#every history book is really a document of two histories

[hsw3k]

Even English colonialism is born out of a weird hero-worship for the Romans who colonised Britain. When I was in primary school learning about the Romans there was a big focus on how they brought the “gifts of civilisation” (i.e. straight roads, plumbing) to Britain and tamed the “barbarian tribes” (i.e. our ancestors).

This is baked right into the language developed by historians of the Roman Empire. The period of time when the Romans were aggressively expanding their territory is referred to as “Pax Romana,” and the emperors who ruled during this era are called the “Five Good Emperors.” Because things were peaceful and good… if you lived in Rome. Not so much if you belonged to a Germanic or Numidian tribe.

Out of that mentality we get “Pax Brittanica,” describing the period of time when Britain brought the “gifts of civilisation” to the rest of the world. There’s a famous chart from the time that shows the world colour-coded by “degrees of civilisation,” ranging from “Savage” to “Enlightened.” Like a video game where the goal is to hit 100% completion.

And alllll of this is baked into Sinners. The vampires don’t see themselves as monsters. They see themselves as benevolent superiors bringing a gift to the barbarians inside the barn. (While also, conveniently, taking all the stuff that they want from them.)

if sinners (2025) taught me anything, it's that it IS actually always about race.

you can be oppressed, and still promote and maintain the very same systems of oppression onto other marginalized people. being oppressed in one dimension doesn't allow you to be exempt from oppressing in other dimensions. the "villain" of the movie, remmick, being from the time period of the english colonization of ireland, all the while wanting to take a piece of sammie's own culture from him, use him for it. and this plot point coming after remmick witnesses the significance of sammie's playing within his culture, for his ancestors and how it would shape Black culture in the future.

even in today's society, ive noticed that people treat Black people like a commodity. our worth is only as much as other people decide it to be, and that's usually dependent on how much the oppressor can take from us. for example, the controversy of"internet slang" and how it is blatantly just AAVE with a bad disguise on

do you listen to Black musicians? do you watch Black movies? do you engage with Black creators? do you defend the racist tendencies you notice in your friends, in your family, or do you stay silent? do you listen when Black people tell you you've said or done something racist? do you actually care about not being racist, or do you just not want to look like you're racist?

i just think people have a very specific take on what racism is, and that if they're not committing KKK-levels of violence on people, then they're not racist. or if you've experienced oppression in one form, you cannot possibly be engaging with oppression in another form. but the ways in which we interact with other people and the world will always be through the lens of race, because that is simply what it means for oppression to be systemic, especially in the US and our current political climate

anyway 10/10 movie. highly recommend

[andhumanslovedstories]

I've been getting really into the idea of purposeful primary documents. Sometimes when I'm writing a journal entry, I'll stop to explain in excruciating detail something that I take for granted as common knowledge, like exactly what the process of getting groceries looks like for me. I have two main motivations. One, so many practical every day details of life get forgotten as time goes on, and losing that texture affects our understanding our history. Judith Flanders' book The Victorian City: Everyday Life in Dickens' London focuses on a glorious level of minutiae--jobs, railways, rivers, sewers, entertainment, sounds, smells--that fundamentally altered how I view this period in history. You don't need to understand how the implementation of gas lights on the streets affected London life to get the gist of major political movements at the time, but god does that information make everything so much more real.

My second purpose is someone someday is going to write a period piece about the time when I grew up, and I like to imagine that one hundred years from now, someone might read a scanned version of my journal and go, "oh thank god, THAT'S how doordash worked." And then they still write it wrong so their blorbos can fuck.

[maureenjohnsonbooks]

A friendly hello in an unfriendly time

(The following was the content of my most recent newsletter, which you can get for yourself if you like.)

HELLO FRIENDS So. Um. What a time, huh? Things are not great. I really hope you are doing okay. I went a bit quiet on social media after the election (at least on IG--I am on Bluesky ALL THE TIME). It felt weird to be talking about my own books, so for a few months I didn't. But I was making them! I am currently well into the sixth STEVIE BELL MYSTERY, and I have finished (along with my friend Jay Cooper) a MYSTERY that is coming out in September! It is called You Are the Detective: The Creeping Hand Murder. The book is a dossier, a collection of documents and pictures. You are the detective and Scotland Yard has handed YOU the case file. You have to solve the mystery. When you think you have the answer, you open a SEALED ENVELOPE IN THE BACK WITH THE SOLUTION.

Here is a Proof of Life pic of us working on page proofs:

Working on this side by side on art and design to put together a GREAT MYSTERY has been amazing. It looks REALLY, REALLY GOOD. I cannot wait to show it to you.

MORE BOOK STUFF. I am thrilled beyond belief say that Death at Morning Househas been nominated for an Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America. As a mystery person, this is very meaningful to me. I don't know if I will get that little Poe head, but I'm just happy to be invited. Death at Morning House is a story about a few things that are relevant right now. It's about how our American past informs our American present, which is currently a tire fire. Our history isn't buried that deep. It's just that people don't want to acknowledge it, and they don't want you acknowledging it either. They will take every book out of the library rather than let history be told. A few things in the book that are ringing some bells right now. Two things I knew about while writing it and one I did not. 1. America's history with eugenics. Whoooo. We loved eugenics and Nazism (the literal kind) was WAY TOO POPULAR. We need to know this history--and this is the story book banners are trying to retell or erase. The backstory of the book involves a family, the Ralstons, who are regarded as the ideal American family. Look at them! They are rich! They wear matching outfits and live in a mansion! And they love eugenics! (Well, some of them do.) In creating the Ralstons, I kept things very close to historical reality. I actually had to tone things down for the book because the reality would have become so overwhelming that the story would tilt off balance. But we built a lot of things on the back of eugenics and racism and those things cannot stand.

2. Queer joy is important and needs to be front and center! Marlowe, the main character in Death at Morning House, is proudly and cheerfully queer and in love! She is romantic! And sure, her timing isn't always great, but love will prevail! Affirm queer lives. Protect trans kids. Never, ever, ever back down from this. 3. Canada is our friend. This one, I didn't see coming. I didn't think we were going to get into a TRADE WAR WITH CANADA because I don't drink bleach and hallucinate weird events. Ralston Island is on the imaginary line that squiggles through the St. Lawrence River that separates America and Canada. We are intertwined. WE LOVE CANADA. (Bonus fact: my grandfather was Canadian. He was born in British Columbia, in Nanaimo, and my aunt there made the best Nanaimo bars. If you have never had one, don't sleep on this. Try one now. Here are dairy and vegan versions. GO CANADA!) Whether you read my books or not--reading ANY books, supporting libraries, talking about books, sharing books--THAT IS WHAT IS IMPORTANT. Use your library. It really, really helps them to get footfall. Ask the librarian how they are doing. Aside from books (though books will help you through just about anything), I wanted to recommend a few silly and life-affirming things I enjoy. Just some stuff you can watch or listen to that are a guaranteed GOOD TIME. 1. I'm a recent and massive fan of Watcher TV, specifically Shane and Ryan (who used to do Buzzfeed Unsolved). They have a few shows out there, but I am going to recommend Puppet History, which is spectacular. You can get started maybe with this episode on the straw hat riot, but they are all funny. MAKE SURE TO WATCH THE SONGS. 2. I'm a long time fan of The Dollop history podcast, which is a comedy podcast that gets very, very real! But is also comedy? They get into the reality of American history and talk about a lot of the things I mentioned above. But they also have some absolute classics that are just VERY FUNNY. A quick playlist of pure absurdity: the Egg Nog Riot, the 1908 New York to Paris Car Race, and Action Park. 3. I can't speak highly enough of Anxious People, which you can watch on Netflix. A mysterious person runs into an open house apartment viewing and takes a group of people hostage--then vanishes? And no one saw a thing? This locked room mystery turns into something magical and will reaffirm your faith in other people. IT'S SO GOOD. 4. Two UK shows that own my heart (well, many do, but these will fix you): Ghosts and Ludwig. (Note: NOT the Ghosts on CBS. I am strict about this.) You can see Ghosts some US streaming services, but come closer...I will whisper something to you...*looks around*...you can get into BBC iPlayer by using a VPN and then entering some random UK post code and saying that you have a TV license. They won't come after you. You may have to try a few VPNs but one will work. Using this method, you can also watch Channel 4 online. GET YOURSELF SOME UK COMEDY. UK, WE NEED YOU. 5. If I only have three minutes to dispel the vapors I watch this. If I have five, I do a Murdle. If I have ten, I do this thing where you look at art for ten minutes. If I have fifteen I play Splendor Duel on board game arena. Whenever you are, whatever is going on, I hope you are okay. Remember, the answer has always been and will always be taking care of each other. None of this is easy. With love, I remain, Maureen Johnson, author

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#RedForEd rides again in LA

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in CHICAGO with PETER SAGAL on WEDNESDAY (Apr 2), and in BLOOMINGTON on FRIDAY (Apr 4). More tour dates here.

The LA Teachers' Union is going on strike.

Fuck.

Yes.

The last time the LA teachers struck was in the midst of the 2019 #RedForEd wave, which kicked off during the last Trump presidency. All across the country, teachers walked out – even in states where they were legally prohibited from doing so. These strikes were hugely successful, because communities across the nation rallied around their teachers, and the teachers returned the favor, making community justice part of their goals.

This was true across America, but it was especially true in Los Angeles, where the teachers were militant, united, relentless, and brilliant. The story of the 2019 LA Teachers' Strike is recounted in Jane McAlevey's essential 2021 book A Collective Bargain, which recounts her history as a union organizer on multiple successful unionization drives and strikes, including that fateful teachers' strike:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey learned her tactics from a lineage of organizers who predated the legalization of unions and the National Labor Relations Act. Accordingly, her organizing method didn't rely on bosses obeying the law, or governments sticking up for workers. She fought for victories that were won by pure worker power. The 2019 LA teachers' strike is a fantastic example, a literal textbook case about rallying support from the entire shop – including affiliated workers, like bus-drivers – and then broadening that massive support by bringing in related trades (the LA charter school teachers walked out with their public school comrades), and the community.

The LA teachers' community organizing was incredible. They worked with community groups to understand what LA families really needed, and made those families' demands into union demands. The LA teachers' demands included:

in-school social workers;

parks and green-spaces in or near every LA public school; and

a total ban on ICE agents shaking down parents at the school gates.

Environmental justice, immigration justice, racial justice – these issues were every bit as important to the LA teachers in 2019 as wages, working conditions and vacation pay. And. They. WON.

Not only did the LA teachers win everything they struck for, they built an enduring community organization that ran a massive get out of the vote effort for the 2020 elections and flipped two seats for Democrats, securing Biden's Congressional majority.

So now the teachers are walking out again, and while their demands include wage increases (the greedinflation crisis wiped out many of the gains won in the 2019 strike – though imagine how much worse things would be without those gains!), the demands also include a slate of bold, no-fucks-given, material measures to fight back agains the Trump administration and its fascism:

https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2025-03-26/l-a-teachers-union-pursues-salary-hike-progressive-goals-amid-trump-agenda

This time around, the LA teachers are demanding:

"targeted investment in the recruitment and retention of BIPOC, multilingual and immigrant educators and service providers" – that's right, the DEI stuff that makes Trump's incipient aneurysm throb visibly in his temple (keep throbbing, li'l guy, I believe in you!).

"support for, defense and expansion of the school district’s Black Student Achievement Plan and Ethnic Studies" – the same programs that make wrestling faildaughter Linda McMahon get the fantods.

“strengthened policies to support LGBTQIA+ students, educators and staff” – take that, Elon.

"increased support for immigrant students and families, with and without documentation, including support for newcomers" – up yours, Stephen Miller, you pencilneck Hitler wannabe.

Where'd all these demands come from? 665 meetings that solicited input from "students, parents and other community members." In other words, these are our demands – the demands of Angelenos.

Trump is a scab. Musk is a scab. They hate unions. They've put the National Labor Relations Board into a coma, illegally firing a board member so that the board no longer has a quorum and can no longer take most actions. But the tactics the LA teachers used to organize their victory under the last Trump regime didn't rely on the NLRB – it relied on worker power. That power is only stronger today. The NLRB exists because workers built power when unions were illegal. Killing the NLRB doesn't kill worker power. Worker power comes from workers, not the government:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/29/which-side-are-you-on-2/#strike-three-yer-out

Now that Trump has canceled labor laws, all bets are off. Trump is illegally breaking the contracts of federal workers, as a prelude to eliminating unions nationwide. As Hamilton Nolan writes, this is the time to take a stand:

It is unreasonable to run around demanding a general strike every time a single union gets in a hard fight. It is not unreasonable to demand a general strike when the very existence of unions is under direct attack by a government that cares nothing about us, and does not respect our contracts, and is attempting to throw in the trash the union contracts covering hundreds of thousands of our fellow union members, as a step towards doing the same thing to millions more of our fellow union members. This is the bombing of Pearl Harbor, against the labor movement. Will we say, “We are filing a lawsuit against this illegal bombing, and we will keep you all updated as it progresses?” Will we say, “Pearl Harbor is way out in Hawaii. I’m glad those bombs didn’t fall where I live.” These are the terms that the union world needs to be thinking in, right now. This is not an exaggeration. If we do not go to war, the husk of American unions that emerges at the end of the Trump administration will be, probably, about half as big as it was when the Trump administration started, and immeasurably weaker. That is not an acceptable outcome if you believe that increasing organized labor’s strength is the key to saving this country, which it is.

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/they-are-going-to-take-everything

McAlevey – who died in 2024 – agreed with Nolan. She wrote vibrantly about how union organizing, and the solidarity it nurtures, was the key to a revitalized democracy and a nation that truly takes care of its people, rather than lining them up in billionaires' feedlots.

I gotta go. I'm on my way to a Tesla protest. Maybe you could find one near you to join, too:

https://actionnetwork.org/event_campaigns/teslatakedown

But if I don't see you at this one, I'll see you on the picket line – with the LA teachers, the federal workers, and everyone else who's taking a stand against this scab presidency.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/29/jane-mcalevey/#trump-is-a-scab

[skyfallscotland]

🐉 ONYX STORM PROLOGUE, CHAPTERS ONE & TWO MY THOUGHTS: (god bless the dutch 🇳🇱)

So not totally verified yet, but it seems legit. This is absolutely the scene I expected us to be starting with, and despite the translation it does read like Rebecca. Thank you so much to @thestarseternaal for sharing it with me! You can find it here.

Ok, let's fucking goooooo! 🤘

· That trigger warning list? "The death of an animal" 💀😬 The "descriptions of sexual acts" though, thank god, though it's not looking promising for the two of them so far.

· Garrick and Bodhi KNOW?! Ok that I didn't see coming?

· "I can't blame him for wanting to know what he is" ANDARNA 😭 "I'm as much in the dark as he is, and you trust me." 😭 I want to hug the baby

· "Magic feels different when I change colours. When I used my power, it was like the venin transformed, weakening-" Ok so confirmed, she's the solution they're looking for *sigh*

· It's going to be unfortunate if the allies we're seeking are just Poromiel, and I think they are given both the excerpt prior to the prologue and the fact the Target edition map had only a few places in Poromiel on it and no Isles. I guess we're not looking for Andarna's family over there until books four and five? 😞

· Wait...what? Leadership knows what Andarna is? Everyone knows? Who TF told them? I was certain they didn't see? I can't believe we spent all this time worrying about people knowing she was a baby when she bonded and y'all just told everyone she was a super special rare breed right off the bat. SMDH.

· Aotrom's only 22? 😭 I'm older than Aotrom? RIDOC and him are the same age, that makes so much sense!!

· TAIRN CALLS XADEN "THE DARK ONE"? 😭 I feel like I'm not going to like Tairn much this book, and I feel like he's gonna ☠️ but that's for my theory post.

· "His soul is no longer his own" "That's a bit dramatic." VIOLET I LOVE YOU 🖤

· "You mean whether I'll support you in the thousand ways you want to face death to heal someone who's beyond redemption?" Oh Tairn...why do I get the really, really bad feeling you lied about Naolin?

· The truth-sayers have let Caroline Ashton off the hook? Hmmmm suspicious. Everyone's evil, I just know it.

· "Devera and Kaori will be back soon. They’ll straighten out the command structure once the princes have signed a treaty that hopefully grants us grace for even leaving in the first place." Ummm princes plural? So I guess Cam hid for nothing? Well not nothing, but he's...back with his fam? Also why would they be signing shit? Where's the damn king?!

· "The rarest signet, which appear once per generation or century, have been documented twice simultaneously with an equal counterpart, both during critical times in our history, but only once have the six most powerful walked the Continent at the same time. As fascinating as that spectacle must have been, I would rather not witness it again in my lifetime. – A study of signets by Major Dalton Sisneros" Ok could be a weird translation but I'm confused by this. The counterpart thing could be either a rider and a venin (ie. one of the venin can distance wield and we're getting a distance wielder) or dark and light, ie. shadows and light. Also six like the first six and they all had partners within themselves? Three pairs? Or? What even were their signets because I can't believe we've NEVER FUCKING ASKED? I've literally never seen that mentioned and it seems...so fucking relevant.

· Perhaps a more outlandish theory, but I think the venin with the silver hair who distance wields might be Xaden's mother. I'll elaborate later, but 😬😬

· Ok well, 1. I'm fucking crying already, and 2. "Even if I reached the rank of Maven, led armies of dark wielders against everyone we care about, and if I had to watch every vein in my body turn red because I had drained all the powers of the Continent, I would still love you. What I’ve done doesn’t change that. I don’t know if that’s even possible." That's a little bit storm in the quiet, I love it when the vibe is proven ✨correct✨ 😭 @justallihere

So all in all, 1. As expected, every excerpt, hint, and thing we've thought about it over in one-two chapters, 2. This is going to hurt so bad and I think it will go as I expected, and 3. I'm still not ready 😭

Send help 🥺

[iamthemain-character]

Dragon Bite

draco malfoy x reader she/her TW: highly suggestive (no smut), biting, draco is lowkey insane, i put 5k words in this bad boy, this was written for my favorite critic so i couldn't get her to proofread this is a request. you know who you are. <3 image used was found on pinterest, linked in the image :)

harry potter masterlist

Draco is a constellation in the far northern sky. Its name is Latin for dragon. It was one of the 48 constellations listed by the 2nd century Greek astronomer Ptolemy, and remains one of the 88 modern constellations today. The north pole of the ecliptic is in Draco.[1] Draco is circumpolar from northern latitudes, meaning that it never sets and can be seen at any time of year.

In some settings, dragons tend to guard hoards of treasure — typically by lying on top of it.

It was one kiss. And not even a real one. Being drunk on firewhiskey and giving into a dare didn’t count. Everyone had a Spin the bottle or Seven Minutes in heaven story, nobody was more stupid than sixth and seventh year Hogwarts students. And you were no different. It had been one of the illicit parties happening in the Hufflepuff common room, with drinks and magical concoctions flowing far too freely. But everyone was ready for graduation, high on life and the prospect of the future. So when a dare–or maybe it was a game, you couldn’t really recall–had pushed you and Draco Malfoy together, your usual logic and apprehension were absent from your thoughts. What you did remember, however, was his lips. They were soft, which had surprised you, and much like his skin, they were a little cool. But things had heated up plenty in the moment, as he had taken charge, maneuvering your mouth together in a way that was far too good for a casual kiss. You could remember the way his hand had cupped the back of your neck, ringed fingers catching in your hair as he directed you. You couldn’t recall if the kiss had lasted a second or an hour, but when the two of you had broken apart, he was gone in an instant, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation on your lips. 

Your heart had given you plenty of trouble after that night, fluttering frustratedly every time you saw him after that. But he had never acknowledged it, had never even so much as looked at you again, so you stuffed those feelings away, refusing to let one kiss with a snobby boy ruin your life. And after graduation, you moved on, and it became easier to forget the blonde boy with the delectable lips. 

That was, until now. 

After leaving Hogwarts, you had become an author, receiving notable acclaim with your most recent book documenting the history of potion making and how it differed according to the geographical region. The newfound fame and fortune had certainly been overwhelming at times, but you were grateful for the new doors and opportunities your success had brought. What you weren’t enthralled about, however, were the numerous events you suddenly had to attend. Your agent assured you it was good for publicity, but you honestly didn’t care for the rooms full of stuffy air and stuffier people. Though it was a good excuse to get glammed up with professional makeup and designer dresses. 

The glitter and satin soon lost their shine as you sat in the crowded ballroom. The aesthetic hors d’oeuvres sat half touched on your plate, the little delicacies not nearly as tasty as they looked. And even if they had been delicious, your stomach was currently housing a storm worthy of the anger of poseidon. To top it all off, the room was hot, the sea of black suits and neutral toned dresses taking up too much space, a little too close to you. Even your agent had abandoned you to do some “networking”. 

Unceremoniously, you threw back the last of your champagne, rising from your little spot of isolation to try to find a restroom. You bore your clutch as your shield, protecting you from the stray elbows and backsides of the crowd. Eventually, you emerged on the other side, quickly exiting out the side door. 

The hallway was darker, and much more quiet than the ballroom. A few stray people lingered here and there, but they were much too engrossed in their own conversations to pay you any mind. As you wandered around the hall, however, you soon realized that this elaborate building had no signs. Countless doors lined the hallway, leaving you clueless as to where a restroom would be, not to mention if it was even in this section of the historic house. 

Taking your chances, you opened the first door you saw, slipping inside. Inside was not a bathroom, but rather a study, with ornate carved wood shelves lining the walls. Antique books filled every space, stirring delight within you. In the middle of the room there was a dark mahogany desk, the carefully placed decor indicating it was more for aesthetics than real use. 

On the far side of the room was a tall window, the delicate panes allowing the moonlight from outside to shine in. The moonlight was silhouetting a figure standing by the window, back leaned against the alcove. The white light was bright as it highlighted the figure’s nearly-white blond hair, neatly combed back, brushing the collar of their suitcoat. It was a picturesque scene, but you had no interest in making small talk, so you reached for the handle behind you. 

The figure, however, took notice of your presence. Turning their head, green-gray eyes land on you, and your heart suddenly meets the pit of your stomach. There was only one man who had ever had eyes like that, eyes that lingered deep in the back of your mind, reminding you of a “meaningless” kiss. 

“It figures Lady Anorak would find her way into a library.” The taunting tone remark only solidified the identity of the glowing figure. 

“Draco Malfoy.” You greet, straightening your shoulders. It had been years since you had last seen the man, and the time had been kind to his features. His bone structure was strong and sharp, his lips still perfectly pink as they curled into his signature smirk. His eyes once again brought butterflies to your stomach, the way they shamelessly glanced you up and down. You couldn’t quite tell, however, if he was checking you out or judging you. 

“I’m surprised to see someone like you here.” Draco remarks, pushing himself off the wall, sauntering over to you. 

You huff, crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

His amusement only grows as he gazes down at you, an unreadable expression behind his eyes. “Usually these events are for notable members of society. Stuffy, boring, too long. Not for someone as...free spirited as you.” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively in front of you. “You’ve lost your tact with insults.”

“Who said I was insulting you?” Draco replies, his face not giving away any insight as to what he was really thinking. 

“So you’ve grown out of that now?” 

His smug smile grows, tugging up one side of his mouth.You can see the sharp little points of his canines, giving him a slight vampiric look. “Only as much as you’ve grown out of being such a wonk.” 

“Well, being a wonk happens to be the reason that I’m here in the first place.” You retort, tossing your head a little. It's infuriating, how easily Draco is riling you up again after all this time, but you just pray that your old crush on the man doesn’t return. 

“Is that so?” Draco asks, lifting one of his brows, looking a little curious. “And how is that, Lady Anorak?” 

“I wrote a book.” You explain, summoning all of your pride to fuel your confidence. “The Melting Pot: A study of potions across the globe. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It was featured in The Daily Prophet.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth turn down as he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. “Was that you? I suppose you have a bit more acclaim than I gave you credit for. But it's still a very bookish bore thing to do.” He glances back at you, taking in your body for the second time. “You don’t seem to be basking in the evening’s glory, however.” 

You grimace, thinking of the suffocating room you had just fled from. “I wasn’t aware there was much to bask in other than excessive egos and endless champagne.” 

If you hadn't known better, you would have said the slight shift of Draco’s chest would have been a laugh. But his face remains unchanged, that damned small smile on his lips. “And so you decided to come steal my hiding spot?”

You roll your eyes, uncrossing your arms and meandering over to the desk, leaning against it. You could feel Draco’s eyes watching your every step, eliciting a strange feeling of both attraction and nerves in your chest. “I didn’t know it was your hiding spot.” 

Draco just shrugs, running a hand over his hair, slicking back a small piece that had fallen out of place. “Well, now you’re trespassing, so if you’re going to stay, you’ll need to pay the fine.”

Now it's your turn to lift your eyebrow, your stomach giving a little flip as you think of just how many things you could give Draco Malfoy. “And what is this mysterious price for such a grievous crime?” 

Draco takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes burning up your skin as he looks over you a third time. “Trespassing on my personal hiding spot, and you’re unremorseful. I’m going to need substantial repayment.” He says, his voice lowering a little. 

Your stomach twists, and you mentally scold yourself that it's in desire and not in anxiety. Yet when you look into those gray eyes, their greenish hue glinting in the moonlight, you can’t help but feel that pull towards him you felt all those years ago. 

But just like that moment all those years ago, the moment is cut short by a female voice at the door. “Draco? Are you in there? The Vickorat family wishes to congratulate us on the engagement.” 

Your stomach twists, a feeling of nausea burning your insides, replacing the excitement that was just there. 

Draco’s face immediately is schooled back into a blank, calm and even expression. “Coming Astoria.” He says, his tone lacking any of the warmth or playfulness it had just a moment ago. He looks back at you, his eyes study yours. “It seems I will concede this time, Lady Anorak. Enjoy your books.” With that, he turns and leaves, walking out of your life for the second time. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The intense interaction between you and Draco didn’t leave your mind in the coming weeks, but you packed it away with the other memory of him. Instead, you threw yourself into the preparations for your second book.

You were sat in the aesthetic office of the publishing house you went through–Bramble Sons & Co.-sitting in front of a woman named Christine, who had been working with you since your first book. 

“We honestly think your ideas for the second book are great, but we did have a few questions from the editor about the manuscript.” 

You sighed deeply, steeling yourself for the critiques to come. You already second guessed your writing constantly, and going through the editing process had nearly broken you last time. Still, you straightened your shoulders, preparing for the barrage of comments. 

As you did, however, movement caught the corner of your eye. You glanced over to the hallway outside the office, spotting a man walking past the large glass windows who looked suspiciously like Draco Malfoy. 

“Excuse me one moment.” You said to Christine, getting up from your chair, trying to subtly speed walk over to the hallway. 

As you glanced after the disappearing figure, you spotted the familiar combed back blonde hair, and your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you approached behind him. 

“Draco.” You called, and you almost misstepped as he turned around, looking down at you. 

His damnable suit adorned his lean figure, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Lady Anorak.” He replied casually, as if his presence at the publishing house you worked with wasn’t odd. 

“What are you doing here?” You queried, arching your brow at him. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. 

Draco shrugs, irritatingly composed as he continued to gaze down into your face. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“You and I both know that this is not a place you regularly frequent.” You retort, your tone unamused as you glared at Draco. “So why are you here?”

Just in that moment, Ms. Wasthdrop, the manager of the publishing house, stepped out from her office. She smiled brightly as she saw you, approaching and coming to stand beside Draco. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you’ve met our new star author.”

“Indeed I have,” Draco says calmly, but you see the glimmer of mirth in his eyes. 

“I actually was going to reach out to the authors today.” Ms. Wasthdrop continues. “We have exciting news to share. Mr. Malfoy is the new owner of Bramble Sons & Co.” 

Of all the reasons you could think of Draco being at the publishing house, this was not one of them. “Oh.” Was all you could manage to say, trying not to let your confusion show through your expression You could almost see the ghost of a smug smile dancing on Draco’s lips. “Welcome...Mr. Malfoy.” You add, trying your best to seem polite. 

Draco gives a small nod in return. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing more from our...star author.” 

Your cheeks flush, and you watch as Draco and Ms. Wasthdrop disappeared into the latter’s office. You weren’t exactly sure how to feel about working with a company that Draco now owned. It felt odd, like he had some sort of claim over you. You couldn’t yet decide if you liked the feeling or not. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It just so happened, however, that the universe gave you an out. You received a letter from an alternative publishing house, Thornston’s, offering to buy you out. They were offering a better cut of the profits to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was your chance to remove yourself from Draco. But at the same time, did you really want to do so? He hadn’t changed anything with the publishing house, hadn’t made any new demands for your books. Maybe he was just into investing suddenly. 

It was with these warring thoughts that you agreed to meet an associate of Thornston’s to discuss your possible switchover. 

“I am so grateful you’ve taken the time to meet with us.” The rotund man you’d come to know as Mr. Peasley stated, folding his hands on the table. “Unfortunately, I cannot say I bring good news. We recently had a change in ownership, and our new owner has informed us to retract our offer.” Mr. Peasley stated, looking genuinely a little guilty. 

New owner? You pause, leaning your head towards the man across the table. “Did Mr. Richmond retire?”

Mr. Peasley shakes his head, looking eager to share the gossip as he also leaned in. “That’s what he’s claiming. Yet I heard from his assistant that our new owner offered Mr. Richmond a substantial sum of money to sell immediately.” 

You tried to keep a nonchalant demeanor as you continued digging. “So, who is this mysterious new benefactor?”

Mr. Peasley glances around. “Well, it’s supposed to be kept hush-hush, but…”

You place a hand on the man’s arm, offering a friendly smile. “I promise, my lips are sealed.” 

Mr. Peasley returns the smile, his excitement evident. “The young Mr. Draco Malfoy purchased the firm.” 

The confirmation of your suspicions fills you with a myriad of emotions. You kept your expressions carefully schooled into casual interest, not letting the surprise nor the irritation show. “Oh, really?”

Mr. Peasley nods, continuing on with little encouragement. “The strangest part is that Mr. Malfoy doesn’t seem to be doing anything different with our company. He simply just up and bought it.” 

“How strange.” You remark non committedly. Inside, your mind was a whirl of activity. First, Draco purchased your original publishing house, also seemingly for no reason. And now he purchases the one you were switching to, but forces them to retract their offer. No matter how you turned it in your head, it felt like he was trapping you in a corner, and you didn’t appreciate it. 

By the time you bid farewell to Mr. Peasley, you were pissed. You weren’t sure what game Draco was trying to play, but he was mistaken if he thought you’d simply lay by and be a piece for his amusement. You got in your car, immediately heading for his townhouse. 

The elegant building sat in a row of similar townhouses, the neighborhood having belonged to rich pureblood wizards for decades. The door of the Malfoy flat was painted a dark green, a gold M swirling with snakes. You had always noted that the door was indicative of the dramatic nature of the family who it belonged to. 

Now, however, you didn’t give a second thought to the decorative entrance nor the snakes that hissed at your approach. You knocked on the door–the harsh sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood–and you tapped your foot impatiently as you waited. 

To your surprise, it wasn’t a house elf that answered the door, but Draco himself. You took notice of his black slacks that sat temptingly on his hips, slouching a little with the lack of a belt. Additionally, his white shirt was tight across his pecs and shoulders, his lean muscle flexing as he crossed his arms. “Lady Anorak, to what do I have the plea-”

“What the literal fuck Draco.” You snap, eyes dark with anger as you glower at him. He may have looked attractive always in this moment, but you weren’t going to disregard his blatant disrespect for your literal career. 

He raises his eyebrows, smirking a little at your spiteful words. “Something amiss in your potions, darling? Mixed up a real worm with wormwood?” 

You push your way past him, and he just smiles more as your shoulder brushes his chest. He closes the door, looking over you as you stand in his foyer, displeasure written in the wrinkle of your brows. “Care to explain why you’re trying to ruin my career?”

Draco quirks an eyebrow, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Last I checked, I’m helping you publish your books, so-”

“I know you bought out Thornston’s.” 

Draco’s expression flickers, his smile fading and being replaced with a stony blank expression. “Who told you that?” 

“Does it matter?” You scoff, irritated at his lack of remorse. “You purposefully denied me the opportunity to have greater pay, to possibly advance my career. What could I have possibly done to you to make me want to suffer this way?”

Draco straightens up, his green eyes shadowed in the antique lighting of the hallway. “Oh, I’m sorry that I’m ruining your life, keeping you loyal to the company that gave you your career.” His voice is low, a little rough as he speaks. “And here I thought the Lady Anorak would be smart enough to know a good business opportunity when she sees it.” 

“Don’t try to make this about some nonexistent morals!” You snap, annoyed at him trying to make you feel guilty. “This is about me having the opportunity to do more than just get by. Though I suppose someone who was fed with a silver spoon his whole life wouldn’t understand that.”

His sharp jaw twitches, and he strides forward, quickly towering over you. His eyes seared into you, as if he could read your beating heart. “You want money? Fine, you have it. I’ll double whatever portion you receive. You want more creative freedom? I’ll fire your editor. You want to run the damn house? We’ll put your name on the door. Right under mine.” He leaned in even closer, his face dangerously hovering over yours. “You work for me, and only me. You don’t get to go run off and sign with a different publishing house. I’ll buy out every last company in London if I have to.” His words were a growl by the time he finished, his eyes narrowed on you. “You’re mine.” 

Your anger was dwindling, being replaced as you became more perplexed by his actions. It didn’t help that his words stirred up a flutter in your lower belly, heat blooming up to your ears. You jut your chin out, looking up defiantly. “I don’t belong to you.” 

He lets out a dark laugh, his hand coming up, caressing your hair back, then grasping it at the back of your head. “And that’s the problem. I need you to belong to me. My Lady Anorak.” He murmurs, his eyes glancing over your features, as if he’s drinking in a piece of fine art. 

Your heart gives another treacherous leap, your skin tingling as the cool touch of his fingers in your hair burns into fire in your veins. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” You say quietly, your voice firm. “The only woman that belongs to you is Astoria.”

Draco’s jaw twitches again, the sharp edge even more apparent as he tenses. “Astoria doesn’t belong to me, or with me.” He takes in your surprise, giving a little huff. “Do you really think I could keep her after I saw you in that study? Looking so fierce, so alluring in your perfect little dress. I couldn’t keep my ring on another woman’s finger when all I could think of was if your lips still taste the same.” 

You feel like the breath has been taken out of your lungs as you blink a few times, your lips parting in surprise as you hear Draco’s words. “You...you broke up with Astoria?” 

“The same night. I may be an arse, but I know when I can’t be loyal to another woman.” He replies, his hand moving to your neck, his thumb running over your lower lip. His pupils almost swallow up his green irises, the flame of desire evident as he stares at you. 

“Because you...” You can’t bring yourself to say the words, feeling like you can’t trust the feelings brewing up in your chest.

“Because I need you.” Draco breathes, and you can smell the mint of the tea he must have been drinking. A smell that haunts you every time you’ve brewed amortentia. His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, his nose brushing against your cheek. “I need you in my life, in my hands. So no, I’m not sorry for preventing you from leaving Bramble Sons. I’d do it again if it means I get to keep you close.” 

The words make your body feel warm, that spark of hope you tried to bury long ago rising up. Draco continues to hover his face tantalizingly close, his eyes flicking over your features like he’s deciding which one to kiss first. “Do you have any idea what you did to me at that party?” He murmurs, his voice husky. Your heart skips as you realize he thinks about that drunken kiss as much as you do. “Walking away from you that night nearly drove me insane. And I have been losing my mind more and more, haunted by how it felt to have you. And then, you walked back into my life, looking so perfectly beautiful in your little dress, with your smartass remarks and incredible mind. And all I have been able to think about is having you again. And I’m not walking away this time.”

He’s ridiculous. And a little crazy. But you’d always known that, and yet your heart still flutters for him. So you don’t leave, instead taking the small step to close what little remaining space was between the two of you, your chest pressed up against his. “You could have just asked me out like a normal person.” You murmur, leaning up, his lips just a touch too high to meet. 

He smiles, giving a huff of laughter. “It’s much easier to get you to say yes if you have no other option.” His voice is a low rumble, pride clear in the quirk of his lips. 

“I wouldn’t have said no either way.” You tell him, your hands sliding up his arms, resting on his biceps. 

He shivers at the sensation, closing his eyes for a moment before they refocus on you. “No? You agree then, you’re mine?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, the words that have lingered on your tongue unspoken for six years ready to pour out. “All yours.” 

What little restraint Draco was practicing snaps at that. He dips down, pressing his lips against yours. His hand shifted, the thumb and pointer finger that had been framing your jaw sliding downward, until he was holding your neck firmly in his grasp. His lips demanded yours to part, his own pulling at your lower lip a little. He kept moving your mouths together, as if he couldn’t quite settle, craving more, needing more.

Draco pushed you back, until you were pressed up against the wall, his other hand coming up to grasp your hip. His fingers dug into the soft curve, like a dragon’s talons staking claim of their treasure. Your hands went to his chest, clinging at the thin white material, trying to ground yourself as Draco’s demanding kisses turned any thoughts into hazy ideas. He growled at the touch of your hands, his hands slipping down to your thighs, grasping them firmly as he lifted up. You wrapped your legs around his hips, using the wall and his hands support your weight. His desire was obvious as your center pressed against the front of his trousers, a jolt of desire running through you as you feel his hardness. 

He groaned, and he pulled his lips away from yours, moving them over your jaw, pressing a trail of open mouth kisses down your neck. His teeth scraped over the tender skin, and you could feel his two pointed canines pressing into your flesh. Before your brain could register any pain, however, he was soothing the spot with his tongue, swiping it over the red marks. He kept working downward, not stopping until there was a path of love bites from your jaw to your collarbone. He smiled proudly, his eyes dark with possessive admiration. “So beautiful.” He murmured, running his fingers over the tender spots. 

“Oh, so now I’m beautiful?” Your voice was breathless, but your teasing nature couldn’t even be hampered by the heat Draco elicited in you. 

The sound that escaped him was caught between a growl and a groan, and he pressed his body into you again, his hand tightening on your throat. “You know damn well what I mean. You’re fucking breathtaking.” 

“Do I know?” You continue, your voice and eyes challenging him. You know you’re playing with fire, but you’re too lost into the moment to really care. 

Draco’s eyes darken, and he pulls you away from the wall, moving to the stairs. “You’re going to know exactly what I think about you by the time we’re done.” 

He carries you up the stairs, not lessening his grip on you until he throws you onto the bed. He doesn’t hesitate a moment, crawling on top of you, caging you in with his arms, his hands on either side of his head. “You look so fucking good like this.” He murmurs devouring you with his eyes. “I should have done this a long time ago.” His hands slip under your dress, running up your thighs, playing with the waistband of your underwear. 

Heat flares in your body, a little tremble of excitement running through you. “You should have. Now you have to make up for lost time.” You breathe out, your heart delighted with the fact that you finally are in this moment with Draco. You reach out to the top button of his shirt, undoing it, watching his reaction. 

Draco’s hands tighten on your hip, his eyes intensifying with hunger. “That is an incredible idea.” He murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “But only if you want me to.” He’s aching to have you, but he refuses to let go fully until he’s sure.

You lean up, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to. I want you.” 

Draco groans, and he dives deeper into the kiss with you, finally letting go of any hesitation as he lets himself take you. Your clothes quickly end up scattered around the room, the air hot with the movement of your bodies. 

By the time the passion calms down, the two of you are thoroughly blissed out, your bodies feeling the delightful ache of being known. Draco lays down on top of you, pressing his face into your neck, his lips administering sweet kisses. “You’re so perfect. So beautiful, so smart. God, I’m never letting you go again.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. The pale strands are soft to the touch, deliciously messy from your touch. It's such a contrast from his usually perfect slick back, filling your heart with warmth as you relish in the fact that you alone get to see him like this. “I think I’ll let you keep me.” You tease. 

Draco smiles, lifting his head so he can gaze down at you, his hand drifting over your waist and hip. “You better. Or else I’ll have to keep you locked away, all for myself to indulge in.” 

You softly laugh, your smile growing. Your heart feels light, content and happy in this tender moment, your bodies warm together in the sheets. “Only if I get to keep you too.” 

Draco’s eyes soften, and he nods, dipping down and pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “Always.”

[butchhamlet]

So re: Hamlet, purgatory, the reformation, etc.

I'm just about to start writing a my final paper for a Reformation History class at university. I'll probably focus on the English reformation because I'm already familiar with Tudor/Elizabethan context. And I got a hunch that talking about Hamlet and ghosts and purgatory would be a great way to talk about the impacts of the reformation on Elizabethan English life.

You wouldn't happen to feel like info dumping some more about religious themes and conflicts in Hamlet would you? And/or drop some more books/papers/scholars that I can research and cite?

I will happily absorb any info you wish to dump!

i desperately wish i knew enough off the dome to burst into a monologue here, but most of what i know about hamlet and religion fits in the quote i posted from emma smith re: the catholic/protestant split. (apparently some people think shakespeare was a closet catholic? but i kind of doubt it.) not sure what your own religious background is, but it might be worth looking into general stuff about wittenberg/martin luther/protestantism during the time period--although if you're focusing on the reformation you may know a lot of this.

my first thought was stephen greenblatt's Hamlet in Purgatory, which i have not read but which is cited in the notes of my copy of hamlet. it's on jstor apparently but i don't have access. sad! but it seems to be honestly less about hamlet specifically and more greenblatt using hamlet as a wedge to explore conceptions of purgatory at the time, which sounds cool as fuck. (i'm not suuuuper familiar with greenblatt, but i remember liking his criticism in the norton shakespeare; YMMV.)

the ghost is the obvious Big Religious Issue of hamlet, but there's also the praying scene, the whole deal with ophelia's suicide, horatio coming from Protestant University R Us, and to be or not to be itself and what that speech implies about hamlet's religious view. i really like the lockdown shakespeare podcast about TBoNTB--i haven't listened all the way through because i'm awful but iirc they do touch on how weird it is that hamlet's musings about the afterlife seem to counter what you might assume about his religious opinions from the rest of the text.

the folger shakespeare library has further reading recs for every play on their page; skimming through this, you might be interested in richard mccoy's writing on memory in hamlet? emphasis mine:

McCoy examines the play’s four funerals (King Hamlet’s expedited obsequies, Polonius’s “hugger-mugger” burial [4.5.91], Ophelia’s “maimèd rites” [5.1.226], and the “somewhat incongruous” soldier’s funeral for Prince Hamlet) in the context of the ambiguity (“liturgical double-bookkeeping”) that marked the Elizabethan compromise over Catholic-Protestant funerary practices and intercessory rituals for the deceased. Informing the discussion is the doctrine known as “the King’s Two Bodies” (i.e., the Body natural and the Body politic), specifically the efforts of the “cult of Elizabeth” to continue what has been called “the migration of the holy” begun by Henry VIII’s reforms in which “ ‘the socially integrative powers of the host’ were transferred ‘to the rituals of monarchy and secular community,’ ” a shifting from the eucharistic real presence to the royal presence.

and also the roland frye book, though it is from the 80s (i am not up to date on modern shifts in historiography lmfao):

Among the events and documents Frye invokes are ... Protestant beliefs that ghosts were demons, beliefs shared by Catholics, who also believed ghosts might be souls from purgatory...

i do also recommend emma smith's book (and marjorie garber's. ack. so good) but those are less specific examinations of many plays, so idk how helpful they'll be. this is what i've got at the moment followers sound off if you have additions or comments

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: The Roottrees are Dead

When I played Obra Dinn shortly after it came out, I thought "man, that was great, they should make a hundred of these, this should be a whole genre", and on reflection, that would actually be a terrible idea, because what made it great was the storytelling, the attention to detail, and the loving care that went into it. As I've learned from the wave of games that take inspiration from Stardew Valley, there are some genres that I only like if they have a lot of attention to detail and artistry.

The Roottrees are Dead very clearly follows in the footsteps of Obra Dinn, and while it doesn't quite hit the same highs, I think it's a worthy successor that forges its own path and helps to establish what's possible within the space.

In The Roottrees are Dead you play as an investigator in the late 1990s (1998 for the original, 1999 for Roottreemania), looking into the Roottree family to uncover some of there secrets. You do this almost entirely through a simulacrum of the early internet, with a pre-Google web search, periodicals, and checking out books from the local library. Gameplay entails combing through these documents to see what there is to search, then making some deductions to put information up on the sprawling family tree. Just like in Obra Dinn, you get your guesses "confirmed" after you've locked in some number of correct entries, which helps to narrow down the search space.

It's a good game. I recommend it if you like research and puzzles and deduction.

I think mostly I want to talk about how it feels to play this game, and what I think makes it work in a way that's totally different from other detective/puzzle games.

First, and I think this is very important, you can search almost everything, and you are often rewarded for this. Every name, every company, every book, all of them can be searched in one way or another. Sometimes it's the web search, and if that turns up nothing, sometimes you can search the periodicals, except that you don't start out knowing the names of the periodicals. And when you do get the name of one, it opens things up, because you can go searching using this new resource.

Sometimes the information isn't quite right, so you have to think it through. Use someone's maiden name, or find out what a book was retitled to for its second publication, or figure out how the thing you're searching for would be referenced. This is all the kind of thing that I find really enjoyable, and more so than in real life, because the feedback is instant. Even if you hit a dead end, the game will usually have some text for you, and sometimes it'll tell you it's a dead end with a little story, ending with "unfortunately none of this seems relevant to the Roottree family".

What you're ultimately doing is creating this whole web of information, picking up names from articles you read and tracking them down, which gives you more articles and more names. You have some understanding of these people and their relationship to each other. You get to know the history in this very unconventional way. It's pretty unrealistic, but my suspension of disbelief was mostly fine.

Locking things in feels great, particularly because it means that you're removing a possibility from your list of names, making everything easier in the next go. This was something clearly borrowed from Obra Dinn, and I'm glad, because it works so well and feels so rewarding. New here are "optionals" that get confirmed whenever a lockin of the main family happens, and this is a great evolution of the concept.

There are two places where the game let me down a little bit, and both have to do with the pictures. The first issue is that I wanted the pictures to be of a higher quality. The web version had AI images, which were a little wonky, and got flak for it, so the images were (apparently) hand-drawn for the release on Steam when people were paying money for it. And they're still a little wonky, which is surely a budget issue, and maybe a little bit an art direction issue. I don't like criticizing thing for their lack of budget, but man, there were places where I felt it here.

The second issue with the pictures is that these tend to be the worst kinds of clues. People just do not talk about appearance and clothing in these ways, and it always feels clunky in the way that other clues (usually) don't. They're necessary, because this is part of the core gameplay, matching pictures to names, but it feels to me like the weakest part.

New to the Steam version is "Roottree Mania", which deals with a crisis of "extras" to add to the family tree, those who are products of affairs. It's basically the same in structure, and proof to me that this concept has legs: the focus is different, but you're engaging in the same gameplay. I would say that overall, I enjoyed Roottree Mania about as much as the main game, even if the scope was somewhat less focused.

And like before, I find myself thinking "they should make a million of these", but I know that this is only as good as it is because there's significant dedication and care put into it, and you can't just "copy" it and expect for it to be playable or good. You need those little moments when things snap into place, when something confusing reveals itself to be well-ordered. You need puzzles to work out, inconsistencies to uncover, information working together. And that's hard, and it's something I'm happy this game was able to do.

[crazylittlejester]

You should totally yap about Warriors and his journal!!!!! 🫶

@taddy-cat @amateur-ace @hero-of-the-wolf

*breaks knuckles* okay okay okay

SO: I have this headcanon (which I cannot remember for the life of me if it’s something I completely made up or if he has a notebook in LU/his game-) that Warriors has a journal that he carries around with him pretty much everywhere. It’s not his first one, he has several he’s already completed filled out that are locked up somewhere secret back home, but these journals have EVERYTHING in them

These journals started out as places to take notes when he’d first joined the army and was getting a little bit of an education, he didn’t want to forget anything so he wrote it all down. Then they were just PAPER, something he could use to write letters to home, but as everything started happening the things these letters contained weren’t things he could tell his family and they never got sent or torn out of the journals. They didn’t necessarily contain military secrets (not at this point), just things he couldn’t tell another soul but he couldn’t continue to keep in his head. He needed to get it OUT, so he wrote it down in his native language that no one around him really understands so that information and those thoughts were safe. If anyone DID get a hold of those books they’d never understand it, and they’d at the very least be significantly slowed down because they’d have to take the time to translate it. The writing is cramped and frantic and the pages are tear stained in his more letter like entries and it’s damn near illegible at times, but its a way for him to just get it OUT so he can shove it away

Some of the journals from the war have pages torn out, completely or with just enough page left to read a little of the words on them. Those missing pages were burned and forgotten, they held memories Warriors himself can’t recall anymore. There’s a reason they’re gone

These journals are something he’s always kept on him, since the age of 16, and eventually he started using them for MORE than just to write letters that would never be sent, he started using them once again for notes. For strategies and plans and details of war. Battles planned out, notes for fellow soldiers, what worked what didn’t, documentation of battles won and lost. Some of these pages were translated and written out in neat, perfect handwriting and turned over to Zelda after the war to be preserved in history books, others to be used to better the army

Every page is dated, but the journals arent sectioned into “letters” and “notes”. If he wants information he has to scroll through and look for the date it was written, everything’s mixed together, separated by quick, harsh lines of ink between blocks of text

These books contain the hopes and dreams of a teenage boy, detailed analyses of the hyrulian army, the rage of a young man, ramblings of someone who felt truly broken, burned memories, meticulously sketched out fields with hastily drawn troop positions, a doodle or two from Mask

But more recently: In addition to this, one he keeps on him currently contains notes on the others. At first their weak points and important information about them ranging anywhere from “Wind has a peanut allergy” to “Don’t mention goats around Twi unless you have time to listen to him yap”. In those first weeks these notes could certainly be interpreted as him planning to do wrong, but that was never his intent. He has notes on his fellow soldiers weaknesses from his own era because he’s so used to studying people and helping them grow. He SHARES these notes with them, not that they can read them, but he tells them what he notices in a kind way and helps them improve and marks their progress

These books ARE his brain, he’s a damn genius who can’t organize his thoughts. He needs to see it all in a physical way in order to process it, though he’s not so stupid as to mention anything in these books that could be used to take down the queen, even if they are in another language. He’s not going to risk it

anyways thats my headcanon lol

[rabbitcruiser]

National Reptile Awareness Day

Every October 21 is National Reptile Awareness Day. Godzilla. Reptar. Yoshi. The Geico Gecko. Those two lizards that always hang out around your back porch. These are just a few of the famous reptiles we love. But on October 21, we celebrate all of our cold-blooded friends. This day is observed to educate and raise awareness of  threats to the natural habitats that our reptilian companions rely on to survive.

History of National Reptile Awareness Day

While the history of reptiles may go hundreds of millions of years back, National Reptile Awareness Day has an unfortunately short history in comparison. Additionally, it wasn’t really until 1966 when the first Endangered Species Act was passed that awareness of the needs and threats facing reptiles (or any animal, for that matter) started to make its way into our cultural mainstream. 

With the passing of that act, a mid-century push toward conservation started taking the forefront. Updates were passed in 1967 and 1969. Additionally, in 1967, the Environmental Defense Fund created their historical efforts to ban DDT from usage in the United States. Much of this was movement was sparked by Rachel Carson’s seminal book, Silent Spring, which documented the adverse effects pesticides and other chemicals have on the environment. 

National Reptile Awareness Day wouldn’t exist without the efforts of that movement. In fact, many reptiles wouldn’t be around today without the help of the Endangered Species Act. While National Reptile Awareness Day may have a small history compared to its subjects, its still part of a historically important movement to help protect and conserve all species of animals.

National Reptile Awareness Day timeline

315 million years ago

Prehistoric Reptiles Evolve

Reptiles are considered to have evolved from amphibians around this time. While many have perished along the way due to mass extinction, many (such as crocodiles and sea turtles) still remain

66 million years ago

The End of the Reptilian Era

The end of "The Age of Reptiles," a period of time where dinosaurs and other massive reptiles roamed around as if it were Jurassic Park. This began "The Age of Mammals," while, despite the name, reptilian species continued to diversify and thrive but at a much, much, much smaller size. 

1978

The Loggerhead is Listed

The loggerhead sea turtle, one of the more famous reptiles, is listed as endangered, mostly due to bycatch in fishing gear but also because of loss of nesting habitats. 

1987

See Ya Later, Alligator

The American alligator is officially removed from the protected species list, making a remarkable comeback from near extinction after spending twenty years on the list.

National Reptile Awareness Day FAQs

When is National Reptile Awareness Day?

National Reptile Awareness Day is every year on October 21. 

How do I celebrate National Reptile Awareness Day?

There are many ways to celebrate National Reptile Awareness Day, such as donating to a reptile conservation, visiting a national park, or learning to identify reptiles. 

Is a turtle a reptile?

The placement of turtles within the reptile kingdom has historically been up for debate, but so far they are still considered to be reptiles.  

National Reptile Awareness Day Activities

Donate to a reptile conservation programThere are a lot of different organizations that want to continue educating the public about our reptilian friends. One way they do this is by also advocating for us to have the ability to keep reptiles as pets. Donate to your favorite organization to help them continue being the voice for reptiles.

Visit a National ParkRegardless of what part of the country you live in, reptiles play a major part in your ecosystem. By visiting your nearest national park, you're helping promote a place that is dedicated to preserving the natural habitats for all animals that live in that area - including, of course, the reptiles. Some notably reptilian parks are Joshua Tree, Big Bend, and the Everglades.

Identify a reptile (or two, or three)Consumer science is an important part of helping researchers understand where our cold-blooded friends live and their population densities. Many identification apps are created by institutions to help draw in that data. If you see a lizard or other reptile, use an app to ID it. This helps scientists understand where certain populations live and how well they're adapting among us. The Audubon Reptiles & Amphibians app is a great place to start.

Why We Love National Reptile Awareness Day

Their body armor: Reptiles are known for having thick skin, literally. Their armored body is made up of scales or boney plates (yes, some have their bones on the outside) to protect them from the daily wear and tear. How cool is that?!

Lizards, turtles, and snakes, oh my!: Because some of the most awesome characters/creatures on TV, or in the films we watch, are reptiles. They are sometimes dramatized to be huge and scary, like Godzilla, and other times are hilarious, like the Geico Gecko.

They make the best pets: No backyard to have a dog? No problem! Most reptiles can be kept indoors in naturally adorned tanks. They are easily maintained and make for an educational experience for kids learning about the environment.

Source

National Reptile Day

Not every person can look at a boa constrictor named Barbara or a toad named Frank and think lovable thoughts. However, National Reptile Day is the perfect day for the squeamish and admirers alike to appreciate the role these creatures play in our ecosystem. We celebrate these reptiles on October 21 — where fans take the time to educate others about habitat loss, conservation programs, and the importance of keeping reptiles off the endangered list. Below we share what you can do to celebrate this holiday — even from a distance.

National Reptile Day timeline

​400 BC

The beginning of recording reptiles

​The methodological study of reptiles dates back to the time of philosophers Aristotle and Pliny.

​1852

A prehistoric discovery was made ​

​Traces of the oldest known reptile, called the Hylonomus lyelli, were discovered in a fossilized tree stump in Nova Scotia.

​1998

​Saving the Galapagos

Ecuador enacted the Galapagos Special law, to create the Galapagos Marine Reserve and protect the island wildlife (including the Galapagos Tortoise), manage fisheries, and inspect quarantine measures.

National Reptile Day Activities

Reacquaint yourself with reptiles: Spend some time holding and interacting with reptiles — perhaps at a pet shop — where snakes, frogs, or lizards are just a short car ride away.

Donate to a conservation program: Contribute to programs designated to protecting endangered species. Many reptiles are still hunted for their use in leather or to meet consumer demands. In several regions, this type of hunting is a big problem due to the role most reptiles play in their specific ecosystems.

Read about reptiles: Spend a day at the library researching and learning new things about reptiles. You may even find your future pet in the process.

​5 Quirks Only Reptiles Could Have

​The Fantastic Four​: There are four orders of species: the Crocodilia (crocodiles, alligators, etc.), the Tuatara (lizard-like), the Squamata, (includes lizards and snakes), and the Testudines (turtles, tortoises, and terrapins).

​Baby it's cold inside​: The majority of all reptiles are considered ectothermic, meaning they rely on their environments to regulate their internal body temperature, reproductive health, immune system functioning, and daily stamina.

​Larger than Life: One of the largest reptiles on record is the salt water crocodile, which can measure over twelve feet long and weigh more than a thousand pounds.

​Circle of life: ​All reptiles play an important function in their ecosystem; for example, lizards control insects and pests in homes and gardens, while snakes keep rodents under control in urban life and in the countryside.

Survival! The way reptiles adapt to their environments allows them to create defensive behaviors in fights, to reproduce, hunt for their food, or anticipate a dangerous situation.

Why We Love National Reptile Day

A time to love our pets: Reptile owners get a special day to appreciate their best friends every year with this holiday. This day allows us to treat our buddies and give some never-ending love and care!

A day to relax with some reps: For those of us who don’t own a reptile, but are curious, this holiday allows us to take time to observe them in their natural element. For those who are very nervous or scared of anything slithery, this is the perfect day to face those fears.

We expand our knowledge: Taking the time to learn about these different species allows us to appreciate the environment we both share. This day is perfect to teach children about animals and nature.

Source

[filmtv2022]

It's Our History

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley

Synopsis: After the death of your mother, you find your way to a quaint little bookstore in search of a book that had been left in the care of one Mr. A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley. But it isn't just about a book, it's about finally meeting the beautiful 'people' that had interwoven themselves in to the lives of your mother and grandmother all those years ago. 

Warnings: Mentions of death 

A/N. As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

Aziraphale sat perched behind his desk, glasses slung low on his nose as he scanned over the detailed manuscript in front of him. The pages were yellowed with age, and yet the intricate illuminations were still beautiful and brilliant. It had been hours since the angel had started his investigation of the newest addition to his vast collection. Pages of documentation were taken in fine handwriting noting every nick and tear. The list of books for Zirah to fix grew longer by the day, but with all of eternity on his hands, the earthly angel couldn’t care less. Crowley on the other hand was growing impatient. This morning he’d been promised a lovely meal at the Ritz… as soon as Aziraphale was finished. With the hand on the clock striking two, he’d had more than enough waiting for one day. The demon was nearly to the point of conducting some frivolous miracles to hurry the process along when the door to the shop opened. The wood creaked on its hinges begging for attention. 

Lost in his work, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that someone new had come to visit, leaving Crowley unexpectedly in charge of dealing with this interaction. Already in a pissy mood, the demon spat a ‘greeting’, if you could even call it that, in your direction.

“Whatever you want it’ll have to wait, shop’s closed.” 

“Oh… I’m sorry. The sign out front says open, so I thought…” 

“Well, you thought wrong.” 

“Again, so sorry.” your eyes flicked to the blonde-haired man sitting across the room, “Didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be going now.”

Looking back at the thin, dark man standing guard like a watchdog, you couldn’t help but notice how he inched closer to the desk when you glanced in their direction. It was as if he was preparing himself to pronounce, cautioning anyone against getting too close. 

“Bye now.” Sarcasm and hostility dripped from him as he spoke.

“Uhh, bye then.” With a tiny wave, you turned away defeated, and started back toward the door, when a new voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Crowley, that is no way to talk to a customer. Please dear, do stay and have a look around.” 

Turning back, your eyes caught on the equally beautiful man standing next to the person who you now understood to be Crowley. They were both just as you’d pictured, as if a day hadn’t passed since those photos had been taken. In awe and disbelief, your voice was quiet with the enormity of the pair, “I don’t want to be a bother, it’s just that I could really use your help.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re no bother at all. And please, forgive my friend, they're in quite the mood this morning.” 

“It’s not morning anymore, Angel,” hissed Crowley grumpily. 

“Don’t be dramatic dear.” 

“They’re right you know? It’s past two.” 

“Really? Why goodness,” slipping out his pocket watch, he studied the time briefly before returning it to its home, “Would you look at that? My how time flies when you’re having fun!” 

The Crowley grumbled lowly under his breath in response, but his protestations went unnoticed (or rather ignored) by Aziraphale.

“Now, what is it that you are looking for? Oh, and forgive me, I’ve been quite rude myself. Dithering on and never introducing myself, I’m Aziraphale or Mr. Fell if you prefer.” 

“Well, uh… it’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Fell. And I’m looking for a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Well, it’s not really Pride & Prejudice, it just looks like it.” 

Ignoring the odd bit of your thought at the end, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with unadulterated joy, “How fantastic! Tell me more about this edition you’re in search of. Is there a particular year or publishing house you’re looking for?”

“No, nothing like that,” a sadness crept in, pulling your mouth into a frown, and forcing your eyes to the ground, “It was my was my grandmother’s and then my mother’s.”

“And you think it ended up here?” 

“Yes, I do.”

“You seem rather sure of it being here, may I inquire as to why?” 

“She left me a note before she… it told me to come here, to talk to you. You and Mr. Crowley.” 

They stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that their knuckles brushed together, staring back at you, their minds turning a mile a minute. They scanned over your features taking note of every minute detail, but it was the look in your eyes that finally helped them understand. Their hearts raced with the sudden realization.

It was Crowley who spoke first, his voice barely more than a whisper, “You can’t be… if you’re here that means…” 

“But she is here darling. And I can see it now, the resemblance, just look at her eyes.” 

Standing there you found yourself mesmerized by the pair of them. You’d seen the pictures… heard the stories you’re entire life. The incredible tales of Mr. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley, and yet it seemed impossible that they were both standing before you now. Aziraphale took a few steps in your direction. Crossing the room in a few strong strides, he planted himself in front of you. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, tears pooled in your eyes as he tilted your face up to see you better. 

“It’s so good to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.” 

Your palms came up to rest on his creamed-colored jacket, the material soft with wear beneath your touch. Your nose burned as you fought to hold back the tears that blurred your vision. You didn’t want to look away for even a second for fear they may disappear entirely, “Same goes for you, Mr. Fell. I’ve heard about you all my life. I didn’t think you were actually real, but my god am I glad you are.” 

Azirphale’s strong arms, pulled you in allowing you to bury your face in his chest as the tears finally began to flow. Tenderly, he stroked your back and whispered words of comfort against your temple. Overwhelmed by emotion, you failed to hear the sound of footsteps coming in your direction. Crowley moved stealthily toward you and his Angel wanting nothing more than to comfort you both and seek that same in return. If you were here that could only mean one thing, the marvelous woman who was your mother was gone. He’d only just come to terms with the fact that both your gran and mother were mortal beings and that no matter how much he wished it away, there was an expiration date to their time on Earth. Logically, he knew it was going to happen, human life is fleeting at best, and yet he found himself growing angry that her time here was over. 

Crowley’s wide palm found its way to your back in a weak attempt at grabbing your attention. He needed to see you, to look in your eyes again. Watching him silently ask for you, Aziraphale adjusted his hold on your body so that you could lift your head and look at his Demon. Relinquishing your hold on Mr. Fell, you turned just enough to look at Crowley who was staring down at you through the dark glass of his shades.

“You're lovely,” gingerly, he tucked errant strands of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brushed feather-light touches over your cheekbones. His touch was nearly imperceptible, but your breath hitched at the warmth that radiated from his skin.

Wet lines spilled from beneath his sunglasses, and the corners of his mouth turned down, “You look…” he choked out. 

Reaching up, you wiped away the tears. Unwilling to let go, you found yourself toying with the bows of his glasses, “Can… can I see you…” Glancing back at Mr. Fell your breath shuddered, “Who you really are… the way they both got to see you?” 

You searched their faces for any sign of an answer. You thought that reading the angel would be easier, but he remained straight-faced, the only emotion gracing his features was that of anticipation as if he too was waiting for an answer.

Crowley’s decision came without words, his hand ran the length of your arm before settling around your wrist and guiding it back to his glasses. Letting go once your hand was in place, his chest rose and fell rapidly waiting for you to move. You took your time, ghosting over the cool metal, giving yourself the space to find the courage. 

“It’s all right dear, you have nothing to be afraid of.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and calm as he encouraged you to take the next step.

Shaking, you carefully removed the barrier between yourself and Crowley. His yellow eyes were on yours, never faltering, strong and terrified in equal measure. Lost in thought, you remained quiet, your fingers mapping over his features. Tracing the outline of his lips, the plane of his nose, the curve of his brow, the silky strands of hair that hung down over his forehead. 

“The pictures didn’t do you justice. You’re beautiful, Crowley.” Totally in awe, you couldn’t tear your focus away from the demon in front of you. Hearing your words, his shoulders dropped, the tension starting to fall away. 

Crowley looked over your shoulder at Aziraphale, the two sharing a moment. Behind you came a soft rustle and a gust of wind. Using his hands, which had found your waist, the demon turned you to face Aziraphale, and what you saw ripped the air from your lungs. The angel stood glowing, a halo of warm light surrounding him, but that wasn’t the true shock. That came from his wings. Zirah’s wings were all-consuming, their bright white feathers beckoned you closer.

Stepping toward him, your hands shot out, eager to feel and yet still hesitant. Looking up at Aziraphale, there was no need to speak as your question was obvious. 

“It’s okay. You can touch them if you want.” 

Slowly you found yourself outlining the shape of his feathers, paying attention to every detail. Unbeknownst to you, his head tipped back and his eyes shut tight. Feelin them soft like silk, and entirely intoxicating, you impulsively sought more. Burying your fingers in the depths of the layers, you were surprised to hear a strangled noise fall from Aziraphale’s lips. 

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Startling back, you worried that you’d inflicted pain, but looking up at the being in front of you a mask of pure bliss graced his angelic features. His eyes popped open at the loss of your touch. 

“No, quite the opposite my dear. And It's me who should be apologizing, I forgot myself there for a moment.” 

Reaching for your hand, he guided you back to his wings, encouraging you to continue. And you did until, the same sound as before, a flutter and gust of wind, caught your attention from Crowley’s direction. Keeping your hold on the angel, you turned your head to look behind you. Again, your lungs shuddered at the sight. Onyx wings now protruded from the demon’s back blocking out the world around him. Though utterly opposite, they were no less beautiful. Crowley reached for you again, his hands instantly found the curve of your waist and drew you closer. Stumbling slightly, he caught you easily, holding you to him as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Raking over your sides, the demon came to hold your face to him, much like Aziraphale had. Yet, there was something different playing over his features. 

“She’s gone then?” 

Unable to speak you nodded your head in affirmation. Fresh tears ran in steady streams down your cheeks, blurring the sight of the stunning creature in front of you. Crowley pulled you tight, his fingers burying themselves in your hair as you tugged at his vest, twisting the fabric in your fists. Heavy sobs wracked your body leaving you with nothing to do but cling to him.

Leaning down he whispered to you the only thing he could think of, the only truth he could be certain of, “You’re safe here with us. I promise. You're not alone.” 

Leaving you and his demon to have a private moment together, Aziraphale went to find the book. It took less than a minute as it was stored in a safe location away from the prying eyes of the public. Returning to you both, he tapped Crowley’s shoulder to get his attention. Feeling him pull away slightly, you followed in turn. 

“Is that it?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes, and you were right, it isn't really a book. It’s…” Aziraphale paused as if uncertain about how to proceed. 

Seeing his Angel struggle, Crowley took the book from his hands and gave it to you before speaking, “It’s the story of us. Aziraphale, myself, and your family. It’s our history.” 

“You see, we’re connected, and we have been for… a very long time.” Zirah found his voice again though it was shaky as he talked.

“But I don’t understand. Why us? We’re just humans, surely we can’t be that important.”

“Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong. That is precisely why you’re important. Your grandmother and your mother… they treated us kindly when the rest of the world couldn’t see beyond our differences, and for that… we’ll forever be in their debt. And beyond their kindness, your names… they’re written into the Ineffable Plan of the Universe. Yours in particular.” 

“What? What does that even mean?” shocked you searched for a better question, something that got to the heart of your confusion, but nothing surfaced. 

“It means that you… we… have grand adventures ahead. If you’ll join us that is.” Aziraphale's sweet eyes watched you closely waiting for the panic and fear to set in.

“Hold on, Ineffable Plan? You mean like ‘God’s” plan?” Zirah nodded in affirmation, “Didn’t think he was big on free will…”

Your off-hand comment brought a chuckle from the demon as he spoke, “Oh, I like her.” 

“Please, Crowley, be serious.” 

“All right, Angel. They’re all yours.” 

Aziraphale placed a hand on your back to lead you across the room toward the chairs near their desk. Guiding you to sit, he made his way to the other. Crowley perched on the arm of Zirah’s chair and waited for him to continue. 

“Now, where do we begin?” Zirah’s eye flickered up to Crowley with a smile.

“I know… let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.” Crowley smirked at his Angel loving his reaction to what had become a running joke after averting the Apocalypse. 

“Oh for the love of all that is good, do NOT start quoting The Sound of Music.” 

Aziraphale and Crowley couldn’t help, but share a quiet laugh together. Nothing like a generational dislike for The Sound of Music to bring everyone together even in the most harrowing of times. 

[gallivantingheart]

Use Your Mouth as an Anchor

masterlist | previous | next

🍵 chapter 2: gooseberry 🍵

who?: soonyoung/hoshi x (f)reader

word count: 901

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

genre: social media!au, princess diaries II !au, humour, romance, mild angst

warnings: none, as of yet

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

a/n: oh i forgot to note that there may be an inconsistent update schedule! i'm aiming for every week or every two weeks, so it's manageable for me, but with the silly season coming up, no guarantees.

The honeymoon period was over, as blatantly shown when his cousin and Queen of Amaide, Haneul called for him bright and early this morning. Was she not at least a little hungover? His birthday had gone a little harder than he'd expected. Summoned to the archives was an even bigger surprise.

The Royal Archives were a sprawling space, set to an ambient controlled temperature with just as much security as the Crown estate. He didn’t really have the energy to dress formally, opting for a tee, nice jacket and loose pants. He signs in, seeing her messy handwriting above his - only got in fifteen minutes ago. Her handwriting still looked the same from five years ago, haphazard and a little unfinished. No wonder it took her double the time to fill in paperwork if she wanted it legible for the public eye.

Apart from the slight squinted grittiness to her gaze and the shadows under her eyes, Haneul looked every bit the unruffled queen she was meant to be. Dressed in clean medium wash jeans and a pink and white striped button up french tucked into the front, long hair tied back. The only give away to her royal title was the glinting golden coat of arms pin on the lapel.

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Thanks for showing up, Soonie. I can see the recovery from last night is still ongoing.”

“It would be ongoing better if I was in bed, dear cousin.” He mutters. “What’s in the archives that you couldn’t bring out?”

Her smirk slides off her face like melted ice-cream, a feat hard to do for someone who’s grown so confident and optimistic. So he sobers up and tries harder to stand to attention.

She sighs. “Right. Yes. Come with me.”

So he follows her down corridors and down the tight spiral staircase that lead to the oldest documents. Ones only she had unrestricted, physical access to. A fingerprint and passcode. Here there were no windows, only stained glass artworks backlit to create the illusion. One of a glorious lemon tree, another of the old royal court in traditional style, fresh off the departure from Korea.

Waiting for her is a heavy book, leather-bound and weathered. The pages are a coffee-stain brown. It’s in the old language.

“What is this? I’m pretty sure I don’t need a history lesson, Haneul.” He chuckles.

She cringes and shakes her head. “No, we do. Come here, and have a look at this passage. This is Amaide’s Constitution, unchanged for at least a century.”

He leans over her narrow shoulder, to where her manicured nail stabbed the page. Article XXVII, sub set XII. In summary, for Soonyoung to retain his title as heir, at least until Haneul has children, he must marry. There must be a female in line for the throne or opportunity for one.

“Holy crap.” He breathes. “No. I’ve never heard of this!”

She shrugs. “Neither had I, for obvious reasons. But Councillor Kang raised this with me privately last Thursday, while you were on Jeju Island.”

Soonyoung steps around to better face her and swat her hand away from the brittle pages.

“‘Han, what happens if I don’t marry?”

Haneul scowls, gaze shadowed and hard. She looks more and more like her grandmother everyday, which never used to really strike fear into him until someone younger than him started using it. Another queen no less.

“Soonyoung, you should know better than to ask that question. I am Queen. I must have an Heir or a royal line should something happen to me. If you cannot be that, then it will fall to the next family with worthy blood and title. And we know who that is.”

Oh. The Chon family. Notorious thorn in the Park family’s side for as long as they have been in power. At least once a year there is menial tell-all by one of their family members, attempting to slander the royal family. It was their bread and butter, really, seeing as they weren’t the charitable type.

“How long do we have before this becomes public?” He says low.

“Well, really, any day now. We’re past the deadline by about two months. But, I’ll give you six months.” She says, quite firm.

He frowns, head slanted. “Six months to what?”

“To find someone suitable to marry. You’re a guy with a great personality, you’ll find someone. And I’m happy to help!”

He leans to slam the book shut and she jumps back. His blood runs red hot and he can feel his face burn, steam almost blowing from his ears.

“Haneul! How can you say that! You’re Queen, can’t you call for a referendum for this? For me?” He cries out.

She flinches as his voice echoes. “I wish I could, but it’s too late in the game. If I do it now, even if it passes, it won’t pass in time for this not to go public. Those damn Chons will have a field day with it and you’ll still lose your position. I can’t risk losing you, Soonyoung. But I will call for one. So no one else will have to do what I am asking of you.”

If he hadn't already lost his stomach last night he most certainly would have thrown up on the polished concrete floor right then and there. An arranged marriage. What a disaster.

[max1461]

I have a lot of thoughts about epistemology and the nature of procedural knowledge. Studying linguistics really impresses upon you just the sheer amount of human knowledge that is procedural and implicit. Languages are these huge, ridiculously complex systems, and even when it comes to the most thoroughly documented language in human history (English), you can still make an entire career documenting as-yet-unknown minutiae of some corner of a corner of the system. It's very difficult to impress upon non-linguists just how big and ill-understood languages are.

There is no book which explains the whole of English grammar. No one on earth knows the complete rule-set of English grammar. Not even for one dialect, not even for one single speaker. No one on earth could write a comprehensive treatise on English pronunciation. We do not know how English works. We do not know how any language works.

And yet, these systems are, in their entirety, already stored in the mind of every native speaker.

When it comes to synchronic information, I literally already know everything there is to know about my dialect of English. I know the timing of every articulation, the exact rules for verb and auxiliary and quantifier placement, the phonology, semantics, syntax, the lexical variation, the registers, all of it. I can deploy it effortlessly while I am thinking about something else. I can form reams of perfectly grammatical English sentences without a second thought. I can deploy the most arcane rules of wh-movement and quantifier raising and whatever else. With no effort at all.

Tens of thousands of people having been making careers trying to document these things, not for my exact dialect but for varieties essentially the same as mine, for 60 years in earnest. And they aren't close to done. And I already know it all. And so do they! They already know it too! The hard part is accessing it, putting it down on paper. That requires experimentation, systematic empirical investigation—science.

So what this has really impressed on me is how much of human knowledge is procedural. How much of it is known only in the doing. I'd wager that's the significant majority of what we know.

This is related to two thoughts that I have.

The first is about the value of unbroken lines of cultural inheritance. With language, the difference between native speakers and second language learners is stark. I think it's safe to say, per current research, that someone who learns a language in adulthood will simply never have the same command of it as someone who learned it in childhood. There are a variety of tests which consistently distinguish native from non-native speakers. You can get very good at a language as an adult learner, good enough for basically all practical needs (except being a spy), but there's a bar your brain just cannot meet.

The unfortunate fact about language is this: if the line of native-speaker-to-child transmission is ever broken, that language is lost. You can try to revive... something, if you want. Like was done with Hebrew in Israel. But it will not be the same language. And not just in the sense that, by the passing of time, all languages inherently change. In a much stronger sense than that. No matter how big a text corpus you have, no matter how well documented the language is, there is an immense body of implicit, undocumented, procedural knowledge that dies when the last native speaker does. And you cannot ever get it back.

I think, often, about the fact that so much human knowledge is procedural, is used and understood and passed on in illegible, difficult to codify ways. I think about the effect that a rapidly changing world has on this body of knowledge. Is it going to be essential for human prosperity? Probably not. But that doesn't mean that losing it will harmless. Certainly I expect much of it to be missed.

The second thought is about an epistemic distinction that I've had in my head for a long time, a distinction I'd like to refer to as that between a science and an art.

An art is any endeavor for which there is an established methodology, an established set of procedures and rules. These rules can be explicit and codified, like the rules of a game, or implicit, like the grammar of a language. They can be absolute or they can be mere guidelines. But in essence, an art is anything you can get good at. Math is quintessentially an art. Football is an art. Ballet is an art. Painting is an art. An art is any endeavor in which procedural knowledge is acquired and channeled and refined and passed on.

Art contrasts with science. A science is any endeavor in which one is shooting blind. Science is the domain of guesswork and trial-and-error. Sciences are those domains that do not lend themself to practice, because... what would you practice at? You cannot get better at science, because science is not about skill. Science is about exploration. It necessarily involves forging your own path, working with odd and faulty tools and odd and faulty ideas, trying to get them to work. Science only exists at the frontiers; when a path is well-tread enough that a body of procedure becomes known and practiced, that path is now art and no longer science.

This distinction is not a taxonomy. Everything we do involves a little bit of art and a little bit of science. Everything involves both a refinement of known skills and an exploration of new avenues. Of course there's a little bit of science in painting, there's quite a lot of science in painting. Every modern and contemporary art museum is full of it! And there's science in math, every once in a while. And there's art in biology and chemistry. Art and science are two modes of engagement, and different endeavors demand them of you in different ways.

Perhaps science is like a glider (you know, from Conway's game of life?), traveling ever outward, and with enough passes over the same area leaving art in its wake. And I think in some sense that all real human knowledge exists as art, that all endeavors capable of producing true insight are either arts or sciences buttressed by a great many supporting arts. Although maybe I'm wrong about this.

I think history is mostly science, and in large part history as a field seems to be on quite solid epistemic footing. So I don't want to convey the idea that science is inherently dubious; clearly from the above description that can't be my position. Nor is art inherently trustworthy—for instance I think jurisprudence is primarily an art, including religious jurisprudence, which of course I don't place any stock in. But I do think I'm getting at something with the idea that there are a range of epistemic benefits to working within an art that one lacks access to in a totally unconstrained science. This is also closely related to my ideas about abstraction and concretization schemes.

Language is an art, one of the oldest arts, but modern linguistics is more or less a science. Like any good science, linguistics has certain arts unique to itself—fieldwork and the comparative method come to mind—but the most vibrant parts of the field at present are science through-and-through. It's a science whose objects of study are arts, and I think maybe that's part of why I've become so aware of this distinction. Or, language is the ur-example of an art, the art from which (if I were to conjecture wildly) I think the cognitive machinery for very many other arts has been borrowed. But I don't really know.

Anyway, those are my thoughts.

[rotten-dog-teeth]

I need to say something, as an archivist.

Please look after your books. Please. Don't throw them in the bin, don't tear pages out, don't screw them up. If you don't want them anymore, either sell them, or donate them, whether it be to a charity shop, a library, or a school or university.

I rescue old books and look after them. I've just been sorting through the most recent lot that I've gotten, and there were books in there - that the original owners wanted to just throw away - that had survived over 100 years, and predated the first (1st) world war.

That in itself, is amazing. Because what most people don't know/realise, is that so many books did not survive the world wars, especially the second (2nd) one. Not only were countless libraries destroyed in bombings, but so many books were burned and eradicated under the Nazi regime.

This is still an issue today, with book burnings and bannings still taking place, such as in the USA; as well as countries being bombed and seiged, destroying so many books containing records of those people's history, culture and lives, such as in Palestine.

I've found books that were printed the year the second (2nd) world war ended, first (1st) editions filled with documents from the war, detailing everything that happened, every action that was taken, everywhere they went, every letter that was exchanged, every soldier that was felled. Documents that would have otherwise been destroyed, if not during the war by the opposition, then by the people who wrote it in the first place, to try to hide certain aspects of the war to paint themselves in a better light, or cover up certains tragedies or mistakes. These are pivotal resources for historians, especially books for time periods less written about/well-documented.

So often, I see books that are on their last legs, falling apart, and most people's reactions are to just throw them in the bin. This breaks my heart. Not only are you destroying a record of something so human - whether that be stories told to children to help them sleep at night, records of a huge historical event that meant the world to the people of that time, poems written by someone painfully in love so long ago - but snuffing out the life that book lived.

Every book I rescue, I check for two (2) things: print date, and notes.

The print date is simple - it tells me how old the book is. But the notes are what I mean by the life of the book. So many books I find have hand-written notes in them, and they give you little hints of the life they've lived. Here are some real notes I've found in books:

"Peter, Chemistry department of [X] university" in a german-english dictionary of chemistry terminology. This book was a gift to a university student, he was studying chemistry, and probably either working with a German team, or maybe leaving home after university to go to Germany, or some other german speaking country. These kinds of books are really specific, and at the time of print (roughly the 50s or 60s if I remember correctly), you couldn't just search for it online (something a good portion of us have never known) - you had to find a specialist book shop or find one that could track it down for you. Whoever got this book, cared about the person they gave it to, and went through the effort of finding this specific book for Peter before he left home. I would guess maybe a family member. Maybe they never saw him again.

"For our 50th anniversary - Annie & Frank" in a little homemade books of recipes. This book had been put together over several years, presumeably over the course of this couple's marriage - 50 years. This book was probably an anniversary gift from one of the two (2) partners to the other. So many recipes, lovingly collected and kept over decades. Probably having been cooked for eachother a hundred times over. These people probably had such fond memories of being sat at the dinner table - maybe just the two (2) of them, maybe with family, friends, and other company - eating the warm, homemade meals from these recipes. Making and sharing food with someone is often a very intimate and loving thing to do. I like to think they loved eachother so very much.

[A double-sided A4 love letter] found in a book of poetry. The letter was faded, and most of it was indistinguishable, but there were little bits that I could read, and they were lovely. This was written more recently (it contained more modern dialect), but was still so precious all the same. I wonder what that book lived through. A spark. An anxious confession. A romance. Perhaps a break-up too. Maybe that's why the book ended up in the donations. I imagine that the recipient of the love letter and poetry forgot the letter was even in there. The book was probably a gift from their partner - maybe specially picked, perhaps because the recipient liked poetry, or that specific poet at least - and that's probably why they used the letter as a bookmark in it. I still think about those people sometimes, where they ended up. Where are they now?

Those are just some of them, and I hope you understand why I care so much about these little bundles of paper and ink. They tell a story, not just in what's printed, but in their age, their condition, in the little notes people leave behind. Even simply the fact that some books' pages are so thin and smooth from being flicked through and read by an adoring reader so many times that the page corners have been worn thin by stroking fingers.

You may feel like nobody cares about that one book you have sitting in the corner of your room, and that "there are thousands of those books, this one doesn't matter", or that it's "ruined" because of that little message your mum wrote on the front page when she got it for you, but what you don't realise is that future historians and archivists are begging you to look after it, and make sure it's given to a good home. It may end up being the last surviving copy of that book. That little message could tell them so much that you don't even notice right now.

It breaks my heart finding old books with pages missing, which may never be recovered - the contents lost to time forever. Finding books whose spines are falling apart and pages are moulded from dampness - having been neglected for years. Finding books whose pages are worn and faded, yellowed and bent - just left to rot.

It fustrates me when I find books that have been poorly or just outright incorrectly handled. You can tell if a book's from a school library, because it has tape all over the cover, hiding the face of the book with a permanent dust jacket, because apparently they decided it ought to stay hidden; because it has check-out pages glued over the print date, because the day somebody borrowed it is more important than the book's birthday. I love libraries, and they're so important, but sometimes I wish some of them took better care of their books.

This is my plea to the people, and love letter to the books.

Please. I love you.

[honoviadakai]

Diaboys at a Carne Asada with Hispanic S/O/Reader: Mukami edition

Ruki:

The moment you tell him your family invited them to the family Carne Asada, he’s already mentally recalling any and all books he might have in his library about Hispanic culture

The ever well read eldest Mukami son will NOT attend any sort of event without proper preparations sooo…I’d give yourself a week in advance…minimum

He’s also gonna learn the language as best he can

He’s not gonna be 100% fluent but he’s gonna sound like he is and that’s what’s important to him

Once you both arrive he’s met with generally well reception

At least from the women in your family

He’s handsome, well educated and quite the gentleman from their perspective! So don’t be surprised if they start gushing and even asking when you two plan to tie the knot

Now the men in your family…that’s a different story all together…

Depending on how they are, at best they’re indifferent about him and at worst they wanna mess with the “smart boy”

For the love of all that is pure and holy in this world, keep an eye on him so he doesn’t verbally tear someone a new one! 🙏

He’s also not scoring a lot of points with the kids in your family.

He might indulge them in a board game but if they wanna play a physical game like soccer, he’s probably not gonna do it so your cousins think he’s a little lame

He won’t drink beer, it smells too cheap and gross for him

Flat out will not partake in most of the stuff the men do

For example

If they start talking about cars, at best he’s gonna start expositing the history of how cars came to be

They wanna talk about farming? He’s gonna teach them the entirety of this history of agriculture from EVERY culture

Yeeeah…he’s not popular with the guy and some of the kids…

BUT! As stated earlier, he’s a hit with the women in your family!

He’ll help with any cooking and cleaning that anyone needs help with

Might show off and make a few dishes of his own that will be an instant hit with everyone

The dotting and fawning the other women are having towards him might be annoying to a good chunk of your family though

This guy unfortunately radiates too much rich white boy privilege to be truly accepted

Honestly bringing him is so dividing amongst your family that you’re better off bringing him every other invite

Kou:

Hooboi

This one’s gonna be fun 😈

This idea comes courtesy from @magnificentkidclamclod and I couldn’t agree more with her

The second you get the invite, sit Kou down and teach him about Selena (and really any Hispanic artists you can think of)

By the time the day ends, he’s a Selena Stan, memorizing her songs and dances and even thinking of writing a song of his own to honor her

If you show him a document about her life, keep an eye on him cuz the moment he finds out she was murdered and said murderer is alive, he’s gonna try to find her and start shit

As much as we’d all want him to…don’t, we don’t need a bloodbath on our hands here

Now to the party itself

If any family members of your family like J-pop…well I hope you liked hearing while it lasted, cuz the second he walks in, expect loud screams/squeals

He might get swarmed so help him by clearing a path and making it clear that he’s just here to enjoy the event and that he’s taken

He’s not very helpful in the kitchen or anything but your family thinks it’s kinda funny how useless this pop star is in the kitchen so they won’t complain

They’re also gonna tease his low spice tolerance but you and the younger kids will console him

He’s a hit with the kids since he’ll play with them and even perform silly little songs and dances for them

He doesn’t like beer, he prefers sweet, fruity cocktails

He might get teased for them but he’ll probably take the opportunity to drink some humans under the table as petty revenge

He’s gonna score some huge respect points with the men in your family

Now when it comes to the women, expect him to be an official member of the Chisme circle by the end of the night

He. LOVES. It.

It’s not only a good way to learn more about you and your family but it gives him a good space to vent with a genuine support group

This is a good thing for him but it’s kind of a weird thing for you

The reason is because he’s gonna know things about your family before YOU

Someone got a promotion? He knew hours ago

Someone went through a nasty break up? He sent them a gift basket days ago

Someone died? He had the funeral planned months in advance

It’s more than a little off putting…but you don’t have the heart to take that from him 😔

Now he’s canonical a pop idol, so there is no doubt in anyone’s minds that he’s gonna SLAY on the dance floor

But he’s surprisingly very good at singing along to songs, especially Selena songs

Don’t be fooled though, he doesn’t really understand the language, he’s just listened to the songs enough times to know the lyrics word for word 🤣

He’s not gonna learn the language fast but given enough time he’ll learn, eventually

He’s definitely gonna be someone your family hopes you bring at EVERY event

Yuma:

Yuma “Big Bear” Mukami…

Oh he’s gonna be welcomed with open arms

Now before he goes he genuinely might not go because it’s “too much of a hassle, I have gardening to do ya know!”

Tell him there’s free food, alcohol and if the even is gonna be at a ranch, tell him there’s animals and crops

He’s gonna change his tune real quick

Once he goes, he’s gonna have so much fun!

The moment he arrives…everyone is in awe at how big this dude is…it’s gonna boost his already huge ego

Expect him to flex and bost about his monstrous size, he’ll even put kids on his shoulders and spin them around for fun

Your family is gonna LOVE this rowdy man

Big dude in this case means big alcohol tolerance, he’s gonna drink your dad, uncles, grandfather and your neighbors under the table. They might end up adopting him by the time he wins 😆

He’s also very helpful in the kitchen and with cleaning.

He understands the importance of helping out to do hard work so if he sees your mom or someone else needs help, he’s getting off his ass to help

ALL the kids love him and want him to play with them

This dude is gonna become a human(vampiric) jungle gym so don’t get upset if your little cousin and siblings don’t wanna share him because he’s the perfect playmate for them

He’s not as good a dancer as Kou but you bet your bottom dollar he can throw down a good hoedown at least

His dancing style is powerful, aggressive and oddly sexy

Don’t be suprised if some of the women swoon over him

He’ll also help out with any crops and livestock

Hell, he’s even gonna share/swap farming/gardening advice

You might not see him again for a while once he starts talking about this tbh sooo…go get some food ^^;

Speaking of food, this guy eats like it’s the last meal he’s ever gonna eat

He’s also got a high spice tolerance that’s only rivaled by Azusa so the family will be impressed

They won’t be impressed with his Spanish skills but he’s stubborn and absolutely wants to learn for your sake and boy howdy does your family respect the effort

Honestly by the end of the night, it kinda feels like your family loves Yuma more than you 😂

Honestly they’re more excited for you two to get married that you two are soooo hop to it!

Azusa:

Oh Azusa…

Sweet little Azusa…

This one’s…gonna be tricky…

On one hand, you know how oh so sweet this man is and you know that he’d never intentionally hurt your family

On the other hand…it’s Azusa…

….

Listen, you gotta lay down the law with this guy

He’s a sweetheart that loves you with his whole undead heart but you NEED to let him know that he’s not allowed to play with knives or hurt himself in anyway on purpose

Even with a warning and some prep time, your family might not be super positively receptive to him

He’s tiny, looks frail(they bandages don’t help) and he speaks a tad slowly

Honestly your family might initially think he’s terminally ill or something

First thing they’re gonna do is sit him somewhere warm and give him a BIG plate of food

Ofc he’ll accept it gratefully, he’s gonna ask for hot sauce though

You told him about your tia’s extra spicy salsa and he really wants to try it

At first your family advises him not to, but he insists that he can

So they reluctantly give him some…

And he loves it! Hell he’s not even sweating!

That immediately impresses everyone and makes them less tense so they’re more comfortable with him being your lover

He’s gonna scare your little cousins though

Not because he’s being mean or hurting them

It’s cuz they asked him to play soccer…

The kids accidentally kicked the ball in his face and made his nose bleed, but Azusa didn’t even react much and even asked if they wanted to do that again but harder

This unnerves the kids but he’ll remember your words

He’s gonna try to be playful and act silly for them, it might not work for all of them but some of the kids will like him at least

He helps out when he can but…he’s just really accident prone…keep an eye on him when he’s washing dishes…please

He’s gonna drink with the men just to be polite, but he honestly doesn’t like beer

But if it’s to make your family happy, he’ll happily choke down the bitter beer

The men can tell but they honestly think it’s sweet that he’s enduring drinking with them just to keep everyone happy

They’ll eventually stop him and offer him some horchata or jamica instead

Azusa isn’t good at fast paced dancing, slow dancing is more his forte so get ready to be swept off your feet 😉

His Spanish skills….well they’re abysmal at best

He’s gonna eventually learn basic phrases like “Mi nombre es Azusa” or “¿Donde esta el baño?” But that’s about all he’s gonna know for a few years

Spanish is tricky for him so be patient

Over all your family does like him…but they think he’s odd…very sweet! But very odd…

Be careful when bringing him because he’s the one between the Mukami’s that might accidentally let them know he and his family are vampires

[cin-cant-donate-blood]

I think there is something really tragic about those posts that are like "man can you imagine future archaeologists reading our posts" because I don't actually believe even a fraction of all the things we say will survive for very long.

We supposedly live in an information age where everything is recorded, and people say that once something is on the internet, it is there for ever, but this is clearly not true.

Most of the internet is managed by corporations, and when a certain website dies, there is absolutely no incentive to spend all the money necessary to preserve ecerything that was ever posted. Maybe Archive.org will have saved a lot, but it can't save everything.

Even right now internet history going back as recently as the 90s is really spotty. A lot of forums and sites are simply lost to time.

And maybe one day Archive.org will run out of money too, and everything they preserved will be lost, not in a dramatic bang like the fire in the Library of Alexandria, but with a whimper, like the many thousands of times more documents that have been lost simply because no one copied them in the few decades they had before the mold or worms or whatever else got to them.

Think of Sappho and Catullus, two of the most celebrated poets of ancient Greece and Rome respectively. Both were prolific, and both were titans, widely celebrated for their extraordinary work, long after their deaths.

Both had a single century or two where people got tired of them, and almost every single thing they ever wrote was irrecoverably lost, because books do not last forever, especially not the ones written on papyrus, which was the dominant medium at the time and has a quoted life span of about 70 years unless stored in nearly perfect conditions (desert conditions, which is why we associate papyrus with Egypt).

All we have now are a handfull of fragments of their work. They are, once again, and perhaps forever, celebrated as geniuses, but we can't ever undo that single, brief moment where the majority of their work was lost forever, not out of malice, but out of indifference.

Everything not actively, painstakingly, expensively maintained will be lost, inevitably and irretrievably. Stone carvings last longer, but they're horribly space inefficient. The invention of parchment, which can survive centuries, greatly improved things, but that too is extremely expensive compared to paper or papyrus. Modern digital storage is the same; we just made the copying process easier.

One day, tumblr will die. It is as inevitable as your death or mine. Or the death of the sun. In fact, tumblr will probably die within our lifetimes. When it dies, some things will be saved, but many will not. Some will miss it, but most will forget. Out of millions of posts, perhaps a few hundred thousand survive as jpeg screenshots on reddit, instagram, or whatever sites survive tumblr. Then, as those die, perhaps ten thousand screenshots of screenshots carry on to new social media sites, as of yet not made. And then a thousand of those survive as those sites die.

And maybe those will be the thousand best, and maybe some expert will even be able to tell you that they're screenshots of tumblr, and in a few words what tumblr was, but what even is the thousand best? Every copying act is a choice by someone who thought it was worth copying. Tastes change, and as they do, maybe one generarion's favorite is destroyed by the neglect of the next.

Tumblr isn't special. This is the future of all social media. Echos will persist, but so much will be lost.

So maybe, one day, an internet archaeologist will find your silly tumblr post about how crazy it would be if someone was reading what you said centuries from now. Unfortunately, there will be so much context missing. Maybe your post will be one of a mere hundred remaining, most of which make references to in-jokes and memes long forgotten: incomprehensible and empty. Like the statue in Ozymandias: nothing beside remains.

I'll end this with a poem from the lost poets I mentioned, and since this is tumblr, why not a gay one? Both Catullus and Sappho have their share of love poems dedicated to members of the same sex, but the partial poem known as Sappho 31 is probably the most well known. This is Edward Storer's translation:

He seems like a god to me the man who is near you,

Listening to your sweet voice and exquisite laughter

That makes my heart so wildly beat in my breast.

If I but see you for a moment, then all my words

Leave me, my tongue is broken and a sudden fire

Creeps through my blood. No longer can I see.

My ears are full of noise. In all my body I

Shudder and sweat. I am pale as the sun-scorched

Grass. In my fury I seem like a dead woman,

But I would dare...

... and that's it. The ending has never been found. Scholars think anywhere between a few lines and half the poem is missing.