Not exactly a fandom but a book. I won’t read it. I live on my own these days and nobody makes the long trip up the hill to visit anymore so I have a pretty good idea what I’ve got in the house, and I know for a fact I did not buy that book. I certainly didn’t borrow it from the library. (They are good people there, the librarians, dedicated, and they have standards even in these days when their power and their glory is unknowingly ignored by so many). Sometimes it’s on the shelf. Sometimes it’s on the table. I’ve seen it in the kitchen cupboard and I found it in the attic when I went to investigate the noise (a swallow had got in, and driven to panic by the tome wished to get out. I helped it. Of course I did. I’m no monster no matter what the villagers said). The cover has a nice blue, though the face that gazes from it is not appealing and speaks of an unhealthy appetite, of wealth gained too young. The pages rifle pleasingly in the breeze, even in a still room. I don’t care. Offer me what you may. Tempt me, taunt me. I can’t be bought, or broken. The line is drawn, underlined, surrounded by unevenly doodled pentagrams, in both black, and in red.
I’m never gonna fucking read "May I Have Your Attention Please?" the autobiography of James Corden.
This I swear by the old gods, the new, and those yet to come.