#THERE IS NOTHING I CAN SEE WRONG WITH MY BIBLIOGRAPHY

[zalimaaa]

i got my mark back for an assignment i poured my heart and soul into and the only 'constructive feedback' i got is some of my bibliography is inconsistently formatted WHAT DOES THIS MEAN DJBNDSFJHBDSJFHGBDFJHGBDFJBDJHBVDJHBDSDHJBDRJHFBDFJH

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Honey, I’m Home! ~ Alhaitham x Liyue!Reader

“Girlfriend?! You?!” Kaveh’s face showed nothing but utmost shock. “I don’t believe a word you say! Nobody would! I mean -- You?! There’s no way any sane woman would stay around you!” “I am not one to respond to baseless provokation, however, I have to point out that you directly insulted my partner intellect and mental well-being, to which I cannot remain silent - Though, I suppose you are intoxicated and there’s little I should care about. No word coming out of your mouth is ever worth taking into account to begin with.” Alhaitham, much to his mate’s irritation, didn’t even raise his gaze from the book he was reading. “Hey, you--! You’re SO insufferable!” the poor architect growled in anger. “Since when? You never told me about her, and we’ve known each other for enough years! You’d have let it slip somehow - Or, at least, your arrogance would’ve!”  “Your impression on my personality has nothing to do with any kind of potential slip you think I might have had. As a matter of fact, the existence of a significant other had never been a secret to begin with. You just never asked, therefore, I had no reason to go out of my way and brag about my perfectly accomplished life, considering not only your living conditions, but your infinitely tragic luck. I did not want to bother with you crying again, out of nowhere.” Kaveh threw a random book at his mate’s head, which annoyingly enough, he masterfully caught without as much as blinking. “GAHH, I HATE YOU SO MUCH!” the man whined, slamming his face into the table. “FINE! TELL ME! ENLIGHTEN ME! WHO IS THIS MYSTERY WOMAN THAT MANAGED TO IGNORE THE INFINITE AMOUNT OF NEGATIVE TRAITS AND THAT STUPIDLY ARROGANT AND UNAPPROACHABLE FACE OF YOURS?! IS SHE BLIND?!” “There is nothing wrong with her eye function. In fact, she often compliments my appearance.” the scribe pointed out. “We have been together since a year before we presented our graduation thesis.” poor Kaveh spit out the beer he was drinking. “HOW LONG?!” he was absolutely convinced he was lying. “There’s NO way that is, in any way, true!” “If you don’t believe me, there are plenty ways to search for proof on your own. The only thing I would have to warn you about is not to use your usual barbaric ways of speaking to her, if you manage to find her. You will scare her away.” Kaveh couldn’t help but glare at Alhaitham, though, considering the amount of unceremonious yelling he just did, he couldn’t refute much. “Fine, whatever - Tell me about her. How you met. Something. Anything relevant. I’ll see after if I believe you.” Alhaitham had to fight the smirk off his face as he hummed in amusement - It was so easy to get a rise out of this fool. “Y/N is originally from Liyue, although you can say, after finishing her Amurta course and graduated, she would spend about half a year back home to take care of her family and help with the medicine aspect of the country.” Kaveh’s eyes suddenly shot open and he gasped. “Hold up! Is this the Liyue friend that Tighnari mentioned? They were in the same Darshan and -- They worked on their thesis together a lot and -- And Cyno too, on enough occasions -- Is that her?!” Alhaitham shrugged his shoulders, though he knew it was the truth. There were a lot of references that one must use in the bibliography, and the practical percentage of her thesis she did on the comparison of Fauna and Flora from Sumeru and Liyue was done for the most part with Tighnari. Y/N often mentioned the fennec boy being her only friend for the many years she in Akademiya. 

Alhaitham knew, no matter how nice of a person you were, if you had a unique brilliance, the common flock of mindless sheep were bound to be rude to you. He was no stranger to the endless amount of insults he received from many, although, in almost the same ponder, he also had many more compliments of all kind, be that on his intelligence, on his work, or... His looks especially. Tighnari and Cyno were no strangers to this kind of treatment, but at least they had each other - For the most part.

Back then, having a new student, from another country no less - A country with a rich history, though not as much focus on studies as Sumeru - A new student that, through thorough examination, was able to start her Amurta studies not from the first year, but skipped about a half of the years required to graduate.

From the get-go, Y/N was a bit of an odd one, and the students of Akademiya were no less lenient with her, nor did they bother teaching her about cultural differences and what not. Alhaitham, too, noticed something strange, but it was different from everyone else. Was it that he never heard her speak, even once? Or that, were it not for the amount of gossips and bullying he witnessed, she’d have been walking the halls of the House of Daena like an invisible ghost, unseen, unwanted, unneeded by all around her?

Or, perhaps, it was that there was a large amount of books that she was reading - Manuals, text-books, works, thesis of all kind, from different Darshan courses even - And for the most time, she’d read them all outside, in the forest, far away from the Akademiya; As far away as possible, if need be.

And despite the awful treatment she received, and the amount of diligent hard-work she was putting into her courses, she never seemed to frown or let things affect her. She wasn’t smiling either, and her tiredness was showing - Still, it almost looked endearing; A brilliant woman, so effortlessly beautiful and graceful in everything she did, wearing a passive, demure smile on her face, even if none wanted to appreciate it.

Were all women from Liyue like this, he wondered? Most Sumeru women he had the displeasure of conversing with were so obnoxious and emotion-driven; Oft times, he even wondered if the inspector examining them did his job well enough, because he himself could see no ounce of anything clever in their bleak, dark minds of theirs. No that the men were any different, but they had the courtesy of avoiding him like the plague, to which, Alhaitham was grateful. He never cared for idle chatting for no reason.

Hence why, he needed to concoct a proper conversation reason, otherwise, there would be no sense to start speaking with the new student.

Luck had always favoured him for some reason, and instead of wasting his time with needless research, it was Y/N herself who came over to him. She nodded her head at him as a courtesy greeting, and introduced herself as Y/N from the Amurta class. She explained that, although her thesis was based on biology, she had plenty of interests in many other areas, and having heard him as the most remarkable student from Haravatat, it was a no brainer that she’d come to him requesting aid for some book and course recommandations.

Though his reply was a simple yet positive one, informing her that, once he gathers some time, he will see what he could do, she offered him a grateful, princess-like smile, and this time, a brief courtesy, before leaving. For a split second, Alhaitham had to wonder if this Y/N had any amount of noble blood in her lineage - No woman could act so perfectly elegant all the time without some proper training from before you even begin breathing into this world.

Regardless, Alhaitham found himself completely abandoning his work for a whole day in search of accommodating Y/N, and when he searched for her with the piles of books he had for her, all of them old, dusty and tattered, she was outside, under a tree, reading a story to a little fox. Such odd behaviour - Though the fox seemed to enjoy it, as it was purring in her lap as it was being stroked. It was quite the sight for sore eyes, he had to admit.

“Ah, so fast, you needn’t! You are far too kind - There is no way to repay you for your kindness. Allow me to treat you to some tea and a meal tomorrow, please.” Alhaitham shook his head, sitting down next to her. “There are few people actually interested in proper research and academics. If someone came to me, willing to learn, there is no reason why I should decline.” he answered simply. “I do not require any reward. Simply put, I did it because I wanted to. However, if you want to repay me, then tell me - Why do you read so many books, when a lot of pointed information can be found out by simply asking through the Akasha terminal.” Y/N smiled at him enigmatically. “That is a question to which I cannot provide an answer. Not because I am unwilling to disclose the information - In fact, it’s quite silly, rather. The reason behind my silence is that... Due to this device you are wearing, if there is anything that I tell you, whether you wish to share this information with anyone or not, the whole network of people using the Akasha device are going to know, by simply asking. The people wearing this device cannot control the information they disclose - It is actually quite frightening, I might say.” Alhaitham’s jade-like green eyes peered deep into her own; They were so gentle and warm, almost resembling those of a fawn, yet even he could discern the tint of sorrow and loneliness pooling behind them. “You almost sound like a criminal speaking like that.” at the faintest hint of a crystalline chuckle, Alhaitham’s heart skipped a beat - Just one, of course, he simply wasn’t expecting such a sound as a response to his words. Was there something amusing in what he said. “Well, I suppose, considering nobody taught me the laws of Sumeru, there is little I can say to refute such a statement. Who knows, perhaps, in my ignorance, I might have managed to stray away from the right path. Regardless, what I can say is - I am forced by conjuctures to personally gather the information I am seeking. Whatever you wish to do with that information, it is up for your own interpretation, and I am unable to either approve or disprove it.” the man couldn’t help but scoff a little, though he came up with an answer easily.

Somehow, this pretty little princess was just about as much of a fairy as he was, and she, for some reason, managed to trick her way into not wearing a Terminal - Or she made it malfunction. Either way, it would make perfect sense.

“Fascinating as it is to guess, I am no philosopher, I am a researcher who bases his work on the factual, not on stories. I will not lose time coming to an uncertain conclusion.” for some reason, his words made the woman next to him chuckle again, for the second time in less than half an hour. Interesting. “Then, may I be so bold as to ask for your aid again, should I require again some kind of help oh some kind?” the woman asked, seeing as he got up, picking up the large pile of books, yet he seemed to have no intention of handing them other. “If the time allows me to take a detour from my work, then I suppose I see no reason not to help.” he answered briefly. As Y/N stepped in front of him, placing her hands over his own, in an attempt to burden the heavy weight of knowledge, he simply stepped past her. “Just show me where to get them. You may be ignorant of Sumeru’s own law code, but I doubt you would be foolish enough to ignore the laws of physics and even delude yourself that you could carry them yourself and reach home without as much as one of them at least being damaged.” he spoke, walking ahead. 

Y/N couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the rather adorable and gentlemanly reaction of the otherwise stoic in inabordable man, however, she couldn’t help but smile in amusement, catching up to his pace and leading the way. “Judging by your your looks, there is no way you weight more than these books, therefore, given their mass, Newton’s law says that an object can only move another if its mass is greater. A single kilogram equals to exactly 9,81 Newtons. With this knowledge, we have to exchange the parameters with actual numbers, in the Law of Force, which says that Force equals the multiplying of the mass and acceleration of said object; And since acceleration is measured in meters per square second --” he continued ranting on and on about the laws of physics and the approximates he took, only to feel a hand powerfully slap the bottom of the book stack, making them all fly aimlessly in the sky - And be caught with the aid of Y/N’s Dendro vision powers. Y/N was smiling like an innocent child, though, with the way she was fighting back a smirk, it only made her look like a playful, mischievous vixen. “Alhaitham --” she said, a hand covering her smirking mouth. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you’re rambling with no sense?” the man couldn’t help but be rooted to the spot, completely unresponsive.

What did she mean? Him, ranting idly, for no apparent reason whatsoever? That was completely unlike him - Surely, she must be mistaken - He was trying to educate her; There is reason in everything he says. “Come along, I recently brought over some fantastic bamboo dew tea -- Oh, and I suppose, if you’re interested, I have some sweet Osmanthus wine also, the finest batch. Mr. Zhongli himself vouched for the quality, and there’s no other like him, a true connoisseur in everything fine.” with a delicate hand wrapped gently around his wrist, Y/N guided the speechless man toward her home - A pretty, tall house made out of wood, vines and leaves of all kinds, all of it, carved inside a grand tree. With a wave of her other hand, she created a staircase out of liana, allowing them to get up to the top-most part of her house, where her library was. “It isn’t much, but I hope you feel comfortable enough during your stay.” still, Alhaitham couldn’t utter another word as he went to sit down on the couch. Though he couldn’t help himself and analysed every inch of the chamber, he could still faintly feel the slight rise in his cheeks’ temperature, biological and physiological truth which irked him greatly, as it gave away the speed with which his heart beat, and, consequently, the fact that, despite his ration-based life, he was somehow able to be weak before the effortless charms of a woman like Y/N, who made him act like a fool.

But unlike him, Y/N seemed to be his own personal anti-thesis; Y/N seemed so calm and friendly, so warm and with just the right amount of conversation lines that didn’t border on the obnoxious type of talkative. In fact, Alhaitham might even have to admit, he didn’t mind the sound of her voice, in fact, he might as well admit that he found it rather pleasant to his ears. In only she’d know the stimulant effect her presence alone has on his heart’s rhythm, as though someone had secretly injected him with adrenaline... There must be something to be done about this.

As he asked her about her thesis, he swore, he could see sparkles in her eyes - Her infinite amount of love and dedication for the flora and fauna of both countries was insurmountable - Y/N was writing her thesis out of passion of the living beings, not necessarily out of sheer interest in research, though everything that she’s assimilated clearly set her on the right path. In must have been some kind of miracle that his plan on working on a thesis with that good for nothing Kaveh from  Kshahrewar; Simply, he erased his name from it, and moved on to a singular part of the research, though he had to admit, the environmental conditions weren’t the brightest - The subject, at least, was highly fascinating.

“Would you be interested in writing a project together?” he found himself asking all of a sudden. “A senior had previously proposed a thesis subject that interested me, alas, due to differences of opinions and views, the project fell through. The topic of my half of the thesis was the decoding of the ancient runes from the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization.” “That does sound like quite the intriguing thesis, and I have to admit, I would also be interested in researching the history of the old civilization... But I’m not used to the harsh environment of the desert, I... Am not sure I would be a proper asset to the team.” Alhaitham hummed in understanding - Even Sumeru people had a hard time dealing with the desert, and knowing the landscapes and the weather from Liyue, he could see the reason behind her reticence. Still, he was passionate not only about this project, but about spending quality time with the woman before him, doing what they know best to do - Study. “As long as you’re willing to join the project, I can deal with accommodating you during the practical field research, as I’m more familiar with the country.” despite her skepticism, Y/N couldn’t help but accept, completely uncaring about any risk whatsoever. As long as she was able to spend time with the man in front of her, everything was going to be fine. “Alright, Alhaitham. Let’s make the most outstanding project the Akademiya has ever seen.” her positive outlook was a rather welcome change of pace, unlike Kaveh and his constant wish to either bicker with him, or complain.

For the rest of the years it took for both Alhaitham and Y/N to graduate, they went on a vast number of adventures - Considering the amount of time it took for them to reach the graduation, it was only fair that they extend their thesis for three major regions - Deshret’s desert area, Greater Lord Rukkhadevata’s Sumeru forests and Rex Lapis’ Liyue - Each of them, with their own distinct and fascinating manuscripts, writing styles, flora, fauna and civilizations that have been rapidly evolving throughout the years. Their project ended up truly being one worthy of envy, but not without merit.

The amount of times they got lost in the desert or had to fight mercenaries and treasure hoarders, got trapped inside pyramids, ruins and underground catacombs, had to solve puzzles and decipher codes, decode runes and languages lost to time, found relics and fossils, cave paintings and old manuscripts describing never-seen and never-heard before wildlife from all over the two countries.

“Are we ever going to find a way out of this mess of a tomb? I feel like a grave-robber that’s about to lose her sanity from the lack of food and water.” Y/N dramatically joked as she used her vines to propel herself up to some suspended platforms and activate some intricate mechanism that was going to open up the door - Hopefully, at least. “We haven’t done all this for all our work to be thrown down the drain.” as the door opened, he readied his sword to attack the activating perpetual robotic monsters, and together, they would fight - Yet Alhaitham especially felt a sense of protectiveness over Y/N - Whether it was over the fact that he’s practically responsible for her life, as he got her into the project... Or perhaps it was the fact that he feared anything happened to her. She was a talented healer, and she often used her vision power to shield him from imminent danger or mend some of the wounds he got from direct confrontation against multiple enemies that came in waves at once.

Though they had lots of practical field trips that involved a ton of travelling, the simpler parts of theoretical research was often done in far calmer environments, be it either of their homes, or a neutral place, namely the popular tea house, so they could also catch a bite. Unfortunately, Puspa cafe often hosted a ton of Akademiya students, and that more often than not meant some of their own classmates, that due to exceeding envy, ended up ruining their pleasant leisure time. Just like that one time when a junior from his own Darshan of Haravatat came over to their table - Masterfully and tactically chosen to be the farther-most, retreated from the majority of the people and in a corner away from the prying eyes - And put her hands on her hips, frowning down at them.

“What are you doing here?!” the stranger asked in a rather irritated voice, yet neither of the two even bothered raising their gaze and acknowledge her presence. “Hey - Don’t ignore me, you -- Gosh, you’re so rude.” still, no answer. “Alhaitham~! Why do you waste your time around such a boring woman? She’s no good, y’know? You don’t need to help her with her studies - She’s a plant lover from Amurta - Nowhere near our above-brilliant Haravatat intellect!” the girl whined, hoping to get the man’s attention, yet once again, she was met with no response. Infuriated, the girl threw herself on the couch next to him, clinging onto his arm and cuddling on his side. “Alhaitham~! You are my senior! You promised to help me with research. In fact - Let’s do our thesis together!” Much to her indignance, the stranger was shrugged off the sofa, and received an irked glare. “I have no idea who you are, nor am I interested in your identity, but I would like for you to stop bothering our study session, otherwise I will be forced to ask the patron to kick you out of the cafe for disturbing other customers.” the flabbergast expression on her face would have been amusing, were it not for her disgusting hostility. “Wait, no -- You can’t do that, I -- Alhaitham, don’t you remember me? I’m your Junior, Emiya! You gave me a book about deciphering ancient texts a month ago, remember?” she tried to plead, but was met with a firm, negative reply. “And you -- You have to stop parasiting him already! Do your own work, for once! Can’t you see you’re inconveniencing him?!” Y/N said nothing. “Say something!” “The Phoenix does not lose sleep over the idle chattering of mice.” Emiya’s eyes widened in complete confusion, though Alhaitham couldn’t help but let out a breath of amusement. She fancied herself an Empress, how lovely. “Wh-What?! You make no sense -- Hey, you’re in Sumeru, not in Liyue anymore, y’know? Get it right already.” for the first time, Y/N rose her gaze to meet Emiya’s; the junior shuddered slightly, realising the cold passiveness of her intimidating demeanour. “I don’t know what kind of delusions you like to feed yourself, but I would ask you to leave our table, unless you wish to get permanently banned from Puspa. I would like to return to the research I was doing for our thesis, until you so rudely interrupted our tireless work. Unlike you, we are not so carefree and leisurely.” Y/N curt voice had a frozen edge, intimidating the girl. “Well, whatever! Go back to your stupid grass work. Alhaitham and I have more intelligent research to conduct - And some practical research, perhaps?” Y/N had to turn her head slightly to the side, demurely hiding her mocking chuckle. “I believe it unethical, stealing one’s project partner. Alas, willow blossoms go in dreams, only to find sorrows hidden on the moon.” Emiya’s eyes were wide, and her jaw to the floor - Her mind had gone numb from stupidity. “You pride yourself with being a Haravatat student, yet you fail to comprehend even the most forward of poems. I have no intention of associating myself with mediocre people.” Alhaitham dismissed the tearing up girl with a bored wave of his hand; Y/N and him had to look away from each other to avoid chuckling, “So... I actually found this interesting Zaytun Peach wine recipe -- And I have some Glaze Lily flowers and Sweet Flower to make tea - I’ve got this snow kept for special occasions - I find tea made out of melted snow to have the richest aroma.” Y/N said, disclosing the contents of the book she was reading; The farthest away from being a research-based book. “The history of the Guili plains and the Guizhong ballista are also rather intriguing. I would be interested in finding out the blueprints and the thought concept behind it and its making.” he hummed in acknowledgement, enjoying reading about the past of Liyue and what similarities and differences exist between it and Sumeru. “Do we have any more of that special delivery Dandelion Wine from Angel’s Share?” “Of course! Master Diluc just recently had a few bottles delivered to me through his brother Kaeya, who was on an errand here in Sumeru. He didn’t stay long for catching up, but he brought the goods, so it’s fine either way.” with a shared look, the two got up and moved their leisure reading back to Y/N’s home, delighting themselves with the most quality wine that Teyvat had to offer. “That’s a fine deal.”

At some point, just a year before their graduation, Alhaitham was going to purchase some alcohol to celebrate a massive breakthrough he had in his research - And consequently, escaping yet another death-nearing experience - His ex-project partner, the senior architect student from Kshahrewar, spotted him. This blond man with a volcanic personality ended up shredding his joined thesis in a fit of frustrating rage, only to end up gluing back together out of regret, once he ended up all alone, bankrupt, and realising his once friend’s harsh words were actually viable advices that he should have heeded long ago.

There was no reproach in his words - Alhaitham had nothing to gain out of making Kaveh feel even more humiliated by his own failures, brought upon him mostly by his overly empathetic nature. He had to admit, bit of this precious and rather naive selflessness he could very often see in Y/N, which only made him feel more afraid that there might be some brainless deadbeats upsetting her or taking advantage of her benevolence.

Still, interestingly enough, after getting drunk enough to spill out all of his grievances, Kaveh found himself speaking of some rather interesting rumours. “Ever heard of the flower fairy rumour?” he asked. “They say once a month, at midnight, there’s this mystical being, beautiful as no other woman, and she dances on the sheen of the lake.” “You don’t seriously believe such ridiculous children stories, do you?” Alhaitham scoffed, raising the beer bottle and drinking a bit, yet his eyes never once left the blond. “I believe it more than the Wisdom Seelie, the children of the forest or the Aranara.” the architect grumbled. “How ridiculous.” still, he couldn’t admit, Alhaitham had his own suspicions on who this might be, and his professional curiosity had him want to come to a concludent answer. “Honestly, if that flower fairy is real, she might be the only living being capable of liking someone as arrogant and insufferable as you. No human woman could ever stand you.” Kaveh hiccuped as he sneered at his refound friend. Such a proposition sounded so much like a challenge, that Alhaitham found himself internally accepting.

Thus, every night for a whole month, Alhaitham hid behind a tree and investigated the lake area for any signs of this supposed fairy - And finally, his hard work came to fruition. From the direction of Y/N’s home, followed by an array of forest animals, the glowing silhouette of a gorgeous woman playing a sorrowful tune on the flute piqued his attention. Indeed, it was Y/N, just as he suspected, yet now he could see why she would be mistaken for a fairy. Wherever her barefeet would step, flowers would grow. Her long, light pink dress, flowy and embroidered with the finest gold thread, made her look like a lotus bloom. Her long hair of the most beautiful shade was embellished with royal-looking jewellery, and even her make up, so soft and delicate, yet so feminine, made her face look prettier than the moon itself.

Placing the flute inside her sleeve, Y/N stepped on the mirror sheen of the lake that seemed to sparkle with zircons from the silver light of the celestial body up on the dark night sky, and accompanied by what no doubt was an old Liyue melody, Y/N performed a dance, so enticing, so fluid, like a willow tree in the gentle breeze of spring. Every move she made, every little twitch and tweak of her joint, her body, all of them were perfectly calculated, even the amount of green dendro magic that made her performance even more alluring and worthy of being mistaken with a fictional mythical being.

By the time she was done, Alhaitham was leaning back on a tree, applauding. From the shock of being discovered, Y/N’s cheeks flared red with warmth and embarrassment. “Of course it had to be you who would find me out.” “It was actually a senior of mine who mentioned the rumours of this supposed flower fairy. I had my suspicions, and I felt compelled to have them approved or denied.” the corner of his mouth slightly twitched upwards in a smug smirk. “It seems my intuition hasn’t failed me yet.” “Tian na!” Y/N found herself softly shaking her head, a gorgeous smile gracing her features as she stepped on the soft grass next to him. “Fate sure has the weirdest ways of bringing people together.” Alhaitham found himself scoffing in distaste at the sheer notion of destiny. “Don’t use such foolish words. We are humans, and we create our of path in life. It is our actions and choices that define us, not the biblical or religious concept of a life already chosen and woven for you since before you are conceived and brought into this wor--” before he could continue rambling on about his own views on fate, Y/N reached up to pick his chin, bringing him down to her level, and with one hand on his shoulder to lean up, she captured his soft lips into a kiss that left him speechless from surprise.  “For years we have been friends, yet I cannot tire of how adorable you are when you’re so flustered that you end up ranting over the weirdest things.” Alhaitham wanted to scold her for doing something so uncharacteristic and unexpected, wanted to refute her claim of him ranting over ‘weird’ things - Or simply, the idea of him ‘ranting’ was ridiculous - Somehow, instead of all that, his body moved on his own and his brain took a short break, and the otherwise stoic man found himself cradling dearly Y/N’s form in his strong arms and sharing a much more loving and intimate kiss that seemed to allow the river of emotions to flow and come undone and expose itself in all its glory and vulnerability.

“You are bulshitting me because I’m drunk.” Kaveh growled at his friend. “You just randomly remembered those stupid rumours about the fairy thing and use that against me.” “I already told you, it’s not my job proving to you that I’m speaking the truth.” Alhaitham simply took another gulp of his beer. “But you said the fairy was just a stupid joke! And you never mentioned working on a thesis with someone else! Or having a friend, let alone a girlfriend! Hell, I thought nobody liked you! I still do!” the architect pointed an accusatory finger in his face. “I refuse to bother replying to your ridiculous disbeliefs anymore.” the scribe huffed, ready to take out his headphones and tune out the noise pollution that Kaveh was providing. “HEY, DON’T IGNORE ME! GIVE ME ANSWERS! I DON’T BELIEVE THAT STUPID STORY--” just as Kaveh shot up to his feet, slamming his hands onto the table, the front door was opened, and a beautiful woman entered the living room. “Honey, I’m home~!” her crystalline voice chimed, making Alhaitham smirk smugly and putting back his headphones in his belt pouch. “I brought some Osmanthus wine and moon cakes!” Kaveh’s eyes bulged out of their orbit and his jaw was to the floor, watching the beautiful woman plop down on the couch next to his friend and sharing such a tender kiss with him. “Oh - You must be Kaveh! I heard so much about you! I’m Y/N. Alhaitham’s fiance. I came to Sumeru from Liyue and enrolled in the Amurta Darshan course and graduated with a joined thesis written with him.” “F-F-Fi... Fi... Ance...?!” the blond fell back on his seat. “I-I thought you said... Girlfriend...” “I actually used the word ‘partner’, to be precise. You simply assumed, and I didn’t bother correcting you. If I were to correct every wrong supposition you’ve had since we’ve met... Well, I have better things to do with my time.” Alhaitham declared, his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her subtly to lean on his side, planting a kiss on her temple, purposely annoying his friend. “S-So... You mean... She -- And the Fairy -- And Tighnari’s friend -- And your Thesis partner -- They’re all the same person?!” the crestfallen expression on his face only made the beautiful lady hum in amusement. “Yes, I suppose that is me - I should thank you for the nickname - I think being called a Flower Fairy is highly flattering. Here is my gratitude.” with a graceful swish of her hand, Y/N created a flower crown on the architect’s hair. “...You may be lovely, but I swear, you almost have the same kind of mocking cruelty as he does, hidden behind a pretty smile.” Kaveh groaned, getting up and stumbling towards the other chamber, where his bedroom was. “HEY, HOLD UP! IF YOU’VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR SO MANY YEARS, WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN YOU OVER?!” “No thirds wheels allowed on our dates.” seeing that annoyingly taunting smirk, and the implication behind those words, Kaveh let out another frustrated groan and shot into his room, not wanting to see either of the two anymore. “Perfect timing as always.” Alhaitham praised, pulling Y/N onto his lap. “Yes, well, I have to admit, I was getting cold out there, leaning on the door and waiting for you to finish that story already. Regardless... I think it’s adorable that Kaveh didn’t pick up that the reason you were so intrigued to continue speaking to me was because I fooled the Akademiya not to wear that Akasha device.” Y/N laughed lightly. “One of the many.” he said, bringing her flush against his chest. “Or perhaps, one might say, I was trapped under the charming spell of a certain flower fairy.”

[ereemos]

my not-so-comprehensive list (very personal 3am opinion) on books about how to deal with someone with bpd (i’m sure this is applicable to other conditions)

it’s very difficult to deal with a mentally ill oved one, and no matter how much suffering they’re in, the pain it causes those around them is not to be discounted.

this pain can stem from not understanding certain behaviours, fear for their loved one’s wellbeing, seeing someone act violently towards others or themselves, powerlessness, etc.

i whole heartedly believe that these people deserve support too, and that their experience is valid and important to verbalise.

either way, sometimes this can be taken to the extreme, where the person suffering for their loved one starts feeling like “the real victim” and this creates extra stigma, this post being about bpd, an already incredibly stigmatised disorder (both in and out of the medical community).

how do i support my loved one with bpd, or find resources to help myself get through this situation, or understand my loved one better, without falling for evil-bpd-manipulator-woman-propaganda?

look no further! i’ve read enough bpd self help book for loved ones, to be able to tell you what to look out for. i’m sure there’s good ones out there, haven’t seen a single one though ! hah! (only because my mum buys them btw, i promise they exist)

WHAT TO LOOK OUT FOR … in a shitty book

- “most cases of bpd are caused by childhood trauma, but not your child, you are a good parent” books that use this sort of language seem more like they’re trying to reassure someone who is, most likely, a contributing factor to their child’s bpd

when the book is more about self help than it is about therapy… any book framed as self help, i’d stray from. you are not qualified to talk about bpd in this setting.

when the actual victim seems to be treated as an abuser, or written about like an annoying ex who won’t stop texting you, miiight be a sign someone doesn’t care about how people are treated, just wants to make their readers like they need a cuddle.

when they start talking about wanting to expand bpd criteria and diagnosing bpd in minors - why are you talking about this in a self help book - you’re spreading medical misinformation by mixing official diagnostic criteria with your own personal (BIASED) theories, seems like every patient you don’t like has bpd…

w hen the main “how to help a bpd sufferer” is just “give up on trying to help them, they’ll never amount to anything, think about yourself” HUH

too much personal judgement . you’re writing about a disorder .

look at the authors bibliography! are they self help authors who have written nothing other than “how to leave your ex boyfriend behind” “how to be happy in 10 steps” or maybe actual doctors whose mainstream published works include “how my bpd wife ruined my life” “the real victims of bpd” etc???

personal pet peeve, but people talk about bpd patients as only being women. rubs me the wrong way, especially, with the bod/hysteria parallels.

emphasis on either fixing the patient or cutting ties with them/ letting them live an unfulfilling life “because that’s just how they are”

(tl;dr keep away from self help books, as a society we have moved past the need of self help book-capitalism--self-affirming-pseudo therapy)

RESOURCES TO HELP YOURSELF OR A LOVED ONE WITH BPD

DBT !!! there’s so many free resources out there, exercises, pdfs etc, its really worth looking into!

research BPD on your own, looking at multiple sources, both medical and personal experiences, and remember that if you’ve been abused by someone with a cluster b personality disorder, that doesn’t make everyone with the same illness a monster

readings that emphasise on how to deal with situations (still, DBT is useful for this), how to de-escalate a meltdown by behaving empathetically, protecting your peace and your loved one’s, rather than trying to “fix” them.

it is important to hold people accountable for their actions: people with bpd are people, not just victims. Having tough conversations w sufferers can be hard. consider contacting an actual therapist, when things are too much to handle.

there is no shame in going no contact if the person is genuinely abusive, or dealing w them is beyond your abilities. you are not their psychiatrist.

keep in mind that psychology and psychiatry and constantly evolving, and what is a diagnosis today may be laughable in 10 years time ! (just look at the history of bpd)

this post was specifically written for my mother but i just had to put it out there i hate self help books i hate them it’s so much worse than telling me “have you tried yoga?” because yoga actually helps, unlike self help books, which are making psychology and mental illness a big soup of buzzwords to pick out and capitalise on! hmm what will it be today? narcissistic abuse? how to handle your autistic child? soooo sick and tired . stop making money off of me. give me money if you want but stop exploiting disordered individuals.

thanks for reading, sorry for the long post/ramble, it’s 3am

[all-the-things-2020]

Continuing the Way - Chapter Six

Summary: Mariana tells Din and her coworkers the news.

Rating: PG

The moment Mariana walked through the door, Din knew something was bothering her. His plan to tell her about his encounter with Isard was forgotten. “You’re home early. What’s wrong?,” he asked as she dropped her bag on the table. 

“Nothing,” she said. “I just wasn’t getting much work done so I decided to come home and see my favorite boys.” She dropped to her knees and hugged the boys, who had come running as soon as they heard her unlocking the door.

“Mommy, bad man came,” Cabur told her. “Daddy said NO. I said you go! Bad man went away.” He acted out the whole scene, shaking his finger as he told her how Din had said “No” and pointing fiercely as he told her how he’d told Isard to go away.

“A bad man?” Mariana asked, looking up at Din.

He shrugged. “We ran into Jado Isard on the way home from the park,” he said briefly. “I had to tell him no again, but this time I think he got the message, thanks to Cabur.” He tousled the boy’s hair. Ad’ika shot him a sideways glance, but remained silent, letting his brother take all the credit. Din made a mental note to slip Ad’ika a little extra dessert before bedtime.

“Well, that must have been exciting,” Mariana said. “Why don’t we get cleaned up for dinner and you can tell me all about it while we eat?” 

She seemed distracted as she helped him wash the boys’ hands and faces, and picked half-heartedly at her dinner. “Something’s up,” he said quietly, while the boys were busy eating. “Tell me.”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just a little tired.”

Din watched her closely. Her eyes looked a bit red, and the skin around them was puffy. She’d been crying.

“You had that med clinic appointment today,” he realized, blurting it out before thinking. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted, a fake smile on her face. “I’m perfectly healthy, cyar’ika. I just … I have a little problem at work that’s been bothering me.” She shrugged. “I’ll tell you about it later, after the boys are asleep.”

She wouldn’t lie to him, so he took her at her word. Physically, she was fine, which was a relief, and he knew she’d confide in him when she was ready. Still, he did his best to tire the boys out after dinner so they’d be ready for bed early. If Mariana noticed, she gave no indication, her nose buried in her data pad as she studied for her upcoming exams.

Din bathed the boys himself, which he’d been doing a lot lately anyway, with Mariana working late so often and tucked them in with a bedtime story about a baby Mythosaur that he’d made up in desperation one night, and that had become one of Cabur’s favorites. When both boys finally drifted off to sleep, Din kissed them goodnight and went to join Mariana on the couch.

“Okay, they’re asleep,” he said. “So tell me what’s bothering you.”

Mariana put her data pad aside. “I … I just have a decision to make,” she began hesitantly. “One I don’t want to have to make but one that’s unavoidable.”

Din took her hand. “Tell me,” he urged.

She sighed. “You know I’ve been asked to coordinate the bibliography project for the Galactic History Consortium.” He nodded. “And I have classes. And I’m working for Professor Ti’lik.” She paused and he knew she was fighting back tears. “I’m going to have to give up something,” she said quietly. “Either the bibliography project or classes next term. I … I can’t do both.”

“Why not?” Din asked. “I thought Ti’lik was giving you some time off from her research project so you can concentrate on the Consortium project.”

“She is, but … there’s another project that I didn’t know about,” she said with a strange smile.

Din shook his head. “I’m confused.”

“When I was at the med clinic, I asked about replacing my contraceptive implant when it expires,” she said. “But turns out I was a little confused about the dates and it already expired … so I asked if we could replace it now and the doctor said she couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Din asked, although he was starting to suspect the answer.

“Because there’s no point in having an implant when you’re already pregnant,” Mariana said, squeezing his hand.

“A baby?” Din asked. “We’re having another baby?” He knew Mariana had mixed feelings about being pregnant right now but he felt a grin creeping over his face. 

“Yes,” she said. He kissed her, then sat back. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

“You’re happy, aren’t you?,” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “I just … the timing isn’t good … I was so excited about the Consortium project and I only have a few classes left to finish for my degree.” She pressed her forehead against his. “I don’t know what to do, Din.”

“What do you want to do?,” he asked.

“I want to do it all,” she said, exasperated. “I want to finish my degree, and work on the project for the Consortium, and the project for Professor Ti’lik, and be a good mother, and … I just can’t. I can’t do it all.” She started sobbing quietly and Din wrapped his arms around her.

“Oh, cyar’ika,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do it all. I’m here. We’ll figure this out.” He rubbed her back as she cried onto his shoulder. 

“I can’t give up my job,” she said into his shirt. “We’d lose the subsidized housing, and the health care, and my free tuition. But if I keep working, I can’t take classes next term. Maybe not even the term after that.”

“You can’t quit school,” Din said. 

“But the job is more important right now,” she said. “We’ve got the boys to think of.”

“Then keep working for Ti’lik and give up the Consortium project,” he suggested. “I know it’s a big deal, and a great move career-wise, but getting your degree is the most important thing, after the family.”

She sighed against him. “I know,” she said. “I just … I was supposed to meet with Professor Dane next week to give him an outline of my proposal for the project. Now I’ll have to tell him I can’t do it. I feel like I’m letting him down.”

“You aren’t letting anyone down, cyar’ika,” Din said. “You’re putting your family first. And the project isn’t even really off the ground yet, so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to find someone else to coordinate it.”

He kept on talking, comforting her as best he could, all while the thought, Another baby, another baby, we’re having another babybounced around inside his head. Finally, she pulled away from his shoulder enough to look him in the eye.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know you want to celebrate, and believe me, my love, I am truly happy about this.” She ran her finger down his nose, then let the tip linger on his lips. “I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

He smiled against her finger, then kissed it gently. “It’s a nice surprise,” he said.

“And at least this time when I found out, you were here, not off on some quest to preserve the honor of Mandalore,” she said, snuggling close.

“Um, about that …,” Din said.

She sat up, looking him in the eye. “What?”

“Before I told Isard to get lost again, he told me why he wanted my help,” he said carefully. “He claims to have the location of the wreck of an Old Republic ship that is rumored to have a cargo that included a large stash of beskar. He needs to pay off a debt to a Hutt, and he offered me half of whatever’s left after he pays that off … and all the beskar.” He looked down, ashamed to keep her gaze. “I … I was tempted. For about thirty seconds, until Ad’ika brought me to my senses.”

“We have enough beskar,” Mariana chided him softly, taking his hand and caressing his ring.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I sent a comm to the Mand’alor before you got home. I told her what Isard told me, and suggested she send someone to ‘persuade’ him to divulge the coordinates to her. If that cache of beskar really does exist, no one deserves it more than the people of Mandalore.”

“And you’re willing to let the glory of repatriating it go to someone else?,” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “A Mandalorian should retrieve it. And I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

She kissed him slowly. “No, you aren’t,” she said as she pulled back. “Are you okay with that?”

He slipped one arm behind her to pull her close, while the other pressed against her belly, searching for the child he knew he wouldn’t be able to feel yet, but that he already loved so fiercely. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m your husband. Ad’ika and Cabur’s father. This child’s father. That’s more than enough for me.”

***************************** The first thing Mariana did when she arrived at work the next day was contact the department secretary to find out Professor Dane’s schedule. He had two lectures in the morning, with a twenty minute break between them, and she set a reminder on her data pad so she could be at the lecture hall in time to catch him during the break.

Then she told Professor Ti’lik the news. “I am overjoyed for you,” Ti’lik said, wrapping here in an embrace so tight, Mariana was afraid she might have damaged a rib. “Bearing an offspring is a tremendous honor among my species. Of course, our gestation is much longer than yours, and entails a great deal of sacrifice of time and physical strength.” She’d told Mariana a bit about the ordeal of bearing her two offspring years ago, of the time spent sitting still so the fragile egg inside her gestation pocket did not break, of the long months after the egg hatched protecting the youngling as it grew in the pocket, of the arduous process of extracting the offspring from the pocket when it had grown large enough to survive in the outside world. It made human pregnancy seem like a minor inconvenience.

“Thank you,” she told Ti’lik once she could breathe again. “I need to talk to Professor Dane between his morning lectures, if that’s okay.” 

Ti’lik huffed. “You don’t have to ask my permission, you know that.”

Mariana fidgeted with the items on her desk, not getting a bit of work done, until it was time to leave for the lecture hall. Professor Dane was just finishing up his first lecture when she arrived, and she waited in the hallway until the last student was gone.

“Mariana!” Dane said when he saw her come in. “I thought our meeting was next week!”

“It is,” she said. “But I needed to talk to you about something that can’t wait until then.”

He waved her further into the room and offered her a seat in the front row of the lecture hall, then sat down next to her. “What is it?” 

She took a deep breath. “I’m … I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline your offer to coordinate the Consortium Bibliography project,” she said quietly.

Dane blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “I just got a comm yesterday from Sian Tevv saying you’d asked him to join your team. He was very excited.”

“I know,” Mariana said. “But my situation has changed since I contacted him. I’m not going to have as much free time next term as I thought I would.”

“Why not? Professor Ti’lik said you’re ahead of schedule on her project,” Dane frowned.

“I found out yesterday that I’m pregnant,” she said.

“Congratulations,” Dane said. “But I still don’t understand why you have to give up the Consortium project.”

Mariana shook her head. “I can’t work for Ti’lik and take classes and do the bibliography project and still take care of myself,” she admitted. “I have to keep working, or I’ll lose the subsidized housing and my health care access. And I can’t quit school when I’m so close to getting my degree. My husband and I talked it over and it makes the most sense that I give up the Consortium project now while you have time to find someone else to take over.”

Dan sat back and nodded thoughtfully. “It sounds like you’ve thought this out thoroughly,” he said after a moment, “but you’re forgetting one important bit of information.”

“What?” Mariana asked. “I’ve gone over the situation a million times.” She sighed in frustration.

Dane leaned forward and patted her hand. “One of the requirements for receiving a degree is completing a capstone project,” he said. “I don’t see why you can’t use the Consortium project for that. That way you’ll still earn credits this term without having to take any classes.”

“But, I thought I had to finish all the required courses before I could start a capstone,” she said.

Dane shrugged. “It’s not the way we normally do things, but we don’t normally hire undergraduates as research assistants, either.” He sat forward. “Ti’lik went out on a limb to hire you, and frankly some of us thought she was being a bit foolish, but you both proved us wrong, Mariana. I want you to join the department as soon as you’re qualified, and if we have to make a few unorthodox accommodations to make that happen, so be it.”

She sat back in her seat. Could it possibly be this easy to resolve her dilemma? “You don’t know what a relief this is,” she said after a long moment. “I’ve been fretting about this ….” She started laughing. “I guess that’s why you’re the professor and I’m still the student, right?”

Dane patted her shoulder. “The student will soon surpass the teacher,” he said, “but I’m glad I still have the advantage.” He stood up. “I need to prepare for my next lecture, but we’ll talk more at our meeting next week. And don’t worry about next term. We’ll work it all out. The most important thing is that you take care of yourself and that baby.” He smiled. “Give my best to your husband and those adorable boys of yours.”

Mariana was surprised. She’d never shown Professor Dane any holos of her sons. He chuckled. “Ti’lik showed me a holo she took on the day of the employee picnic,” he explained. “She is quite enamored of the older one. I think it’s because she has those green patches on her arms.” He winked. Ti’lik was very proud of her green patches, which meant she’d borne offspring, but she got gently teased by her colleagues for sometimes going a bit too far to show them off.

Her heart was much lighter as she walked back to the office. Ti’lik was not there, so she took the opportunity to comm Din and tell him what Professor Dane had said.

“Oh, cyar’ika, that’s wonderful,” he said, before ducking out of camera range to grab at something that one of the boys had pulled off the table where he’d propped his data pad. “Leave that alone,” his muffled voice said. “I’m talking to Mommy.” His head popped back into view. “Sorry about that. Cabur distracted me while Ad’ika stole my sonic spanner.”

“What are you fixing that needs a sonic spanner?,” she asked, stifling a laugh.

“Building a spaceship,” he said matter of factly. He held up a jumble of metal about the size of his forearm. “It was decided that the tauntauns need their own ship.” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Well, good luck with that,” she said. “I’ll be home early tonight.”

“We’ll have dinner waiting for you,” Din said before a loud crash echoed behind him. “Kriff, what are you doing now, Ad’ika?” The comm link went dark and Mariana stopped stifling her laugh. She giggled for a good five minutes before she was able to get her mind back on her work.

Welcome to the circus, little one, she thought, addressing the child in her belly for the first time. Now that the initial shock had worn off, and her worries about work and school had been allayed, she was able to enjoy the prospect of bringing another Djarin into the world. I just hope the galaxy can handle five of us.

[hacvek]

@wo-chien-fan I did finally come across your initial objection made by other people (Thomists, of all people). Which seemed strange to me to have taken so long to find it, since your initial objection appeared both intuitive and not easily rebutted, while the commonest arguments against the OA are either too philosophically sophisticated for the layman (Kant) or obviously and intuitively wrong (Gaunilo). I was initially playing devil's advocate! Wondering what you make of this supposed rebuttal to the rebuttal (though it does make reference to other parts of the book):

In Thomist circles one often encounters some such formulation as the following: The idea of God, the infinitely perfect being, does include existence, but only ideal, not real, existence. Therefore, it would be a contradiction if I were to think the infinitely perfect being without thinking it as existent, because I would be affirming and denying existence in the same order (Ordnung); however, a contradiction is not present if I attribute ideal existence to the most perfect being, while leaving the question open whether it exists in ontological reality. (Lehmen, Lebrbuch der Philosophie, Freiburg, 1901, BIL, p. 547, quoted in Esser— see Bibliography.) This way of talking makes me wonder how stupid I perhaps am, for I can make no clear sense at all out of what is said. What is ‘ideal existence’? Merely that something is thought to exist? (For a legitimate distinction between conceptual and real existence in terms of the contrast between the that and the how of actualization, see Part One, Sec. 18.) But then a necessity to think infinite perfection as (ideally) existing is the necessity to think that it is thought to be thought to exist—and so on. And besides, the defect with which Anselm’s second Argument (against which Esser quotes the above passage) shows that Greatness cannot be combined is the conceivability of failing to have real existence. A being whose not really existing is conceivable is inferior to one whose not really existing is inconceivable. Therefore it is precisely real existence which must be taken as inseparable from Greatness. What special merit would there be in ideally existing necessarily while really existing contingently? And if one can only think divinity as really existing then atheism is not thinkable, and only a positivist can reject the conclusion of the Argument. Is that what Lehmen and Esser are trying to say? Then let them for pity’s sake say it. For it is painful to be unable to find sense in what must seem sensible to the many who write in this way. When it is suggested, as by Esser (p. 36), that while we must think God as existent, still we may also think that he perhaps does not exist ‘in the real order’, I derive from such formulations only this: we must think divinity as existent, but we may also think the proposition, ‘divinity may not exist’. Once more my intelligence fails to arrive at a coherent meaning. Is it our old friend, ‘God exists necessarily if he exists at all’? This seems implied by Esser (p. 35). As I have argued in various places, this expression also means nothing clear and consistent. If it only means, God either fails to exist or else exists eternally and without dependence upon any other existent, then I think (a) it misuses ‘necessarily’, and (b) it implies a radically unintelligibile form of contingency, ie., that something is but might not have been, yet no cause enabled it to be or furnished its real possibility. To be able not to exist yet to owe one’s existence to no actual condition is a combination of ideas that gives me for one ‘logical seasickness’. In addition I have given many reasons for denying that the ‘nonexistence’ of something is conceivable unless the something is competitive, partly exclusive, in its essential nature, so that another thing could exist in its place. But there is no ‘place’ of God which another thing could occupy instead of Him. I deny that an argument can be refuted by formulations so full of paradoxes as those just considered.

Charles Hartshorne, Anselm's Discovery: A Re-examination of the Ontological Proof for God's Existence Argument, pg. 162-4. The book is free online; the work by Esser he refers to seems to be Matthias Esser, Der ontologische Gottesbeweis und seine Geschichte (1905).

[thealtarofdelirium]

Notes on "The House Witch" by Arin Murphy-Hiscock

I recently read The House Witch by Arin Murphy-Hiscock and took notes to share with my friend how I approach reading pagan/witch shit. Edited transcript from discord below the cut in case other people are interested in looking at note-taking practices.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/21/2022 So first thing, it's kinda neat how witchcraft books are being published by Simon & Schuster imprints now instead of just Llewellyn or Weiser.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/21/2022 Bibliography in the back is a good sign. The sources seem to be a mix of primary texts (Carmina Gadelica, Homeric Hymns, etc.), books, and Random People's Websites. (Not necessarily a bad thing) Entry on Shinto comes from an .jp website, so that's encouraging. Looking through the index, there's a section on "smudging" which is specifically a religious practice from various indigenous American nations and not just wafting smoke through an area, so let's see what she says in that section. Other cultures do something similar and wafting smoke to cleanse or purify an area, but it's more culturally sensitive to call it smoke-cleansing or whatever word other traditions. Saining is also a good alternative term for it. "Smudging with sage is a Native American technique that has proven very adaptable and effective for people of any tradition and spiritual path." Nope! "There's no right or wrong way to make a smudge stick…" Nope! There is no right or wrong way to make a smoke bundle or whatever, but I think probably there is a very specific way to make a smudge stick. To be clear, it's not the action of smoke cleansing, it's the calling it a smudge. Kind of like there's nothing wrong with Antler Men, but calling them a "w*ndigo" is wrong. Okay, so if I'm reading through this for ideas for my own practice, I could probably still get some use out of the recipes or suggestions, but I won't be dressing them in "Native American" drag.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/21/2022 Okay, the rest of the index looks good. Let's get started with Chapter 1! Magic doesn't have to be used toward a positive goal. But whatever, if this is for beginners, then fine. I don't fuck with Energy so I'm ignoring those parts. Well actually, that's not entire true. But usually I don't fuck with energy doing housework. I envision it differently.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/25/2022 Okay, this book says it's not about doing spells, but more on "maintaining a home-based spiritual practice." I like that. She's talking a lot about how magic is essentially mindfulness. I'm not sure whether I like that, but whatever. Hmm, is she saying paying rent can be a Magical Act? 😂 😂 😂 I'm actually surprised that at least according to the index, there's no mention of Feng Shui. Maybe that's good. Will have to see. I mean, talking about the energy that builds up in the home and needs guidance is pretty feng shui, right? [I have only a pop culture understanding of feng shui]

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/25/2022 Nice, nice, we're talking about the importance of chosen families.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/25/2022 I'm loathe to use "second-class citizens" to describe people who focus on making a good home, but /shrug. Sure maybe it isn't valued in terms of capitalism, but…

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/25/2022 Certainly a choice to say Indochina instead of, like, Southeast Asia. 😂 I've only heard that term used in older stuff. [I have zero knowledge of the politics behind the use that word, so I'm just commenting on how unusual it is for me to come across it.] So far, I'm reading a lot of broad statements about what hearthcraft is and is not, or does and does not do, and on the one hand, words do have to mean things, but my thought is that hearthcraft is /Antoni QueerEye voice/ something that can be so personal and differs across cultures and communities that you can't really make statements like "in hearthcraft, you don't need to sanctify the hearth because it is by nature already sacred." That can be true, sure. But it's not universal, I don't think. Talking about examples of how some cultures already sanctify spaces by creating boundaries: "Hats are generally worn outside, and to wear one inside smacks of poor breeding…" My dear. Are you saying this ironically? Are you quoting an old relative?

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/25/2022 "Celtic prayer" Celtic describes a group of related languages, and other than that it's generally too broad to be useful. The Bretons are probably not doing the same thing as the Welsh or the Irish.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/26/2022 So as I said, this book primarily refers to working with the Energy of the house, accessing it and using it. I personally view my house-based spiritual practice from an animist/house spirits angle. But I don't really do magic per se. And this is magic.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 Ooh this book also suggests using a cauldron of water for the hearth if fire's not your thing.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 Here's where discernment comes into play for me. The box says what the cauldron symbolizes, but it doesn't say where that symbolism comes from. It's cool if the symbolism works for you, but it's not Immutable Truth. The next paragraph extrapolating meaning from the cauldron's use in cooking is more legit in my view. And then next when meaning is extrapolated from the way cauldrons show up in myths, is also more legit.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 Dutch Oven as Cauldron!

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 When a recipe calls for a pinch of salt, use it to suck the bad energy out or something. Mini cauldron for a good place to put offerings to the kitchen spirits (a little bit of what you're cooking, for example). I like these kinds of books mostly for ideas, and I appreciate when they share the thinking behind their symbolism. I'm a big fan of the idea of meeting the gods in the context in which they were created, so I appreciate the book citing the Homeric Hymns to talk about Hestia. I feel fairly confident in anything written here about Greek and Roman goddesses since as pagan societies go, they're pretty well-documented.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022

Okay, the author discusses a goddess that comes from the Ainu people of Japan. Since the Ainu are an indigenous group there, I'd tread carefully when doing anything but learning about her.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 I can't find diddly on a goddess named Ertha from a website that's reputable (and since she's Germanic, I'm having a fun time trying to figure out whether the site is New Age Woo or Nazi).

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 She's talking about the importance of domestic work again, which yes. I think she should also point out that domestic work is also for men. Instead of characterizing the devaluation of domestic work as an accidental side-effect of feminism, she should say that the devaluation of domestic work is because it's seen as "women's work" by Sexisme. But that second point is just how I interpret things. I dunno.

[eldritch thrumming] — 10/31/2022 "If you hate your kitchen…" Oooh! That's me! (I don't hate my kitchen. It's charmingly decorated. It just also stresses me out)

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Okay, now we're reading about Mindfulness. I went to the author's website and it looks like her main focus is kitchen witchery, which is why so much of this book focuses on the kitchen.

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Ooh, she suggests finding an oil lamp for a hearth candle for safety. I like that. It's different from a normal candle.

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Walk through every part of your home to wake it up, especially the nooks and crannies. I actually do like to do this. I clap or ring a bell. There's actually a really good exercise in here for inventorying the Vibes of your house.

…

Just kind of getting a baseline for what X corner feels like so you can tell when something's off. Gut feeling, yeah. Hang on, I'll do an example. So here, the Vibes are a little chaotic because it's a high traffic area for the Lads (especially when the window's open), but it's also kind of dead space where I store things, but I can't really use them. It's also right next to where I like to sit on the couch. Kinda subconsciously stresses me out. So now that I've characterized what this corner feels like, I can do something with it. I can re-arrange, or I can do something to change the vibes to something less stressful, like opening the window or clapping in that corner to make it feel more lived in than just a dead corner.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Book suggests using a wedge of lemon or a chopped up onion to absorb bad energy from the room.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 The book here mostly just refers to a few Japanese household god names, and also talks about kamidana for misc household spirits/ancestors. They're really cute. One thing I did today was I lit my shrine in my living room, did a big sweep, and then finished up by burning stick incense. Felt really good. "The flow of energy within a room is important. Often a room is unwelcoming because the energy within it doesn't flow; instead, it is stagnant. If you don't sense how this happens (either by deliberate energy sensing or a vague feeling concerning the room), try standing in the doorway to the room and looking in. Where are your eyes drawn right away? What path do they trace if you don't deliberately turn them in one direction or another? … If your eyes don't naturally move around the room, the energy probably doesn't either. If there's an area that is unused, despite having chairs or other furniture and equipment provided, the flow of energy through the room may not reach there, or it may be blocked by something." (Of course, that something might be coats) "A small image of a bee in a 'dead' corner, for example, can help keep it vibrant, for the bee is a symbol of activity, community, and industry." Vibrant's a good word. I like it here.

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Bless your refrigerator

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 More kitchen witch stuff that I don't need beyond thanking the microwave and maybe respecting the food I eat (like when I drink a big cup of water and am like 'fuck I love water'). Recipes. I do like the image of a wooden spoon as a wand and imbuing your food with love. Stirring in a clockwise direction to bring positive things. Stirring counterclockwise to banish or dismiss negative things. In college I used to do that with my Easy Mac. Being really intentional as I stirred in that cheese powder. Overview of working with herbs via potpourri, incense, cleaning solutions, smoke cleansing. Ooh, magical sewing and needlework. Yeah, this chapter is just about Non Kitchen Shit ideas.

…

[eldritch thrumming] — 11/01/2022 Okay, finished reading The House Witch by Arin Murphy-Hiscock. Like most books on witchcraft and paganism, I read anything about history critically, use the rest of the book for ideas, and generally learn about how other people conceive of "magic." Maybe even look further into anything that piqued my interest. I'd say it's worth reading. Just gloss over the smudging section and recognize it has a major focus on the kitchen. It's Fine.

[raychesshittyart]

Pecha Kucha script & presentation

Post 2:

Slide 11 - In a sense, I am still somewhat continuing to work with the self, however, in a completely different aspect compared to semester one, in the way that these objects are a part of who I was when I accumulated them, and how I responded to them as who I am today. Semester one was responding to memories from photos, while semester teo is responding to memories in objects.

Slide 12 - Now that I feel I have out-talked how attached I get to inanimate things and my hoarding problems, I want to move on to the books I have used. On the topic of hoarding, books are also things that I tens to collects, especially my favourite books, books I've had since my childhood, and books I'd like to pass on to my own future imaginary children.

Slide 13 - Books have been the perfect source of escape for me from a young age. They've helped me through tough times, they've helped me bond with people, strengthening those relationships, and they've been a great way to not only pass the time bit better my vocabulary, especially when I first moved to New Zealand and had to learn to speak English fluently.

Slide 14 - The choice to use books as part of the art came from art therapy sessions I had taken years ago, where the therapists showed us how to rework either novels we loved the most, or novels we never got to read, and make our art in them as sort of visual journals. So, I put together the two aspects I always lost myself in, books and art.

Slide 15 - Granted, the idea of destroying books like that seemed so wrong, but with the way humanity is always viewing, using, and discarding everything, it was my own way of bringing new life into not only the books but the artefacts I have carved in them as well. Plus, I've always had a rebellious side, the artist in me, and enjoy doing things that I'm not actually supposed to do.

Slide 16 - In the end, while pairing the books and artefacts were spontaneous responses, the chaise of using books and those objects were well thought out. For the last part of my talk, I will ge discussing artists Marcel Duchamp and Tony Cragg, two artists that works closely with found objects.

Slide 17 - Tony Cragg, a British sculptor, colourfully paints found artefacts and household objects in complex arrangements. In his works Palette, 1984 and Britain Seen From The Borth, 1981, you can see that the large body of works, in which he collected discarded plastic pieces of rubbish, he arranged them by colour, forming larger shapes.

Slide 18 - I know I had to steer away from clichés, but for Cargg the saying "one man's trash is another man's treasure" very much rings true and nothing goes to waste with him. Although my artefacts were thing I collected over time, some items are found objects from the street, a friend's house, or the five-finger discount at stores.

Slide 19 - While Cragg modified his found materials, Marcel Duchamp went another direction with his found artefacts. Instead of changing them, he left them as is and called his works "Ready-Made". His early works weren't taken well by the public, especially Fountain, 1917 which was rejected to be exhibited by the committee at the Society of Indepedent Artists.

Slide 20 - While Fountain was submitted under Duchamps pseudonym "R. Mutt", he still pulled all his artworks from the exhibit in protest of the rejection. His Ready-Made series, Bicycle Wheel, 1913 included, ranked as one of the most radical artistic gesture of any kind and the ramifications are still shaking out.

Slide 21 - Bibliography

[writingabouteverything]

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly 

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:)) 

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever. 

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex? 

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish. 

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that. 

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again. 

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle. 

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar. 

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.  

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird. 

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.” 

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.” 

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health. 

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.” 

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have. 

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.” 

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh. 

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.” 

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.” 

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.” 

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible. 

 I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut. 

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?” 

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach. 

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.” 

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.” 

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.” 

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.” 

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!” 

--

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go. 

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.” 

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.” 

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?” 

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.” 

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black. 

--

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between. 

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.” 

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.” 

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.” 

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.” 

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.” 

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.” 

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.” 

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--” 

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse. 

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.” 

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.” 

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.” 

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.” 

[blu-joons]

When You Struggle With Motivation To Do Your Work ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

He’d watched you for most of the afternoon struggle to get anything done, before finally stepping in with a plate of food by your side. “It will help with your concentration,” he smiled.

You smiled across at him, “I just don’t want to write this essay, there’s a thousand and one more appealing things that I could look at on my laptop than this.”

“I know it’s hard,” he smiled, taking a seat beside you at your desk. “But you’ve just got to keep going and find the motivation from somewhere.”

You moved the plate of food in front of you, “there’s only such much fun you can get of reading up on the history of a war before it gets pretty boring.”

“Just forget about it for ten minutes and eat, and then go back to it and see if you’re feeling better,” Jin suggested, closing your laptop down.

Your head nodded, as the food quickly began to draw you in. “I might have to nap instead after eating all of this.”

“I won’t allow it; you’ve got work to do.”

Yoongi:

Your body jumped at Yoongi’s sudden presence beside you, with a pad of paper and a pen in his hand. “We’re going to make notes together seeing as you’re struggling,” he announced.

Your head shook across at him, “there’s really no need for you to do that Yoongi. I’m sure there’s plenty of other stuff that you could be getting on with.”

“It can wait,” he assured you, “but I know how important this work is for you to pass, and so I’m going to get you motivated to do it.”

You watched on as he made himself comfortable beside you. “I’ve been staring at the same page for two hours, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ll help you move off page one,” he joked, scrolling down the article. “It’s only seven pages anyway, it won’t take us long to get through it.”

You sighed, picking your pen back up. “To be honest, I think it’s seven pages too long, but that’s the fault of the author.”

“Stop whining and read, let’s get this done.”

Hoseok:

Another groan from the other side of the room was the final straw for Hobi as he walked across to you. “What’s wrong?” He questioned, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Your head tilted back to look up at him. “I’ve tried so many times to write this introduction, but each time it’s just no good and I end up deleting it.”

“I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind, that’s why,” he sighed, pulling your chair back from your desk. “You’re just having one of those days.”

Your head nodded, settling against his chest. “It’s due in a week, I can’t keep putting this off forever, but I just can’t seem to get myself into a mood to write either.”

“Eventually, you’ll get it done,” he assured you, “maybe you need to rethink the topic to something you would enjoy writing about more.”

You thought for a few moments, “maybe that isn’t such a bad idea, I never even thought about doing that.”

“See, I’m full of smart ideas most of the time.”

Namjoon:

He’d sat and watched you frustrated since he came home from work, noticing how you hardly moved at all. “How much have you got done so far today?” He questioned, looking across at you.

You looked down at your computer, “I’ve got two references in my bibliography and edited the title page so now the font is nice and pretty for the supervisor.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, shaking his head across at you. “Why don’t you just write today off rather than driving yourself crazy at your desk?”

Your eyes looked up to glance across at him. “But this essay is important, I just can’t seem to find it within myself to actually start writing it.”

“Why don’t you go back to it tomorrow when you’re a bit more prepared, there’s no way you’ll work today,” he informed you, smiling gently.

Your eyes rolled out of frustration, “I really thought today was going to be the day when I’d crack on and get this done.”

“There’s another day tomorrow, don’t worry.”

Jimin:

His arms wrapped around you as soon as he walked into your apartment, seeing you still sat at your desk. “How’s it going?” He quizzed, craning his neck to be able to kiss against your cheek.

Your head shook instantly, “I think I’ve written about ten words since you left three hours ago. So, to answer your question, all of this is going terribly, I might as well just fail.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin quickly scolded, glancing down at you. “You can’t just give up and fail, we’ll find a strategy to get you motivated to do this.”

Your head shook, feeling your body begin to shut down. “I’ve been doing that all week, and nothing seems to work, there’s no point anymore.”

“There’s always a point, you’ve just got to keep going until you find it,” he assured you, placing you back in front of your computer.

You let go of a sigh as you looked across your screen, “I still have two thousand words to write, this really is impossible.”

“No, it’s not, you’ve just got to keep going.”

Taehyung:

You could feel Taehyung’s presence come up beside you as you continued to stare blankly at your computer screen. “When was the last time you took a break from all of this?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you glanced across at the clock. “About six hours ago when I woke up and came downstairs just after you went off to work.”

“That would explain a lot,” he sighed, pulling you out of your chair. “You’re unmotivated because you’re not giving yourself time to think about anything else.”

You sighed gently, allowing him to pull you across to the sofa. “I don’t have time to think about something else, I need to actually start typing some work together.”

“I promise, give me twenty minutes of your time and you’ll go back to your laptop full of ideas to work with,” he assured you with a smile.

You glanced across, nodding your head back at him. “I guess twenty minutes will do no harm if it helps me out.”

“Exactly, and I’ll take the best care of you.”

Jungkook:

A pair of arms pulled you up from your chair, taking you by surprise as you reached out for your keyboard. “Come on,” you recognised Jungkook’s voice in your ear, grabbing your hand.

You frowned as he led you away from your office. “Where are you taking me?” You sighed, knowing that your work was crying out for you to complete it.

“It’s useless you being sat there doing absolutely nothing,” he frowned, grabbing your jacket for you. “So, we’re going to go for a walk and try and clear your mind.”

Your eyes widened in response to him. “Do you have any idea how cold it is outside? Why would you drag me out there? Can’t we just stay here?”

“A change of scenery will do you good,” he noted, ignoring your complaints. “There might be something as we walk that will trigger motivation in you.”

Your head shook, “the only thing this walk will trigger in me is pneumonia. What are you actually trying to achieve?”

“Stop whining and walk. I promise you’ll be fine.”

---

Masterlist

[mediaevalmusereads]

The True Story of Pocahontas: The Other Side of History. By Dr. Linwood “Little Bear’ Custalow and Angela L. Daniel “Silver Star.” Golden, Colorado: Fulcrum Publishing, 2007.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: non-fiction, history

Part of a Series? No.

Summary: The True Story of Pocahontas is the first public publication of the Powhatan perspective that has been maintained and passed down from generation to generation within the Mattaponi Tribe, and the first written history of Pocahontas by her own people.

Content Warnings: references to genocide, kidnapping/abduction, rape, violence

Since this book is non-fiction, my review is going to be formatted differently than usual.

I picked up this book after seeing some discourse online about Disney’s Pocahontas and the difference between the European version of events and Indigenous oral histories. Someone recommended this book, so I gave it a go. Whether or not you will appreciate this book will largely depend on whether or not you understand how oral and literary history works; I’ve seen a lot of reviews that complain about “bias” and “hostility” towards the European versions of Pocahontas and the founding of the Virginia Colony, and to be honest, I feel like most of those reactions stem from the assumption that the European versions are (to some extent) objective, while the Indigenous version is “folklore.” In reality, all accounts are going to have a bias, but what makes the Indigenous oral history valuable is the way it sheds light on events from the perspective of the people who were negatively affected.

That being said, oral history is part history, part storytelling. The introduction to this book tells us that much of the content is derived from interviews, and the authors/editors preserved the account of Pocahontas as it was related to them (that is, without altering the wording). While I love that the book contains such a faithful transcription, the written format means that we lack the performative aspects of oral storytelling; we can’t easily detect tone or emphasis or other things that might impact the way we interpret the text. If you’re going to engage with this book, I think that drawback is worth keeping in mind, and I think doing a little research into oral performance would help enhance your appreciation for oral histories and storytelling.

But as it stands, there’s nothing wrong with the actual content. To my knowledge, the information given to us in this book fall more in line with the history of Pocahontas than John Smith’s supposed “objective” romance. At times, the content can be hard to read, but it’s important that the authors/editors not downplay or water down what happened between the Powhatan Nation and the colonists.

If I had any criticism, it would be that I would have liked to see more supplementary materials. While this book contains a helpful introduction and afterward, as well as a few maps and a bibliography/notes, I would have liked to see a more robust introduction, especially since this book is supposed to reach non-Native readers. But that’s admittedly a lot of work, and maybe I’m being too picky.

TL;DR: The True Story of Pocahontas is a valuable source of Indigenous history and makes room for marginalized voices in the telling of the colonization of the Americas. While readers will probably get more out of this book if they understand how historical writing and oral history work, it’s accessible enough that any interested reader can find historical and literary value in the story.

[period-dramallama]

Review: Beauvallet by Georgette Heyer

Can't believe this is a DNF but life comes at you fast

Oh boy did this book disappoint me. I feel bad not finishing it, Heyer was one of the great adventure writers of the 20th century. And honestly? The first chapter was awesome, I loved it, I was having a blast, but then by page 50 I had had enough. I just kept thinking about all the books I'd rather be reading and honestly?? That's often a sign to put the book down and read those books instead. This was a book I was looking forward to finishing, not reading.

So basically dashing English privateer Nick Beauvallet captures lovely Spanish noblewoman Dona Dominica and her father Don Manuel. Dominica pretends to hate Beauvallet but of course she really likes him and he swears to make her an Englishwoman before the year has gone by, after he drops her and her dad off home in Spain. To marry her means sneaking into Spain which is perilous because he's a famous privateer and many Spaniards long for the honour of killing such a nuisance to their king.

Of course, we know what will happen: Beauvallet will win and marry Dominica. The suspense is how: what cunning feats of derring do will our hero have to pull off. And honestly... I don't care.

Don't get me wrong, I love pirates. I love Jack Sparrow, i love Hector Barbossa even more. I do not love Nick Beauvallet. I want to push him overboard. Frankly, he's a Gary Stu. Even his enemies admire him. Don Manuel is like "if you weren't a heretic I'd gladly marry my daughter to a man of your high spirits."

All 3 of the Georgette Heyer books I've read, including this one, have the heroine hate the hero at the start and fall for him by the end. Given the size of her bibliography maybe I just happened to hit on the only 3 books where she writes this narrative, like a Georgette Heyer fruit machine. But after 3 of the same setup, it feels predictable.

One thing I didn't like about the setup was how Beauvallet swears he'll woo and marry her when she's been vocally nothing but disdainful to him. Given her expressed dislike of him, him saying he will woo her anyway feels like treating her as a challenge or a prize, not a person. So their back and forth didn't feel all that charming.

Another thing that grated on me was him calling her 'child' like yeah maybe it was meant to be like 'baby' but given she's a young woman it felt rather infantilising.

I wonder if times have changed when it comes to expressions of anger. Heyer heroines often pout, or stamp their feet when they're cross. To me, this makes them look like spoiled children having a tantrum even if they're in the right. Maybe in the twentieth century it wasn't seen as babyish for a woman to stamp her foot or pout.

There's also a kiss that arguably is non consensual given that she didn't invite it (though secretly she wants him to kiss her of course).

And as I was expecting, the Black Legend is alive and well. Plucky England is freedom, stoic Spain is repression. Of course Dominica reads Lutheran texts secretly. Can't have our hero fall for a devout Catholic can we? No no no!

Also, I'm amused when pirates are like "attacking Spain is OK because she's cruel to the natives and greedy!" Like buddy... you going to give any of that looted gold back to those poor natives? No? Then shut the fuck up, you're a thief too.

(That's not to say there wasn't collaboration between indigenous peoples and the English, see Kaufmann's Black Tudors.)

I get that a novel from 1929 is going to have values that chafe modern sensibilities. But there has to be something that makes it still enjoyable. There's a nice level of historical detail, the prose is enjoyable, but I'm just bored. Apparently there's a good female villain later in the book, and lots of spying and sneaking around Spain, but I can't be bothered to stick around for it.

I've said it before (implicitly re: The Man on a Donkey) but I'll state it: a book where you have to wait for it to get good, or have 'persistence' with it, is not a great book. A book doesn't need to be thrilling the whole way through, but that's no excuse to make the first half boring.

[samwisethewitch]

How to Find Good Witchcraft Books (Baby Witch Bootcamp Ch. 4)

This post is loosely based on the fourth episode of my Baby Witch Bootcamp series on YouTube. In that video, I recommended some of my personal favorite books on witchcraft and spirituality. But, after some thought, I decided it would be more helpful to give y’all some guidelines for how to find worthy resources for yourself.

After all, your interests may be different from mine, and the books that have shaped my magical practice may not interest you at all. But the standards for a good, trustworthy resource are constant, so that’s what I’ll be addressing here.

Research the author’s reputation and credentials.

There is no “university of witchcraft,” so sometimes the only credential an author can have is being a lifelong practitioner. However, some magical traditions do require initiation and/or have a more formal structure. For example, Reiki (which is not technically magic, but many witches still have an interest in it) cannot be learned from a book — it can only be passed down by a Reiki Master. If you’re reading a book about Reiki, the author should specify which Reiki lineage they were initiated and certified through. (Even then, reading their book does not mean you are initiated!)

Likewise, if someone claims to be a member of the clergy, whether a Christian reverend or a pagan high priestess, look into how they got that title. What religious group are they associated with? Did they attend seminary or some other form of training? Were they ordained? If an author does not have this information readily available (such as in the “About the Author” section of their book), be skeptical of their claims to religious authority.

Even though not all authors who write about witchcraft will have been initiated into a formal tradition or will be ordained clergy (and not all of them need to be!) most authors will have a reputation of some kind. The best way to figure out if an author is legit is to see what experienced witches think of their books.

Try Googling “[author’s name] + controversy” or “[author’s name] + scandal” to see what comes up. Have they been called out for spreading misinformation or for problematic behavior in the past?  For example, Googling “Silver Ravenwolf controversy” will bring up several articles about bad information in that author’s books.

It’s also a good idea to look that author up on social media — both their own profiles, and the tags associated with their work. Is there anything on the author’s Instagram or Twitter that seems like a red flag? What are other social media users saying about their work? Some authors will even have a blog, so you can read some of their writing for free before deciding to buy a book.

Even if an author’s books aren’t super popular, you can still read reviews and check out the author’s social media. This doesn’t always weed out bad resources, but it is a good first step.

Just because a book is popular doesn’t mean it’s a good resource.

See my previous note about Silver Ravenwolf. There are a lot of very popular books and authors that many witches will tell you are hot garbage. There are also a lot of very shallow, surface-level “Witchcraft 101”-type books that are popular because of a good marketing campaign, an Instagram-worthy cover, or some other superficial factor, but contain very little actual hands-on instruction.

(Note: There’s nothing wrong with Witchcraft 101 books, and in fact I recommend starting with more “beginner-friendly” books until you figure out what aspects of witchcraft you want to focus on. But just because a book is for beginners doesn’t mean it can’t have depth to it.)

I’m not saying don’t read popular books — some things are popular because they are genuinely good. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t buy a book only because it’s popular.

Look for a well-rounded “Resources” section.

If you want to know if a book is worth your time, flip to the back and look for the “Resources,” “Bibliography,” or “Further Reading” section. In a well-researched book, this section will be several pages long. (Obviously, if the book is especially short and/or only covers a single topic, the Resources section may be shorter, but it will still be there.) In a really well-researched book, it will include sources written by non-witch, non-pagan authors like historians, scientists, and psychologists.

If you’re reading a book about mythology or paganism, the Resources section should contain some primary sources (or as close to primary sources as possible). For example, Morgan Daimler’s book Odin: Meeting the Norse All-Father, lists multiple English translations of the Poetic Edda in its bibliography. A good book about Wicca will reference the writings of Gerald Gardner, the founder of modern Wicca, and probably also Aleister Crowley, even if the author does not agree with their views.

If a book doesn’t list the author’s sources, it’s probably not worth your time. Either the book is poorly researched or the author is intentionally being vague about where they are getting their information. Either way, that book is not a transparent resource and should not be used as a reference.

Avoid authors who use vague phrases like “scientists say ___” or “the old witches knew ___.”

This goes back to being transparent about sources. A lot of writers will use wording like this to give their claims the illusion of authority.

“Scientists” could very well refer to a small group of fringe scientists (or pseudo-scientists) who are not respected by the mainstream scientific community. For example, some “scientists” have voiced support of the anti-vaccination movement, but no respectable medical professional is going to tell parents not to vaccinate their kids. If the author doesn’t say who these “scientists” are, they may as well write “My friend Steve, who once took a high school physics class, says ___” for all the credibility it gives them.

The problem with claims about the “witches of old” is that witchcraft is not and never has been a unified tradition. Witchcraft is a practice which has existed in different forms within many cultures throughout history. Even witches living on the same continent at the same time would have very different practices based on their local environments, religions, ethnic heritages, etc. If the author does not specify which magic tradition they’re referring to, the information is pretty much useless.

Avoid any other vague wording or claims to authority that don’t provide an actual source.

Don’t be afraid to fact-check an author!

Do your own research outside of the witchcraft books you read. If you’re interested in mythology, read books written by historians and archaeologists, not just witches. If you’re interested in energy work, read books by doctors and scientists, not just energy workers. If you’re interested in herbs and plants, study their medicinal as well as magical uses. You get the idea.

If an author says something that sounds weird to you, or that seems to contradict what you’ve read in other books, don’t be afraid to do some research. If it turns out to be bullshit, you probably want to take everything else in that book with a grain of salt.

On a related note: some older books contain incorrect information not because the author was dishonest or misinformed, but because that information was widely accepted as true when the book was written, but was later disproved. For example, many academics used to believe in a unified “cult of the Goddess” spanning the continent of Europe in ancient times. This has now been pretty thoroughly disproved by archaeological evidence, but you’ll still see some older books referencing it.

Hopefully these guidelines give y’all a better idea of how to find books to lean on as you’re developing your craft. Research is a big part of witchcraft and paganism, so finding good resources is very, very important.

[acecademia]

What do you think is wrong with The 57 Bus winning an award? Do you like the book and author?

Hi, nonny!

You have activated Rant Mode TM

All my friends are probably sick of me ranting about this book and how much it pissed me off. (It's one of those "okay I'm done." *five seconds later* "AND ANOTHER THING" situations 😂) I wrote a review of this book a while back, which can be found on my website, but I'll go into some of the major points here as well.

Quick overview of the book: The 57 Bus is a non-fiction book written by a journalist named Dashka Slater. It covers a hate crime that occurred in California in 2013. An agender teen named Sasha was riding a public bus and fell asleep. They were wearing a skirt. Another teen (Richard) was also riding this bus with his friends. He didn't know Sasha, but upon seeing them asleep on the bus, he and his friends thought it would be "funny" to set Sasha's skirt on fire (because Sasha didn't present as female and, y'know, people who aren't women wearing skirts is like "offensive" or some shit idk). Sasha woke up on the bus literally on fire. They were burned very badly and had to have surgery. The 57 Bus tells the stories of Sasha and Richard and covers their lives before and after that horrific day.

Deadnaming: Sasha is repeatedly deadnamed throughout the book. There is no indication that they consented to their deadname being published. Deadnaming Sasha does nothing. To quote a popular social media post "if you know a trans person’s deadname, no you don’t." You delete that shit from your memory and move on. That is not their name, and unless they specifically tell you to use it (like in front of family or other people they're not out to), you do not know their deadname. Sasha is also referred to with he/him pronouns occasionally despite explicitly giving their pronouns as they/them. The author also deadnames one of Sasha's trans friends and uses their transness as like a kind of shock/plot twist like "oh hey these kids knew each other before they both came out as trans!!" Also, the author uses she/her pronouns for Sasha's friend before she reveals her big "plot twist" even though he is a trans man and uses he/him pronouns. I've brought this up with trans friends to make sure it wasn't just like cis girl ally crying transphobia, and the people I've spoken to were all super uncomfy with the author's misuse of deadnames and pronouns. Obviously, that doesn't mean that all trans people feel that way, but it's a weird choice that alienates people in that community, so like... bad call imo

Sympathy for Richard: Look, I am a white girl. I don't know what it's like to grow up in the US as a Black boy. I will never fully understand that experience. I recognize that it is difficult and that there's some frankly horrifying bullshit that Black boys and men are put through. However, that doesn't make it okay for them to set people on fire???? There's a weird amount of sympathy for Richard in a "he had a rough life" kind of way when he literally SET SOMEONE ON FIRE. Like, yeah, we need to address systemic racism in our society and move toward racial justice and equity, but we also can't just be like "oh he didn't know any better. society made him that way uwu" when someone literally commits a hate crime.

Misunderstandings of queer identities: One of these isn't on the author, but one of them is. I initially picked up this book because I was writing an annotated bibliography of youth literature with asexual protagonists/subjects or resources that covered asexuality. One of the Library of Congress subject headings for this book was "Asexual people—California—Violence against—Juvenile literature." Here's the thing: Sasha is asexual, sure. But the crime that was committed against them wasn't because they were asexual but because they were agender. So that's like just a complete misunderstanding of terminology there. Secondly, the author includes a glossary of LGBTQ+ terms but chose to write her own definitions rather than, say, going to a reputable source or, idk, asking queer people? As such, she defines being asexual as "Not physically attracted to anyone," which is kind of reductive and overly simplistic. It's a spectrum.

Sources? What Sources? (aka Citation Needed): SERIOUSLY, LADY, WHERE ARE YOU GETTING YOUR INFO FROM??? She says that she got some information or quotes from the social media pages of Sasha and Richard (and maybe their friends? idr), but other than that, she gives 0 indication of the sources of any of the facts she spews. Like, there are parts where she gives statistics. Like hard numbers. And she doesn't say where she got the numbers from??? There are no in-text citations, no footnotes, and no backmatter explaining where she's getting this information. And like hey, she's a journalist, so maybe she's not used to like doing full-on academic source citing, but come on, you can't just use numbers to back up your argument, refuse to tell me where they came from, and then expect me to just accept it at face value. You can't just say you did "extensive research" and refuse to elaborate. You could have googled that and gotten your numbers from a Twitter shitpost for all I know.

Format: This is a non-fiction book about a real and traumatic incident that actually happened. It was written by a journalist. So why, why does it randomly switch between prose and poetry?? What is the point of the poetry? What does it add? Nothing, that's what it adds.

I don't understand why this book won awards. I'm not sure who was on the committees for those awards that year, but like.... I'd be surprised if there was more than like maybe 1 trans person at most (and I kind of doubt that there was even 1).

Anyway, that's my big rant about The 57 Bus and why I hate it. If there are trans people who felt differently about it, I'd love to hear different perspectives! That also goes for people of color who have comments on the way that Richard was portrayed and treated throughout the book.

[ellaofoakhill]

Why You Should Read...

So I recently finished reading Scythe, the first book in the Arc of a Scythe trilogy by Neal Schusterman, and I feel.. a little conflicted.

First, let me say that, objectively, it’s a well-written story, and Schusterman--take a look at his bibliography--clearly knows what he’s doing. To summarize, the story follows two protagonists, Citra Terranova and Rowan Damisch, who are chosen by a scythe to become his apprentices. In this far future (the 24th and a half century, roughly), human beings have attained immortality*, and all our needs and wants are provided by the Thunderhead, an artificial intelligence that grew out of the Cloud we know today, and, as far as I’ve read, anyway, it seems to be entirely benevolent.

Now, though, I should come to the asterisk beside the word immortality. Naturally, humanity’s population exploded with all this lack of death and everything being provided for us, but we still needed some form of population control; we needed a way to die. Hence the scythes; they glean people, and the people they glean stay dead. Naturally, this gives the scythes tremendous power, and they’re treated by the world as such, usually with varying degrees of fear or sycophancy.

And--I’m going to try and avoid spoilers throughout this little commentary--this all has a serious impact on our protagonists, who are both compassionate people who live in a society where death is all but a bad memory.

There’s a fair exploration of all this within the story, but I can’t help but feel it takes a back seat to The Plot, in which Citra and Rowan are forced--through means I won’t go into--to compete for their promotion to proper scythes, and the winner will be forced to glean the loser. And it is through this plot contrivance that Neal introduces a number of typical YA tropes.

Again, the man knows his stuff, and he handles them all very well, and does a number of things that surprised me throughout (yet still made sense with hindsight) and kept the story entertaining, but at the same time the little voice in the back of my head (yes, that creep) was saying “You didn’t have to do this, Neal! You didn’t have to make this a typical YA story!”

And while that little voice often seems to take immense pleasure in ruining good stories for me, he (they? I haven’t asked my little voice how it identifies) may have a point here. Because here’s the thing: you don’t need to have a big overarching plot to make or keep a story interesting. And I feel like it may have gotten in the way here.

Bear with me. Neal makes it clear neither Citra nor Rowan knew anyone, prior to meeting their teacher-to-be, who had died; it was a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend sort of thing. And they are abruptly taken from several degrees of separation from death to ground zero, watching people die over and over and over again. In a society that does virtually nothing to prepare people for the end. Not that this information is withheld in any way. With the chances of any one person dying grown so astronomically tiny that it’s plausible for a person to live ten thousand years, human culture as a whole has fundamentally changed, with the most obvious consequence being that Citra and Rowan have no clue how to deal with death because their society has no idea how to teach them.

And this by itself is dark and weird and so, so plausible. In western culture, among the privileged, death is more remote than ever before in human history. And even 100 years ago in World War 1, when average lifespans were much shorter, lots of people who went off to war came back with PTSD. Why? Because while everyone knew they must eventually die, their relatively peaceful youths had been spent conditioning them to believe that killing someone else was fundamentally wrong, and that to do so was loathsome. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the propaganda machine was and is a powerful force that can make it easier for one person to kill another, but that deeper conditioning and that lack of experience with inflicting death run so harshly counter to war that it did and does break lots of people, who often spend years putting their pieces back together, and too often never do.

So imagine, if you will, what might happen to someone who hasn’t just been told and conditioned their entire life not to kill, but lives in a culture where dying itself has all but passed away? I was fascinated by the earliest part of the story, that started going into this, and the potential ways these two kids could go, hints at where this traumatic path might take them. And Neal wrote it so vividly. And it was deeply personal, what these two characters felt as they helped kill people as part of a necessary process to help ensure humanity didn’t consume all the resources on earth and starve itself. And their teacher tried his damndest to make sure they not only did all of this in the right way, but that they themselves were psychologically taken care of as best he could manage.

There’s one scene where Rowan has to pick who his teacher will next glean, and I’ll try not to spoil it for you, but it is powerful and awful and crookedly beautiful, both how he slowly spirals at the prospective consequences of his choice, and how his teacher snaps him out of that self-destructive mindset.

And then the plot started getting in the way.

I won’t go into it any further than I already have, and Neal worked well with said plot, but i feel like not having an overarching plot would have made this whole story a creeping slow-burn of suspense as we see these two young people crack under the burden of this calling, and either fall apart or find whatever interpretation or justification they can for what they do. It would also have made it unlike any YA I’ve read, where the story is the education, rather than an addition to it. This could’ve had a powerful lotr feel, that “yes, good things are happening now, but there’s a lot of bitter in that sweetness, and while a lot of evil things have left the world, a lot of ancient wonder has to”. And while there is some of that, it is, sadly, pushed into the background about halfway through, rather than being allowed the focus it deserves.

See, there’s a lot of talk in the writing community that we should be focusing on character arcs as opposed to plot arcs, and I feel like there are a lot of missed opportunities here in YA in general, and this was one of them. And I think what frustrates me about this is that Neal has such a clear grasp of his characters that they, by themselves, could easily power an entire novel or trilogy. He is clearly good enough to pull this off. And he chose not to.

You could argue that I’m seeing the glass as half-empty, and that’s fair; I’m lamenting the story that could’ve been, and not lauding the one that is. But I do wonder, the way things seem to change trajectory partway through, if Neal might have been editorially persuaded to write something more typical. I don’t know, and again, the story he wrote still has lots of good points, and is worth a read. I recommend it, and if you find it half as thought-provoking as I did, feel free to drop me a message; after all, a lot of this is my highly subjective opinion.

[melancholic-pigeon]

I would like everyone to know in advance, if I ever reblog advice on commenting, it is not directed at lurkers generally; it is directed at the specific people who want comment and don't know where to start. This is and will remain a lurker-friendly space.

I have a lot of thoughts churning around in my brain about the Commenting DiscourseTM.

It seems to me that because people can be assholes and assholes tend to be louder, people do not always feel safe reblogging or kudosing or commenting, because of a. witch hunts, b. asshole authors who shit on their commenters, c. any reason whatsoever. And that's always valid, and very important to keep in mind.

It's also absolutely true that guilting people into it is not going to help people feel more comfortable with commenting. Making things obligatory is, in my experience, one of the fastest ways to stop people from engaging in a fun hobby.

Lurkers are amazing. I've been one. I know intellectually that all of this is true.

However, I don't think it's entirely fair to act like authors are entitled for desperately wanting feedback.

and again, I AM FULLY AWARE THIS IS MY OWN SHIT, NONE PEOPLE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY FEELINGS OTHER THAN ME, THIS IS TRUE FOR EVERYTHING.

Someone put forth a metaphor framing it as a business transaction. I disagree that fandom is a business transaction. I'm thinking of it more in terms of a street performance. (Pretend for the sake of the metaphor that money is not a factor.)

No one person is obligated to do anything. It still hurts when you're sitting out in a huge square and a crowd of people gathers around you to hear your music, and less than one percent of them clap, a smaller percentage than that tell you they like it, and the rest (>99%) walk away without so much as a nod.

yes, I know the majority of them are probably going "oh, neat!" and may even come back and see me again. I'm certain there are some who wanted to say something, but they'd been heckled by performers before, and now they're afraid to. This is not any single person's fault or responsibility.

But it's also true that after a while, on bad days when every person who stops to watch you just walks away when you’re done without smiling or nodding or clapping or speaking or anything, you start going through periods where you wish you'd just stayed in your living room with two or three friends, because the vast, overwhelming majority of people don't react at all, in any way, whatsoever.

You can't know if people are walking away because they're shy and afraid, or if they're walking away because they're gathering evidence to make a nasty callout and spread around libel because you sang a problematic sea shanty.

Writers are scared too. And I really, really don't think the majority of us are angry and entitled; I think we're typically extremely insecure about our writing and terrified that we're awful and hurting because humans don't like feeling ignored.

That said, the solution to this isn't to guilt lurkers, and there very much are street performers who scream at the crowd for not applauding or throw tomatoes at people who applaud wrong or rant about how applause is meaningless if you don't personally write the musician a twenty-page double-sided essay on everything you liked, in perfect MLA format, with citations and a three-page bibliography.

I honestly don't think there's a good solution here. Because some writers say "please comment sometimes" and mean "YOU PERSONALLY MUST COMMENT EVERY TIME", and some readers say "don't guilt people into commenting" when they mean "YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO FEEL DEMORALIZED BY PUTTING YOUR HEART ON THE INTERNET AND BEING MET WITH CRICKETS". This is not AT ALL the majority of the people making these points, but again with the Loud Asshole principle.

I don't know. I guess it bothers me from both ends. When I see people talk about author entitlement, it just makes me tired.

I'm not angsty about lack of feedback because I think I'm owed feedback, or because I don't appreciate the feedback I get, or because I think my lurkers are all secretly assholes. I'm angsty about it because I legitimately 100% think I'm a bad writer. My gremlin brain assumes that when people don't kudos, when nothing goes up but the hits, it's my fault for being a disappointment. Just because this is true doesn't mean I'm blaming anyone for it, or unaware it's my baggage to carry.

And like I said above, when I encourage commenting, it's directed at the people who told me they're sorry their (lovely, moving) comments don't make sense or aren't good enough, and particularly the people who want to be that person but haven't actually gotten over the hump yet. That if you have something to say, anything at all, I consider that a precious gift and will probably offer you my fucking soul on a platter!

Actually, scratch that, there is a solution.

Since I feel this way about comments, I try to comment on everything I read. (I don't always succeed! If I actually shamed people for lurking, I'd be a class-A hypocrite!) The way to fix this is to comment more, and I am a person who is capable of doing that sometimes, so I can and should be proactive in this arena.

I'm in control of my commenting habits. When I'm feeling down, I find something to comment on. It's ultimately more productive for me than dwelling, and oh, look at that, it's increased someone's comment ratio, and required no guilting of other people!

I feel pretty strongly about personal agency, not mixing up individual and systemic responsibility for problems, gray areas being way more ubiquitous than we give them credit for, and assuming everyone is doing their best until they prove otherwise beyond a reasonable doubt.

I think we can both avoid laying blame for systemic issues on individual actors while also not minimizing that the issue exists.

[dadoroki]

Too Far Gone

Pyscho!Dabi x Reader

Warnings: possessive, obsessive, cursing, sociopath au, pyschopath au.

Summary: You caught the mysterious man’s attention at the bar you worked at. He wanted to get to know you. He spent his days with you and gradually, his affection grew into something so menacing.

Slowly, I become lost in my own sanity.

How far could you go before you lose control?

When you grow up in a broken home, you start to feel broken yourself.

Dabi walked, shoulders back, yet eyes frequently struggling to stay open. He felt the life being drained out of him.

During an attack scheme, he met eyes with the red and white haired teen. The little brother he grew up with was now much older. Shoto couldn’t even recognize him, shooting a permanent pain to his chest. He hated Endevour for taking away his childhood. The potential for a great and joyful future.

A wave of depression hits him. Perhaps that's the emotional optimum in this shallow society. Even hero’s have dark secrets locked away from the spotlight of their supporters. And Dabi was the witness.

The bar was always his go-to place when he felt lost in thought. He shields his face with the hoodie on his sweater. Dabi was one of the most wanted villains so he was always forced to avoid attention.

He lowly watches his feet take steady steps across the wooden tiles, covering his face. Everyone naturally assumed he was a quiet person. He slumped on his usual stool and adjusted his hoodie, not bothering to look up.

“The usual.”

A soft voice replied to him, catching him off guard.

“Um, what’s your usual?”

He glances up, meeting a pair of eyes he had never seen before. She must be new. The way she held the glass was awkward, soft silky hair tied back, eyes glowing as the light above hovered over them.

“Make me your recommendation.”

You nod your head with a smile. Dabi watches as you pour a half ounce of lemon juice, a half ounce of blackberry syrup, and one ounce and a half of tequila into a glass cup. You filled it with ice and capped it, putting the concoction up to your ear and shaking it. You uncapped it, pouring the pink hue liquid into a smaller glass and serving it to him.

Dabi took a sip of the blackberry cocktail, the addictive sensation flowing through his tastebuds. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was good or if it was because it was made by you. He looked up, only to see you were gone helping another customer.

Dabi slouched back into his seat on the park bench. There was nobody around so it was safe to relax. He closed his eyes, remembering your first encounter and how you were effortlessly stunning.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

He opened his eyes, his blurry vision trying to focus on your figure. He rapidly blinked, trying to clear his vision and hoping his eyes weren’t deceiving him. But here you were, eyes now clear and set on you.

You giggle and take the unoccupied seat next to him. “Were you waiting for me?” You smirk at his blushed reaction and wait for a response.

“Yeah, actually. I wanted to get to know you and I didn’t know if I’d actually see you again.”

You rest your eyes and study the sky.

“I mean I work at the bar. I wouldn’t get paid if I decided to lay off.”

Dabi internally face palmed, asking himself why he’d ask such a dull question. You let out a laugh that he could only describe as music to his ears. You extended your hand to him.

“(Y/n).”

He gladly took it, never wanting to let go.

“Dabi.”

After that affair, you both spent most of your days together. He would constantly surprise you at work, go on romantic dates, and stay at each other’s places, sometimes ending up heated. He will never forget your beautiful bare body on top of his, pressing slow kissing around his neck.

You were mesmerizing. Dabi never met someone like you before. He felt loved and less lonely. He never had worry about being alone anymore now that you were with him.

You laid on your messy bed, ready to sleep away your exhaustion. Before trailing off into a deep sleep, your phone decided to alert you of a notification. You groaned, rolling over to your phone to see it was a text from your boyfriend.

It read “can you meet me rn? I miss you.”

You smiled reading the text. This man just came to visit you earlier in the day and he still wanted more. You quickly text him back, asking for the location.

You cautiously eye the abandoned house. This was definitely not what you were expecting. Yes, you and your boyfriend liked trying new things. New places. But this was far beyond a no from you. Ignoring your instincts, you slid open the broken down door and made your way inside.

“Babe?”, you called out but nothing in response.

“Babe, if this is one of your sick roleplaying jokes, I’m done. I don’t like this.”

You suddenly tripped and landed very harshly on the ground. You groan and rubbed your knees, looking down to see one of the flooring tiles popped up.

You kneel infront of the tile, pushing it back into it’s place. It didn’t budge. You huffed impatiently, pulling it up from it’s place and to your surprise, you found the hole filled with items. Curiosity got the best of you as you dug around. You picked up a worn out book and opened the pages. How cute you thought. It was a diary with neat cursive writing, a long journal detailing a profound love. You flip the pages in awe, until you stop with a horrified expression.

Unaware photos of you being taken, some even provocative. Photos taken outside your house. A strong detailed bibliography about you with some information that nobody even knew. A piece of your hair cut out and taped on a page. You close the book shut, afraid to go any further. You look to see what else was in the hole, those consist of being your belongings. A bright sparkle caught your eye and you went to pick up the item to see it was a bracelet your ex had given you.

You jump back, hearing a harsh knock on the doorframe. You glance at the bright blue eyes piercing into yours.

“Oh, hey.”

Dabi’s eyes travel from the item-filled hole back to you.

“What are you doing?”

You jolt up, dusting yourself off and making your way to the exit. “I was just leaving.”

You felt his hand grab the nape of your shirt, pulling you down to the ground. Sharp splinters punctured itself under your body.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

Dabi only shook his head in return. He eyes you pathetically, as tears began welling in your eyes.

“Who was the guy, (y/n)?”

It’s true. When Dabi came by for his regular visits, he was only met with you flirting with another guy who was not him. You were way too close to the tipsy man and even placed a kiss on his lips.

Wait, how did he know your name. You never met this guy before. Your eyes wander to his occupied hand, gripping a smartphone. Your boyfriends smartphone. You observe the man’s features, taking it all in and trying to retrace where you had seen him before.

And then you remembered. This guy was the guy from the bar you worked at. He always covered his face but you distinctively remember his it. All those scars and staples. He was always to himself, always sitting alone ordering his usual.

Your mouth began to tremble, body poisoned in petrified fear. Dabi started to amble his way towards you. With every step he took, you crawled backwards.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”, you scream, releasing all your pent up anger and confusion.

Afraid.

That was the only emotion you were feeling at this moment.

A tsk escapes his mouth, truly hurt by your words. He tries to maintain his composure, keeping silent. He didn’t want to hurt you. To have to use his quirk on you.

“Yo-you’re fucking crazy!”

If he can’t have you, no one can.