turns your core molten. "I like the sound of that."

He doesn't waste any more time before his mouth is on yours, lips slanting hungrily over your own; you part your lips in submission, granting him access to lick into your mouth, his tongue tangling with your own. He rises to tower over you until you're flattened against the curve of the chair, and plants his hands either side of your head to cage you in. His wings flare where they'd been previously tucked against his back. Your body goes involuntarily soft and pliable, heat prickling under your skin at his every touch. Instinct takes over- it's as if it's muscle memory. Giving yourself to him is as easy as breathing.

Your head swims at the feel of his body under your roaming hands, his scent that seems to shift from affection to something deeply primal and dominating. You urge him closer with a whine and a pathetic tug at his t-shirt. How has this man reduced you to a mess with no more than a kiss?

"Cass-" you gasp when his head turns and his mouth latches onto the sensitive spot beneath your ear; teeth sink into flesh and you have to bite your lip to conceal a wanton moan. "We-we should go somewhere... more private."

"Oh, don't stop on our account," comes Rhysand's amused drawl through the closed door. "We're vacating the premises as we speak."

A growl rips through Cassian and searing, unyielding need barrels to your core and pools there; it takes every ounce of willpower to not rut your hips against him and demand his clothes off that very instant.

"Sorry!" you squeak; as quickly as the word leaves your mouth, Cassian's smothering it with another eager kiss. You lose any semblance of control you were clinging to, a moan dragging its way from your chest and into his waiting mouth. A string of saliva stretches and bows between you when he lifts his head to look at your face.

"My mate," he purrs. "My beautiful mate."

Your eyes cloud when you gaze at him through half-lids, reaching down to grab the thick length of him and squeeze. His hips grind into your palm, something deep and almost terrifying loosing from the depths of his chest. It only serves to make your cunt drool.

"Wicked thing," he gasps. "Spiteful female."

You grin, wide and unabashed, before your hands grapple for purchase to tear at his clothes until his toned abdomen is revealed to you; you want to lick every inch of him.

"Desperate little creature, aren’t you?" he teases.

"Shut up!"

His eyes roll when you at last wrench his pants and underwear down his thick thighs, freeing his cock, hard and weeping and begging for your touch.

"Who’s desperate now?" Your brow quirks.

He echoes your sentiments, cadence deep and gravelly with lust. "Shut up."

Your snarking comments seem to loosen the tether he’s kept on his desire to hold you down and have his way with you, and you gasp when thick, calloused fingers curl their way around your windpipe; his fingertips are bruising against your jaw, tipping your head back to bare your soft throat for him. You go boneless in his grasp, eager to take whatever he gives you at whatever pace.

"So you do know how to behave," he muses, free hand coming between your bodies to paw at your clothes until they come away in ribbons, torn from your form and leaving you bare before him.

The first inch of him inside of you is a delicious stretch; your cunt parts and flares to make room for him. He pauses, and when he finds nothing but pure, unadulterated lust in your blown out pupils, he gives you the rest.

Slowly, agonisingly, he drags it out; moaning praises fill your ears as he grants you inch after inch of him until he's seated firmly to the hilt. His fingers are bound to leave bruises where they're curled around your waist.

You whine, fingernails digging cruelly into his sides. He’s so deep you’re sure you can feel him in your throat.

"Cassian."

"Fuck, sweet girl," he hisses. "Usually I’d take my time with you, work you up first until you’re crying. But I need you right now."

The breath is punched from your lungs as he sets a punishing pace; your spine curves and moulds to the arm of the chair when Cassian’s hands venture lower to cup the swells of your breasts. You feel his cock kick up inside of you when he catches sight of your pert nipples, hardening into buds at the exposure of the cool air and the feel of his hands brushing the sensitive beads.

"I’ll get my mouth on you later, baby."

You’d melt at the words if you weren’t already reduced to nothing more than mush from his dick alone. The thick girth of him splits you wide, nestling deep against spots you have yet to discover, pushing you further towards a precipice you’re almost terrified of— you’ve never experienced pleasure like this, to this degree. The insurmountable, unfathomable pressure builds until you’re coming with a scream, your body trembling around his own, cunt clamping down around him to suck him in further.

"There’s my girl," he coos, slowing inside of you to brush away the hair sticking to your slick face. "You’re perfect.”

You whine and cant your hips downward to rock yourself onto his cock, and the bellow that rips through him would have you flushing white-hot under any other circumstances; you’re too far gone to care, a shaking hand splaying against the ridges of his wing until he shudders under your touch. You moan at the sight.

"Now that’s just mean, baby."

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, gaze flitting up to meet his own with a coy smile. He brushes a slow line with his knuckles against your cheekbone— a loving gesture that has your heart clenching as well as your pussy.

"I love you," he says. "I love you so much."

"I love you," you repeat his words as he smears a kiss between your pinched brows. His forehead presses to yours as his hips rut up into your own. Dewiness clings to every inch of your skin and your knuckles bleed of colour where you cling to Cassian.

He brings you to completion four more times before he reaches his own peak, and only when you're reduced to tears beneath him does he crawl the length of your body, lips grazing over the slick skin beneath him until he reaches your cunt once more.

"Cass-" you gasp; your voice comes out a broken, strangled jumble of noise and he grins wolfishly up at you before licking a broad, long stripe from your spasming hole to your clit. Your back arches and you're not sure whether it's towards or away from his touch, but he stops you short when his fingers curl around your ribcage to press you to the plush fabric of the armchair.

"Told you I'd get my mouth on you, didn't I?"

Everything is simultaneously too much and not enough, and you're torn between grinding down into his mouth and shying away. Pleasure licks white-hot up your spine and you writhe against his bruising hold on your hips when the stubble on his chin scratches against your sensitive bundle of nerves. It's red and angry, swollen from Cassian's undivided attention, and it has tears gathering at your waterline once more. Your eyes are glassy and half lidded and he reaches up to brush the tip of his thumb against your cheek, his head never coming up from between your thighs.

Your skin sheens under the soft lights of the living room, sweat beading across the crown of your skull and your temples; you whine and thrash beneath him until your muscles seize and go taut like a bowstring, and pleasure drags you under once again. You're screaming - comes the dazed realisation - and your chest heaves as Cassian works you through it, offering up sweet praises for your orgasm. He smiles as if he hasn't just given you the best sex of your life.

You're utterly limp, boneless in his firm hold when he lifts your body to cradle you to his naked chest. The bridge of his nose presses into the softness of your cheek, skin rubbing against skin where he nuzzles into you.

"That was fucking amazing," you breathe with a laugh. "We should do that again."

"Mm," he hums. "Don't tempt me."

You giggle, pressing your face closer to his; everything about him intoxicates you: his smell, the feel of him under your hands, the dominating rasp of his cadence.

"We have something else to do first."

"What?" he asks, visibly deflating when you push yourself up on wobbling legs; your knees almost give out instantly. You can feel his smirk forming, burning into your naked form.

"Don't. Say. Anything," you grit. Your fingers brush the carpet when you bend to grasp a slip of fabric, and you quirk a brow at your sheepish mate. "My clothes, Cass!"

"I'll get you some more. Anything you want," he immediately says, watching you through half-lidded eyes. The love swirling in his irises almost has you staggering.

"While I appreciate that..." You lean down to press your lips against his, only pulling back to rest your brow against his own. "That doesn't solve my problem right now."

He snorts. "I like you naked. Maybe you should never wear clothes again."

"I'm not sure anyone would approve of that but you." Your smile is devilish. "Maybe I could distract a few High Lords at the next meeting..."

His teeth bare, a low warning growl reverberating through your very bones. You laugh, light and airy, and Cassian's sure you're heaven sent even as you send red-hot fury roiling through his veins.

"I'm sorry," you trill. "That was mean." You snag his own t-shirt, still predominantly in one piece, and slip it over your head; it lays against your mid-thighs and the scent of him cloys in your nostrils. "C'mon." You beckon him up with an outstretched hand, wiggling your fingers until he stands and slips his fingers between your own. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth. "Um, darling?" A pointed gaze has him grinning in return, clasping his chest in faux disappointment.

"I thought you liked me naked!"

"Oh, I do," you muse. "I'd just like to not scar everybody else in this house for life."

"It'd hardly be an unpleasant sight-"

"Yes, but I'm sure everyone would prefer it if I didn't try to kill them for looking." Your smile oozes saccharine, and then you're nudging him towards where his underwear lays discarded on the carpet. He pulls the material up and over his thick thighs and then he's back by your side in an instant; you preen under his adoring touch, pushing into the hands that slip underneath your shirt to grope at your bare skin.

"C'mon," you repeat, begrudgingly denying yourself the pleasure of sinking into his arms for another round of slow sex. "We need to do this first." You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Mate."

#cassian fic #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #acotar cassian #cassian #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian acotar #acotar fluff #acotar fic #cassian smut #cassian fluff #writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writing for fun #writing for myself #smut writing #fluff writing #smut with plot #smut with feelings

[inkskinned]

i know some of the poets outside of their books, like cameron awkward-rich; who was my seminar teacher for a semester in grad school. you know him, he wrote about keeping his hand on the walls of his stupid heart. he gave us a journal without lines in it, so the pages were all blank and naked. we had to write down 3 words every day, ruminations on our own lives.

in pink glitter pen, i watched my handwriting cramp and spill from pristine and well-meaning to the slant of someone deeply suffering. the words stopped being lyrical over the course of february. bad, it said. bad and bad and bad. each day carving out a little bit of marrow, the sparrow of my heart acting as roadkill. that winter i was only allowed to eat apples, like a horse. my ocd had decided i could only touch food if it was red. i was sleeping on the floor and a spider bit me.

i wanted him to be my thesis advisor, but it was covid the next year, and we never spoke again, and i'm worried that i embarrassed myself by asking him repeatedly. for my final project in his class, i wrote about my disability. i called myself a rat, fondly.

his most famous poem is titled Meditations in an Emergency. i didn't know it until three weeks after i had graduated from that university.

at one point, he sat me down after class just to discuss some of my work. it was a night class, and we were all a little drowsy. he blinked up at me. i think sometimes the way you see the world is a little bit alarming. i wonder about that, in hindsight. i wonder if all of us who are walking on thumbtacks always recognize when someone else's spine is the undulating form of a siren. i could see it in him and you can see it in me, if you're looking.

yesterday nat said some of this is worrying.

i told cameron i was fine and i told nat i was fine, but i think maybe all of us had learned a long time ago how to be fine the way a poem is fine - because it happens outside of you. it can be honest, the confession, but it cannot be spelled out across your ribs. we make our art so that the sorrow can hang, limbless, trembling on the fetid walls beside us.

you learn to turn the ugliness into some kind of work, because you must smash the entire human experience of your stupid bones and teeth and tongue into something, so that you have anything to show for it. otherwise, what is the fucking point. why were you suffering, if not to polish the runoff and say - the melancholy is the signature of my art. i took the splinters out of my gums and filed them down into a thesis. the thesis has been turned into a book which is getting published.

cameron, to my knowledge, still has not read it.

i hope he has found his way out of the maze. i hope you and i one day write our own lanterns. i hope we are able to find some kind of peace without viscera. without having to fight for it. i hope we are able to stumble without falling. i hope one day the sky is empty of vultures and we can cross the desert of our memories without starving.

in the meantime we get up and leave the circled shadow in the writing.

#writeblr #warm up #idk what this is

[probablyasocialecologist]

Upday, the largest news aggregator app in Europe, handed down directives to color the company’s coverage of the war in Gaza with pro-Israel sentiment, according to interviews with employees and internal documents obtained by The Intercept.  Leadership at Upday, a subsidiary of the Germany-based publishing giant Axel Springer, gave instructions to prioritize the Israeli perspective and minimize Palestinian civilian deaths in coverage, according to the employees. “We can’t push anything involving Palestinian death tolls or casualties without information about Israel coming higher up in the story,” an employee told The Intercept, referring to push notifications, the alerts sent to millions of phones. The employees, who asked for anonymity to protect their livelihoods, said there was widespread discomfort throughout the company over the moves. 

#gaza #palestine #israel #media #propaganda #censorship

[flanaganfilm]

Hello and Howdy Mr. Mike Flanagan! I'm excited to see you here on our humble hellsite. I have so much to say and ask about your netflix shows but for the moment, I want to ask about Doctor Sleep because I enjoyed that movie immensely - it filled me with a pleasant sense of dread, which possibly makes no sense, or a lot of sense.

What was that creative process like? Reconciling book and movie canons, following Kubrick's legacy, working with Ewan and Rebecca and Zahn and everyone else. I'm obsessed with King adaptations and I'm just fascinated with Doctor Sleep.

Alright! Buckle up for yet another long read.

Thank you for your question, and for this opportunity to go back and talk about DOCTOR SLEEP. It's a very special film to me, and a very special time in my life as well.

It all started with a general meeting with Jon Berg at Warner Bros.

The meeting itself started pretty wild - Adrien Brody walked out of the office as I was waiting to go in. Jon introduced us and we chatted for a few minutes, and I was a little out of whack for the rest of the meeting because I had a very potent "wow that was Adrien Brody" buzz going.

We were meant to talk about DC Comics and see if there was anything to do there. I was really hoping to chat about a horror-slanted Clayface movie, and about my favorite superhero: Superman.

Neither conversation went very far. I had just finished GERALD'S GAME, and Jon was a King fan, so he asked about the production. And then he asked if I'd ever read Warners' script for DOCTOR SLEEP.

I had. In fact, I had tried very hard to get a meeting at the studio when the book was first published. Warners owned the rights to DOCTOR SLEEP outright - it was part of their deal going all the way back to THE SHINING - so they immediately began looking into movie options when the book was published. Akiva Goldsman had written a script, and it was one of the first projects I asked about when I signed with WME as a client years before. "That isn't going anywhere," they told me. "I don't think that movie gets made."

They had tried to get me the meeting anyway, but no one at Warners responded. I never got in the room.

But now, here I was. What did I have to lose at this point?

"I did read it," I said. "I'd take a different approach." Jon sat back and smiled. "I love the book, Rose is one of the great villains of all time," he said. I agreed. He probed. "What's wrong with the script?"

"I don't think it follows the book closely enough."

"What would you do?"

"I'd do the book. Streamline it, combine some characters, and you'd have to rethink the True Knot a bit. But otherwise, just do the book. As long as it's a three-hander between Danny, Abra and Rose it'll work. With one big asterisk."

"What's that?"

"I think you have to bring back the hotel. Kubrick's hotel, I mean."

Jon smiled wider. "Yeah, it's a bummer the hotel burned down. King goes out of his way at the start of the book to emphasize that - no Overlook, look no further."

This was my biggest gripe with the book.

I said "When I read the book, all I could see was Kubrick's hotel. I think you do the book as close as you possibly can, until the big fight at the end. Instead of it taking place in an empty field, let it be in the hotel."

Jon: "Do you think King will be upset if you change his ending? You know how feels about THE SHINING, right?"

Me: "What if we gave him THAT ending? What if we let Danny have Jack's ending? Jack sacrificed himself to save his family and destroy the Overlook - why not let Danny do that? Change the ending, sure, but give him the ending Kubrick denied him."

We shook hands, and I called my producing partner Trevor Macy to tell him it was a good general, but nothing was coming out of my DC meeting. By the time I'd made it back to my car, though, Jon had reached out to Stephen King and asked if he'd be interested in me taking a swing at it. Steve, who had enjoyed GERALD'S GAME, said yes.

I was immediately petrified when the call came in that they might want to engage me on a rewrite of DOCTOR SLEEP, with a directorial attachment. I'd have to rewrite the script from scratch, and I kind of felt like they were calling my bluff. But the deal was made and quite suddenly I was adapting DOCTOR SLEEP.

First order of business was to make King aware of what I intended to do. I had just established a tentative relationship with my hero over GERALD'S GAME, and the last thing - the very last thing in the world I ever wanted - was to upset him. We weren't in direct communication, we spoke through agents and emails at this point - but I had to make him aware of the Overlook thing.

I put together a proposal that outlined what I wanted to do - use Kubrick's visual language, and keep the Overlook standing as a setting for the final battle. The initial feedback we got was "no." King really, really didn't like Kubrick's film, and his priority was to adapt DOCTOR SLEEP - not to revisit THE SHINING.

I told him that if he didn't want me to do it, I wouldn't - I'd walk away from the movie before I made something he hated. But as a last ditch effort, I said "imagine the Overlook, decrepit and rotten. And imagine Dan Torrance having walk in to 'wake it up,' the lights coming on above his head as he walks the halls. He finds his way to the Gold Room. To the familiar bar, where an empty glass is waiting for him. And we see a familiar bartender ready to pour for him, saying 'good evening Mister Torrance.' What if that bartender is his father?"

After a bit of a delay, King got back to us. "Do it," he said.

Writing the script was tough. I immediately felt like I had stepped into a very unsafe space. "This is going to piss everybody off," I figured. Kubrick fans would be livid that the movie was being made. King fans might be angry that Kubrick's imagery was being homaged. There was no way to please everyone, so I set about writing the movie I wanted to see most.

It was a slightly nauseous feeling that would stay with me until the movie came out.

I sat down to write with a hardcover copy of DOCTOR SLEEP to my right, and a hardcover copy of THE SHINING to my left. I read both cover to cover, sticking post-its throughout the pages with ideas, or flagging lines of dialogue (or even prose) that I wanted to protect. I managed to put together a basic outline for the movie, which was intimidating and sprawling.

I finally finished the draft and sent it off to Warner Bros. and King at the same time. I was shooting THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE at the time, and thought it would take a long while and a few more iterations before SLEEP would go anywhere, if it ever did.

Warner Bros. shocked us all by coming back with a green light. I've been told that it was one of the fastest green lights in the recent history of the studio, and I believe it.

It happened so fast, in fact, that Steve hadn't read the script yet. I got an email from him on a Friday saying "I read the first half, and I absolutely love it - my son's getting married, so I'll pick it up in a week or so and finish it, but great so far!" I was nauseous... because I knew everything that King was likely to hate was in the second half.

When he finally did finish reading it, about a week later, he reached out and said:

"I think it's really good. In my experience, this is the kind of script studios don't make, because it's TOO good. Hopefully I'm wrong. But no matter how it turns out, thanks for treating me so well. - Steve"

I had the distinct pleasure of being able to write him back and tell him that Warner Bros. had just greenlit the movie. And we were off to the races.

The pressure was enormous. They were spending a lot of money on this movie, and because of the insane box office success of IT: CHAPTER ONE, expectations were very high.

We were given access to Kubrick's blueprints for the Overlook hotel set, which were still held at Warner Bros. While we set about rebuilding the sets, our attention turned to casting.

For Dan, we met with a handful of actors: Dan Stevens, Chris Evans, Matt Smith, and Jeremy Renner all came in to chat about the movie. But Ewan McGregor, who himself was eight years sober (just like Dan), was the obvious choice. "Let's not talk about the Shining yet," he said. "I want to talk about recovery." He was the guy.

For Rose the Hat, we talked with several actresses, including Anne Hathaway, Nicole Kidman, and my dear friend Karen Gillan - but Rebecca Ferguson knocked our socks off on a 90-minute zoom meeting, and the part was hers.

Finding Abra Stone was more difficult - we auditioned more than 900 girls for the part. We'd narrowed it down to a half-dozen very promising and successful young actresses, including Lulu Wilson (who I'd worked with several times before and adore), but Kyliegh Curran's self-tape audition rose to the very top of the pile. Ewan flew to Atlanta to read with our final picks, and when Kyliegh - who lived 15 minutes from our office, was local casting, and had never booked a job before - finished reading, he turned to us and said "I mean it's her, right?" It absolutely was.

When we cast her, we invited her back to the office after school one day to get oriented. The crew was so excited for her that they decorated the production office in her honor.

As the rest of the cast fell in, we started doing our camera tests and getting excited about what we were putting together. My feeling over overwhelming nausea only got stronger.

We started shooting in September of 2018. The shoot was long, but never exhausting. The cast and crew were uniformly pleasant and happy to be there, and after the soul-crushing slog that had been THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE, it was a relief to enjoy working again.

Kate was pregnant with our daughter Theo at the time. She visited as much as she could, but finally couldn't travel any more. Being away from Kate and our son Cody was hard, but I'm so grateful that we got to share some time on set together.

All things considered, this was a smooth shoot. But something happened for me while we were making it that would change the course of my life forever.

See, THE SHINING is about alcoholism. King wrote it while in the throes of his own addiction, and it is a novel about the anxiety he felt about what he could potentially do to his family if left unchecked. It's one of the reasons he was so upset with Kubrick's adaptation - all of that was taken away. This is a profoundly personal story for King.

When he wrote DOCTOR SLEEP, he was decades sober. The story of DOCTOR SLEEP is the story of recovery. This was something that Ewan knew very well, and why he was perfect for the part. He knew what the journey felt like. He wasn't alone - there were a number of cast and crew members on this shoot that were sober. In fact, just about all of the actors who played main characters were sober. I was still drinking at the time, though it had already become obviously problematic in my life, I hadn't taken any meaningful steps to change it.

This photograph was taken on 10/12/2018. This was taken on the day I got sober. I quit cold turkey, in the middle of production. I was clinging to vices at the time. Note not only the cigarette in my hand (I was smoking almost 2 packs a day), but the ash tray that had been rigged to the top of my viewfinder by the camera department. (I don't smoke anymore either, just about four years without cigs as well... and I still miss them.)

I had been writing about addiction for a decade. It was all over my work, going all the way back to ABSENTIA. I didn't realize just how much I was writing about myself, and I still can't believe it took me this long.

I vividly recall writing the scene between Dan and Jack at the bar. My wife pointed out to me after the fact that she could see it then, that something was changing in me when it came to drinking. Something was waking up, and I was processing a desperate need to sober up. That scene represents an internal conversation that is profoundly personal to me. It's still my favorite scene of the movie.

I've been sober now for over 4 years. DOCTOR SLEEP helped me finally make that decision. I finished the shoot sober, and came home to my life with a lot of uncertainty and insecurity. But with the unflinching support of my incredible wife, and some amazing friends, my life started to really blossom. It was pretty immediately evident that this was one of the best decisions I'll ever make.

Meanwhile, though, I had to finish DOCTOR SLEEP.

I LOVED the movie we'd made, but I was still terrified of what King would think of it - not to mention Kubrick's estate.

When we finished the cut, I flew to Bangor to screen the finished film for Steve. It was the first I'd meet him in person, and one of the most insanely exciting and humbling days of my life.

We watched the movie together, and I was acutely aware of each and every little reaction he had throughout.

(With Trevor Macy, my producing partner at Intrepid)

When the show as over, Steve turned to me and said "You did a beautiful job." And ultimately, he added that this film had made him warm up to the Kubrick movie as well.

A week later, we heard from Kubrick's estate that they had also loved the movie.

With King's blessing, and Kubrick's family, I felt that nausea finally subside. I said to Kate, "that's it. That's all that matters. Doesn't matter if the movie crashes and burns - we already won the important battle."

And then, the movie crashed and burned.

A group of us went to see it opening night at Arclight Hollywood (my favorite theater). We were just about the only people there. And I knew immediately that we were going to have a bad weekend.

The movie didn't perform very well. Warner Bros. was disappointed, and ended up scrapping the Dick Hallorann movie we were planning, as well as the Overlook Hotel prequel.

I was pretty crest-fallen. I'd spent years tossing and turning over whether audiences would be divided between the King and Kubrick camps. I'd been petrified that they'd be furious, venomous, run me out on a rail... I'd never considered that they'd be utterly disinterested. Apathy wasn't even on my radar.

Steve called me the Monday after opening weekend with some words of encouragement. "I remember when THE SHINING bombed," he said. "And SHAWSHANK. Give it some time. It'll find its audience. It's a really good movie."

That has turned out to be true. While it didn't set the world on fire theatrically, the movie has over-performed on VOD and streaming. And when Warner Bros. released the Directors Cut (I'm still so grateful that they did that), it popped even more.

So yes, to answer your question - the pressures were enormous. I hope this paints a little picture of what it was like. The biggest gift I got out of it, though, was sobriety.

I reached out to King a year later, on my first sober birthday. I hadn't told him I was sober, but it felt like time to do it. I got to thank him. "I never told you this, but I sobered up while we were shooting DOCTOR SLEEP, and I don't think I would have done it without your words. Living in that story, and marinading in the concepts of recovery and redemption made it possible. I just want to thank you."

He wrote back his congratulations, and then mentioned "as it happens, I'm off to celebrate 30 years myself. It only gets better and better."

And he is absolutely right.

DOCTOR SLEEP was the perfect project for me after the nightmare that was HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE. I fell in love with making movies again. And I found a new and wonderful gear for my life. It has only made everything better - my marriage, my work, my experience walking around on planet earth. I'm so grateful for it.

When I think of DOCTOR SLEEP, I think of Ewan sitting at the bar and looking at the glass in his hand. "Man takes a drink, drink takes a drink... and then the drink takes the man. Ain't it so, dad."

Ewan understood those words better than I did when I typed them into the script. I understand them much better now.

There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not profoundly grateful for my time at the Overlook. And for myriad of ways my life has been changed because of it.

#doctor sleep #sobriety #behind the scenes #behind the scene photo #ewan mcgregor #stephen king #rebecca ferguson #grateful #warner bros #the shining #featured

[transmutationisms]

do you feel like SSRIs are mostly pseudoscience? I'm not sure if I should be open to trying them or avoid them at all costs since I'm not sure if they even work or if they will mess me up permanently

a preliminary note that i don't find the category 'pseudoscience' to be useful & would classify SSRI research more as 'methodologically shoddy science' or 'ideologically slanted' or 'part of a centuries-long effort on the part of psychiatrists to secure themselves professional prestige by claiming neurobiological etiologies where none are shown to exist' &c &c. imo the notion of 'pseudoscience' is itself pretty positivistic, ahistorical, and ideologically noxious (particularly apparent in any analysis of epistemological imperialism).

that aside: you raise two major issues with SSRIs, namely whether they work and whether they will cause you harm.

efficacy of SSRIs is contested. a 2010 meta-analysis found that in patients with mild or moderate depressive symptoms, the efficacy of SSRIs "may be minimal or nonexistent", whilst "for patients with very severe depression, the benefit of medications over placebo is substantial". a 2008 meta-analysis found a similar distinction between mildly vs severely depressed patients, but noted that even in the latter population, drug–placebo differences were "relatively small" and argued that the differences between drug and placebo in severely depressed patients "seems to result from a poorer response to placebo amongst more depressed patients" rather than from a greater efficacy of SSRIs. a 2012 meta-analysis found some SSRIs consistently effective over placebo treatments, but several authors disclosed major relationships with pharmaceutical companies. a 2017 meta-analysis concluded that "SSRIs might have statistically significant effects on depressive symptoms, but all trials were at high risk of bias and the clinical significance seems questionable" (emphasis added) and that "potential small beneficial effects seem to be outweighed by harmful effects".

when evaluating any of this evidence, it is crucial to keep in mind that studies on antidepressant trials are selectively published—that is, they are less likely to be published if they show negative results!

A total of 37 studies viewed by the FDA as having positive results were published; 1 study viewed as positive was not published. Studies viewed by the FDA as having negative or questionable results were, with 3 exceptions, either not published (22 studies) or published in a way that, in our opinion, conveyed a positive outcome (11 studies). According to the published literature, it appeared that 94% of the trials conducted were positive. By contrast, the FDA analysis showed that 51% were positive.

meta-analyses are not immune to this issue, either. in addition to the problem that a meta-analysis of a bunch of bad studies cannot magically 'cancel out' the effects of poor study design, the authors of meta-analyses can and do also have financial interests and ties to pharmaceutical companies, and this affects their results just as it does the results of the studies they are studying. according to a 2016 analysis of antidepressant meta-analyses,

Fifty-four meta-analyses (29%) had authors who were employees of the assessed drug manufacturer, and 147 (79%) had some industry link (sponsorship or authors who were industry employees and/or had conflicts of interest). Only 58 meta-analyses (31%) had negative statements in the concluding statement of the abstract. Meta-analyses including an author who were employees of the manufacturer of the assessed drug were 22-fold less likely to have negative statements about the drug than other meta-analyses [1/54 (2%) vs. 57/131 (44%); P < 0.001]. [...] There is a massive production of meta-analyses of antidepressants for depression authored by or linked to the industry, and they almost never report any caveats about antidepressants in their abstracts. Our findings add a note of caution for meta-analyses with ties to the manufacturers of the assessed products.

so, do SSRIs work? they are certainly psychoactive substances, which is to say, they do something. whether that something reduces depressive symptoms is simply not known at this point, though it is always worth keeping in mind that the 'chemical imbalance' narrative of SSRIs (the idea that they work by 'curing' a 'serotonin deficiency' in the brain) has always been a profitable myth. look, any medical treatment throughout history has been vouched for by SOME patients who report that it helped them—no matter how wacky it sounds or how little evidence there was to support it. this can be for a lot of reasons: placebo effect, the remedy accidentally treating a different problem than it was intended for, the symptoms coincidentally resolving on their own. sometimes the human body is just weird and unpredictable. sometimes remedies work. i'm sorry i can't give you a more definitive answer about whether SSRIs would help you.

as to potential risks: these are significant. SSRIs can precipitate suicidal ideation, a risk that has been consistently downplayed by pharmaceutical companies and studies. SSRIs are also known to contribute to sexual dysfunction and dissatisfaction, again a risk that is minimised and downplayed in much of the literature and in physician communication with patients. further (known) side effects range through emotional blunting, glaucoma, QT interval prolongation, abnormal bleeding & interaction with anti-coagulents, platelet dysfunction, decreases in bone mineral density leading to increased risk of osteopenia and osteoporosis, jaw clenching / TMJ pain, risk of serotonin syndrome when used in conjunction with other serotonergic substances, dizziness, insomnia, headaches, the list goes on.

i don't mean to sound alarmist; all drugs have side effects, some of the ones above occur rarely, and you may very well decide the risk is acceptable to you to take on. i would, though, always encourage you to do thorough research into potential side effects before starting any drug, including an SSRI. more on SSRI side effects in david healy's books 'pharmageddon', 'let them eat prozac', 'the antidepressant era', and 'the creation of psychopharmacology'; 'pillaged' by ronald w maris; and 'the myth of the chemical cure' by joanna moncrieff.

in addition to the above, SSRIs are known to come with a risk of 'discontinuation syndrome'—that is, chemical withdrawal when stopping the drug. this, too, is often downplayed by physicians; many still deny that it can even happen. some patients don't experience it at all, though i can tell you purely anecdotally that SSRI withdrawal was so miserable for me i simply gave up on quitting for over a year, despite the fact that at that point i was already thoroughly experienced with chemical withdrawals from other, 'harder' drugs. again, i am not telling you not to go on SSRIs if you decide these risks are worth it to you! i simply think this is a decision that should always be made with full knowledge (indeed, this is a core, though routinely violated, principle of medical 'informed consent').

ultimately this is not a decision anyone should make for you; it's your body and mind that are at stake here. as always i think that anyone considering any kind of medical treatment should have full knowledge about it and should be making all decisions freely and autonomously. i am genuinely not pushing any agenda 'for' or 'against' SSRIs, only against prescription of them that is done carelessly, coercively, or without fully informing patients of what risks they're taking on and what benefits they can hope to see.

#psychiatry

[the-power-of-a-pen]

Oh, How I Love Thee

Fandom: Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Summary: A series of cute moments between Harry Osborn and reader based on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem How Do I Love Thee?

Word Count: 3061

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic)

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, 3rd to last scene is reader panicking

A/n: I don't remember the last time I wrote a fic, but I loved the new Spiderman 2 on ps5 and I'm obsessed with/gay for Harry Osborn. Also apologies: English isn't my first language. Also please give feedback -- I have quite a few more of these in my drafts that I'll only publish if these are well-received!

How do I love thee?

Planks, nails, screws, and metal bars were strewn haphazardly across the floor of the apartment you shared with Harry. His eyebrows were furrowed the way they always do when he's determined to solve something. You'd long ago surrendered the instructions to him after his persistent insistence that he could figure it out. Instead, you simply leaned against him as you began organized the mess of a dresser you had attempted to assemble.

"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to know with one of these screws is the 40 millimeter one?" he complained.

You adjusted yourself so that you were lounging more comfortably next to him with your chin on his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “If I had to guess,” you started, “I’d probably read what’s on the top of each screw.”

He scoffed playfully. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

You gestured for him to give you the instructions, which he reluctantly did. "It says we need to put the x12 screws into the L2 bar first. Then we- oh for fuck's sake, why does this manual have pictures only? We're trying to build a coffee table, not a fucking time machine."

"Let's just try using the power drill on these," Harry suggested. "There's probably tons of extra parts in here that we can use if we mess up."

"Okay, Brunel. I thought you were a biochem major."

"Hey," he laughed. "Let a man dream. Can you hold this piece up?"

You obliged, and Harry picked up the nearest 40 mm-looking screw and drove it into the wooden bar at an angle to connect it to the bottom of the coffee table. You gave each other a look. It didn't seem right, but it did what it was supposed to.

"Trust the process?" you suggested. "I'm not going to try and read that chicken scratch again."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as it stands up, right?"

The two of you repeated the process for the other four legs and the rack under the table. Finally, you propped it up to stand. It was a horrible mess, slanted and barely standing up. Truly, it looked more like a modern sculpture than a piece of furniture.

After a moment of silence, Harry said, "I'm gonna order something pre-made and get us takeout."

"Yeah," you sighed. "That's probably for the best."

Let me count the ways.

"I claim Yoshi," Harry declared as he selected the character for the round.

"Basic," you jabbed back. "My main's Toad, anyway. Rainbow Road?"

"Obviously."

The rain pattered against the windows outside. It was a perfect night to stay in.

As soon as the countdown finished, Harry sent a green shell your way and curved around you.

"Cheater," you jabbed as you spammed your controller to get back up.

"Hate the game, not the player," he bantered. "Oh, fuck you, Peach."

"How funny would it be if the bots won over us?"

"Not gonna happen," Harry replied. He threw a banana at your mini-kart and, by pure luck, managed not to crash into you.

On Harry's side of the split screen, it showed that he was on his final lap, with you a decent distance behind him. With the finish line in sight, you pulled the last trick in your sleeve. You grabbed Harry's chin and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, making him entirely lose focus. By the time you two pulled away, you were out of breath, and your side of the TV read 1st Place.

"Now who's cheating?" Although he was trying to scold you, the way he was catching his breath took away from it.

"Oh, please," you remarked. "You didn't mind."

Harry dropped his controller and, cupping your face with one hand and pulling your waist towards him with the other, he mumbled before kissing you, "Damn right I didn't.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Your phone buzzed, stirring you from your sleep. Rubbing some sleep from your eyes, you fumbled around for it, barely reading 7:23AM off of it. You tossed it over your shoulder and rolled over, hardly getting anywhere before Harry pulled you back into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzled into you. "G'morning, babe."

"Morning," you yawned. Your eyes adjusted to the morning light and you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. A flock of pigeons brushed by your window, tracking in a breeze that brought shivers to your spine. You stirred again, trying to get up this time.

Harry tried and failed to grab for your hand. "Where are you going?"

You smiled to yourself. Harry's morning voice never got old. "I'm just closing the window. It's freezing in here."

He propped himself up on his elbow and commented, "Well, word around town is that I make a pretty good personal heater."

You hummed. "I'll take that into consideration." You sat down on his side of the bed and brushed some wild stray hairs out of his face. "But seriously, just because we have the day off, that doesn't mean we should spend all day in bed. I can make us hot chocolate the way you like it, and we can sit out in the park, maybe try to find something good in Midtown?"

"That sounds great, baby." Harry leaned into your touch. "After a quick nap."

You scoffed as he grabbed your waist to pull you on top of him. "Nothing's quick with you," you remarked.

Your boyfriend just smirked at you. "Part of why you love me." You settled down onto him, resting your head on his chest and intertwining your legs. "Just... five more minutes, babe," he implored you.

"Five more minutes," you agreed, already drifting back off to sleep.

When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.

The movie you had been watching had run its course, and you were beyond tired. You resigned yourself to quickly run through your skincare routine and find Harry so that the two of you could go to sleep.

You finished rinsing the cleanser off of your face and stretched with such force that you got dizzy. Shaking this feeling off, you called for your boyfriend.

"In the kitchen!" he called back. And he was there, but sheltered behind the kitchen island on the floor with his laptop and countless papers strewn around him. The fans in his computer sounded like a helicopter about to take off. "I'm just finishing these last few emails," he yawned. "Then I've got to review the results of bee drones, verify the statistics Dr. Loughran gathered on the organ reproduction project, and then I gotta check if they repaired the particle accelerator yet and-"

You sat yourself down next to him and gently shut his laptop, kissing his temple. "Why don't we deal with this tomorrow?"

Harry sighed and leaned on your shoulder. "I've been putting this off for a while. I'm so close to finishing, just like 30 more minutes."

You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him fighting to stay conscious. "You and I both know that's a lie, babe. The weight of the world doesn't rest on your shoulders. Take a break. The work will be there tomorrow."

"But-"

"What did May always say?"

Harry sighed again, but relented and put his head in your lap. "You help someone, you help everyone."

You arranged the papers around you into a pile and grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen island's stools to put behind your back. "Let the person you help today be you, okay?"

But Harry was already fast asleep.

I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if you used conditioner before shampoo?"

"Not really," you conceded as you took another bite of your ice cream from your place on top of the dryer.

Harry sat on the floor organizing the dark, white, and delicate clothes into piles. "I mean, it's probably better for your hair, no? Like, the whole purpose of conditioner is to break down unwanted particles and moisturize your hair. If anything, it's probably better to do it that way."

"Maybe," you agreed as you hopped down and put the first load in the wash. "But wouldn't that be the same as using fabric softener before detergent?"

"Nope. Fabric softener just coats your clothes in microplastics. It's a long-term way of damaging the bonds between the atoms for temporary comfort. Technically, we should be using something like vinegar instead."

"I'm not putting vinegar on my clothes," you objected.

"Maybe you need to be more open-minded," he teased.

"Maybe you need to keep your head in the game," you teased back, throwing his dirty T-shirt at him. You yelped when he threw a sock your way. "Oh, I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry challenged.

By sun and candle-light.

Harry raced past you in the hallway, tugging on a shoe while awkwardly hopping. You sipped your tea from the kitchen island as you stared down the morning crossword.

"Running late?" you asked as he grabbed an apple and tossed it into his bag.

"Yeah," he replied, out of breath as he roughly kissed your cheek and gave you a squeeze before rushing towards the door. "Pete's gonna have to deal with the donors on his own if I don't get there on time. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." You filled out the five boxes for 23-across whose clue read 'Oscar-winner Streep.' "I love you."

"I love you, too," he called as he shut the door. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "Forgot my keys!"

"They're on top of your nightstand," you called as you heard him tearing your room apart. The jingle of the keys confirmed that he got them, and he bounded over to you again.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing your cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," you chuckled. You leaned around the corner to watch him leave for the second time before returning to your morning routine. You had just finished eating your breakfast when Harry came running in again.

"Missed me already?" you joked.

"Forgot my phone," he explained, grabbing it from beside you. He kissed your cheek again. "But that, too."

"Love you!" you called as he fumbled with the doorknob and you walked to the living room. "Kick ass today."

He gave you a charming wink then slipped out the door.

You turned on the TV and let a talk show play in the background as you cursed at your crossword. This time, it took Harry about 6 more minutes to realize he had yet again forgotten something important. He barged in for the third and last time, profusely apologizing.

"You wouldn't happen to know a five-letter port city of Japan, would you?" you asked without looking up.

"Try Osaka?" Harry filtered through the pockets of his coats in the laundry room until he finally found his wallet.

"That fits."

Harry returned from the laundry room and leaned down, pressing three kisses to your lips. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe. Show 'em how it's done."

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

"Oh my God, you should've seen the look on Hasan's face when Vijay showed up. Like, I get it, you dated way back in the day, but showing up in all white? So then MJ went to go pull the wine trick on him while I tried to distract Hasan so that he wouldn't notice anything was going on, but of course the universe wasn't satisfied." You huffed and caught your breath in the middle of pacing back and forth in the living room. "You know what happened after that?"

Harry, from his comfortable corner in the couch covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Jess said something?" he guessed.

"Jess opened her fucking mouth," you continued. "And she was drunk off her ass because she always is, and she comes up to Hasan on his fucking wedding day and starts shouting about Vijay coming over. So at this point, Song is already asking Hasan 'Have you been cheating on me? Is that what this is?' And obviously Hasan would never do that but now Song's upset so the two of them go to argue in the backroom while Keith escorts Vijay out and MJ and I have to babysit Jess for the rest of the evening." You paused and took a sip of your mocktail. "It was literal hell."

At this point, you realize the smile taking over Harry's face. "What?"

He shook his head as he surveyed you in admiration. "You're hot when you're angry."

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

"Do I look good?" Harry asked nervously as he adjusted his tie.

You brushed his mess of curls away from his forehead. "You look perfect. You are perfect."

"I really need this interview to go well," he said, biting his lips. "Whatever this guy publishes is gonna be severely edited by Jonah, and if even half of what MJ said was warning enough, we're screwed."

"You're going to be fine," you assured him. When that didn't seem to work, you grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "Your mom would be so proud of you. Don't worry about what you can't control."

Harry took in a deep breath, and, hugging you before going into the meeting room, whispered, "Let's heal the world."

I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

"Good morning," chirped the barista as you walked in to the small café. "What can I get started for you?"

"Just a small pumpkin latte, please," you replied. You shivered and wrapped your scarf tighter around you.

"Anything else I can get for you? Maybe my number?"

"No, thanks -- that'll be all," you assured her, glancing behind you to look for Harry.

You jumped when he touched your arm. "I've got this one, baby," he winked and offered his card. The barista's eyes widened in realization, and she silently finished the transaction. One of her coworkers finished off the order and handed it to you on the other end of the kiosk.

You unlocked your car with your keys and laughed when Harry rushed to open the door for you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're jealous, aren't you," you jested.

Harry mocked offense as he got into the car on the other side. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, your majesty."

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.

Harry crossed your arms on your chest and hugged you from behind to give you that comfort of pressure. "Breathe, babe. It's gonna be okay. This feeling will go away."

Your breathing was erratic, your face tingled, and you felt so dizzy you might pass out. "I could've lost you," you managed to get out between gasps. "So much could've gone wrong."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I know. But everything's alright. Pete and Miles have a handle on things, they always do. That thing's gone. I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

You rested your forehead on your knees, but Harry didn't let go of you. "I tried to get through to you but that thing just kept on speaking to me, and Dr. Connors said you were too far gone and then MJ told me what happened at the Foundation- fuck's sake you were in a coma for three weeks and you just show up-"

Harry crawled in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. "It was scary for me too, love. I thought it was going to hurt you and-" He took in a deep breath. "The worst is behind us, okay? Let's focus on that."

You nodded and tried to slow your breathing. After a moment: "None of that was your fault, you know? It wasn't you doing it."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "I know."

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;

"Okay, what do you think of this option?" You came out from the hallway with a new outfit and gave him a spin.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. "You look like an angel."

You sat down next to him on your bed. "Babe, I love you, but if all you do is flatter me, I'm not going to know what to wear to the gala."

Harry traced his fingers over the folds of your sides as you fiddled with the invitation in your hands. "Not my fault that my partner's hot."

"But it will be your fault if we're late," you retorted. "This one, the dark blue one, or the black one?"

He hummed. "This one," he replied with a wink. "It'll be easier to take off later."

He got up to leave the room, but you grabbed him by the tie, saying an inch away from his lips, "We'll see about that, handsome." And with that, you strutted away.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

You moved the needle onto the vinyl, letting the smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk fill the room. You waltzed over to Harry, and, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing his other hand, you swayed to the beat.

"C'mon, loverboy," you taunted him. "Show me some rhythm."

"I'm trying," he laughed, shuffling his feet.

"Baby, a little less Electric Slide, a little more moving those hips."

"Why don't you lead me instead?"

You spun in his arms and put your dominant leg between his legs and hummed as you swayed in a circle. Harry put an arm over your shoulder and started singing along.

"Glee Club paying off," you joked.

He bumped your nose. "Very funny."

You spun Harry as the music signalled that it was near its end.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" Harry asked as he caught his balance.

You dipped him with the flourish of the music. "More than I can count."

#spiderman 2 ps5 #harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn ps5 x reader #rio's writing

[garadinervi]

Yves Lappert, R3, 2024 [© Yves Lappert]

(on the way of Slanted Publishers)

#art #photography #sculpture #structure #geometry #yves lappert #2020s

[ltwilliammowett]

The Battle of Trafalgar - a brief timeline

At 6am on 21 October 1805, the two fleets sighted each other and at 6.40am Nelson gave the order to ‘prepare for battle’. The French were sailing in line off Cape Trafalgar, while the British came in from the west, gradually forming two lines. The British fleet was outnumbered, the enemy totalling nearly 30,000 men and 2632 guns to Nelson’s 18,000 men and 2148 guns.

Plan of Lord Horatio Nelson's attack strategy (1758-1805), on the combined fleet (France and Spain), October 21, 1805 (Battle of Trafalgar). Lithograph (27 x 36.7 cm), published by Robert Dodd, 1805, England

At 11.45am Nelson ordered a special signal to be flown from his flagship Victory. It read: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’. The signal was greeted with delight by the fleet.

Finally, at 11.50am, French commander Pierre-Charles-Jean-Baptiste-Silvestre de Villeneuve sent the signal ‘engage the enemy’. The French vessel Fougueux fired the first shots at Vice-Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood’s flagship, Royal Sovereign. The battle had begun. Collingwood was the first to reach the enemy line, firing a broadside into one of the Spanish flagships, Santa Anna. The ships in his division followed him, approaching in a slanting line, spreading the force of the impact and enveloping the allied rear as Nelson had intended.

HMS Victory, by Patrick O'Brien (1960-)

Nelson meanwhile headed towards the great Spanish ship, Santissima Trinidad, but spotting that Villeneuve was flying his flag on the Bucentaure, the next ship astern, he ordered Flag Captain Thomas Hardy to attack her first. The Victory passed under the stern, firing a broadside as she went, giving the Bucentaure a knockout blow.

As the Victory moved on she became entangled in the Redoutable, and the two ships drifted away. This created a large gap in the Franco-Spanish line through which Nelson’s division then poured, splitting the enemy fleet in two – again, exactly as Nelson intended.

Breaking the Line, by Patrick O'Brien (1960-)

The battle developed into a ferocious pounding match but the British had the advantage thanks to Nelson’s strategic pre-planning and the fact his men were better trained in delivering rapid, accurate gunnery. When firing finally ceased at 5.30pm, 17 enemy ships had been captured and another was a blazing wreck. Four managed to escape but were captured a few weeks later, and 11 managed to struggle back to Cadiz.

A total of 449 British sailors were killed and 1217 wounded. French and Spanish losses were heavier: 4408 were dead, 2545 wounded and some 20,000 taken prisoner.

Britain’s decisive victory was overshadowed by news of the death of Nelson, who was shot onboard Victory at 1.15pm and died at 4.30pm. The triumph was further eclipsed by a fierce storm that raged after the battle, forcing the British to abandon most of their captured enemy ships.

The Battle of Trafalgar, 21 Ocotober 1805, by unknown

News of Trafalgar reached London a fortnight later in the early hours of 6 November 1805. Public rejoicing for the victory was muted by widespread sorrow for the death of Nelson. As a reward for Trafalgar, Collingwood was made a baron, all the captains received the official Naval Gold Medal and a special grant of money was made by the government to all those who had taken part. This was to compensate them for the prize money they lost when their captured vessels sank in the storm.

The Battle of Trafalgar cemented Britain’s reputation as ruler of the seas and demonstrated that the Royal Navy had superiority in training, professionalism and expertise in naval tactics that set it apart from its rivals. By 1809 there were over 140,000 men serving on 732 ships, more than ever before.

However, the victory at Trafalgar had little overall impact on the course of the war. Napoleon needed more to be stopped.

#naval history #battle of trafalgar #21 october 1805 #trafalgar day #brief timeline #19th century #age of sail

[guy60660]

David Carson | Slanted

#david carson #slanted publishers #board

[drawdownbooks]

Just arrived from Europe! Slanted's Yearbook of Lettering

Letters and typefaces not only transport information, but create a feeling or have a personality. Lettering takes this even a step further: with its movement, artistic strokes, and variety, it has the potential to radiate a whole range of energies, telling stories of harmony and distortion about positive and negative space. Words become drawings and pictures themselves.

Born out of the success of the concept of their Yearbook of Type series Slanted created the Yearbook of Lettering, which presents a selection of lettering artwork from around the world—from traditional calligraphy and hand lettering, street art and graffiti, to 3D digital lettering, showcasing the vibrant and wide range of 21st-century styles and techniques.

Both a catalog and reference work, the Yearbook of Lettering can help clients source the right artist for a project, and can be a source of inspiration for those in the design world. The volume celebrates the many facets of lettering that continue to flourish and evolve, platforming the most exemplary artists and providing a glimpse into a world of color, sweeps, curls, brushstrokes, and pure creative energy.

Art direction by Tessa Breuer with graphic design assistance from Juliane Nöst

Published by Slanted Publishers, 2023

Hardcover, 320 pages, full color, 6.4 × 9.5 inches

ISBN: 978-3-94-844053-4

#Slanted Publishers #Yearbook of Lettering #Tessa Breuer #lettering books #graphic design books #typography books #Draw Down Books #books about type

[jmdbjk]

Does anyone have an alternative English translation of the article that is NOT the one published by Weverse?

Because I find it hard to believe that this story was allowed to be published as is. Someone dropped the ball big time.

I understand Weverse is owned by HYBE and not BigHit. But some oversight was totally lacking in publishing that story. Why and how did this article get approved to run as it is? Someone did not check the translation. And the slant of the article is just wrong.

If the story had been written like "y'all we up against this racist shit" but it was like "this here is the shit, and these pathetic artists could barely make a dent" It makes no sense.

I don't know who the author is, someone said they are a girl group stan who has written less than nice things about BTS before. Whoever they are, I hope they are fired because a retraction is not enough.

Those of us who were trying to give benefit of the doubt, to try to come up with rational reasons for things we see being done and decisions being made surrounding BTS, group and members' solo activities and projects, this just takes the ever-loving cake. That one single story has pretty much fucked up everyone in the head.

They don't realize it but they risk a kpop flash-in-the-pan moment (which may have already occurred) and then the western/American market will eat them alive as they are already capable of doing when BTS is not present.

There won't be a gradual building. Our music market won't allow it.

Maybe the disconnect is associated with this resignation of whoever that HYBE exec was. I forgot who and what he was. CCO? Chief Content Officer? This content is pure fucking ass bullshit.

It just reeks of right hand not knowing what left hand is doing.

Spending hundreds of thousands of dollars turning the city purple as ONLY would happen because of BTS and NO ONE ELSE, and then allowing one of their own public relations channels to publish this piece of shit story.

The west is NOT the target reader of Weverse magazine. Kpop fans are. That's the wrong western artist to give any kind of publicity to. The story should never have run. Morgan Wallen is a divider, not someone who will forge any togetherness. I live in the land of rednecks, I know what kind of hardcore fans these are. NONE of them are going to give BTS the time of day. And here Weverse is trying to kiss some redneck ass.

This was a total FAIL on HYBE's head.

#someone needs to get their fucking head out of their ass at HYBE #sorry i am mad #not telling you what to do Bang PD but maybe look over here at your company for a sec and quit playing with Scooter for a few seconds?

[pb-s-corner]

.Flow canon extra-information

This post compiles all the information (responses) from Lolrust's twitter in regards to the game .Flow. (If you want to know more about him, click here)

THIS INFO RECOLLECTS THE ANSWERS FROM May 30, 2022 TO September 20, 2023. EVERYTHING WAS TRANSLATED USING GOOGLE

warning: very long post

Characters:

Sabitsuki:

-Children are probably scared of her, and don't like her. Marsh QnA

-She has slanted eyes. Marsh QnA

-She often gets nosebleeds. Marsh QnA

-Her voice depends on her state of mind, but Sabitsuki will usually talk in a neutral and senpai-like tone (?). Marsh QnA

-Apparently, she doesn't like spicy food,' it's small weakness for her in terms of food. Marsh QnA

-Her favorite subject would be something along the technical field. Marsh QnA

-When asked (to lolrust) if she likes Susumu Hirasawa (electropop music producer), he replied "Maybe she doesn't know." Marsh QnA

-She likes fashion quite a bit. Marsh QnA

-She has her ears pierced (and someday could get her belly button pierced too). Marsh QnA

-(I need someone who knows japanese because I can't unsderstand Lol's response: Marsh QnA)

-In therms of commercially available ice creams, Sabitsuki would like Kinako-mochi ice cream Marsh QnA

Gasmask Maid / Cleaner

-She likes coffee and cigarettes. Marsh QnA

Smile:

-In terms of hobbies, he seems to be good at batsketball. Marsh QnA

-Smile could be interpretend as someone who has a strong mental state or strong will according to this post> Marsh QnA

Sister:

-According to her age, Sister should be 1.20 cm aprox . Marsh QnA

Lolrust (creator)

-The game probably won't be updated anymore, instead, he will make something that will look like a sequel. Marsh QnA

"Rather than trying to convey a message, I want the players to be confused. When I make a game, I usually write down the plot and the flow of the game, and once it's all sorted out, I use temporary images to make it work to a certain extent, and then I do the rest as I see fit.". Marsh QnA

-His favorite character from the game is Sabitsuki. Marsh QnA

-Anyone can use .Flow's music as long as it's for personal use. If published elsewhere, give visible credit. Marsh QnA

-Surprisingly, he doesn't really like gore, although he doesn't feels bottered by watching it. Marsh QnA

-He would like to create another Yume Nikki fangame, one that is different from .Flow. Marsh QnA

-His personality is INFP (I don't know if that's important, but it's interesting). Marsh QnA

-He likes electronic music and listens to Susumu Hirasawa and RadioHead. Marsh Qna

-His favorite Sanrio character is Keropi. Marsh QnA

#dotflow #.flow (game) #.flow #yume nikki fangame #.flow headcanons #sabitsuki #smile .flow #long post #lolrust #ynfg #yn fangame

[opencommunion]

"Throughout much of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries the terms Zionist ‘colonisation’ and Jewish ‘colonies’ in Palestine were proudly proclaimed and universally used by Zionist leaders and writers. Benjamin Lee Gordon’s New Judea: Jewish Life in Modern Palestine and Egypt, published in Philadelphia in 1919, a typical Zionist publication of the period, uses terms such as ‘Jewish colonies’ and ‘Jewish colonists’ in Palestine dozens of times throughout the book, systematically and as a term of endearment. The same colonialist methodology and terminology are found in the 1950s in the publications of Israeli diplomat Yaakov Morris — the father of Israeli historian Benny Morris — including his 1953 book Pioneers from the West: History of Colonization in Israel by Settlers from the English-speaking Countries, just one example of this proudly colonialist Zionist tradition. In Zionist writings the Hebrew words for Moshava and (plural) Moshavot were synonymous with Jewish ‘colony’/‘colonies’ and Jewish colonists. Indeed ‘Moshava’ and ‘Moshavot’ were coined as a literal translation of the English terms ‘colony’ and ‘colonies’. This proudly trumpeted colonial legacy of early Zionist colonists and pioneers has been suppressed or deleted from memory in recent Zionist historiography, including the writings of the Israeli revisionist historians.

... The first Zionist colonies ... were universally described as ‘colonies’ in both Zionist and professional literature of the time. Their economy was based on agriculture, and, like all European colonies, they exploited cheap indigenous labour. ... Also, crucially, these early Jewish colonies were preceded by and modelled on the German Christian Templer colonies established in Palestine in the middle to late nineteenth century — with farmhouses of one or two storeys and with slanting tiled roofs and shuttered windows. Interestingly even today the ‘German Colony’ south-west of the Old City of Jerusalem, established in 1878 by members of the German Templer Society (Tempelgesellschaft), is known in Hebrew as Hamoshava Hagermanit. Earlier in 1868 the ‘German Colony’ in Haifa was set up by the Templers. This was followed by another six German colonies. ... For the Templers colonising Palestine was part of their faith: the Holy Land had to be prepared for the Second Coming of Christ. Secular Zionist historiography depicts mid-nineteenth-century German colonists as forerunners of the Zionist movement, and early Zionists themselves adopted them as a ‘model to be emulated.’ In Zionist writings the Templers were considered to be responsible for bringing technology to Palestine, in architecture, agriculture and industry, and as a symbol of progress and modernity. In Yehuda ve-Yerushalayim, the newspaper of Yoel Moshe Salomon, he himself wrote about the Templer colonies:

‘We have also noticed the colonies established over the past few years by the Germans from Wittenburg (not of our people) and their homes are built in good order, as in all the cities of Europe, with wide streets and magnificent buildings, so that anyone who walks along their streets will forget that he is walking in the country of the soul, and will feel as though he is in one of the populated cities of Europe.’

... Following in the footsteps of the German Templer colonists, the ‘American Colony’ was established in Jerusalem in 1881 by members of a Christian messianic society. A neighbourhood and a famous hotel in East Jerusalem are still known by that name. Today the side streets of the former ‘German Colony’ are named by Israel after Christian Zionists and European imperialists, including South African prime minister Jan Smuts, British prime minister David Lloyd George, British Labour Party leader Josiah Wedgewood, and Sir Wyndham Henry Deedes, a Christian Zionist British general, who was also the chief secretary to British High Commissioner of Palestine Sir Herbert Samuel from 1920 to 1922. Deedes represented a British Christian Zionism which was deeply entwined with Western Christian imperialism in the Middle East. This Christian Zionism, represented then by the British Empire and now by the American empire, is deeply rooted in the politics of uniqueness and exceptionalism and the supremacist biblical theology of the people of God, ‘elect nations’ and ‘chosen peoples’, nations which are the heirs of God’s election of the biblical Israelites. This Christian Zionist imperialist mission includes a duty to patronise the ‘Jewish people’ by ‘restoring’ them to their ‘ancestral homeland’ in Palestine, backed by a global Christian empire, then British and now American."

Nur Masalha, The Palestine Nakba: Decolonising History, Narrating the Subaltern, Reclaiming Memory (2012)

#palestine #zionism #colonialism #imperialism #history #library

[luveline]

Hii can we get some shy reader x rockstar Sirius please?? Like literally anything idc

hiii yes u can tysm for ur request here is rockstar sirius getting a gift for his shy!gf ♡ shy!fem!reader | 1.1k words

You're sitting on the edge of the stage with your headphones in when a book is dropped carefully into your lap. You look up before you've even glanced at the book and smile when you see who it is that dropped it, pulling out your headphones and pocketing them clumsily.

Sirius' smile in return is much too smug for your liking.

You turn your sights back on the book, and then you gasp loudly. Really loudly.

The stadium isn't small enough to carry an echo but you think you might have managed it, and you're flushed with an embarrassed heat even as you say, "Oh my god, Siri, where did you get this? How did you get this?" 

His smugness grows. To call him Siri in public, to talk so openly, he knows you're excited. "I asked for it." 

Of course he did. Sirius could ask for a gold-plated lobster and within half an hour he'd have one. But…

"This doesn't come out for another month," you say in awe. 

Sirius sits down beside you. He doesn't look nearly as made up as he will tonight for the show. His hair is clean and in a bobble, a small bun against his neck. His clothes are nowhere near as flashy as his usual stage get up, and there's not a drop or pinch of makeup on him. He's the Sirius you know best like this. 

You take his hand. He beams at you, an honest to God beam, all apple cheeked and eyes squinting.

You can't hold it for long, excited to crack open your new treasure and peel off the dust jacket. Underneath, the hardcover has been embossed and foiled with dainty silver flowers. You trail your fingertips over them and read the slanting script of the novel's title and author on the spine.

"I can't believe you got this for me," you utter. It's an extremely limited edition.

"Of course I got it for you." 

A volley of wheels roll across the floor behind you. Soon, the stage will be a cacophony of sounds. Guitars tuned, mic stands greased, sound check.

You love sound check. The band performs for you and a handful of others, but Sirius performs for you alone. You're not stupid enough to think otherwise. And you're his biggest fan. Sometimes, emboldened by his too-cool smile, you even wolf whistle. 

"It wasn't a matter of if, but when." 

"Baby," you murmur, looking around to make sure no one has heard you be outwardly affectionate, "how did you get this? Seriously." 

He bumps his knee against yours. "I really did ask for it. I- Well, I made James beg Lily for the publishing house's director's number. I knew she had it, they did the biography for Marlene McKinnon last year." 

"And she just gave it to you?" 

"No, she fucking didn't. I had to swear on my life I wouldn't say anything crass." 

"And you- what, you called him?" 

Sirius' smile turns shark-tooth. "I called him." 

You set the book carefully on the stage floor and ease your thigh to his, more close than you'd usually ever allow yourself to be in public with him. Any public displays of affection beyond hand-holding are far from your style. 

If Sirius is surprised he doesn't show it. He leans toward you with his hand behind you, arm brushing the small of your back. "Actually, I had to give him tickets for his daughters. For the whole tour." 

You gawp at him. He laughs and inclines his head, his nose inching closer and closer to your own, though he won't kiss you in front of people because he knows you don't like it.

He's so pretty and he's always doing stuff like this – Sirius doesn't just give gifts, he gives thoughtful, amazing presents that sometimes feel impossible to comprehend. 

You close your eyes and lean in until the tip of your nose bumps his. 

"Thank you." 

His hand slowly, so slowly, finds your waist. "You're welcome." 

You take a deep breath and pull away from him. He doesn't look disappointed. He knows he'll get a kiss later in private. Or you hope that he knows that. Actually, you're not sure. 

"I owe you a kiss," you promise.

He laughs, startled. It's a good look on him: the slight flaring of dark lashes, the subtle purse of his lips. "You do?" 

You drop your cheek to your shoulder, eyes on his chest and the tattered shirt he wears. It might as well be Prada for how good it looks on him. 

"I really love you," you murmur.

He ducks his head to catch your shy gaze. "I'll leave you to start your book."

Sirius stands. You're shocked at him. He never misses an opportunity to say he loves you. His rejection stings sudden and unexpected. 

He looks over his shoulder as he's walking away and blinks at your gutted expression. "Open your book," he calls. 

You frown and open it, heart bumping an unsteady rhythm. 

Sirius has written a short message on the first page in weeping dark biro. The words are smudged – your boyfriend is left-handed – but easily decipherable. 

I love you. SB

He blows you a kiss. You stand up before he can leave and hurry across the stage, almost dropping your new book as you collide with his side and throw your arms around him. 

He huffs a laugh and wraps you up tightly. "If this is how you'll react every time, I'm gonna get you a library's worth of books." 

You shake your head. It's not about the book, really. 

"Sweetheart," he says, softer, "I love you, okay?" 

"I love you," you say, clutching him so tightly it must hurt.

"I know…" He kisses your head and then pries your head from his shoulder with a cautious look. "There's a lot of people watching us right now." 

You burst into flames. Or, it feels like it. Sirius laughs and drags you out of the public eye, fanning your heated cheeks with a cooing sort of sympathy. "Poor girl. What am I gonna do with you?" 

"Stop buying me presents," you say decidedly. What you mean to say is, Stop making me love you enough to forget where I am, and to forget how shy I am. 

He gives you a look. It says, simply, That's not happening. 

You hide in his side all the way to the dressing room. He's ecstatic. 

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black x y/n #marauders era #marauders #marauder x reader #fem!reader #rockstar!au