#and its all socially acceptable because you get to be thinner

[betty-burnout]

ozempic and other glp-1s really feel like medically sanctioned anorexia

[captain-kit-adventuress]

Everyone saying "but there is a point where body weight equals problems!" you're not getting the fucking point. There is not a single problem which affects fat people that isn't also found in thin people, except for the dehumanisation because of shape.

Shapes are not a determinant of disease-states. Your cells and fluids and tissues do not have any idea of mathematical probability or causality. They're not waiting to fail anyone who goes over some arbitrary threshold because they have any idea of the concept of weight. They do not. Your body doesn't fucking know what weight even is.

This is why being under that arbitrary threshold doesn't fucking matter. Your body doesn't know, and it has no way of getting that message.

At its simplest, your body understands two things: 1) I am getting enough energy; 2) I am not getting enough energy. If the first, great! Normal processes can continue. If the second, your body can support you for awhile, but never long-term. Eventually, it's going to understand that option 2 isn't going away, and it's going to lock down into survivor mode. Survivor mode usually means forced weight regain and deploying effective failsafes, which translates at a practical level to you'll gain back whatever you lost and then some. To ensure it's not in danger again, your body will stay in weight gain mode for awhile so it's got some extra to guard against a future lack of energy, and it could change your hormonal make-up slightly to make weight loss harder. This is the weight cycle we all know and hate, and it is why all diets will eventually fail, because your body is hardwired to be unable to support intentional weight loss long-term. It will literally take over whatever you're trying to do so you don't fucking die, because diets and starvation are the same thing to a body. Even if you're fucking 600 pounds.

Not only that, this failure cycle has a very clear and demonstrable connection to the very same health problems that many fat people face, as does weight stigma–such as telling fat people constantly that they need to be thinner in order to be socially acceptable, or even human.

A body doesn't know it's fat, you idiots. That's a completely socially made-up thing, just like our current idea of health, which is largely predicated on thinness, whiteness, wealth, and lack of disease. At least half of that list is socially-determined, and another quarter is so tied up in uncontrollable factors we might as well be trying to change the colour of the moon; that is, it might be theoretically possible, but there's no real point in trying, because pretending like the moon would be "better" if it was a different colour is made-up human bullshit. Why does it matter?

Why does it matter if people are fat? What does that fucking fundamentally change in your lives to begin with? Why do you actually care that this other collection of cells and fluids and tissues has more of those cells and tissues and fluids? If shape and weight aren't the "health" gotchas you think they are, then what the fuck reason is there to care?

Hating on fat people is just a fucking exercise in assholery.

I gave my soapbox speech about how weight loss is mostly bullshit to two different patients in a row yesterday and so help me I’m pretty sure one of these days someone is going to say “but SURELY you agree I’d be HEALTHIER if I lost weight!” bc you can see the disbelief in their eyes. And like. Sure, maybe! You might see some improvement in biomarkers like LDL and A1c, and your knees would probably feel better. But you would be amazed at how much more good you can do for yourself by focusing on things you can actually meaningfully change without resorting to making yourself miserable. Eat more fresh fruits and vegetables—it’s hard bc they’re more difficult to prepare and more expensive per calorie and go bad faster than other foods, but they’re what we evolved eating the most of so they’re what our bodies need the most of. And walk around more; sure, cardio is great for you, but if it sucks so bad you don’t do it, it isn’t doing shit for you. And we evolved to walk very very long distances, a little bit at a time, so our bodies respond actually very well to adding walks into our schedules, which is vastly easier than adding workouts that are frankly designed to be punishing when the definition of punishing is “makes you less likely to do it again in the future.”

You get one life. It is shorter than you can begin to imagine. Don’t waste it hating yourself because somebody is going to make money off that self-hatred. You deserve better than to be a cash cow for billionaires who pay aestheticians and dermatologists to make them (or at least their trophy wives) look thin and beautiful no matter what they actually do.

[lauryn2theelectricboogaloo]

My biggest Enemy (part 1)

I started to breathe heavily through gritted teeth. How could he stand there like what he did to me was nothing? I wanted to scream, I wanted to kick him, I wanted to kick his perfect teeth right out of his mouth. But I could do nothing but smile and clap for him when he went up to accept his oscar. 

From elementary all the way up to eighth grade I loved school. The work was easy, my friends were there and I got to do the extracurriculars I loved but when I was in high school, things got hard.  I got diagnosed with ADHD in fifth grade but I started noticing the symptoms when I started high school. I would forget to do my homework and chores and I couldn’t pay attention no matter how hard I tried. Every time I would look at the teacher and at the board and I would feel like something was nagging me. I would feel something poking my brain’s shoulder and call its name and my brain would answer it. I also had all kinds of anxiety. Social anxiety, separation anxiety, a panic disorder, you name it, I got it. Having these disorders made me feel like an outcast which is ironic because I crave attention and yet I don’t want to see anyone. I mean, how could you not notice a six foot, morbidly obese girl. My whole entire school apparently. I tried everything just for someone to notice me. Everyday I would go home and wait for someone, anybody to text me, or follow me on social media, or even like my photos because if they liked my photos, that means they know of my existence. I would get nothing though. I felt like the school’s ceiling. Students would look at me if they were bored and then when school’s over, I would be left and forgotten. I started to notice my flaws way more and the fact that I was in poverty started to get more problematic. I wanted to start my life all over. Get a second chance.

The only thing that was good that came from high school was finding theater my junior year. I wasn’t sure how I would like theater because of my social anxiety but when we started rehearsals I fell in love with it. It was a place where people were forced to be around me. They were forced to see me. These people were just like me, social outcasts with some type of neurodivergent disorder. And when we did our performances it was a type of feeling that I had never felt before. Sure I had choir and band concerts but doing a play was a different type of thrill. With concerts, you know what songs you’re going to play or sing and unless you have a solo, you don’t have to do anything on your own. With acting, you never know what’s going to happen. Someone could forget their lines and you would have to improve or someone could forget their prop and you have to figure out a way to not make that prop important. But the best thing about it was that I could pretend I was another person. I would always be the comic relief and people would laugh at me but for the first time, I was glad that they were laughing. This is when I knew that this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.  I felt like I was back to when I was a happy, little kid. That was until I met Jake Toller. 

 Well, I didn’t really meet him in theater. I have been going to school with him since first grade but my junior year of high school is when I got to know him. He used to be a chubby kid with thick glasses that looked like goggles but then when he got to high school, puberty hit him like a grandma reprimanding her grandchild. He was thinner, had better hair, grew a few inches, and he got glasses that fit him. He was also a phenomenal actor. Everything he said on that stage was believable. You can tell that he puts his heart and soul into his acting. So to recap, he’s attractive and he’s talented. Easy to say, he was popular in high school. One time, during a school play, he made the professional decision to rip his shirt off in front of the school board. You could practically feel the ground shake from the girls swooning over him. That whole fiasco was before I joined the theater company.

I officially joined my theater company my junior and I did my first role with a significant amount of lines. I finally felt like I was a part of a group. That was until I tried to talk to Jake. He would just ignore me. Granted, he did that to almost everybody. He acted like a lone wolf. The theater group had little traditions that we would do together but Jake would not be there. He would be in the dressing room just getting ready to get on stage. Even though he acted cold towards everyone, it broke my heart to finally feel like I belonged just for someone in that group to not like me. It’s weird but I could see myself in him. He was so passionate about acting and if he thought the performance wasn’t the best, he would be in a bad mood. I was the exact same way. I would be a sour puss about a line I messed up or some blacking I forgot and I would beat myself up backstage. We were also the same personality wise. We thought the same about politics, we had the same taste in musicals, musicians,and movies. We even wanted to do the same thing when we got out of high school; musical theater. Yet, he did not like me. I just didn’t get it. We have so much in common , why doesn’t he like me?   I would do anything to get his attention. I would sing in front of him, I would go extra hard on my acting, I even had my sister draw a realistic photo of him so I could give it to him as a gift but nothing worked. He still looked at me like I was a disgusting Orge. 

So the next year, I let up on the attention seeking and things got better. The theater company had won our One Act Play competition and we were coming in the new competition season with high hopes. That was until I was casted as stage manager. I cried so hard because I thought I did my best in the auditions and I still wasn’t good enough. Jake got the lead, which everyone knew was going to happen. He was our theater teacher’s golden child. When we started rehearsal, it was rough. Our teacher had changed the play that we had to do because of copyright reasons, we lost most of the good actors, and we didn’t have enough people to do the play. The theater company was starting to lose hope. Surprisingly, Jake started to talk to the theater company and give them pep talks. It was a complete 180 from the cold, serious Jake that we knew last year. Yet, he still ignored me. He was so friendly to everyone else but me. I didn’t really care though. At this point in my life, I had a life threatening case of senioritis so I gave up on everything. I gave up trying to look good, I gave up trying to appease my teacher, I gave up on doing well in my class, and I gave up caring about Jake Toller. You would think since I didn’t care about people’s opinions of me, that I would be doing better mentally and you’d be wrong. I felt so lonely during this time and I felt like everyone was against me. One of the only friends I had stopped talking to me outside of theater, the other friend I had was actually my sister’s friend, and this one person in the group would constantly talk about how he didn’t like me. There was one rehearsal where I had to cut our play short because we were practicing being in an One Act Play competition and I had to cut the play short because if we were in a real contest,we would be disqualified. Everyone was complaining because they thought that they had more time so I shouldn’t have cut the play off. Everyone kept complaining to me and it was wearing me down, Then Jake told me that he appreciated that I cut the play short because we would’ve definitely been disqualified if it was the real deal. Even though I said that I didn’t care about Jake liking me, this meant more than anything. I have been feeling so worthless the whole year but he, Jake Toller, thought I did a good job. This statement got me through the rest of the year. I was determined to be a good stage manager so we can win state at the end of the year.

Unfortunately, we did not win. In fact, we got dead last. I felt that this play was a testament of how good I was as a stage manager and I just cost my theater the win. After this disappointment, I graduated and summer break started. Summer is the worst for me. No one ever calls me or texts me and I have to look for jobs so I can use it for school so all summer I just sleep, eat, work, repeat. 

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

i understand that its cool to receive fanart, but ur really lenient about people who draw these characters thinner than they really are, and as a steven universe blog with art that is really respectful about bigger bodies its really disappointing to see u supporting these people skinnyfying fat characters

Here's the thing about your message:

It assumes everyone drawing bigger characters skinnier is doing so with fully acknowledged malicious intent

It assumes that openly shaming people for it will fix the problem and make them draw fat characters 'properly'

I'm going to be completely honest with you for a moment.

I'm a teacher. I teach kids from ages 8 to about 15 (currently I'm teaching younger grades, but I've worked a lot with the older demographic as well.) So take what I say with the comfort that I at least know a little bit of what I'm talking about.

Why does this matter? Because a lot of the fanart that is gifted to me by this community comes not from adults, but from children. Sometimes, they're teens who have been drawing for a few years! Sometimes they're younger kids who have only recently begun to develop their skills.

Here's the reality - drawing bodies is hard. ANY bodies - skinny ones, fat ones, unusually shaped ones. In order to get good at it, you have to draw them a lot! And in order to draw, you need to find ways to practice. Usually, this happens by the budding artist looking around at other artists and copying them. Or looking at tutorials.

Here's another reality - unfortunately, the majority of art online, the majority of tutorials online, don't touch on drawing larger characters. They simply pretend it's not a thing. Finding references to larger people can take work! Getting started drawing larger people if you only have skinny-people references... is hard!

You know what doesn't make it easier? Getting shamed and told off by another artist for drawing characters 'too skinny'.

I teach English to students who have never learned English before. From 8 year olds to 15 year olds, you know what the one thing that remains constant is? Learning happens best through kindness and positive reinforcement. Not through shame and grabbing the child's attention and smearing it in their mistake like you're punishing a puppy that peed on the floor.

In fact, yelling at people of ANY age about their mistake pretty rarely gets them to stop making that mistake. What ends up happening more often is that they end up hating that activity altogether.

There's a reason I consciously and indiscriminately reblog all sorts of art - all of it has something that the artist excels at. Do all of them have great body proportions that are correct for the character? No. Some art is clearly made by people who are not used to drawing anything except super skinny characters!

But all of them ARE kind enough to read my comic, which I try to fill with body types that are diverse, true to the show itself. And that, in and of itself, is exposing them to art styles that don't have to over-rely on anime or CLAMP-esque noodly kids that look like they just popped out of Wonka's Laffy machine.

So yes, maybe they draw Steven or Rose too skinny. But they're also looking at Rose and Steven and clearly find them adorable, and maybe someday, they'll try something different for a change. It's not my job to rub their nose in the fact that they haven't gotten the chance to experiment yet. It's also not my job to ignore them if they don't have the 'correct' proportions, because like it or not, that's also punishment.

I do make it my job to try to reblog the fanart I see and promote it, because getting positive reinforcement and being encouraged to continue to experiment with art is what will make kids and teens AND adults confident enough to go beyond the socially-accepted weight-limit for MCs.

I know it can feel demoralizing to see a lot of character with your body type erased and made skinny as if that's a 'prettier' version of them. But 90% of the people drawing Steven skinny aren't doing it because they hate you. It's because they haven't been told it's ok to draw characters chubby. Or fat. And the unlearning part of that sort of thing is a process that needs support, not shame.

I don't expect you to be kind if you're hurt by that. You can react any way you want, and anger is a healthy emotion in this case.

But if you want ME to react with malice on your behalf, then I'm afraid I won't. I have another job to do, and that job is teaching with kindness.

[jennamoran]

#huh?

This is a quote from a fictitious pop science book focusing on neuroscience.

It appears as an illustrative aside in the RPG Glitch: A Story of the Not, accompanying a section describing a faction that believes the world to be a lie. Its higher-order purpose is thus to complement the description of that faction with something that gives a sort of experiential and narrative life to their philosophy.

In this sense, it's serving a similar purpose to an illustration. RPGs often include illustrations to give a "feel" and inspire visual imagination. The marginalia found in Glitch and other games also provide "feel" and inspire the ... fictive? imagination ... of those who immerse easily in fiction and not so much in descriptive text.

Taking it down a level, we should all be familiar with the idea that the world we perceive is not "the world," but our perceptions. This is an iceberg of an idea, covering everything from "Mexico doesn't actually have a yellow filter in the real world, and thus my media-derived picture of the place does not reflect what is actually there" to "while we perceive a table as solid, the atoms of it are mostly empty space." From the idea of anatman, the idea that there is no permanent and persistent self because there is nothing in us that does not change, to the realization that things like debt are just social constructs rather than immutable laws. We perceive the sky as almost absent of the light of stars, and do not realize that this is a condition we have brought upon ourselves as a society through light pollution. We're losing the butterflies too, and some people won't ever know what they once were like.

And it's easy to accept that idea, but also relegate it to the status of a second-tier explanation of reality. To accept that a lot of our ideas about how things are are purely social or mistaken or just our personal imagination, but also imagine that there's this underlying solid bedrock of a world that those false ideas are kind of painted on. To imagine, for instance, that there's a "true nature" of a certain gender, even though most people don't get what that nature is right. To imagine that either tomatoes are or are not a fruit, rather than both of those being concepts we make up. To imagine that we're separate entities from the world. To say, yes, maybe words and nations and categories and flavors are made up, but, this sandwich is real. This chair is real. That maybe colors are divided up based on society, but that that's just how they're named; the colors themselves are "there."

That's what this quote is trying to dig at; that's the thing it's trying to show how you might question it.

In practice there are very few ground-level experiences that we're ever likely to discover are completely false. That's what makes them ground-level experiences---there's a particular solidity to the existence of a sandwich that derives from our long experience in life knowing that the reality of that sandwich isn't going to be questioned. We can say "it's not really there at the atomic level," but a physicist of my acquaintance might say that the limited way it is there is basically what "thereness" means. We can say "some argument exists about what 'a sandwich' means," but there's still this physical thing one is holding in one's hand. Irrevocable and impregnable in its reality.

Except, the sky isn't really there.

We all basically know that, at least according to the current picture of things, there isn't a blue sky up there. There's just air, going up and up, becoming thinner and thinner until for all practical purposes it's gone. But we also all had to learn this at some point. We had to learn that you couldn't reach up and poke it, though that was a lesson likely learned too young to remember when it happened. We had to learn that it wasn't there, just really high.

But somewhere, right now, someone is learning that. That the sky isn't really there. That that great physical blueness up above is an illusion.

Somewhere, someone is reaching for a handhold that isn't there.

Somewhere, someone is picking up a cup that they know is heavy and full of liquid, only, it's not. It's light.

Somewhere, someone is learning about saccades and the process of vision and how much of what's going on there the brain is filtering out. Or, put another way, someone out there is learning that our eyes are not magical objects that use the light around us to provide an unfiltered measurement of truth.

We live in a picture book created by our brains, and it's difficult to know just where simplification ends and self-deceit begins.

To be clear, I personally believe in trees.

I'm sure my definition of what a tree is will update sometime. I'm sure someday I will walk up to where I think a tree is and it won't be there, because I got turned around or forgot my landmarks and it's somewhere else. I'm sure I'll encounter a weird biology note someday about how something I'd call a tree isn't, it's a mimic of some sort.

But in general, I do personally believe that when I see a tree, I'm seeing a real physical thing. Or, rather---harkening back to our physicist, and the idea that a table is "solid" because tables are the kind of thing the word "solid" refers to---I believe that the model of the world where trees exist is more practical than an elaborate conspiracy theory that they don't.

But discovering one day that there aren't trees ... is the kind of thing that could happen to someone. Oh, it won't be that. But it'll be something, you know? Something that you're certain is real isn't.

So that's what this quote is getting at. It's getting at the idea that you can't just dismiss things like the social construction of reality and the way our models of the world are just models by saying "well, yeah, but that's just superficial stuff, the important stuff is really there."

We don't have direct access to reality. We have sensory experiences that we sort out to build the world, and when some idea keeps working for us, we call it "real." Calling it real, we begin to doubt anything that contradicts it, justifying and justifying until someday the accumulation of evidence reaches such a level that it's cognitively easier to discard that reality and bring in something new.

There's a bunch of interesting stories the neurologists have given us about people with brain damage and what it can make them believe, from "I'm dead, even though I'm talking to you" to "that's not my spouse" to "my hand is acting on its own."

And one thing that often gets overlooked there is, we all have brain damage.

Like, the idea that "normal" brains perceive things correctly and "damaged" brains don't is just a fallacy.

Normal brains perceive things in the normative way. When physiological abnormalities change that perception in a way that is both physiologically semi-replicable and less functional in our context, we call that damage.

But it'd be ridiculous to imagine that we're not all constantly immured in literal billions of errors that are every bit as egregious as believing oneself dead, if only they weren't shared by either everyone in our society or everyone alive and functional. Or rather, that those "errors" are to us as water is to fish; that we are the kinds of beings who perceive sandwiches as sandwiches, tables as tables, and trees as trees, even though it is almost definitionally certain that another kind of creature could perceive the world in a more functional fashion that did not include those things.

I believe in trees, but that mostly just means that I believe that being born with this kind of brain, it will never actually be useful to me to not believe in trees. I am not the kind of alien who will one day break through to a genuinely better picture of the world that doesn't have trees in it. That will require more than just a discovery or a new scientific paradigm; it would require neuroarchitecture I simply don't and can't possess.

(... I should qualify that a little, since it's worth note that neurology is itself just an after-the-fact model of our experience. But that's another kettle of worms; let's leave it there for now.

... although it is worth noting that every scientific theory will probably be revised and reframed repeatedly for as long as a continuous scientific culture exists. Sometimes the reframing will be ideological; sometimes it will be what today's scientists might call a genuine improvement. But it'll keep happening forever.

Still; that's not the topic of this post.)

Imagine a world where there aren't trees. Imagine a world where neuroscientists found a part of the brain that produced them. That instead of "I'm dead" or "that's not my spouse" or "my arm isn't underneath my own control," Dr. Feldr discovered a part of the brain that, when damaged, makes you see trees where they're not.

Imagine a world where further study of these "Feldr's dryads" revealed that ... anyone can see trees, when certain parts of their brain were electrically stimulated. That they can describe them in rich botanical detail. That they can't walk around them, because trees are solid things.

Recognize that this is, in part, how we do see trees; that is, we see trees when something stimulates our brain to see trees. Nobody's ever discovered a specific region responsible for this; the idea is a bit risible.

But also recognize that some risible things are true; that a neuroscientist might comment on this post and tell us there isn't and really can't be a specific part of the brain that identifies trees, but someday, you'll be reading the newspaper, or social media, or whatever, and you'll encounter a description of something weird and unexpected like the idea that there's a specific brain region responsible for trees.

And if it happens to be that ... if this post is going to get dredged up in 15 years as weirdly oracular, or whatever, and it turns out that the next ridiculous, impossible fact that people turn up is that there's a brain region responsible for trees ...

Well, what would that say about the world?

What if trees were like the sky? What if trees were like being "dead" after brain damage? What if trees were like colors and the way we differentiate them socially?

Of course they're not. Of course they're there.

By which I mean, of course it's a sucker's bet to imagine that this will be the thing we learn is meaningfully and practically wrong within our lifetimes.

Because that's how our brains work. That's how our perceptions work. Because that's what trees are, our ever-deeper understanding of a practical constraint on the environment we navigate. Because people who try to walk through trees are less adept at getting around than people who don't, and people who try to look through trees see less well than people who don't, and people who try to climb trees do better than people who try to climb the air, and we've taken all these practical effects and formed a theory of the world including trees.

Because the extent to which trees are actually there is basically what the words "trees" "are" "actually" "there" means.

It's practical to believe in baseline physical reality unless you're seeking enlightenment or whatever.

It's practically impossible to escape baseline physical reality given the neuroarchitecture that we have.

... but over and over again, people take advantage of that to fold things that aren't baseline physical reality into their model and imagine their ideas, their beliefs, their ideological constructs, as baseline physical reality.

Unquestionable.

Accordingly, part of being a person is being aware that sometimes, things you'd thought of as immutable and unquestionable ... aren't.

And like ... the Matrix is an allegory.

Zhuangzi was, for most practical purposes, a human who dreamt he was a butterfly.

The idea that we're all just brains in a vat being deceived by Descartes' "evil demon" is not meaningful---a distinction without a difference.

But they're all getting at the idea that reality isn't something we find, it's something we build out of what we find.

The Deceivers, that faction I mentioned, live outside the world; they think that we have built the world out of lies. They think the whole of Creation is a jungle of deceit that we have put up to keep from seeing ourselves the way we really are.

They love us but they love not that lie.

They come to unmake the world for us. They come to help you forget the Eyes and Ears and Nose, the Work and Home and School, the Trees and Wind and Laughter and Hearts and Hope.

They come because they think us marvelous, whatever it is they think we are—whatever thing they imagine, that we cannot imagine ourselves, lives behind these purported lies.

And like ... I call them Deceivers for a reason. Partly a historical reason, but also partly a practical one. And it's important, practically speaking, that the Eyes and Ears and Nose, the Trees and Wind ... that those aren't the same as the Work and Home and School, the Laughter and Hearts and Hope.

But if you're wondering, how can someone believe that? How can someone be like that? and you're a player or GM in Glitch?

Think about the elephants in the rooms. Think about trees being false. Think about how alluring the parallel between the nervous system and a tree would be to a certain kind of conspiratorial thinking, or at least, how alluring it could have been be if the solidity of trees were not so very evident within our world. And imagine that even if you can't walk through trees, there's a Deceiver over there who knows with absolute certainty that they're conceptual illusions and can walk straight through a larch to prove their point.

... it's probably more useful than spending 20 years studying Buddhism or whatever, anyway, only to get to the end and realize you no longer need to play or GM Glitch at all.

The Elephants in the Rooms

(glitch)

Keep reading

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

gonna be a weird request but--octopus boi childe fucking the reader with his tentacles and making them suck from another tentacle please

Anon there is no such thing as a weird request, just one no one has ever thought of yet. Anyways! just like the previous request, please apply the adage "If there's a hole, there's a way!" three tentacles in one hole might be too much but with the power of love and lust nothing is impossible!

Wrapped in Love

Summary: In the aftermath of Liyue, in the cold and merciless everwinter of the Tsaritsa, Tartaglia learns how to fuck you with his new appendages.

--

There were few things in life that you regretted, most of it involving Tartaglia in one way or another, your infatuation of him was an open secret among the Fatui. Not even the Tsaritsa was above using it to tease you on occasions where a meeting just ran far too long for her liking. Right now on top of your list of regrets, directly above the time you had loudly mentioned that Tartaglia was the most desired bachelor within the social circle of Snezhnaya’s noble ladies due to his family man side, was the consequence of you showing your tentacle kink to Tartaglia that one time he had specifically requested your skills to unseal Osial.

The consequence being subjected to help him test out Dottore's insane projects. A rare moment of cooperation between the two considering the immense dislike that was present among the rest of the Harbingers and Tartaglia, with the exception of you. It had taken you less than a month to accept the fact that compared to the other Harbingers, your talents didn’t include scheming or fighting.

If anything your talent was your dogshit luck at getting along well with the other harbingers, a glorified messenger that knew how to fight well enough when necessary but had no innate skill for it in the same way as Tartaglia. You were better off giving them ideas, a human rubber duck to bounce off thoughts for the Tsaritsa.

Which led to your current situation, in Tartaglia’s bathtub, massaging his new appendages. Of all the situations you dreamt of why you’d end up sharing a bath with him, this wasn’t one of them. Sure his thick tentacles were soft and squishy but when he curled them up, you could feel the core muscles, his new appendages were strong and you had no doubt Tartaglia would have no problem strangling 8 people at the same time.

Which then led to your current horny thoughts praying to your Archon to have mercy and not let Tartaglia comment on your thoughts that was entertaining the idea of tentacle sex.

‘I bet this would feel good inside me’ You thought as you gently observed the suckers on Tartaglia’s tentacle, the one you knew was his detachable dick.

Tartaglia’s tentacle wriggled gently on your hand, alternating between feeling out the gaps of your fingers with its thick tip that barely fitted through, and leaving marks on your hand with its suckers. The tentacle was darkish blue in hue, turning violet when the light hits it at a certain angle, if asked you would not be able to identify what sort of octopus he was beyond a specie that was most likely a bottom dweller.

While you were busy sitting on the rest of Tartaglia’s wriggling tentacles in your swimsuit, Tartaglia lounged about on the other end of the tub, facing your back with a displeased look on his face. His face rested on the knuckle of his hand, turbulent thoughts apparent on his face.

Tartaglia worried about your obliviousness once you became absorbed in your task. He wondered how you could still observe his tentacle when another one was wriggling directly below your crotch. He was quite aware that if it went on for another minute, he could definitely slip it in. His stare on your ass, whose crack was slightly visible from the way you crouched, burned through you but you ignored it. Countless missions spent with Tartaglia had made you immune, slowly but surely, to his bouts of displeasure on some of your work ethic.

Being younger than him had the equally fortunate and unfortunate effect of him being almost caring towards you. You bore with it because 1. You liked him, and 2. Letting him do as he pleased was more energy efficient. Such actions of course led to him liking you a whole lot more compared to the other harbingers, which meant that more often than not you were sent along with him to distant lands, which meant you dealt with whatever fall out occurred from his penchant of following trouble.

Not that you mind, sure you weren’t the best fighter among your colleagues, nor were you the best schemer among them but you were certainly the best negotiator they had when it came to compensation. So it stood to reason that it was best that you were paired with Tartaglia most of the time, which was fortunate considering the events in Liyue. Economic relations had only taken a slight dive after the whole Osial fiasco, with Tartaglia almost duking it out with Signora once they were away from prying eyes.

Your assurance that you had evacuated the entirety of Liyue Harbor with the spare Fatui soldiers you had and the rest of the Millelith, was the only reason Tartaglia easily backed down.

The result was that Tartaglia had warmed up to you considerably, and was without a doubt considered you as his “friend” if it meant sparring sessions every day that went from fighting each other all out to him teaching you how to use every weapon he knew. And Tartaglia as a catalyst user was just a sight to behold as much as he was a dual blade wielder.

“How long are you planning to ignore me?” He asked as he pulled you close to his chest, tentacles wrapping around your waist and legs, slyly splitting your legs wide apart.

“I’m not?” You answered, confusion lacing your tone.

You reached for the tentacle that you were studying, “Can you pass the recorder to me? Dottore was demanding an oral report.”

“Didn’t he hate those?”

“Yes. But for some reason he wanted one...ugh I’m getting back at him for this” You complained as you made yourself comfortable on his chest, slouching slightly as Tartaglia cuddled you in the tub.

He hummed at the sight of you being completely relaxed around him despite his temporary state as a weird octopus thing. His tentacles were exploring your skin, the small scars that you got from moments of carelessness in exploration made some parts of your skin different. His arms played with your hair, absentmindedly kissing you every now and then on the back of your head as two of his tentacles stealthily slithered up your chest resting below the area of your chest.

He watched you for a moment as you fiddled with the recorder, figuring out how to use it.

“There we go~!” You muttered, pleased at your actions that you remained unaware of imminent realization of your lewd thoughts.

Tartaglia smiled fondly before it turned into a lascivious smirk as he simultaneously gripped your waist as his tentacles slipped into your hole and sucked.

“Hnn~!” You moaned in surprise, back-arching at the intrusion only to end up pushing it further inside, the tentacles near your chest immediately latched on your nipples, sucking it until you let out another moan, “Ah~!”

“Wha-” The thick tentacle inside your hole sucked on your wall, gelatinous hydro coating its thick tip until it felt like your hole was filled to the brim, “No! Ahn! Don’t twist inside-”

Your words were interrupted by the intrusion of a particularly thick tentacle in your mouth. “Mmmpff!!!”

Drool dripped down on the sides of your mouth as you felt the appendage roaming inside, thick and slick as it fucked your mouth. You wriggled your body, doing your best to break free from the tight hold of Tartaglia’s tentacles but only made it tighten its hold on your limbs and drove it deeper inside you.

“You feel really good,” Tartaglia praised, making you pleased for a moment which was enough for his appendage that was stimulating your insides to go further, “How many of my tentacles do you think you can take?”

His words sent you to a bout of panic, the lone appendage that was sucking on the walls of your hole, wriggling about and hitting your spot was already too much for you. You signaled to him that any more would break you but all it did was make his grin wider just as you felt the two tentacles on your nipples grope your chest and then twist your over-stimulated nipples.

You cummed just as you felt the hard thrust inside your wall, sending you to another orgasm that had your body bending from the pleasure only to turn limp once the high was done. Even as you laid on his chest with your tired body and hazy mind, Tartaglia’s tentacles didn’t stop moving, you felt and saw your legs spread wide, two tentacles holding you up until your ass was lifted. The soft prod of another tentacle on your asshole made you sit up in alarm but it was useless as you felt your asscheek being spread and then the cold intrusion of the tip.

“Mpff!” Your alarm turned into a moan, mouth opening wide for one of his slightly thinner tentacles to slip in.

“Look at you, wriggling in pleasure” Tartaglia said as he licked your neck, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you would rub your slutty crotch on my tentacle? Did you like the feeling of my suckers rubbing your slutty hole?”

You were helpless as his tentacles lifted your legs up, the soft prod to your hole was all the warning you got before another tentacle roughly pushed its way in. You cried out in pleasure, hole clamping down in reflex but it was all for naught as you saw your legs being spread wide in the air and then felt your hole being fucked again and again until you came once more.

“Nnn!” You moaned as you laid on Tartaglia’s chest, your hands reached the nearest tentacle and began sucking it with your mouth.

Tartaglia laughed in delight, “What a cute slut you are!”

His laughter rang in your ears as you felt your mouth being forced open, his tentacle slipped out, your saliva coating it and stretching until a thin strand was left connecting the tip of his tentacle to your tongue. And then he kissed you, passionately as he twisted your body to sit facing towards him.

His tentacles harshly slipped out of your abused hole, making you moan and cum once more. The water on the tub sloshed and spilled from the harsh and vigorous movements of Tartaglia. His hands held you by the waist, treating your hole like a fleshlight as he repeatedly slammed you to his tentacles, occasionally rubbing your crotch against his suckers until you found yourself doing it personally.

You held onto his shoulders as you repeatedly used his tentacles to seek out your own orgasm. Dottore’s recorder was already long forgotten as it continued recording on the wet tiles of the bathroom floor.

“Tartaglia!” You cried out his name, when you felt another tentacle thrust inside you as his teeth clamped on your nipples. You came loudly, your hole twitching as it clamped on the tentacles.

“Fuck!” He cursed before pushing you down the tub, the waters drastically reduced, and moved to cover your entire lower half. You felt his beak and then the familiar push of the head of his cock on your entrance.

His hands played with your chest as he easily plunged his cock inside you. Your moans was silenced with his kiss, and then he began moving. He fucked you ardently, like a starved man, it was an odd sensation for your lower half, his suckers leaving bruises while his cock repeatedly and easily fucked your hole.

The water turned murky with each orgasm the two of you had, Tartaglia’s back was filled with your scratches and the crescent marks of your nails from digging deep in his skin. Your neck was littered with bruises and bite marks from his mouth. The two of you fucked as if both of you had been doused with aphrodisiac, as if neither of you had sex in a long while.

And though it was farthest from the truth, Tartaglia wouldn’t deny that he had missed you terribly. The entire time on Liyue had been spent either preparing for taking the gnosis or fixing up trade relations, there wasn’t a single time he was able to spend a day with you without it being work related.

Not even his weekly challenges with the traveler were able to stave off his longing for you. So for him, this was the closest he had been to you for a long time. When both of your lust had been satiated, you laid on the now almost empty tub, simply basking in the afterglow as you gave him absentminded kisses on his chest.

“Oh shit!” You cursed as you frantically left his loving embrace and searched for the lost recorder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, tentacles pulling you back to his side.

“Dottore’s fucking recorder! I’d like it if our sex life wouldn’t be part of the official record of Dottore’s whatever!” You answered, as you swatted a particularly lecherous tentacle that was rubbing your still sensitive hole.

Tartaglia helped you look for it, arms hugging you as his eyes searched about before he spotted it near the claw foot of the tub. His tentacle reached for it, bringing it to you like a prize, ignoring the blinking red light that was still recording.

“What prize do I get?” He asked as he kissed your cheek, squeezing you tighter in his arms.

You hummed as you fiddled with the recorder, stopping it and hoping in vain as you replayed it’s contents.

“AHN~! NO!--IT WON’T FIT AT ALL!”

As soon as you heard your dirty talk, you immediately stopped the playback. Imaginary tears falling down your eyes as you cursed your past self for always being swept up on Tartaglia’s charm and antics.

“Ah~ as expected of my beloved comrade~ even though you said it wouldn’t fit, in the end you had three tentacles inside you in one hole right?”

You blushed at his teasing, “With how big your cock is, it would be a wonder if three didn’t fit.”

“Ahahaha!” He laughed, pure and genuine, “Comrade! That isn’t a winning argument for you at all~”

“Who cares! Anyways, what kind of pet name is comrade!?!” You tried to steer the conversation away from your loss, “Change it! Or are you dating the Traveler on top of me?!”

Tartaglia’s eyes softened at your kitten-like jealousy. He smiled at you, soft and loving that had you melting from the inside. It was in moments like this that made you wonder what life would be like for the two of you outside the Fatui, a normal life free from politik and schemes and the ever-looming threat of Celestia’s wrath.

“Then what about супруг(spouse)?”

An unsaid question, for a future that may never come. You paused, heart beating fast as you thought hard and deeply, not weighing the pros and cons but thinking of the possibility that this might not end in happiness. That this promise might end up the first one he’d break.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, meeting his eyes head on, willing him to understand what he was asking.

Out of all the Harbingers he was the closest to death. The one most likely to die first. He was their Vanguard, a sacrifice, when push comes to shove he would have to lay down his life for the rest of you. It was a thought both of you knew, a reason why he wanted to become stronger and stronger because no matter how many times he claims that world domination was his goal, you knew that protecting the ones he held dear was also the reason why.

Tartaglia may long for a glorious death from a battle, but you knew that he also longed for a life outside the Fatui.

“Yes” He answered as he drew close to you, forehead touching with yours.

You kissed him, gently and lovingly, and for the first time filled with hope instead of resignation at the harsh future that would come. An unsaid answer for a future that both of you would fight for.

‘I will be with you always, from this day until not even death may part us.’

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 136

This chapter was a chance to explore some more science-based tropes that I absolutely love in stories.  The truth is, when I’m working at my day job, I love listening to documentaries on Curiosity and YouTube channels like Answers with Joe or Kurzgesagt. My love of science fiction actually comes from my love of space and astronomy, not the other way around.

In no way, shape, or form, does this chapter cover any of the concepts in question in full. It’s just a quick convo between Sophia and a good friend ;)

My thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname. Plus all of YOU!

Even as my mind wandered, I couldn’t help but grin a bit as I took my weekly stroll through the corridors of the Ark with Miys in tow.  For several years now, we had a standing appointment on my calendar that both Alistair and Tyche treated as sacrosanct - just some time for me to spend with our host, my friend, and learn more about each other.  When I had originally arrived on the Ark, any time I was seen walking with them, other humans would give me odd looks, but never approach.  Now, people would recognize me, smile, and wave, but still never interrupted the strolls.

It was nice. Like my weekly family dinners, it was a routine, pleasant part of my life. Especially days like today, when we were entering the dawn-cycle and each day became a little brighter. It made me wonder about other civilizations, ones that would have evolved in conditions like the ones we were adapting ourselves for. How did it affect them? How would it affect us as generations passed? Future generations were certainly going to be shorter, due to the high gravity. Would it change our technological advances as well - 

“Wisdom, why are you thinking so hard about Gestrcht Clusters?” Miys interrupted my thoughts.

“Hm?” I asked absently. “What’s a Jestrick Cluster?”

“Gestrcht,” they corrected mildly. “Gestrcht clusters are a type of civilization that has adapted to live in artificial platforms surrounding their sun, in order to better harness the solar energy, radiation, or heat needed.”

“You mean a Dyson swarm?” I tried to clarify, confused.

“All of the galaxy calls them Gestrcht clusters, therefore I think that is what you mean.”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, holding my hands up in defeat. “The reason I was thinking about Gestruck clusters - “

“Gestrcht”

“I will work on it. The reason I was thinking about those is… I was wondering how living on Von will change our priorities. In our history, those constructions were something that fascinated both imagination and science - something several people thought was our launching pad to a Kardashev Type II civilization, or the singularity point. Maybe both.”

“Kardashev…” they hummed for a moment, thinking. “Only humanity would create goals of technological advancement that required destruction on a multi-planetary scale.”

I desperately wanted to object, but strongly suspected they were right. “So we were wrong, again? There are no civilizations out there that would fit what we imagined for a Kardashev I or II race?”

“I will concede to the existence of species that you would consider both. However, it is not how you believe it to be - humanity would never have been able to accomplish it without greater sacrifice than they have ever known.”

Oh boy. “Tell me? I want to understand why other species could do it, but we could not.” My curiosity needed to know.

They held up one of their liw, rocking it back and forth in imitation of a human head tilt. “Species that have managed to harness all of the energy produced by their planet, and not destroy their environments, have historically been those who had very little power to harness to begin with. These civilizations come from either very harsh, or very gentle worlds - never anything in between. Abundant wind energy scouring a planetary desert can greatly benefit a species who can harness that wind to temper it and create a paradise. A planet with no atmosphere, but incredible amounts of geothermal energy runs little risk in being able to direct all of that volcanic activity to its benefit. But Earth?”

“Is a deathworld,” I pointed out. “You said so yourself.”

“This is true, but it is not a deathworld in the way So’Kn is, for example. Preeyar and So’kn are planets that are lethal for very singular reasons: So’Kn is a frozen waste of permanent night and eternal wind. It is so harsh that only So’Knor can truly survive there with without significant technological assistance. Preeyar only has atmosphere in its valleys, and that is thinner than most species can survive, much less the fact that there are no liquids on Preeyar. None. The air pressure is too low to allow it for any chemicals that are naturally occurring, and the atmosphere violently reacts with any elements that could exist in liquid form. It is, in fact, believed that the rift valleys were caused by simply an icy meteor impacting the planet.”

“Ho-lee shit,” I whispered.

“I doubt many cultures would find it holy at all,” they joked drily. “Whereas Earth… There is no one singular quality about Earth that classifies it as a deathworld. Instead, there are several, each stemming from the abundant forms of energy offered by your home world.”

“Seriously!?”

“Indeed. And the combinations thereof. The length of natural disasters that are possible, alone, is unique to Earth. Tornadoes and earthquakes. Flooding and wildfires. Volcanoes and hurricanes. Methane just rising from your lakes to kill large swathes of people. Lakes below your oceans, Wisdom! Volcanoes below your oceans! It is insanity to the entirety of the Galaxy, and yet humans consider that just a normal aspect of existence.”

“And… what exactly does that have to do with being able to harness all the energy of our planet, exactly?” To say I was confused was an understatement.

To their credit, Miys only reached with one vomu to make a ‘nose pinching’ gesture against its head. “Earth, somehow, is only habitable and so abundant in life because everything exists in a precarious balance. Surely, the last two centuries of your own history demonstrated that. Attempting to harness all of the admittedly prodigious energy of your planet would have ended up destroying that balance beyond compare.”

I tried to comprehend it. I really did. Focusing on what little I knew, I thought about dams. Those were familiar to me - I had grown up in an area that dammed every river and creek possible for everything from grain mills and fruit presses, to artificial fish ponds, to electricity. “Starting there…” it was faster not to explain out loud when I knew Miys was following along with the home game, “Damming a river creates a lake. That floods an area that already has a habitat, and dries out another area that already has an aquatic habitat.”

“And prevents floods that fertilize fields and redistribute minerals from erosion, yes.”

“Right. Times every river, creek, and faint trickle on Earth…” I stopped myself. Every river. The Amazon. The Nile. “And we just washed out what’s left of the largest rainforest on Earth.”

“Leaving more carbon in the air…” they encouraged.

“And increasing the greenhouse effect, increasing heat on the surface, melting more ice, which - hey, more wind, amirite? - but changing planetary albedo, more water, wetter Sahara, no dust to fertilize… South America? Dammit, are we back to killing the Amazon again?”

“That is just one form of energy, Wisdom. But I feel you are understanding the issue.”

“Yeahhhh…” I trailed off. “Okay, so. Kardashev I is no bueno tacos for Earth. What if we skipped straight to Kardashev II slash singularity?” I made a point to focus on the concept of technological singularity very hard, so there would be less need for research on their part. You know, spare myself half a minute or so. “The Gestrkt clusters.”

“Closer,” they admitted, although I was suspicious they meant my pronunciation and not the idea that humanity would ever get there. “Humanity is not… suited, for Gestrcht clusters.”

“Wait, what?”

“Humanity is too curious, too social, and too exploratory. Your fiction abounds with every variation of different worlds and strange universes you could possibly conceive of. And it constantly expanded - your oldest texts involve travelling to your moon, and when you actually reached it, you looked further out - other systems, other galaxies, other dimensions. Gestrcht clusters require such substantial resources and maintenance, there is little left over for exploration.”

“There are humans who would be perfectly content living in such a structure,” I argued, although my heart wasn’t in it. I wouldn’t have been, knowing that other worlds were out there.

“Not enough to sustain it, unfortunately. Not even in what you call the Before.” Lightly resting one vomu on my shoulder, they squeezed gently. “Wisdom, humanity has always wanted to see other worlds. Gestrcht clusters are all or nothing.”

“And singularity?” I asked, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

“It is true that there have been some singleton species that have achieved what you term singularity with technology. Fewer have been successful.” When I glanced at them, all six upper appendages were held up in defense. “Hive minds are uniquely suited to it, and even some of us,” they waved those same six appendages at their torso, “would never accept it. I could never imagine not having the chance to travel the galaxy, to be with other races as they experience it. Add to that, humanity is somehow both individual and social. Removing that line, that choice? I doubt your kind would thrive. Postulate this: Derek, in a hive mind.”

“Absolutely not,” came my unhesitating response, disgust and violence trembling in every limb before I calmed myself. “And I see your point. Integrating technology in our lives, into how we function…” I tapped my head for emphasis, “that’s one thing. It makes our lives better, by making sure that Derek, and others, can have their personal space protected.” The more I thought about it… I never considered the idea in reference to ‘now’, only ‘eventually’. What if we did it now, and I was one of the people - suddenly never alone, always connected to every thought of strangers via technology. What if Tyche was? Or Maverick? Hell, Charly? “I think I need a shower, now,” I admitted, skin crawling.

“Humanity could achieve both,” Miys confirmed, although it didn’t feel as reassuring as I had hoped it would at the beginning of our conversation. “But I don’t think humanity would truly want to live in Gestrcht clusters or singularity, given any other choice but extinction.”

Laughing, I wiped a tear from one eye.  It was a bitter truth, but still true. “I think you’re right.”

“I may be wrong,” they countered. “As I said, there are singleton species who have made those transitions and the entire galaxy is better for it.”

“Some hope that we weren’t entirely wrong would be nice right about now,” I mumbled as I scuffed my shoe at the floor. There wasn’t anything to kick except Else-puffs, and that was just mean as fuck.

“Most species that made a transition to Gestrcht clusters early in their development are belligerent, insular species. The fact that they must focus all their efforts and resources on maintaining their platforms prevents them from becoming actively warlike. As far as ‘singularity’... singleton species who thrive in that transition are often species who cannot thrive on a galactic scale otherwise.”

Huh? I craned my neck to try to look up at them in the perpetual-dawn light. “What do you mean?”

Miys flicked a datapad open - one I know they only wore for our sakes, seeing as they could not actually see anything on the purely-optical screen, I had learned. They could only navigate it if interacting with a human, so they could ‘see’ what they needed to tap out.

Needless to say, Charly and Grey had been working for years on one that responded to sonic commands.

Eventually, a seven-fingered flick caused my own databand to chirp. I flicked it open to see the file. “They… Noah, this looks like sentient pollen… or feathers…” Realistically, any description I tried to create fell devastatingly short. The being on my datapad moved as though it was floating on wind, with tens of thousands of filament-fine tendrils swaying and navigating. The sound it created reminded me of the sound of snowfall, if snowflakes could sing opera. “They’re beautiful,” I sniffed, driving back tears at knowing something so breathtaking existed.

“They also cannot survive off their planet, unfortunately. Even the transition out of their atmosphere is lethal to them.”

My heart shattered into a million pieces. “What is their name?”

“No one knows for certain. But they have achieved a sort of singularity - once they have matured and reproduced, they upload themselves at the end of their very brief lifecycles. In the Galactic Community, they are known as Odvub.”

“Odvub…” I whispered, holding out my fingers like I could actually touch the screen.

“Outside of a Hujylsogox rescue ship, it is nearly impossible to avoid encountering Odvub. Most believe they are some sort of galactic artificial intelligence, and they prefer to allow that belief.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?”

“They have permitted it, when these sort of questions are asked. To show what desperation is required for a singleton species to thrive in singularity.”

I sniffed, desperately trying not to cry at their situation. “Do they know about humans?”

“They may be the only species who could not avoid knowing about it. But Odvub believes your people are hearty, and adaptable, and should never suffer their fate. They advised, in the event that your people ever ask about singularity, to do this…” Miys gently cupped my cheek in one liw and patted it, “and tell you that you will never need to resort to what they had to do, and that they look forward to meeting your people one day.”

“Obviously not face to face,” I admitted quietly. “I have allergens that are more substantial than they are.”

“It is considered a great honor in the Galactic Community for this icon to display when  you interact with Odvub.” Miys gestured at the vicinity of the image on my datapad. “Only those who know why, know why it is an honor.”

“We’ll take it,” I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. “All of humanity may never know why, but we’ll take it. If I may tell Arthur, we probably will know why.” He would see to it. Loudly, angrily, derisive of anyone who mocked it. “Regardless, we’ll take it, all the same.”

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[fangirlyah]

✦ just an arrangement - Draco Malfoy x Reader (part 1)

summary: the return to the school year with the dark mark is hard enough, but now they must fulfill a more intimate request or they expect a happily ever after with an old death eater.

warnings: none

word count: 1,950

a/n: i’m pretty excited about this so i hope u like it. if u wanna be part of my (still non-existent) tag list for this fic, just tell me :)

a starry night full of light illuminated the sky.  very different from the humor y/n was holding. 

she saw herself in the mirror, immersed in constant pain, both physical and emotional. her arm, freshly marked by the dark lord, felt almost on fire, stitches and burns that were almost impossible to hold. thanks to her childhood surrounded by darkness due to the alliances of her families, she herself already knew how to create her own healing potions that sootheed her wounds for at least a while.  

she was only sixteen, but had a higher weight on her back than any teenager. she was not the only one, her classmate, draco malfoy, had and was suffering a life very similar to hers.  but he wasn't very good at hiding it, his thinner body and marked dark circles revealed his stress. but y/n was always a better actress, no one had ever seen the bruises on her arms, nor had she been seen decaying. on the contrary she was known for being one of the sweetest and most positive people with every hogwarts student. thing that put his hair on end, ‘how could she be so calm with everything that was going on?’ she knew a war was coming but he always saw her smiling sweetly at every person who crossed her path. how many times had he smiled that sixth year of hogwarts? maybe not one. 

but as he noticed her big white smiles, she noticed the lack of his. she knew what he was going through, his task was very complicated and terrifying, y/n had been lucky enough to be out of the instant murder of her own headmaster, but she had to be in charge of repairing the vanishing cabinet. 

they were not friends or anything close to the word, they were acquaintanced despite the number of encounters they had during the months, due to the similar connection of their parents. both only children, completely alone on their way to giving their full life to who-must-not-be-named. y/n did not want to be alone, since she was a child, she had tried to approach the blonde and become his friend, but he did not acknowledge receipt. 

"hello, draco! my house elf made pumpkin pie, would you like a piece?" a small y/n took small leaps in her freshly ironed dark blue dress.

"I'd rather die than try something of yours," an eleven-year-old draco disgustingly expressed to the girl who was just looking for his sympathy. 

a sympathy that, despite the passage of the years, she had never found. y/n had stopped trying, had stopped fraternizing with draco in the fourth year, when she had slightly begun to develop a crush on him. and she was, and is, smart enough to know that if her hormonal heart kept hearing his wretched words, she would have an almost irreparable broken heart. but it didn't work, because even though he ignored her, she couldn't get him out of her mind. and seeing him at least twice a month at her home, dressed in his pristine suit and his fine hair combed did not help. 

"y/n since when is your roasted chicken more important than good gossip?" millicent spoke with her mouth full of crushed potatoes, spitting slightly. 

"since always, millie" y/n was not at a time in her life where an adolescent gossip filled all her senses. 

"you're very boring... so, it turns out ginevra weasley is in love with potter!" 

"I'm not at all surprised, weirdos like weirdos" pansy parkinson, despite the years that elapsed, did not seem to forget her hatred of gryffindor and everything related to it, especially the golden trio and its own close ones. 

it was a Friday night and despite the icy weather and sun falling much earlier, the great hall was full of students enjoying their dinners. at the slytherin table there were most students, but there wasn't any sign of draco malfoy... but she spoke very quickly. 

"get up" a big, cold hand, adorned with silver rings and emeralds that stood out on his pale skin, grabbed y/n by the arm and pulled her with intent to lift her out of the seat. 

"sorry?" she looked up to see the blonde with a serious countenance, staring at her. 

"hey, we're talking you can't take her that way!" spoke one of her friends but it was too late, y/n was already standing on draco’s side, who kept holding her arm tightly. 

"shut your mouth, bulstrode" and with that, draco began to walk quickly without looking back, which she thanked as he would not see her in a hurry and almost stepping on her own feet. 

arriving on the seventh floor, finally, a large door suddenly appeared on a white wall, capturing the complete attention of y/n. draco did not hesitate and submerged them both inside the unknown room which turned out to be too small for its immense door. 

'the room of requirement' thought y/n immediately, but why did it appear before them? she wondered. 

it was the first time y/n and draco had crossed word for at least five months, since the first time they both attended a death eaters meeting as official members. she still remembers how her body trembled and as his did too, but the firm hand of lucius on his back almost held him in his place. she also recalls that their seats were facing each other, and that she saw him swallow heavily when, after the meeting, he saw the girl accidentally shed a salty tear. 

"may I ask you what we are doing here?" y/n’s voice sounded shy and calm despite having draco in front of her swinging from one place to the other, regardless of the small space. he did not speak and it had been more than five minutes that they were inside the room and the idea of leaving had crossed y/n’s thoughts, but she knew what he was going through, so she decided to wait. 

"you're my girlfriend now..." draco's body stood violently in front of her, leaving a reasonable distance. he didn't look her in the eye, but she knew he was serious.

"what the-... what?" 

"we have to be together, the dark lord wants it so" 

"since when?..." the confusion took over her body, even though her heart was screaming, 'your crush is telling you to be together, shut up and accept!' but it wasn't that simple. 

"in less than six months we will both be seventeen, your parents and mine were married at that age, and they were all already death eaters..."

"it's our turn" y/n thought out loud.

"we must not marry, just... be together...as a couple or we'll be paired with other death eater who's at least fifteen years older and I think we both know that's not a reasonable choice"

"I understand..." it was something they should do sooner or later, then they could split up and submit to some other arranged marriage. but at the moment they were both the best choice of the other. "let's do it" 

------------

the idea of pretending to be a couple began to really settle in y/n’s head a week of the event, when draco rested his hands on her shoulders unexpectedly on a sunday for breakfast time. she wanted to bewitch herself when she felt the butterflies she hated so much flowering. those butterflies provoked by him, which she had sworn to bury years ago and which she had clearly failed to achieve. 

her friends’ faces were transformed to the sudden change in the attitude of the prince of slytherin. they all noticed that they both slipped away from classes and most social situations over the weeks. but, they would never have assumed they were going away to be together, they were right. they used to escape because of the tasks indicated by who-must-not-be-named or because the terror and darkness had suddenly consumed them. 

then the weeks passed and their interactions increased, because they had to increase if they wanted to make it believable. 

the arrangement had begun in august and by that month, their only contact was some rubbing of hands in potions or small glances in the great hall, which however minuscule they were, they both knew that they should be noticed. 

"you're doing it wrong!-emm...I think you're putting more ingredients than the necessary, y/n" sometimes she wanted her fake boyfriend to be a better actor, his voice changes were notorious, but at least that day they were lucky to be sitting with crabbe and goyle so none of them noticed his weird voice changes, and if they did, they wouldn't have the braveness to ask. 

"I've made this potion multiple times, draco. to make it perfect a few drops of agrippa are never too much" the blonde’s ears were still surprised to hear his name, his actual name and not malfoy, come out of y/n’s mouth. despite his attitude towards her, which had not changed since the age of eleven, she continued to treat him delicately. 

"you've done this multiple times? this is the first time we are learning potions to close wounds" the last thing he wanted was to make the cute girl uncomfortable, it wouldn't show a good image for their relationship.

"I'm only curious when it comes to potions" but y/n answered with immediate discomfort, much to the chagrin of draco. 

by september, their hands were already united from class to class and their bodies were sitting together in the great hall for almost every meal, all of this causing a lot of whispers.

"your hand is sweaty" whispered draco in his ear, as they traversed long meadows to hagrid’s hut.

"sorry... is that everyone is looking at us and it's making me nervous" she wasn't used to being the center of attention, unlike him. 

"just... focus on me" draco gave a squeeze to her hand, making y/n think that, finally, the boy had given in to acting cordial in their false relationship. but his phrase wasn't over, "you must do well, I won't let you ruin this."

with that said, y/n focused her thoughts on draco. how he was holding her hand, how she had imagined this so many times and how he seemed unbothered by it. but he wasn't feeling like that.

it was only in october that they first had a meeting alone, only the two of them, with no audience present. 

y/n was on a sofa, very close to a large window pointing to the big forests surrounding hogwarts, in the common room. it was the early hours of the morning so the sun was orange painting the sky as if it were its own canvas, lighting everything around it, including y/n. her hard-covered book was on her lap and she moved it so gently that it seemed that her fingers floated. for draco's eyes it was something new. with semi-swollen eyes, a morning voice but perfectly clothed, he watched her from the other side of the place. he didn't think she was a morning person, so when he received the letter and decided to be the first to come down for breakfast as he couldn't fall asleep again, the last thing he thought was he was going to find her there. with her legs contracted towards her and her bright hair braided in a shedding way, was the first thing draco saw that morning. and for a moment, he thanked merlin for waking up so early. 

"it's time to go" was the only thing the blonde seemed to say, when he approached the couch where she was. y/n just turned around to see him. she knew exactly what he meant. 

[alindae-anne]

What Makes a Book?

I want to take a break from my novel and dive into a history lesson of books themselves. Why? Well first of all, I will be honest, this blog is for an assignment. But also because the way books have evolved over the last 5,000+ years is fascinating!

Of course no one ever really thinks about THE book, just the fact that the story within its pages--the mystery, the romance, whatever they happen to be enjoying--is a great read (or maybe not so great), but have they ever wondered what materials the book is made from? Who invented it? How the book has become one of the most common and most used items of all time?

No. Of course they didn't wonder any of those things. And if they did, they probably didn't take the time to research any of these burning questions, either.

How great, then, that I wrote this post?! Today is your lucky day! (Also, it is a good thing that Keith Houston, author of Shady Characters, decided to write a whole book about it (1).) I'm going to use the pages of a classic tale to explain some cool things you probably never noticed while reading a book before.

Gulliver’s Travels was originally published in London in 1726 by Benjamin Motte. The author, Jonathan Swift, used it to satirize London society and culture, poking holes at the social hierarchies and systems, basically making out everyone living in the 18th century to be fools--but mostly the wealthy and those who were obsessed with scientific progression (2). If you have not read it, I highly encourage adding it to your reading list, or at the very least there is a 2010 movie, featuring Jack Black as Gulliver, that you could watch. (It’s Jack Black, okay?)

This 2 page spread of Gulliver's Travels pictured above is actually found in The Franklin Library edition from Franklin Center, Pennsylvania, published in 1979. This is the first printing of this edition, and its pages, the way it is printed, and the way it is bound and presented, are all features of the modern 20-21st century book, plus some extra bells and whistles. The most interesting qualities come from the publishers themselves who specifically design their books to be very snazzy--meant for collectors’ editions! They include different kinds of leather binding, exclusive illustrations, and may be signed or part of a particular series specific to a certain author or genre (3). This makes the books published here very valuable and sought after.

Gulliver’s Travels is hardcover. Specifically, “fine leather in boards.” This means the spine and front and back boards (or cover) of the book are bound in leather. The leather is fine and and delicate and able to be decorated and engraved upon.4 Above you can see how fancy it looks with the gilt gold engravements. Even its pages are gilt!

This picture shows more clearly the binding, and of course the spine, which is “hubbed,” or ridged, for added texture.

At this point you may have notice that this version is much different than the original published in 1726. That is because over time, the materials involved in making books have changed slightly or the processes have become more efficient or cost worthy, etc. Either way, the anatomy of the book has not wavered. Keith Houston has dissected the book into certain components and we can see them in each book we read:

I have attempted to label it as best as I can, so hopefully you can follow along:

Chapter Number

a) this seems to be a description, more or less of the chapter, or the Chapter Title. b) “A Voyage to Lilliput” seems much more title-like to me, although this is technically called the “Recto Running Head.” The recto running head is a condensed or abbreviated chapter title, repeating on every right-side page to the end of the chapter.

Drop Cap. This would be the first letter of the first word of a chapter, which is usually exaggerated or embellished in some way.

Opener Text

Head Margin - the space between the top of the page and text

Foot Margin - the space between the bottom of the page and text

Folio - page number

It has taken quite a while for books to become so sophisticated. Because it was published in 1726, Gulliver's Travels is technically what you could call "modern" in terms of how long ago books began their journey to what they are today, but even between 1726 and 1979 the quality has improved. This edition published by Franklin Library is a perfect model for the modern book of today.

The 2 page spread we analyzed above is made from paper. But books were not always made with paper, or even in the book form, bound with anything at all, and they were not printed either. They were written by hand on papyrus.

Papyrus was the first material used as "paper" beginning in Egypt. The reeds were stripped, strung side by side and pressed together. Papyrus was durable and sturdy, and the water of the Nile was abundant in aluminum sulfate, which brightened it so that writing and scribbles could be seen better. There is no particular origin of when Papyrus had first been invented but it must have been around the end of the 4th millenium BCE (Houston 4).  

Parchment is made from animal skin that has been soaked, scrubbed, dried, and stretched for days and days, creating a more flexible, yet still durable, material for writing. It was also thinner and could be made "cleaner" and brighter by chemical means. Religion heavily influenced its distribution; some parchment use was literally banned because the type of animal skin used to make it wasn't considered "holy" or "good." For example, the lamb or a calf was acceptable, but how dare you use parchment made from goat skin? What is wrong with you?

Besides the fact that parchment is kind of gross if you think about it (although to be fair, you can’t be too choosy in times right before the common era), it was also expensive to keep certain cattle only for paper making, and the reliability of having new cattle at the time you may need more paper was not very high.

Paper was first introduced in China. It is made from bits of cloth and rags soaked in water, and after breaking down into pulp, strained through a wire grate and pressed to dry. Fun fact-- the Rhar West Art Museum in Manitowoc, Wisconsin has held classes showing how to make paper using this exact process.

There is a trend here: the materials used to make paper (and papyrus and parchment before it) become scarce or too expensive, or they are just not “good enough.” People want their paper thin and smooth, but still strong and durable; crisp and bright, but still able to last years and years without crumbling. There have been times that processes used to ensure these preferred qualities of paper included using chemicals that ended up negatively affecting some other quality. For example, the paper would be white as snow, yet the chemical that did this broke down the natural adhesives which kept the paper intact.

Have you heard that paper grows on trees? Well, that is partly true since after rags and cloths were nowhere to be found (unless people were about to start donating the shirts off their backs), wood pulp has now since been used... the higher the demand for paper, the greater demand for those materials used for its creation. 

This brings us to printing side of things. The first ways of printing weren’t of how we think of it now. Even before papyrus, people were still writing and making inscriptions on pretty much anything they could get their hands on. The earliest forms of writing were rather indentations or markings on clay tablets. Found across the Middle East, it is a cuneiform script of the Sumerian people from 3300 BCE (Houston 79).

Similarly, the Egyptians were also keen on developing their own writing system which today we recognize as hieroglyphs. A lot of these were found carved on the walls of tombs but also began to be used on papyrus in 2600 BCE (Houston 82-83).

The Egyptians celebrated their scribes and believed those who wrote with brush and ink on papyrus to be channeling power--that it was a gift from the gods--”wielded with respect and humility” (Houston 87). The hieroglyphs not only showed the intention of the writer, visually, but often the picture would be associated with or connected to certain sounds which emerged more formal use of letters as time went on.

The alphabet we use today can be traced back to the Phoenician alphabet (used by the Egyptians) which had evolved into the Greek and then Roman alphabets (Houston 91-92). At this point in time, scribes were using water based ink which was fine for papyrus, but during the transition to parchment they realized that ink smudges quite a bit. This led to the creation of iron gall ink that would darken and adhere to the parchment as it dried due to its chemical makeup in contact with oxygen in the air.

Jump ahead to 1400s and we are with Johannes Gutenberg and the printing press! One thing Keith Houston make sure to mention is that although Gutenberg invented the printing press itself, to help moveable type and mass printing, the idea of printing had not been new. Clay pieces used as stamps and similar objects had been excavated and dated back thousands of years before the clay inscribed cuneiform tablets were made. And a primitive version of a sort of printing press is mentioned being made by a man named Bi Sheng during the reign of Qingli from 1041-1048 AD (Houston 110). Obviously nothing great came from it, most likely because he was of unofficial position. Even so, movable type was still possible, although painstakingly slow with wooden blocks used as stamps. This was common for the next few hundred years in China.

Even though Gutenberg's press completely revolutionized the transmission of knowledge, it was still quite slow in comparison to the versions which came after, only being able to print 600 characters a day (Houston 118). From Gutenberg's printing press came other types of presses that improved the speed or efficiency of movable type immensely. These all came after the original publication of Guliver's Travels, starting in the early 1800s with the Columbian press, eventually the Linotype, and then lack of precision called for the Monotype, which could produce 140 wpm (Houston 149).

The 2 page spread above then, could possibly have been printed by the Linotype, but most likely, however, the Monotype, which is the more accurate of the two. Another possibility could be "sophisticated photographic and 'lithographic' techniques" or "'phototypsetting'" (Houston 151). Houston mentions that the printing press age has died and now faces a digital future.

I'm at my 10 image limit which means I better wrap this up with some interesting facts about bookbinding. On BIBLIO.com I was trying to see exactly what "fine leather in boards" meant which is apparently how Gulliver's Travels is bound. I didn't find any phrase that matched, but from my understanding, the leather is very supple and pliable, which is why it was able to be gilt with gold, and it was able to form nicely to the hubbing on the spine.

The website also explains that the first "book binding" was technically just putting the pieces of paper or parchment together and pressing them between two boards. Literally. Like just setting them on a board and putting another board on top of that. Eventually leather was introduced, first as a cord wrapped around the book to keep the boards in place. As time progressed, the practice was improved and perfected so it was less crude. This involved the creation of the "spine" where the pages meet together and can therefore open and close in a v shape without flying away.

This website helped explain some of the other embellishments and extra flair that can be added to a book's binding. It mostly goes over leather binding which is from most animal skin but there is a unique leather bound book that can be bound with seal skin. Some of the books on the website are so expensive because of the materials they are bound with and the effects that have been created in the cover, for example, Benjamin Franklin's observations on electricity, which has had acid added to the page, discoloring it for a lightning strike effect, and includes a key to represent his famous experiment.

Gulliver's Travels, although not quite so fancy, is still a very beautifully bound book with decorated endpapers, meaning the inside cover is laden with designed paper rather than boring white or some other neutral color.

I hope you found this journey of the book as interesting and as exciting as I did while writing this post! You must really love books because even my attention span isn't this long. I will admit I took at least 3 different breaks.

I'm back to my novel for now, thanks for listening😎

Bibliography

Houston, Keith--Author of Shady Characters, which I used extensively in my TikTok “history of punctuation” project--also wrote -> The BOOK - a cover-to-cover exploration of the most powerful object of our time, 2016.

British Library Website -> works -> “Gulliver’s Travels overview”

Masters, Kristin. “Franklin Library Editions: Ideal for Book Collectors?” Books Tell You Why, 2017 (blog).

BIBLIO.com -> “Leather Binding Terminology and Techniques”

[mk-wizard]

G1 Tracks: Analysis of a Scarlet Faced Pretty Boy

Hello, Transformers fans. At the request of @rudyknight​ I am doing a character analysis of one the semi-iconic Transformers being Autobot Tracks from the G1. I will go over his history, his influence and legacy, and my own personal opinion.

Autobot Tracks was first introduced in the Marvel comics, like most of the Transformers. He was one of the many passengers on the Ark and he had a vain side back then too as he was always self conscious about how good he looked and hated getting his hands dirty, but he would still do so if it meant helping his friends. He also seemed to be hard to get along with because he was whiny and lazy when it came to doing work. However, Tracks seemed to overcome these character flaws little by little until the beginning of Rodimus Prime’s reign when he sadly died a pretty horrible death which involved getting doused in acid and was killed later most likely by an ally out of mercy.

He was one of the few Transformers who got re-introduced in the G1 cartoon with a much tamer setting though like in the comics, his laid back and vain pretty boy personality was retained. Before the war, he was a resident of the planet Dancitron which is in the Cybertronian solar system and it is hinted to be a recreational planet where the wealthy and high class reside meaning that it is most likely that Tracks came from a rich family and had a comfortable life which explains why he is fixated on image, nice things and is not used to hands on work. He was once again, one of the passengers on the Ark and fought under Optimus Prime against Megatron’s army in the war. His alt mode was that of a luxury blue sports car which at the time, was the kind only the rich and famous on Earth would own.

Unlike in the comics, the cartoon version of Tracks was not as vain or bratty. He was still difficult and whiny when it came to doing his job and still fussed about ruining his paint job, but he was not actually a narcissist and actually did like people. He was also not a big snob who looked down on those who weren’t part of his social class hence why he genuinely grateful to a poor teenager named Raoul and even struck up a friendship with him. He has also displayed gratitude to others as well when they helped him, and he seems to actually like Earth and appreciate its culture namely the arts, music and dance. It is also worth noting that as time went on, Tracks’ spoiled rich kid personality matured and this showed a lot by the end of the series during the reign of Rodimus Prime where at this point, he was a very ruthless fighter who took protecting his comrades and the innocent to spark. Unlike in Marvel, the cartoon rewarded Tracks for growing up and allowed him throughout the series’ run.

Since then, Tracks became a popular icon in the Transformers community specifically in the LGBT+ section because people often believed that he was most likely to one of the few Transformers who was gay due to his demeanor and behaviour. However, Hasbro has clarified this as a misunderstanding in that the way acts is merely and indicator of how he was brought up not which way he swings and I have to agree as the evidence does indeed hint that Tracks had it a little too good. Moreover, back in the day, being gay was a still a very new and very sensitive topic, so he along with most of the cast was by default straight. The one Autobot who was confirmed to be gay was Sunstreaker though that an analysis for another day.

Throughout the decades, Tracks would make several cameos and appearances as a side character usually as a tertiary one or a one off type. In Transformers Animated, he made some on screen appearances and had one iconic moment where he was terrified of Captain Fanzone for being an organic being as Tracks was one of the few Autobots who believed Sentinel’s inaccurate propaganda of organics. According the Allspark Almanac works, this version of Tracks is a lot like the G1 version, but he remained on Cybertron and never had the humbling experience of fighting in the war, so he underwent the opposite character development. Animated Tracks is  rude, a snob, has very few friends, has almost no appreciation for what he has, and a notorious gossip. Despite that, Tracks is still a top of the line hand-to-hand fighter as he tries to keep in shape and remain the best at what he does. He also undergoes cosmetic upgrades a little too frequently to the point where one could consider it as full body cosmetic surgery. He looks almost identical to his G1 version especially with the iconic red face, but he is thinner, he sports a tiny goatee and wears glasses. Whether these are just fashion sunglasses or prescription ones has never been confirmed though. Beyond that notable moment, Tracks had a much more prominent role in the IDW comics where he is a lot more like his G1 counterpart including in character development meaning he is back to being the more likeable pretty boy. As far as what is written, he still alive and well while looking as stylish as ever.

As for his influence on the lore, it has become a widely accepted fact that the sports car alt mode is more like a cosmetic form rather than a practical one because it is not discreet and most bots who choose it, tend to be laid back or all about having fun. This is seen in Rescue Bots Blurr and Prime Smokescreen. It also noted that these two versions of the characters underwent the same character development as Tracks. They started off as immature and goofy, but matured into responsible heroes. As time went on, several storyboard and discarded takes of Tracks that never came to be have surfaced. Most curiously, similarly to Queen Elsa from Disney’s Frozen, Tracks was originally slated to be a villain and was even going to be a Decepticon. It is not known why Hasbro decided to change his faction and moral alignment though.

As for my own personal opinion of Tracks, I agree that he is indeed your typical spoiled vain rich boy who was thrown out of his comfort zone, but he is not nearly as bad as some people including Hasbro depict him as. Tracks is not actually narcissistic, unkind or without compassion. He is more like a guy who doesn’t know any better, but would never be mean on purpose. When presented with the misfortune and suffering of others, he does feel compassion and he always appreciates the kindness of strangers regardless of their social class. Moreover, he does want to inspire others to be the best of themselves too hence why he influenced Raoul into going back on the right Track and kept in touch with him. And when he faced with doing right or wrong, he will always choose right. In short, Tracks is not a bad guy or a bad Autobot. He was just young and inexperienced at responsibility, but when he got thrown into the water, he did learn to swim and became better for it.

Anyway, this is my analysis of Tracks with both the facts and my own personal opinion. I would like to know what you all think. A big thanks to @rudyknight​ for requesting to do an analysis of Tracks. He turned out to be more than just a pretty red face.

If you have a Transformers theory or character analysis you want explored, please let me know in my ask box. And please, support me through Patreon or Ko-fi if you want me to make Transformers merch and videos. Or if you want a commission of your favourite bot, let me know in my shop. All links are on my profile page.

Thanks for reading and as always, stay safe.

[mysteira6]

FukaFlower - Holding Your Left Hand

~*~*~*~*~

Summary:

She wasn’t gonna let him feel bad for holding his left hand.

Setting: Fukase and Flower are in the same high school grade and are around 17 - 18 years old. Also, they’re already a couple in this one-shot. Read on for fluff, angst and a little sweet moment at the end. ^3^

~*~*~*~*~

Autumn-coloured lamps decorated the streets, surrounding the many stalls by the pathway in a warm-coloured glow. Young adults in ankle-length yukatas and young children with bags of candy and treats in their hands littered the road before them, the small-talk between groups of teens and squeals of delight amongst children filling their ears. Stall owners left and right were hollering customers over, hoping to catch their attention to play their games or buy their fun-coloured snacks.

The white-haired teen blinked at the sight. “Wow,” She muttered. “I know Miku was warning us when she said this year’s carnival would be ‘packed as sardines’, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this… crowded…”

She heard a light-hearted chuckle from the young man standing beside her. “Welp, I guess that’s a lesson learnt,” He said jokingly.

“What lesson?”

As he turned to her, his scarlet right eye sparkled jovially. “That we should actually listen to the ‘popular diva’ instead of assuming that she only talks about rumours,” He noted, another laugh emerging from his mouth.

The thought of that made her narrow her eyes a little. “I’m not so sure about that, Fukase,” She murmured skeptically, shaking her head. “She talks more about gossip than anything remotely useful-”

“But if we had listened to her, then we wouldn’t be caught in this human traffic jam now, wouldn’t we?” The redhead replied, though soon after, he heaved a sigh and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “Oh well, we’re here anyway and the night is young, Flower! Hopefully, the crowd will thin out in a bit,”

Despite her initial disappointment of not having a peaceful stroll with him, the optimistic grin on his face was enough to wash her negativity away. Of course he would try to cheer her up like this. After all, this date was his idea, something that he came up with during their lunch hour when all the other students were talking about the upcoming summer festival and how carnivals were being set up in dozens of neighbourhoods. Given that they had just finished their school term, it seemed like a perfect time to start their summer break with a fun little getaway with just the two of them.

Flower puffed in mild annoyance. When Fukase asked her to go to the carnival in their neighbourhood together, she got giddy with excitement as she always was when it came to their dates. That was one of the strangest things about being with him; somehow, he had managed to break down her curt demeanor and unpack her sweet side that very few people saw. All it took was him being a cheerful jokester who not only tried his best to make everyone smile, but also possessed a kind heart to help anyone he could. Funny then, that he would be interested, and eventually fall in love with, a pessimistic girl who was essentially a stoic emotional wall.

Oh well. Life can be that weird sometimes. In fact, what was more weird was that as he talked to her everyday, cracking a joke here and there, Flower found herself becoming more conscious of how she presented herself in front of him. The little things that she barely cared about before gradually took priority in her appearance as he tried everyday to make her smile a little. Smoothing out her skirt and brushing her hair behind her ears were only two of the dozen things that crossed her mind as soon as she heard him talking to her.

Tonight was no exception to her new routine of fussing over her appearance; as soon as she got home, Flower immediately made a beeline for her preppy younger sister, Xin Hua, who was lounging on the sofa and scrolling through the feed on her phone as usual. However, after Flower explained her situation, the cobalt-haired teen quickly placed her phone aside and partook in the giddy excitement that her older sister was feeling. One trip to Sachiko’s yukata gallery and another to Mizki’s hair accessory treasury was enough for the aspiring fashionista to dress her sister up for her special summer date.

“Flower? Flower!” The sight of his bandaged hand waving front of her was enough to snap the short-haired teen back to reality, her violet eyes blinking a few times to readjust her field of vision. “Hey, are you okay?” Fukase asked her, a worried frown inscribed on his lips as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“O-oh, sorry, I… I’m okay,” She stuttered in embarrassment, slightly ashamed that she spaced out in the middle of nowhere. Her instinctive reaction of looking down whenever she got awkward got her looking at the yukata that Xin Hua had picked for her. It was of a deep violet shade, accompanied by prints of lavender and white coloured cherry-blossoms and outlines of round lanterns scattered across her sleeves and skirt. She had a grape-purple obi tied around her waist to keep her outfit together and Ms Sachiko even gave her complimentary wooden sandals and a hickory-coloured basket for her necessities to complete the ensemble. ‘Cherish your youth’, she had said with a warm smile after Flower had told her the reason for her purchase.

Meanwhile, Fukase chuckled at her quiet response and quietly slid his right hand under her chin, gently lifting her gaze to look at him. There wasn’t an obvious height difference between them (except for a few centimeters that Flower had but Fukase didn’t) but even then, Flower felt rather small under the gaze of his right eye, his left one being concealed under his white eye patch. Having him stand close to her also allowed her to take in his outfit for the night; a muted red yukata with black lines resembling tree branches drawn on its cloth all held together by a thin bright red obi.

“You sure?” He smirked at her like a cheeky devil would, the jokester side of him showing. “You’re blushing, you know,”

His words rooted her to the spot. “No, I am not!”

“Sharp response. I thought you were a kuudere, not a tsundere,”

“I-Does that really matter right now?!”

Her flustered response was met with a fit of laughter from Fukase, his red curls dancing in the air as he shook his head jokingly. “I kid! I kid!” He sang out as he held his hands up as if surrendering. “Please spare me from your silent treatment, Hana-chan~”

She puffed her cheeks. “You’re only lucky that I decided to dress up for tonight and I don’t want to ruin our date,”

“Oh right, I was gonna say,” His expression lit up as he continued. “You look… as pretty as a flower tonight,”

He half-heartedly expected a startled response and was unsurprised when she only snarkily replied: “A pun-related flirt isn’t going to get to me, Fukase,” Of course she’d say something like that.

“Darnnit, that didn’t work as well as I had hoped,” He pretended to be upset for a moment before raising his right hand towards her, cueing the snow-haired girl to blink at him a few times.

“Well anyway,” He began, tilting his head at her cutely. “Now that we’ve been chatting here for a while, I believe it’s about time for us to head down there, yeah?”

She found herself beaming as she accepted his hand. “Yes, let’s,”

~*~*~*~*~

“Come and catch your own kingyo! Only 200 yen to bring one home!”

“Fresh shaved ice and candied apples for sale! Come and get them before they’re gone!”

As their evening continued, the crowd really did grow thinner as most of the younger children were brought home by their parents and some of the teenagers were heading home as well. Since the both of them were night owls on a daily basis, the moon climbing up the sky did not bother them. Fukase’s enthusiasm for them to visit every stall did not falter even as the night went on. Beside him, Flower held tightly to his right hand, a small smile on her face as she witnessed him bring her all around the carnival. She could tell that he was excited for it.

“Are you hungry? We should get some mochi here,”

“I think those pinwheel headbands would look cute on you,”

“Hey, this fruit tea tastes great! Try some!”

Perhaps it was a little selfish for her to say it, but Flower really liked the attention that he was giving her tonight. It wasn’t odd for Fukase to treat her so kindly (he was literally known for being the kindest person for a lot of people) but hearing him talk to her alone made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, a feeling that only he could generate. However, tonight it felt like Fukase’s gentlemanly nature was much more prominent than usual… Was it because they were wearing such fancy clothes?

Whatever the reason was, she didn’t really care about it. After all, who would turn down a kind, pampering boyfriend like him? Even though Flower was slow to understand social norms as a wallflower, she knew enough to recognise that Fukase was kind of spoiling her (not that she was complaining, mind you).

Her train of thought was interrupted when something at a shelf on her left managed to catch her attention, silently motioning her to get closer to the stall with multi-coloured stacks of cans lined up in pyramidal formation behind its counter. She couldn’t take her eyes off one of the prizes at the game stall; a small lavender rabbit with a translucent maroon ribbon wrapped around its neck and a top hat sewn onto its head. Its subtle resemblance to Fukase’s normal outfit was probably what caught her eye.

“Whatcha looking at?” The very person she was thinking about turned his head in the same direction as she was facing, his eyes scanning the game stall for whatever had caught her attention. “Do you see that little rabbit on the shelf?” Flower whispered to him while leaning close to his ear. “It’s kinda cute. I just thought that it looked like you in your coat, doesn’t it?”

The redhead has his eyes trained on the stuffed toy that had caught his girlfriend’s attention. It didn’t take him long to mutter a ‘let’s head over there’ as he brought them both over to the stall, his hand never letting go of her despite her initial surprise. After he forked out some coins for the stall owner, a basket with brightly coloured plastic balls was placed in front of him, the challenge of knocking over all the cans in three hits now laying before him.

“Fukase, you don’t have to do this for me,” The white-haired girl standing behind him said timidly, a bit uneasy that he decided to play this game just for her.

The redhead smiled at her. “But I want to,” He simply said, picking up the first ball from the basket. “Besides, you like that rabbit doll, right?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then just sit tight and watch me win it for you!” He gleefully replied as he aimed for the base of one of the can pyramids before hurling his ball at them, nailing a hit on the cans at the bottom for his first throw. The coloured cans tumbled onto the table with loud clatters and clangs as the pyramid fell, knocking down all the obstacles quickly. He grinned at his victory.

“Wow, you got them all in one shot!” The stall owner commended, lightly clapping her hands to his success. “Congratulations! You’re welcomed to choose any prize you want for winning,”

“Any prize?” Fukase glanced over to her as the lady nodded, her satin pink hair bouncing up and down. He soon turned his eyes back to the little rabbit that Flower had been eyeing this whole time, the smile on his face widening. “Can I have the little rabbit over there? The one of that shelf, please,”

“Sure thing!” She replied as she gently lifted the rabbit doll off the shelf and handed it over to him. “Thank you for playing!” The store owner sang out as Fukase received the doll from her, turning back to his girlfriend. Holding out the lavender rabbit doll in his two hands, he smiled warmly at her. “Ta-da! Here you go, Flower,”

Her face shone as she held the doll in her hands, now able to marvel its cuteness up close. It really did look similar to Fukase in his fancy outfit. “Thank you,” She unknowingly broke into a wide smile as she petted the rabbit’s head the same way she did to Point, Fukase’s pet doll. “It’s really cute…” She giggled.

He grinned at her, a warm feeling washing over him at the sight of Flower’s smile. It never failed to make him smile back at her, or to make his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual. Deep down, he wished she did that all the time, but he also understood her take on it; it was better to let her slowly get into the habit of smiling instead of forcing it on her.

Instead, he raised his hand towards her again, hoping to continue their stroll through the carnival until he noticed which one he was holding up to her. In a hasty maneuver, Fukase swiftly relocated himself to be standing on her right side as he offered his hand to her again, disregarding the confused expression on her face. “Shall we go back to the path, milady?”

She giggled again at his formal demeanor. “You don’t have to be so formal,” She quickly packed her new rabbit doll into her basket as she accepted his hand again. Although she was already well aware of his odd behaviour from before, Flower knew better to not bring it up and make him embarrassed.

Unfortunately, the more she thought about it, the more it started to bug her. Especially when she started to realise how often such situations would occur multiple times that night. Upon closer inspection, there was one thing that they all had in common; the fact that Fukase had never let her hold his left hand.

As much as she didn’t want to sound like some prissy girl complaining on their date, the urge to ask him about it was stronger than those worries. “Hey, Fukase?” The white-haired teen began, tugging a little on their interlocked hands to get his attention. “Can I… ask you something?”

He eagerly turned to her. “What is it?”

“Can I hold your left hand?”

The question alone was enough to wash his bright smile away, replacing it with an astonished frown on his face and a startled expression in his eye. His footsteps immediately stopped in the middle of the pathway as his grip on her hand tightened a little. For a while, Flower started to regret asking that question; she would’ve not done so if it meant that she was going to be subjected to him staring at her, downright baffled at her words. Now, she felt as if she was riveted to the ground by his gaze, feeling her heart climbing up her throat as she gulped loudly.

Fortunately for her, he broke their staring contest by turning his head away from her for a bit, his left hand covered from top to bottom in bandages rising up to cover his face. In a low, apologetic tone, he muttered: “Uh, sorry about that,”

She was speechless. “Eh?”

“I know you don’t like it when people stare at you, so… sorry that I was doing that just now.” He hastily apologised before continuing. “A-anyway, why do you want to h-hold my left hand? I mean-! Is there a reason? N-not that you have to tell me, wait I mean-!”

As the redhead stumbled over his words, the gears in Flower’s head started turning. A line of stuttering dialogue from Fukase convinced her that her asking him about it was the right thing to do; in a normal everyday conversation, he would never ever trip over his own words. As far as she could remember, his confidence in speaking has never failed him, only faltering a little whenever Flower managed to sneak a sweet, unintentionally affectionate line of dialogue to him. So to hear him uncharacteristically stutter so much while talking to her normally… Flower quickly realised that something was up.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, Fukase,” She tried to ameliorate the situation, hoping that he wasn’t too embarrassed. “I’m really sorry that I asked it so randomly-”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He trailed off as his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze shifted to the sight of his left, bandaged, roughly-surfaced hand. A sigh left his lips; he was gonna have to tell her something eventually, so why wait?

“The truth is,” He started, hoping that he didn’t sound too nervous. “No one… has ever held my left hand before…”

“Why?” She blurted out as her curiosity overrode her politeness.

“I never offered it to them,” He explained slowly, gaining a bit more confidence as he confessed to her. “I mean, you know how my hand looks; it’s a mess. And even with these bandages, it’s still really… you know, coarse and rough,”

Flower found herself frowning at the mention of what his left hand really looked like. It called back a past memory of their time together, when Fukase had told her the events that caused him to look as he is now. That day, he even slowly, very gingerly, took off his bandages and eye patch to show her the scars he had hidden from everyone for so long, the damaged side of him that he refused to show in public in the fear that he would be met with disgust and disdain.

But on the contrary to his fear of Flower leaving him, Fukase was embraced by her love and adoration for him, the emotions in her that he managed to call out now being gifted to him instead as some form of mutual bond. In the same way that he helped her break down her emotional barriers, she had helped him overcome his trauma-induced obstacles. It was a relationship between them that nothing in the world could break.

And tonight was just another testament to it, Fukase realised as Flower quickly shook off his hold on her own hand, instead reaching for his left, roughly-surfaced one covered in white straps of cloth. Her fingers brushed across his as she matched them to line up with hers, a small yet ever-so-kind smile on her face encased in her lips. Fukase unknowingly gulped at the sight of his girlfriend looking at him with so much kindness and care, her beauty brought out even more tonight with her neatly combed tomboyish hair and lilac-coloured butterfly pin.

“Fukase,” She broke the silence between them as she whispered softly. “Does it feel any different when I hold your hand like this?”

He averted his eyes at her question. “Well, for me, it feels the same but for you-”

“It’s the same for me too, you know,” She interrupted him gently, shifting her right hand to the side a little as she interlocked their hands together. “I know you’re always worried about how your scars might change how I see you, but… You know that’s never gonna happen, right?”

As soon as she spotted the skepticism in his eyes, she took it as a sign to continue. “Whichever hand I’m holding doesn’t matter to me so long as it’s yours, Fukase. You don’t have to be worried about how you look when you’re with me; I don’t mind any of it at all,”

“ … Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Besides,” She chuckled as she recalled another memory. “Didn’t I already tell you before that I liked your scars?”

“W-well yeah, but…” After baring out the truth to her, the red-haired boy felt unnaturally vulnerable, the somewhat playful tone in her voice making him blush. He still wasn’t used to her telling him that she liked the permanent markings on his skin. For a long time, he hated them and wished that they would just disappear, especially since they were a reminder of that dark side of him. And yet to listen to her words when she said that she liked them… it felt like letting go of a breath of air that he’d be holding for a long time. ‘Because they’re a part of you too’, Flower had told him back then. ‘That’s why I like them’

Meanwhile, the girl standing before him gently pulled their interlocked hands back down, her left hand holding tightly to her basket as she turned back to the path. “I really don’t mind holding your left hand, Fukase,” She reassured him again with a soft smile. “So… let’s keep this date going, okay?”

Flower hadn’t even taken one step forward before she was tugged back towards the red-haired boy, his uncalloused hand cupping her face as he pulled her closer to him. Just like the beginning of their date when he had commented on her blushing cheeks, the snow-haired teen found herself hypnotized by his armour-piercing gaze, his right red eye staring intently at her for a short while only to soften as he leaned his face close to her, closing his eyes and landing his lips onto hers. As her cheeks heated up like red-hot iron, she knew in absolute certainty that she was blushing now.

It seemed as if time stood still as Fukase kissed her, the action and noises in their surroundings seeming to pause as her eyelids slid shut in conjunction to his daring public display of affection, his head tilting slightly to deepen their kiss as Flower mimicked his actions. It felt like hours had slipped by them as they parted from their kiss, the commotion from the carnival returning to their field of vision and awareness.

Fukase’s face was almost as red as his hair as he chuckled lightly, his iconic bright smile back on his face. “Hana-chan, thank you,” His voice was teeming with gratitude as he thanked her. “You always seem to know exactly what to say,”

Flower was blushing equally as much, her wallflower shyness emerging from her. “I’m just being honest,” She humbly replied.

“How in the world did I get a girlfriend as amazing as you?”

“I could say the same for you, you know,”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I mean, how in the world did I get a boyfriend as sweet and funny as you?”

“Hey! Don’t copy my words!”

“But it’s true!”

The both of them laughed at each other’s antics, their hands interlocked with one another as they continued to stroll down the dirt-trodden path.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: GAAAAAHHHH these two make me soft~ ;-;

[thisisthinprivilege]

Hello, I know this space isn't really meant for people like me (I have a very thin *ideal* body). But I need to ask a fat activist for advice. I have anorexia/orthorexia, it's why I look like this. And people often comment 'oh you're so skinny' or other things, sometimes nastier (often assuming I have no life issues coz I am thin, or am slutty) versions of this. When I have asked other sufferers of my illness how they would respond, normally the answer is tell them 'oh your so fat' .. -c-

-c- or to basically make a body negative/fat shaming comment back at them. And I don't want to do that, but sometime I just want to scream 'YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE!' everytime someone makes one of those comments I just can't stop thinking about my body and want to get thinner. I don't know how to make people see they shouldn't say something about my body even if I have the 'socially acceptable' type of body. If I could be fat an happy, instead of thin and mentally ill, I would

I think you hit the nail upon the head in your last sentence --- “If I could be fat and happy instead of thin and mentally ill, I would.” There are many, many, maaaaany fat orthorexic and anorexic people, too, who suffer from the intersection of fatphobia and ableism. The answer to ableism and body shaming isn’t to engage in fatphobia.

Invisible disabilities are tough -- people think we’ve got it all together and we really, really don’t, because they can’t see what we’re going through. It feels very lonely, and kind of being gaslit all the time because we *look* fine so we must *be* fine, right? (when we are anything but)

Maybe responding with something like, “Some of the people who look the most put together have the biggest problems. You can’t judge a book by its cover,” might be a better way to convey that this person is an unempathetic asshole than lashing out (and you’re right for thinking your fellow sufferers are being assholes for lashing out, though the impulse to engage in catharsis is understandable).

-ATL

[herenortherenearnorfar]

Third Baoshan Sanren’s Mountain of Strange Children fic because I had a vision.

Xiao’er is a nocturnal child. That’s fine, Baoshan Sanren lets her students make their own schedules.

Amid the rolling dark he prowls the mountain, a little specter in white. Humans don’t have eyeshine the way that most animals do. Years of cultivation training have given him sharper night vision, a green cast behind his eyes. That extra skill makes his eyes flash green, not red, when he lifts his lantern. Though not necessary, the lantern is important for warning off other night wanderers, the leopards, dhole, squirrels, and owls.

Wild animals give him distance and he returns the favor. Moving lightly through the world means abiding by a system of mutual respect; besides, he’s grown too big to ride the wandering deer the way he did as a smaller child.

These days if he wants to climb to the top of the mountain he must do so himself.

It’s not an impossible climb but it does take most of the evening. Rocky paths of such incline require extra time after nightfall. This mountain was deserted before Baoshan Sanren and her students came five years ago. They haven’t changed much of its topography, haven’t carved easier handholds into the stark stone or worn down wide thoroughfares. The paths he walks were made by stalking mountain leopards and nimble goats. 

Narrow paths lead up to steep peaks. Eventually even the foliage gives way to bare rock. 

He finds his favorite place to watch the world and settles down. Putting out his lantern, he lets his eyes adjust to the full dark. Once he’s wholly immersed the stars peek out from the raw dark firmament, one by one, until the sky is not a flat blanket but a textured immensity, stretching up forever, full of ten thousand lights. 

Being trained in matters of fate and fortune, he can identify the four great divisions of the heavens (each associated with a sacred beast), the three enclosures of the north, the heavenly mansions of the moon, and many constellations besides. Right now the moon is in the Three Stars Mansions, they’re coming out of the territory of the White Tiger as Autumn fades, and-- he checks the sky, craning his head-- the star right above him is Cumulative Corpses. Not the most auspicious one, but he only gets to keep it for a moment. An hour earlier he thinks it would have been something in Well, maybe the Celestial Wine Cup. 

Stars are beautiful and Xiao’er loves them. He loves the moon too, a waning slice growing thinner by the day, steady in its patterns. That isn’t all he came up here to see. 

With the heavens well appreciated he turns his gaze to the stars below. 

There are ancient temples nearby, his teacher chose one of the less used of the Wudang mountains which means that the more traversed peaks are very frequented indeed. Even in the deep night when everyone is sleeping, some lanterns still flicker, some fires still roar. This season is especially good for earth-watching, the midautumn festival was four days ago and the aftermath of the celebration still lingers. Bright red lanterns and an extra hum of activity carry through the temple, visible from miles away. He can see the small lights wind up and down the mountain top, an earthbound River to match the one above. 

There are other earthly asterisms as well. Small tea farms dot the valleys below and the glow of their chimneys, of windows and banked fires, can be seen here and there. On a damp, cold night like this, fires are extra high and extra visible. On the very edge of the horizon is a whole village, a cluster of tiny white pinpricks against a world of dark. 

He loves to see the lanterns. They prove that there are other people out there, something more than the mountain and Baoshan Sanren’s teachings. These barely visible stars are a reminder that there’s a world he cannot see. 

When they moved mountains, he got a glimpse of the outside. He was six then, two years in Baoshan Sanren’s care and one of the youngest of her students. The old mountain, in the north, no longer served its purpose so all her younger pupils packed up and left. Walking hand-in-hand down long roads, they made their way from there to here. Even avoiding the big cities they couldn’t help but pass through a number of towns and while his siblings averted their eyes from the buzz of a world unruly, Xiao’er stared. When his little legs got too heavy and his sister had to carry him, he stared even more, taking advantage of his place on her shoulders to watch every merchant that passed with wide eyes. 

Promises are promises. Xiao’er swore once that his request to come study meant that he would never leave. But he was four at the time, raised in a quiet temple. He didn’t know what the world meant. The priest brought Baoshan Sanren in, a new person with a bright exciting face, and said ‘Xiao’er, this is the famed immortal. If you wish to leave with her you can never return.’

Blindly, he’d accepted. 

He wanted to know her and now he does. Now he wants to know more, wants to know what happens in those little light filled homes, what how people behind those bobbing lanterns act. Are they different from the twenty eight people he has known for the past seven years? 

The lights, temple and home, above and below, go to and fro for hours until dawn finally breaks. Xiao’er loves the dawn too (he is free with his affections, easy and open as a child who has never known fear). Dawn gave him his name; Baoshan Sanren says it’s probably when the priests at the temple found him. 

With just enough light to see by, he picks himself up and goes back home. 

By the time he finishes the climb down, which is easier than the climb up but not by much, a fourth of his brothers and sisters are awake. Morning is the best time for chores. He’ll do his and then settle in for an afternoon nap.

“Did you enjoy the stars, Xiao’er?” asks a sister picking up buckets to fetch water. “The spider moon is always lovely.”

“You should have waited until the new moon, it’s much easier to see in the dark,” advises a brother who thinks he knows everything. Baoshan Sanren teaches wisdom, not social grace.

“Oh, no,” Xiao’er says, “I was looking at the earthly stars, from Mid-Autumn. They won’t last long.”

The older ones chuckle. “Earthly stars, Xiao’er, such a poet!”

“Stars of the earth?” he tries, which only makes them laugh harder.

“Xingchen,” she pinches his cheek. “Our terrestrial astronomer.”

The River of Heaven slants and the morning stars are low.

They have no interest in the outside world. To them the stars above, which influence the fates of men, are more important than those distant flickering lights which will never touch this hidden sanctuary. Xiao’er knows this, so he bears their teasing. 

But his curiosity does not abate. He wants to walk among those thousand lanterns. He wants to touch those stars. 

[natreviewsbooks]

Fat Chance, Charlie Vega FCCV Book Tour

I’m ecstatic to talk about this next book, because I’ve been waiting for its release since early last fall. For a lot of people, it’s rare to find a book that ticks off so many boxes in terms of rep. For me, it was near all. Brown skinned, fat, and nerdy protagonist who loves to write, and is struggling with some self confidence issues? Let me just say that after finishing this book, I feel so seen, and am so honored that Turn the Page Tours selected me as a host to review this amazing title. This book is such a gentle yet fierce breath of fresh air that I think will resonate with many. I loved this book from start to finish, and found myself in tears at how visible I felt after reading this book. Crystal manages to make this connection with the reader that goes beyond superficial. It’s a story that you read and go “She’s telling MY story”. You’re going to want to add this book to your TBR. 

Before I get too far into my love for this book, let’s talk about what it’s about! Make sure to stick around until the end, because I’ve got a giveaway for you to enter!

Synopsis: 

Coming of age as a Fat brown girl in a white Connecticut suburb is hard.

Harder when your whole life is on fire, though.

Charlie Vega is a lot of things. Smart. Funny. Artistic. Ambitious. Fat.

People sometimes have a problem with that last one. Especially her mom. Charlie wants a good relationship with her body, but it’s hard, and her mom leaving a billion weight loss shakes on her dresser doesn’t help. The world and everyone in it have ideas about what she should look like: thinner, lighter, slimmer-faced, straighter-haired. Be smaller. Be whiter. Be quieter.

But there’s one person who’s always in Charlie’s corner: her best friend Amelia. Slim. Popular. Athletic. Totally dope. So when Charlie starts a tentative relationship with cute classmate Brian, the first worthwhile guy to notice her, everything is perfect until she learns one thing–he asked Amelia out first. So is she his second choice or what? Does he even really see her? UGHHH. Everything is now officially a MESS.

A sensitive, funny, and painful coming-of-age story with a wry voice and tons of chisme, Fat Chance, Charlie Vega tackles our relationships to our parents, our bodies, our cultures, and ourselves.

Review: 

I tend to be pretty easy to please when it comes to enjoying books. However, getting to where I cry for a book is pretty rare. From the beginning of this book, I felt connected to Charlie in a way that I’d never connected to a character in a book before. She’s a young woman who’s full of life, but filled with reservations about herself, and compares herself to others, especially her best friend Amelia. I won’t lie, that last bit in itself was hard for me to read. Because it was like looking into a mirror of what high school was like for me. I was/am the fat best friend. Her relationship with her mom is good, but strained when it comes to talking about weight. Her mom can’t accept the fact that Charlie can be happy being the size that she is. 

The more you read, the more you get sucked into this story, and the more you become invested into the characters. I think all readers will love the dynamic that Charlie and Amelia share, and at the same time, want to give Charlie a hug as she navigates the incredibly cruel realities that sometimes happen in high school. Charlie’s biggest insecurity is being compared Amelia, but it’s enhanced even more when it comes to romantic relationships. Her biggest hang-up is not being the second choice to someone. Enter Brian. Brian is awesome. He’s such a sensitive guy, and I loved seeing him interact with Charlie. I can’t wait to see fan art of these two together. 

I’m going to try not to write an essay, but seriously, you should pick this book up. It’s not too fast paced, and there’s a lot to unpack (and I won’t discuss it all here, even more reason for you to get it ;)) in terms of self-confidence, racial identity, and more. One of the more interesting aspects of this book were the discussions of Charlie’s Puerto Rican heritage and not feeling connected to it as she doesn’t speak Spanish, but also not presenting as “white” enough to be accepted by her peers. This book is introspective and I was HERE for it. I beg of you, if you choose to read something this year for good representation AND diverse representation, this is it. For me this is a 5/5 read and I encourage EVERYONE to have it on their TBR list. 

Book information: 

Book Title: Fat Chance, Charlie Vega

Author: Crystal Maldonado

Publisher: Holiday House

Release Date: February 2, 2021

Genres: Young Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53399306-fat-chance-charlie-vega  

Book Purchase link:

https://holidayhouse.com/book/fat-chance-charlie-vega/  

Author Bio:

Crystal Maldonado is a young adult author with a lot of feelings. Her debut novel, FAT CHANCE, CHARLIE VEGA (Holiday House), will be released on Feb. 2, 2021.

By day, she is a social media manager working in higher ed, and by night, a writer who loves Beyoncé, shopping, the internet, and being extra.

She lives in western Massachusetts with her husband, daughter, and dog.

Author Links:

https://www.crystalwrote.com/  

https://www.instagram.com/crystalwrote/  

https://twitter.com/crystalwrote  

https://www.facebook.com/crystalwrote  

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19798656.Crystal_Maldonado  

GIVEAWAY:

Enter to win one (1) finished copy of Fat Chance, Charlie Vega by Crystal Maldonado! Open USA only. There will be 1 winner.

Giveaway starts: Monday, February 8, 2021

Giveaway ends: Monday, February 15, 2021 at 12:00 a.m. CST

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[reliciron]

Cathar Biology Headcanons

What’s that? Ya’ll want more painstakingly thought out Star Wars biology headcanons? No? Well screw you, we’re doing it anyways. 

Here’s my Nautolan Biology Headcanons for anyone interested.

Prepare yourself, it’s a long one. And like before, I’m not a biologist, this is just for fun, and if anyone IS a biologist and thinks this stuff is waaaay off, I’d be happy to hear your take on it.

Fur

The thickness and length of their fur used to depend on what region of Cathar their ancestors originally hailed from. Cathar from the warmer savannas of the equator, had very short fur and a thinner undercoat. Those from regions closer to the poles and the chilly Uplands tended to have shaggier fur with a dense undercoat. This variation is not nearly as pronounced as it used to be. The Battle of Cathar cut the entire population down to so few individuals that most modern Cathar have a mix of the two.

Cathar generally don’t like water, not because they can’t swim or because they are frightened of it, but because it’s such a bitch to dry off. Even after toweling off the worst of it, it can take and hour or two to air dry. Blow dryers are usually too small to be worth the effort and can damage their fur. Occasionally some ‘freshers have a blower setting for furred species, but most don’t and it’s expensive to modify one.

Instead of showers, fur and hair cleaning usually means brushing it out every day. A soft hand brush (think horse brushes) and sometimes a long handled brush for reaching the back, are usually the bare minimum, but many Cathar use more, especially if they have longer fur or a thicker undercoat. Most Cathar only take showers every few weeks, assuming of course they don’t get covered in something that can’t be brushed out, and the dirtier the environment, the more times a day they need to brush their fur.

Fur brushing is also an important time for bonding. Cathar are a social species, and its common for close friends, family, and mates to help with brushing. A “long handle” is a less than flattering term for Cathar who have no one to help them brush out their fur, and must use a long handled brush to reach the places others would have helped them with (similar in rudeness to the modern use of “spinster”).

Claws

The Wookieepedia article on them states that they have retractable claws, and while this is probably true for main-line Cathar, the more human-like Cathar generally have smaller, fixed claws. Both fixed and retractable sets are very sharp if allowed to grow to their natural points, but it is fairly common place for Cathar to file them down enough that they can’t easily break skin. Cathar who regularly wear gloves file them even further to keep from ripping through the fingers.

Teeth

Cathar have sharp incisor teeth, long canines, large premolars for slicing, and heavy molars for grinding. Their bite strength is only a little better than a human’s, but with those teeth, a Cathar’s bite can do a LOT more damage. In SWTOR, the Cathar’s canine teeth are a little over-exaggerated (at least the males are, I haven’t played enough of a lady to know if the female model’s teeth are a little more reasonable), but I figure the visible length of their upper fangs is about twice the length of their regular incisors, and their lower fangs are a bit shorter. Still, in order to clear those fangs enough to actually fit something in their mouth to bite, they have to open their jaws pretty far. The voluntary gape angle of a human is about 50 degrees, Cathar can push 85 degrees if they tilt their head back enough to allow their full range of motion. It’s very disturbing to see them do this, and outside of scary party tricks, they rarely need to.

Diet

Like earth cats, Cathar are obligate carnivores, which means they exclusively eat meat. They can eat fruits and vegetables, and many do for flavor, but they gain no nutritional benefits from them, and if they are forced to eat only non-meats for an extended period of time, they will starve. Cathar have cast-iron stomachs and can handle food that has gone bad much better than other species, it takes A LOT for them to get food poisoning. That doesn’t mean they LIKE it of course, they’d take a fresh, well-cooked meal over meat paste 3 months out of date any day, but their strong stomachs make them uniquely good at colonizing difficult new areas (like Taris).

Flexibility

Like the cats of our world, Cathar are naturally very flexible. They can usually fit through any space they can get their head through by collapsing their rib cage (this can get dangerous, the longer they stays collapsed, the more likely they’ll suffocate themselves, so most Cathar only do this if it’s only for a brief moment, like slipping through bars), and they tend to land on their feet.

Senses

All Cathar can see in the dark, and anyone unfortunate enough to see them do this gets the eerie effect of seeing the light reflect off of their eyes. Like cats, they only need about 1/6th of the light that a human needs to see at night. As a trade off, they don’t have great color vision; it’s much less saturated than a human’s perception of color and they tend to have trouble with shades of red. Great night vision also has the drawback of being sensitive to sudden bright lights, so a flash bang grenade screws with them a LOT more than a human.

Speaking of sound, Cathar also have a better sense of hearing. They can hear much higher pitches than a human, and can detect variances in sound so a much smaller degree. Their ears are fully mobile, and can pinpoint the location of a sound faster and with a much greater degree of accuracy than humans. It comes in handy if someone is trying to mimic another person’s voice, or use a recording, because a Cathar won’t be fooled. It’s extremely difficult to sneak up on one, and if they can’t see you in the dark, they can most definitely hear you. Again, this sucks if they’re exposed to loud noises, and many have to wear ear protection if they’re going somewhere loud, like a club.

Their sense of smell is about ten times better than a human’s and they are very good at detecting pheromones in the air. These mostly help them tell the general health of other individuals and can give them an idea as to the emotional well-being of the people around them (and yes, they can smell when someone’s horny, and its awkward for everyone involved). I love @starrypawz headcanons about their scent-based and non-verbal communications.

Litters

Cathar usually give birth to a litter that ranges from 3 to 5 kits. Again, @starrypawz has some great headcanons about how kits tend to snuggle together as infants. I’ll also add that as they grow older, this need to cuddle up with other people when they sleep never really goes away. It’s a little less socially acceptable as an adult, seen as childish, but bonded mates are ALL ABOUT that cuddle.

This need to snuggle with others is also worsened for those who were either born alone (which is rare) or were orphaned alone (sadly less rare). If a Cathar grows up without this closeness as a child, they tend to mature into very anxious individuals with persistent insomnia, and they place an unhealthy amount of importance on getting and maintaining romantic/intimate relationships just so they can feel that closeness.

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Did I need to spend 3 hours doing this? No.

Did I do it anyways? Yes.

I just... I just really like Star Wars aliens, guys, and Wookieepedia’s articles are a consistent let down in the biology department.

[bellevvalencia]

A Christmas Story

ON CHRISTMAS DAY LAST YEAR I spent all night tucked away in my bed watching every episode of The Witcher from start to finish and it was one of both the best and worst nights in my life.

Best, because I got to spend it all alone, for once, without any expectation after every dish was served. I didn’t feel obliged to walk back to the kitchen and do anything, such as eat cake, or wash the dishes, or talk. I’ve always loved the comfort of being alone in my bed, getting lost in a show that somehow relieved me of all the feelings that reality was giving me.

Worst, because my family and I had a huge fight, and even now I can’t see a mistake I did. Worst, because it was Christmas, and it was my favorite time of the year. It was what I looked forward to in all those 359 days—and it was, obviously, all for nothing. No cake. No washing. No talk. Just bad feelings and anger, on a fine cold night. And The Witcher, apparently.

So during the past few weeks, this year, I’ve been trying to avoid reminiscing as much as I can. Last year was a bad year in particular. However, this isn’t particularly a good one either. Not for all.

My apprehensions last 2019 was mainly about my life. It wasn’t going well; and even now, thinking back to the bittersweet moments that I spent hating every possible aspect that I could find in myself gives me the shudders that are uncalled for. They’re ugly, and unmistakably some roads I wouldn’t dare set foot on. As children, we were often pressured to make up New Year’s Resolutions and list them down so we could track our progress—a starting push of some sorts—and I never really thought importance of it until now. Because as we got older, these resolutions became a lot more meaningless, life became a lot more inseparable year by year, and hope gets a lot thinner in every way.

The same way the Christmas feeling does.

I’m only beginning to realize now more than ever that the concept of new years were made not just for organization of every single entity in the grand social, economic, spiritual, personal schemes of life. A new year is an attempt, albeit a lame one sometimes, not necessarily for a reset but for hope to get better. For things to get better. For life to get better.

And before all the fireworks and alcohol when the clock hit 12 on January 1 this year, I saw a glimpse of hope, too.

But right now it feels like it all crumbled down to nothing.

ON CHRISTMAS DAY THIS YEAR, I am writing this paper as a breather, as a response to the therapy sessions that I was lucky enough to get, and as a gift to myself. Because we’ve been through a lot of things. We are in the middle of a pandemic. School has been more of a struggle than an experience. And as if those weren’t enough, several storms, literal and political, have invaded our country and its people.

I think that the reminiscing that I was keeping myself from doing was a shield to prevent myself from accepting that while I’m well-aware that I’m not getting any younger, Christmas just will never be the same anymore. Not now. Probably not ever. Christmas has always been a feeling that makes me feel giddy, like a child experiencing it for the first time, and now, two decades later, it’s still sort of hard to let that go. I’ve always been a believer in magic disguised as coincidence, in fiction and all pretty things, but these years have been too much of an alarm to halt me still in abrupt and say, “Hey, that’s enough.” We can still have fun sometimes. Christmas can still be fun. Just in a different way that all of us probably can’t agree to unanimously.

Because the thing is, celebrating Christmas right now gives some sort of conflicting feelings to me. From this moment on, Christmas will be political. It will be a privilege. And as much as it pains me to admit that, I’d like to believe that someday, we can all begin to accept that. The divide limits everyone to make do with what they can. The protocols, and the things you cannot do without money, or without a car, or without a big house to light up and watch with your family—they’re all so necessary, and yet so lonely. I don’t have any of those, but I do have a big enough family to channel all my energy in. So this Christmas, it feels more fitting to spend the night tucked away in my bed watching another series in Netflix from start to finish. It feels more fitting to have bad feelings and anger.

Conversely, though, it feels more fitting to hope a lot more.

This Christmas, I have no idea what I’m going to do, or feel, with everything laid out before me: pending work, family feuds, and a two-day flu that’s starting to make me feel more anxious than ever, but I do have hope that it gets better. Faith has been a weak spot for me throughout this year, seeing all that’s happening to those who can and who can’t, but lately I’ve been getting more signs that we need it more at this time. I have lost all drive to plan anything at all for the New Year, but I have a tiny bit of hope. I have lost all comfort to build on my dreams and goals for the New Year, but I have a tiny bit of hope.

Everything is so fucking awful. But I have hope that it will feel a little better. Maybe not now, not even soon, but someday.

And instead of searching for that familiar, giddy, childlike feeling that has been making me sane for the past eighteen Christmases of my life, all I want from now on is to pass it on to another kid. My cousins have another thing coming.

Writing this is a Christmas present to myself. It’s one of the best mornings of my life.