#common privet

[hellsitegenetics]

My favorite animal? Well it would have to be the tailless whip scorpion. Why? By all accounts its a monster. The long pedipalps, its whip like legs, its speed, and propensity to hide in dark, damp, and narrow places.

But these certain arachnids are gentle. They have families that they can recognize. They have their own dance. In a world of apes, octopuses, and birds could something so small be so intelligent? Is that intelligence?

String identified: at aa? t a t t ta c. ? a acct t a t. T g a, t g, t , a t t a, a, a a ac.

t t cta aac a gt. T a a tat t ca cg. T a t ac. a a, ct, a c tg a tgt? tat tgc?

Closest match: Ligustrum vulgare genome assembly, chromosome: 8 Common name: Common privet

[hellsitegenetics]

String identified: c , a t t a ca t t ca t gt, t at aa t a at tat ,t a a a cc a a t a cc c ca. t a t act at a. T gca tg t t at t ct t t t t t at a tct t. t tat t t G A at t t a c a g:( t a t a t ctt… ac t t aat g.. a t… t a ctc tgt….. G A

Closest match: Ligustrum vulgare genome assembly, chromosome: 10 Common name: Wild Privet

(image source)

I fucked up

[headspace-hotel]

I have an essay brewing in my head constantly about lawns. Which, well, unsurprising, since I post about how I hate lawns all the time, but I think the "lawn" and "landscaping" centered way of thinking about Places Outside is a Bigger Thing that Connects to Other Things

(What isn't? Having ideas about concepts is always like this.)

I will introduce my ideas by a situation where they apply: Sometimes life-forms mimic other life forms. One form of mimicry is called Vavilovian mimicry, where weed species in crops grown by humans evolve over time to be more similar to the crops.

Vavilovian mimicry basically helps weeds survive because the weeds are adapted to the care-taking regimen of the crops, and because the human caretakers of the crop can have a hard time telling them apart, which means they might say "Ehh...I'll wait until it grows up so I can be sure I'm not pulling up my crop."

I think there's something similar at work among flower gardens and landscaping...but it's different.

Regular people don't know the name of every plant that might possibly grow in their flower beds, and they often pull up plants they don't know just because they don't know them. They sometimes say they pull up a plant that "looks weedy" or "looks like a weed."

I think to myself...what does "weedy" look like?

This question collided unexpectedly in my brain with an insight I had about invasive species that I could not explain.

I have to get rid of a lot of Callery pear, wintercreeper, honeysuckle, burningbush, privet, English ivy, and other plants that are invasive where I live. And strangely- many invasive plants look similar in ways they don't share with very many native species. They tend to have small, round or squat, glossy leaves, and they tend to have a very dense growth habit.

I can think of several possible explanations: Maybe these species thrive in North America today because of the loss of controlled burning, but their characteristics look so distinct next to native species because they relate to things that would make a species fire-intolerant? This doesn't seem quite right, since it doesn't predict level of fire-adaptedness in native species.

Another explanation is better: they were selected for these traits by humans for their usefulness in landscaping. Dense growth habit would be useful for creating hedges or ground covers. This is why many invasives were originally planted, right? And small leaves might feel or be perceived as less "messy" when they fall.

But I think this is a clue to something else going on. What does "weedy" look like?

Some plants go on one side of "weeds vs. flowers" and some on the other, and it's almost totally arbitrary...so how do gardeners make the call so decisively?

I think about the commonest "landscaping" plants- Knock Out roses, hostas, petunias, begonias, boxwoods and so on- they share a lot of the characteristics mentioned above. Shiny or at least smooth, typically small and squat leaves, dense and compact growth habit.

Then I think about some of the commonest and most important "weedy" native wildflowers, such as goldenrods, asters, milkweeds, Joe-Pye weed, ironweed, sunflower. They all differ from the above in at least one striking way. Mostly, they have hairy leaves and stems, long and thin leaves, and a tendency to grow up tall before blooming. Milkweed has smooth leaves, but its leaves are long and very big. Hmm...

And I think I can guess where this is coming from.

Landscaping and garden designs often look like this

See how the plants are drawn and arranged to cover a space in two dimensions, mostly not overlapping with each other? This is very easy to plan and design. And those common landscaping plants I mentioned—hostas, Knock Out roses, boxwoods, and so on—are very good at acting just like a two-dimensional representation of them does. Just look, you can see them:

Now look at those important native wildflowers I mentioned:

Goldenrod

Ironweed

Milkweed

These guys don't fill much space in a horizontal plane, they go straight up. They don't exclude other plants from very much space either. Plants could grow under them and among them. So they're not very good for "filling up" space, and their opener, lankier, less dense shape doesn't do a good job at blocking other plants from growing.

In a garden of North American prairie- or meadow-adapted plants, the plants wouldn't exclude each other and stay within their designated spots because they're evolved to intermix with a great variety of plants.

"Separateness" is a big part of the typical "landscape" aesthetic. These plants are very neatly separate from each other. This is what looks "neat" and well-kept to us...the opposite of "weedy."

This could mean our garden and flower beds are affected by a selective pressure a lot like the Vavilovian mimicry situation. But instead of weeds being selected to look like intentionally grown plants, the intentionally grown plants are being selected to look different from weeds.

The subtle difference makes perfect sense. In a field, the rule is "leave the plant there if you're unsure" because that's your food. In a flower bed, the rule is "get rid of the plant if you're unsure" because having weeds is more aesthetically unacceptable than having blank space.

The point is: Ecology needs to be a big part of gardening and landscaping, because you are DOING ecology. Even if you don't know the evolutionary principles, you're acting them out.

Just like the ineffable preferences of female birds give the males weird elaborate display structures, ineffable aesthetic "senses" that govern our "built" world slowly turn it into something weird.

[transgenderer]

kudzu has such a reputation as an inevitable threat, like its common in near-future sci fi for kudzu to have become massively out of control and grown everywhere but its been around for a long time now, and its like. obviously fine. i mean its not GREAT but its not like a *huge deal*. anyway i wanted to see if i was right about this and i am:

its like. its fine

In news media and scientific accounts and on some government websites, kudzu is typically said to cover seven million to nine million acres across the United States. But scientists reassessing kudzu’s spread have found that it’s nothing like that. In the latest careful sampling, the U.S. Forest Service reports that kudzu occupies, to some degree, about 227,000 acres of forestland, an area about the size of a small county and about one-sixth the size of Atlanta. That’s about one-tenth of 1 percent of the South’s 200 million acres of forest. By way of comparison, the same report estimates that Asian privet had invaded some 3.2 million acres—14 times kudzu’s territory. Invasive roses had covered more than three times as much forestland as kudzu.

And though many sources continue to repeat the unsupported claim that kudzu is spreading at the rate of 150,000 acres a year—an area larger than most major American cities—the Forest Service expects an increase of no more than 2,500 acres a year.

The hype didn’t come out of nowhere. Kudzu has appeared larger than life because it’s most aggressive when planted along road cuts and railroad embankments—habitats that became front and center in the age of the automobile. As trees grew in the cleared lands near roadsides, kudzu rose with them. It appeared not to stop because there were no grazers to eat it back. But, in fact, it rarely penetrates deeply into a forest; it climbs well only in sunny areas on the forest edge and suffers in shade.

kind of a painfully on the nose metaphor for the way the appearance of things swamps the actual truth of thing in "common knowledge". the growth pattern of kudzu is *literally* superficial

[flowerishness]

Ligustrum vulgare (common privet) and Papilio rutulus (western tiger swallowtail butterfly)

Privet hedges are usually closely clipped into boxy shapes but, as you can see, I've really let this one go. Actually, I do trim it a bit. If it grows forward of the compost box, I cut it back. Otherwise, I'm sure it would take over the whole garden.

This privet is growing along the back fence as a 'privacy screen'. I can't see my neighbors and they can't see me. We both like it that way. On their side they've planted a row of cedars for the same reason. As Robert Frost once said, "Good fences make good neighbors."

I'm not the only one who appreciates this privet hedge. I watched this western tiger swallowtail flit around for five minutes, in a garden full of flowers, before it zeroed in on the privet. I posted a similar photo with this same species of butterfly on the same hedge a couple of years ago. I can't even imagine what goes on in a western tiger swallowtail's mind but one thing I do know for sure - they really like this privet hedge.

[robbie-roo]

here's more >:)

here's a bunch of my field notebook doodles and notes before it got too hectic to illustrate

particularly proud of those last two I'm ngl

[dream-with-a-fever]

but i’m a fire and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm (snippet)

by dream-with-a-fever (me) / societysgot (ao3)

harry/ginny, oneshot, canon compliant, missing moments during OotP

“So, I take it that cave in the mountains outside Hogsmeade wouldn’t work as a meeting place with Sirius?” She said, bringing them back to their conversation in the library.

Harry shook his head. “Definitely not — how did you know about that?”

“I’m really into mountain hiking,” She replied, without missing a beat.

Harry gave her a quizzical look before her face broke out into a smile, and she laughed.

“I’m joking - I've never done it,” She said, with a snort, “Hermione mentioned doing it with her family once — no, Sirius told me about it over the summer, back at Grimmauld place.”

“You and Sirius talked?”

For some reason he hadn’t even considered the fact that the Weasleys had been staying there for several weeks before Harry’s arrival. Jealousy bubbled in him momentarily, at the thought of them all spending their summer together, while he was stuck in privet drive. They had probably shared meals, swapped stories, made jokes. He vaguely remembered the youngest Weasley holding court up one end of the table on a particular evening, chatting animatedly with Remus, Tonks and Sirius. She had almost seemed like one of the crew. He just hadn't given it much thought until now.

She gave him a quizzical look, and he realised he must’ve been silent for a beat too long.

“Yeah, is that… alright with you?”

He forced out a laugh. “Yeah- erm, of course. I just didn’t think — I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s cool. Got a great muggle music collection. You’d probably know some of ‘em? There’s one band — super good called The Beatle and—”

“The Beatles.”

“What?”

Harry suppressed a smile. “Never mind.”

“They're really good. But, he mainly talks about you, you know,” She said, after a beat, “Raves about you actually.”

Harry sighed, like this was a real inconvenience.

"Oh, I am sorry," said Harry, fighting back a grin.

"I told him, I said Sirius, I haven't got all day - but the man's relentless. Wanted to know everything."

“That must’ve been terribly boring.”

“Very," She hummed, noncommittally. "You know, Harry Potter — famously boring.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Well, we can’t have everyone inflating your ego now, can we?”

Harry spluttered for a moment, before she continued.

“Not that a bit more arrogance on your part would be bad. You could be a lot worse. Look at Percy.”

“Thanks, Ginny.”

“Very welcome,” She said, breezily before clapping her hands together, “Anyway — if the cave isn’t an option, and all the fires are being guarded…”

“Well…not all of them,” Harry said, a look of realisation crossing his face.

When he looked up she was grinning widely at him, eyebrows raised. It was then that he looked around, and realised they were outside the Gryffindor common room — the trek from the library was like muscle memory to him now, and still their arrival had come as a shock to him.

The fat lady was chatting animatedly with her friend Violet from another portrait when they approached; both shrieking with laughter like a couple of hyenas, passing a bottle back and forth of some kind of mead that most certainly was not from the fat lady’s portrait. They were completely obvious to the two students stood outside.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your study session,” Ginny suddenly said, scrunching up her nose, looking rather guilty, “I know you need all the time you can get, you know, with the OWLs coming up so soon.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Have a lot of faith in my academic ability then, do you?”

She choked out a laugh, whipping her auburn hair out of her eyes. “Not what I meant and you know it. Though if you hanging around Ron every minute of every day is any indication of your intelligence…”

“Pretty sure you spend more time with him than me,” Harry replied, looking aghast.

“Yeah — because he’s my brother - I'm stuck with him, aren't I? But you voluntarily spend every waking moment with him. I mean, think of all the brain cells you must have lost already…”

“See, that’s—”

“But there’s still time to save yourself from ruin, I reckon. Just gotta get back to the books.”

“Well, that’ll be hard, seeing as you got me banned from going back into the library ever again…”

She elbowed him hard in the side, and Harry looked up, surprised at the contact. But Ginny seemed unfazed - like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I think I’ll take that chocolate egg back then,” She demanded, flicking a curtain of red hair behind her.

Harry scoffed. “Pretty sure you already ate most of it—”

And that earned him his second jab in the ribs. He glanced down at his feet, suppressing a grin.

Their slight cofuffle had caught the attention of the fat lady who now, having finally noticed their presence, began to complain at their frankly insulting dawdling (‘I don’t have all day, you two!’)

They parted ways in the common room; Crookshanks trotting over to the youngest Weasley the second she had stepped through the door; Harry making his way up to the boys’ dormitories.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

(Unbeknownst to Harry, it was the best sleep he had had in weeks.)

[k-s-morgan]

ATLWETD Snippet

I couldn't decide which part to pick for a snippet for ages so I just picked randomly)

“These are all new ones,” Hagrid said excitedly, pointing at the huge self-made basket filled with grass and hay. “I do what I can for them. Visit them every day and bring them meat, all that thing. But it’s getting colder again and I worry that they might freeze to their death. I thought of getting them blankets but—”

Riddle let out a quiet snort. His face took on a haughty look, and Harry didn’t have to even guess to know what he was thinking. That Hagrid was a pathetic half-breed incapable of doing magic, something that was supposed to be inherent to anyone worthy of life.

Anger stirred in his chest, and he turned away from Riddle, focusing on the cubs.

He couldn’t say he felt much affection towards them. They were small, ugly, and they were writhing in their basket restlessly, trying to push closer to one another.

Hagrid was right, they were cold. And it was a problem Harry could easily fix.  

“How did you find them?” he asked, taking out his wand and transforming the basket into something resembling a dog house he’d seen back at the Privet Drive, in the yards of some of the Dursleys’ neighbours. He didn’t know if it would be suitable for little werewolves, but it was better than nothing. Now he had to figure out how to use a warming charm that would stick — he had no desire to venture this deep into the Forbidden Forest again.  

Hagrid began to explain something, but Harry only half-listened. He murmured a spell, waited, and then touched one of the cubs carefully, checking if it was getting warmer.

The moment his fingers pressed against the soft coat, the second cub raised its head and tried to bite him. Harry barely managed to snatch his hand away. His still-broken finger collided with his wand by accident, flaring with unpleasant warmth. He cursed, more out of annoyance at his own carelessness than pain, when Riddle suddenly appeared next to him and grabbed him by his collar, dragging him to his feet harshly.

“What kind of an idiot are you?” he hissed. He clenched Harry’s wrist, examining his hand with burning intensity. “Touching this filth! Do you want to be infected?”

“Infected?” Harry repeated in confusion. Belatedly, he realised that Riddle was probably right. The cubs looked like simple wolves, there was nothing human-like in their shape, so the fact that their bite could be dangerous didn’t occur to him.

“They can’t infect yeh!” Hagrid protested. “They come from humans mating in wolf forms. Their bite ain’t dangerous, they’re like real wolves, just very smart.”

“You don’t know that,” Riddle replied stonily. His voice was cold as ice, and he continued to inspect Harry’s hand, twisting and turning it like it was his own limb. Harry tried to pull away, annoyed, but predictably, Riddle didn’t let him.

“What makes you think they can infect humans?” he asked just to say something. Riddle’s insistence on barging into his personal space and manhandling him was starting to grate on his nerves, although in a strange, awkward way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“No one has determined it for certain. It’s extremely rare for two abominations to reproduce under the full moon and then to leave their bastards behind. How Hagrid continues to find them defies all rules of logic and common sense.”

“Sounds like something you might want to research,” Harry muttered. Riddle sent him a deeply sceptical look, as if he was questioning his sanity. “What? Isn’t it something you’re supposed to be interested in? Werewolves are a part of our society and the way they are treated is disgusting. Anyone who offers them better treatment can get them as allies in—”

No. What was he saying? Or rather, to whom was he saying it?

Harry swallowed the rest of his words, but it was too late, the biggest part of them was out. Riddle’s stare turned calculating, an intrigued gleam lighting it from inside. His hold loosened, and Harry finally managed to get himself free.

He really was an idiot. Sure, he didn’t say anything extraordinary, and Riddle would have arrived at this basic conclusion on his own — Voldemort had. But still… this was something he could say to a friend, a person he trusted, not to Riddle. Never to him. They weren’t a team, and helping him to find more allies was the last thing Harry wanted.

Besides, werewolves deserved better than to be used by someone who didn’t give a damn about them and then discarded — or worse, wiped out of existence. Harry had no idea what Voldemort had been planning to do with them once he got everything he wanted.

Frowning, he knelt next to the cubs and raised his wand again. He had to get that warming charm right.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Hagrid exclaimed. His voice rang with passion. “Werewolves are mistreated. They can be good friends, right, Harry? And the cubs are innocent, they’d never hurt no one.”

Riddle stifled a sigh. He continued to stand next to Harry, monitoring his struggle with the spell. Did he want to make certain that Harry wasn’t going to push his fingers into the werewolves’ mouths? Probably this or something as ridiculous.

Okay, the warming charm. Harry learned how to modify simple spells in one of the books he’d been absorbing lately, and though the theory was surprisingly clear, he had no idea how to voice his intent clearly enough for his magic to listen. A spell that would keep this little shelter warm throughout the winter and early spring without having to be reapplied, which would disappear when the weather got naturally warmer, and which would gain power again when the late autumn came. How on earth could he convey all of this in one simple charm? And how could he know if it worked?    

“Next time, we can go visit the older cubs,” Hagrid was saying. His words were getting increasingly animated. “And the fire crabs, I know where they’re nesting. And I swear I saw the Occamy one day—”

Harry was glad he had his back turned to Hagrid — his face probably reflected the horror he felt at the thought of coming in here again and again in search of the dangerous creatures he was wary of. He loved and missed Hagrid, but there had to be limits to where they went and what they did.

On the other hand… Hagrid was lonely. Would it be so bad to accompany him from time to time?

Riddle’s disgusted snort broke him out of his thoughts. Harry squinted at him from the corner of his eye — surely Riddle couldn’t know what he was thinking? — but it was too late. Riddle was already walking away from him, holding the edge of his robe like he was concerned about getting it dirty.

“I can see that your love for dangerous creatures hasn’t abated since your expulsion, Hagrid,” he said pleasantly. Every warm syllable sounded so artificial that Harry’s jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it. “Tell me, are you still interacting with that Acromantula that killed Myrtle?”

 Harry froze just as Hagrid choked, his excited words dying on his tongue.  

“Aragog… Aragog killed no one,” he muttered. It was difficult to understand him, his voice was thick with emotion. “He ain’t guilty.”  

“I see.”  

That was all Riddle said, but the way he did it left Hagrid with no choice but to reply.

“He didn’t do it!” he insisted, more loudly this time. “He would’ve told me!”

“As a child, have you ever done something bad? Something that you didn’t want your family to know?”

“Riddle,” Harry snapped. He didn’t want to get into it — he just wanted to be done with this stupid spell and go, but he wasn’t going to let Hagrid be brainwashed into believing he killed Myrtle. The audacity of even trying to do it, and to do it here, where Harry could hear them… did Riddle really think he would let this stand?

“I— yeah,” Hagrid threw a lost look at Harry before focusing on Riddle again. “Lots of things.”

“And have you ever lied to cover it up?”

“Riddle,” Harry repeated. He waved his wand at the cubs, directing all his frustration into his spell, but while it clearly worked, it didn’t feel any different from the usual warming charms he’d been using. Maybe it was a little stronger, but it would never hold through the winter, never mind self-regulating its activation and disappearance.   

“Sometimes,” Hagrid muttered.

“Then what makes you think Aragog behaved any differently? He killed the girl and he was scared of your reaction.”

“No!”

Despite the protest, an echo of uncertainty touched this one word, and just like that, Harry knew this battle was lost. Hagrid was gullible enough to fall for Riddle’s manipulation, and Riddle was in the mood to put an effort into it.

 “Think about it,” he said softly. It was difficult to say whether his voice was naturally this compelling or if he was using compulsions deliberately — whatever it was, for a moment, Harry found himself almost lulled by it. “You kept letting it out for some exercise. From around that point, someone started petrifying the students. Then, the attacks escalated, and the girl was found dead. Do Acromantulas have venom?”

“Yeah… in the fangs.”

“In the fangs,” Riddle agreed. “Exactly so. And the venom gets stronger with age. At first, Aragog was too little to kill someone. But you kept caring for him, so he kept growing, and one day, his venom became strong enough to cause Myrtle’s death.”

Did Riddle need to be punched to shut up? Because this was something Harry was more than willing to do. His anger was bubbling on the surface already — one more word, and it would spill over.

“Acromantulas have a natural appetite for human flesh, Hagrid,” Riddle continued silkily, using dejected silence to fill it with more of his bullshit. “Surely you know that. You have always been the best when it came to studying magical creatures. There is no need to deny it now that Aragog is out of danger — I would never tell where you are hiding it.”

Outrage broke through. Harry lurched to his feet, throwing the last warming charm at the cubs and marching towards Riddle and Hagrid, almost shaking with fury. He had no idea what he was going to say, but letting Riddle fill Hagrid’s head with rubbish, make him feel guilty for something he didn’t do—

Apparently, Harry’s approach was also a part of Riddle’s plan because when he reached them, Riddle wrapped a possessive hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close as if he always intended to do so and effectively rendering him speechless.

“I would never tell where you are hiding Aragog,” he repeated to Hagrid, “but only if you convince me that you’ve learned your lesson. Your unique talents allow you to interact with all these creatures unharmed, but as you can see, the same cannot be said about other students. Your actions have already led to the death of one of them — would you really like to repeat this experience? With Harry, of all people?”

“No,” Hagrid breathed out. His eyes were brimming with tears, and this was enough to break Harry from under whatever spell Riddle had put on him — again.

Using his position, he pressed his wand to Riddle’s wrist and burned it with a stinging jinx. Riddle must have failed to see it coming because he jerked away abruptly, releasing Harry from his hold and sending him an incredulous look.

Very soon, his astonishment gave way to malice. Riddle narrowed his eyes, and Harry’s heart jerked from the cold, calculating stare he received. He glared back, crossing his arms and stepping away at the safer distance.

“Don’t listen to him, Hagrid,” he said. “It’s not—”

“What?” Riddle asked coolly. He rubbed his wrist, not taking his eyes off Harry, maintaining the strangest balance between an innocent expression and a hard, dark look. “Do you believe that all these pets are harmless? Were you not almost bitten by a cub of a werewolf five minutes ago without knowing if their bite was infectious? Are you saying you are ready to get acquainted with them all?”   

The urgent need to protect Hagrid and to do something to wipe this expression of distress and heartbreak off his face nearly made Harry blurt out an agreement, but another part, probably a saner one, prevailed for a change.

Even as an adult, Hagrid could never tell the difference between safe and dangerous creatures. Aragog might have been innocent of Myrtle’s murder, but he did eat humans, and he probably would have started doing it at Hogwarts sooner or later if he hadn’t been forced to flee.

Apart from putting the blame for Myrtle’s death on Hagrid, Riddle was right. And Harry had no idea how to convince Hagrid he hadn’t killed anyone without nullifying the sobering impact of this idea.   

He could really do without all these dilemmas Riddle had been creating for him recently.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Muggleborn!Dursley!Reader introduces Blaise Zabini to video games during the summer they spent together at 4 Privet Drive when Mrs. Zabini was on yet another honeymoon

I personally don’t think the Zabini’s are blood purist. I feel like they’re a more sophisticated version of Horace Slughorn who collects talented and well connected people.

Yesss!! First, I wanna say I’m really loving the Blaise x Muggleborn!Dursley!Reader dynamic! I honestly really just love the idea of Dursley!Reader with the whole Slytherin crew in general (Mattheo and Enzo included). And just them all being overprotective and possessive of their Muggleborn!darling, platonic or romantic. Especially someone so closely related to Harry cause you know it gets an irate reaction from him.

I love to imagine that Blaise and Dursley!Reader had so much fun with one another during their summer together. The Reader is just so happy and excited to show their classmate/housemate muggle stuff, meanwhile Blaise is honestly just happy and content seeing them so excited and open to share parts of their life outside of school with him.

Like, I could see the Reader having persuaded Petunia and Vernon into taking them all to the zoo, or the movies, or a museum. Heck, even to just drop them off at a muggle park. If Petunia and or Vernon wouldn’t take them then Blaise would just have his Squib driver take them instead. Harry of course is coming along whether he’s welcome to or not, meanwhile Dudley is too freaked out to/being kept back by Vernon, not to mention both Blaise and Harry make it pretty clear that he isn’t invited either way.

Dursley!Reader would have totally taught Blaise to play video games. They even go as far as gifting him one of Dudley’s old gaming systems or gameboys that fortunately still works. At first they lended it to him during his stay so they could play together but when the day comes for him to leave back home, the Reader tells him to keep it if he wants. And when I say that Blaise would treasure it, I fucking mean it. That boy would play it all the time back home and his mom probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at it or she just tells him to make sure none of the other purebloods see him with it, not like they’ll know what exactly it is. Even at school, Blaise would find a way to sneak playing on it. Hell, he’d honestly end up playing it out in the open not caring too much about what anyone says or thinks.

I can’t help but imagine Blaise’s reaction to either having used the gameboy so much that it stops working or because it’s an older one it just stops working one day. I could see him kind of freaking out and inwardly panicking at first, like oh shit he broke the first and so far only gift that his darling’s ever given him. He would spend so much time trying to figure how to fix it by hand before he realizes he could just use magic to do something about it. I could even see him reaching out to some of the professors to fix it if he was really desperate enough. Like, I imagine him just laying it in front of Snape one day after class and neither of them saying anything, only having a conversation with looks before Snape sighs and takes it, later returning it completely fixed to Blaise in the common room or the next time he’s in potions class.

[saintsenara]

What are your thoughts on the Drudley ship? Is it cute or extra cute? 👀 I am inclined towards seeing the Draco/Dudley pairing as very angsty, complicated, and somewhat toxic, from the amazing fics I’ve read about them so far. I enjoy the potential Draco and Dudley have to grow from their toxic canon selves through being forced into close proximity together, and the redemption arcs I’ve read them each going through in Drudley fics! How would Drudley rank in terms of your favorite Draco ships?

thank you very much for the ask, @potterblog!

i back it. we know from canon that draco enjoys surrounding himself with lads who are massive. we know from canon that what dudley looks for in a man is a slightly rodentine appearance. and we know from canon that boxer!dudley is enormous and ripped and draco is pointy and weak. they'd be making heart eyes at each other within seconds.

[plus, dudley is also locked into a weird love-hate spiral with harry, so they have that in common.]

the best part, though? the concept of narcissa vs petunia on the topic of their darling boys. or lucius vs vernon when the former pulls up to privet drive in a flying rolls royce.

i'd read it.

[bonefall]

Clanmew Expansion Pack: Moths and Butterflies

A guide to the beautiful fluttering insects seen in this region, and how Clan cats classify and describe them.

[ID: A cat with a butterfly on its nose]

In Clanmew, the vocabulary used to describe butterflies is massive compared to English. As a species less than a foot tall and spending their entire lives in the wilderness, Clan cats observe lepidopterians up close and far more personally than humans have done historically.

Combine this with the fact that cats are crepuscular, active in the morning and evening, and you'll realize that they encounter more moths than butterflies. While English-speaking humans tend to think of moths as being dingy and butterflies as being colorful, Clan cats don't find those categories helpful and classify them in a completely different way!

So the very first thing to know is that Clanmew does not have the same conception of "moths" and "butterflies." They have a super term, "Ffyy," and no less than 9 terms for the various groups with related behaviors.

This guide contains 51 new words for various moths and the unique behaviors of lepidopterians. Below the cut, you will find;

An overview to the 9 classifications Clan cats use, plus words for things like cocoons, metamorphosis, caterpillars, etc

A straightforward list of species, in English (Science) = Clanmew format

Expansion on behaviors of noteworthy species within their groupings

Translation trivia on Moth Flight, Mothwing, Archeye, and Mothwhisker (TC) for Better Bones.

(Translator's Note: I have tried to pick English words that will work nicely as warrior name prefixes, to be translated as specifically or as generically as you desire. They don't reflect cladistic accuracy.)

Types of Ffyy:

Flutter = Kffa Ffyy with large hindwings that flutter around erratically. The closest to the English image of a "butterfly." Most of these are daytime species but this also refers to moths that are drawn to flame. Species depicted: Speckled wood (Pararge aegeria)

Hawkmoth = Uff Fat-bodied ffyy that tend to be wider than they are long, with powerful wings. Fantastic fliers and important pollinators, they have several gigantic species and are beloved by Clan cats. Species depicted: Elephant hawkmoth (Deilephila elpenor)

Tortrix = Owyy Round-winged ffyy that rest with a slightly splayed pose with their wings folded down, almost resembling a turtle. Species depicted: Privet tortrix (Clepsis consimilana)

Veneer = Iff A thin, lanky ffyy that rests in a sticklike pose with a defined head, sporting big, buggy eyes and sometimes a large nose. Any moth with the characteristic eyes or nose gets brought back into this category. Species depicted: Garden-grass veneer (Chrysoteuchia culmella)

Herald = Hawof A very unique type, it can apply to just about any type of moth but is always given to the species with significance in prophetic divination. There are some moths rarely seen in this region which appear only as heralds, thus they are named accordingly. NOTE: This is the sort of word bestowed in Honor Titles. Species depicted: Common Hairstreak, Moth Flight's moth (Callophrys rubi)

Dowd = Gyyff Stiff, fluffy moths which rest as straight as a twig, usually mimicking wood. Their heads aren't as well defined as a veneer, but they aren't as fluffy as a raoff Species depicted: Buff-tip (Phalera bucephala)

Prominent = Raoff "Lion moths," large species with fluffy antennae and big manes. Something between a dowd and a tortrix, but usually larger and fluffier. Species depicted: Muslin moth (Diaphora mendica)

Plume = Ffip Very thin, slender moths that rest in a T-pose with very interesting wing-types. Species depicted: Beautiful plume moth (Amblyptilia acanthadactyla)

Fritilary = Ffow Somewhat between a Kffa and an Owyy, refers to Ffyy with a smoother 'cape' shape when they're resting.

In addition, there are words for shapes associated with Ffyy and other insects, especially in the wings and patterns. Some of those words are;

Fluttered/Fluttering/Will flutter = Afafaf/Afafa/Afaf The erratic wingbeats of Ffyy and small birds of prey.

Hovered/hovering/will hover = Hyyffuhu/hyyffu/hyyff A very special aerial maneuver where an animal can hold their exact place in the air and move in any direction. EXTREMELY rare; only achieved by certain hawkmoths, hoverflies, and dragonflies. NOTE: The UK has no hummingbirds! Their ecological niche is occupied by hawkmoths!

Shy = Wro An emotion, but also a pose. It's when an animal shrinks back and tries to make itself smaller or more hidden, much like a Dowd or a Veneer, or the flattening of a terrified cat's ears

Cape/Humble = Froom An emotion, a shape, and a pattern that is seen on the backs of some animals, describes the way that Prominents and Tortrixes hold their wings.

Flare/Confident/Perpendicular = Akeye An emotion and a shape, describes things that 'stick up,' like the wings of Plumes and Butters. Not like "raised hackles," more like fluffing one's fur out or puffing your chest.

Caterpillar = Poog A word that comes from Parkmew! Caterpillars were significant to Park cat culture because of their old naming system-- cats were born unnamed, and were expected to find one as they grew, like butterflies.

Pupa/Chrysalis = Higab Hard, scaly insect cocoons

Cocoon = Mooun Soft, silky insect cocoons

Silk = Mirro The material that silk cocoons and spider webs are made of. Only cob spiders produce though of this material to be useful to Clan cats; they do not have access to silk moths (bombyx mori) in this part of England. Clan cats also believe that moth wings are made of this.

Chitin = Higko The material that hard pupa and insect exoskeletons are made of.

Exoskeleton = Babaak The hard shell that surrounds the meat of invertebrates such as crabs, moths, beetles; Clan cats do not think this applies to insects that 'shrivel' such as soft-bodied caterpillars.

Metamorphosed/metamorphing/will metamorph = Peb'bep'arr/Peb'bep/Peb'be To massively change between stages of life, the unique way that moths and some other insects grow.

LIST OF SPECIES

This list is arranged with several species of each group, separated by grouping. You can expect for this list to grow, if additional species are translated as time goes on!

Last update: 6/17/2023

HAWMOTH/UFF

Elephant hawkmoth (Deilephila elpenor) = Beksu

Large skipper (Ochlodes sylvanus) = Skepb

Hummingbird hawkmoth (Macroglossum stellatarum) = Lipfu

TORTRIX/OWYY

Privet tortrix (Clepsis consimilana) = Frooke

Oak lantern (Carcina quercana) = Byoff

Common footman (Eilema lurideola) = Yyowo

Dark Arches (Apamea monoglypha) = Oyiw

VENEER/IFF

Garden-grass veneer (Chrysoteuchia culmella) = Chuo

Drinker moth (Euthrix potatoria) = Ssbwohl

Bronze alder moth (Argyresthia goedartella) = Holipo

DOWD/GYYFF

Buff-tip (Argyresthia goedartella) = Kooko

Apple leafminer (Lyonetia clerkella) = Rugna

Hazel slender (Parornix devoniella) = Geehees

PROMINENT/RAOFF

Muslin (Diaphora mendica) = Goorf

Iron prominent (Notodonta dromedarius) = Orge

True lover's knot (Lycophotia porphyrea) = Urmrri

Cinnabar (Tyria jacobaeae) = Genra

PLUME/FFIP

Beautiful plume (Amblyptilia acanthadactyla) = Lebl

Twenty plume (Alucita hexadactyla) = Arrffip

FLUTTER/KFFA

Speckled wood (Pararge aegeria) = Yaero

Holly blue (Celastrina argiolus) = Luya

Clouded border (Lomaspilis marginata) = Oogwo

FRITILARY/FFOW

Magpie moth (Abraxas grossulariata) = Peewo

Mint moth (Pyrausta aurata) = Mwifg

Riband wave (Idaea aversata) = Fisip

HERALD/HAWOF

Green Hairstreak (Callophrys rubi) = Ssefyy

Lunar Hornet (Sesia bembeciformis) = Offes

Death's Head (Acherontia atropos) = Wayoff

HAWKMOTH/UFF

[ID: An "Uff," 'Hawkmoth' in English. It is a large, yellow-and-pink moth. The species depicted is an Elephant Hawkmoth.]

Hawkmoths are the largest types of Ffyy that Clan cats encounter, and deeply beloved. They are considered the 'warriors' of moth-standards, large, honorable, and acrobatic. What defines an uff from other butterflies is primarily its large, bulky body. Some uff, such as the skipper, could be mistaken by outsiders as being a type of ffow or perhaps a kffa.

They are pollinators, jumping between various flowers and mostly seen in grassy, floral environments, such as meadows and moorland. The skipper in particular is one of WindClan's most common butterflies, and a favorite target for pouncing kittens.

Most of the largest hawkmoths survive the winter snug in their cocoons under leaf litter, and more specifically in ThunderClan. Being able to witness a hawkmoth emerge is sometimes taken as a little blessing, like StarClan rewarding you for staying observant on a patrol.

TORTRIX/OWYY

[ID: An Owyy, "Tortrix" in English. It is a humble brown moth with a negligible mane and round, capelike wings. The species depicted is a privet tortrix.]

Tortrixes are the largest classification of ffyy in Clanmew, with many of them being drawn to lights in the dark. They hold their wings 'humbly' (froom), tucked behind themselves and slightly angled. Many prominent share the general shape of tortrixes, but they are separated by a prominent, impressive mane.

Because they are so varied, classifying behaviors of the group as a whole is difficult. Some of them like fruit and others like leaves. Some are large and others small. Some are drab and others colorful.

Most end up named after the species of plant they like most. The Oak Lantern (Byoff) for example can skeletonize entire oak leaves! Others can absolutely mob apple trees, making them a pest to ThunderClan.

Funfact: The cartoon idea of an "apple worm" comes from some species of tortrix moths!

FLUTTER/KFFA

[ID: A Kffa, "Flutter" in English. It is an orange-and-brown butterfly, with wings that stick out perpendicular to the body. The species depicted is a sunspot butterfly.]

Dominated by strange daytime species with bright colors, these confident little creatures are defined by the angle of their wings when resting. They "Flare" out, or Akeye in Clanmew.

The Yaero (sunspot butterfly/speckled wood) is the most well-known of the flutters which isn't also a herald of some sort. These plucky bugs have short lives and spend the ENTIRE time fighting, choosing a sunny spot and engaging in clumsy aerial brawls to defend it. To be compared to a Yaero in Clan Culture is like being called 'scrappy,' fighting until you drop dead of exhaustion.

It's a VERY admirable thing to be!

PROMINENT/RAOFF

[ID: A "Raoff," or a Prominent in English. It is a very fluffy moth with a big mane. The species depicted is a male muslin moth.]

The obvious thing that sets this sort of Ffyy apart from all others is its luscious, majestic mane. Much like how the "Leopard" is a mistranslation and is a mythical composite of several animals, the Clan cat "Lion" is a composite beast whose mane comes from moths!

Thus, it is how they were named. Lion + Moth.

And, of the various raoff, the muslin (Goorf) is one of the most interesting. It comes in black or white, with many cats speaking of a herald coloration that is split perfectly down the middle with black and white. This species' name comes from "Gender + Moth." It is thought that if a pregnant cat only sees black muslins, they will have an all-tom litter. All white, and they will all be mollies. If no muslin moths are seen at all, then they will all reveal themselves to be gib.

FRITILARY/FFOW

[ID: A "ffow," or a fritilary in English. Note, this is the moment where the English names diverge the most because this is not an irl fritilary. It is a moth with a 'cape' that is both froom, and akeye. The species depicted is a magpie moth.]

A family of ffyy remarked upon for their 'savviness.' Not as 'confident' as kffa, nor as humble as an owyy, the animals in this family are typically quite interesting.

For example, the magpie (Peewo). While notably beautiful like a calico cat, it's also strangely left alone by other animals. If caught in a spiderweb, the spider will take a bite and let go. Birds leave them alone. Clan cats believe this must be because they will eat lots of unappetizing plants and become distasteful-- a clever creature!

The thought probably came from watching another ffow, the Mwifg, the "mint moth" in English. Mint is a deadly poison to Clan cats, but the creature eats it up, and goes unbothered by other animals.

So, Peewo and Mwifg are cited often as living examples of how you, "are what you eat."

PLUME/FFIP

[ID: A plume moth, "ffip," a thin insect with a T-shaped body and long legs. The species depicted is a Beautiful Plume Moth.]

Widely considered the least appealing type of moth, often clustered in reedy areas. They're known by their distinctive T-shape and long legs.

Clan Cats find it unsettling that they resemble midges, and have only two unique names within the classification; Arrffip for the 20-Plume, and Lebl for the Beautiful Plume, which resembles a mottled cat which makes it more okay to them.

VENEER/IFF

[ID: A moth with big eyes and a long nose, called an "Iff" in Clanmew, and a veneer in English. The species depicted is a garden grass veneer.]

The silliest moth of all, associated with being panicked and anxious at all times. To be compared to an Iff is to be called a worry-wart in Clanmew!

Most veneers have a big, distinct fuzzy nose, and any moth that displays the same feature gets thrown into the Iff classification. But that isn't the only way to end up in this category! Any moth with big, worried eyes goes here as well, such as the Bronze Alder Moth (Holipo).

Alderheart was compared to a holipo often. Poor guy.

There is also the drinker moth (Ssbwohl), which is known for dunking its head into dewdrops and taking a big sippy.

DOWD/GYYFF

[ID: A moth that looks like a twig, called a Dowd in English and a Gyyff in Clanmew. The species depicted is a buff-tip.]

To be considered a Gyyff, the moth must be long and sticklike. The apple leafminer (Rugna) is a good example of a moth that is not using buff-tip (Kooko) mimicry, but is still a Dowd in Clanmew standards.

The word "kooko" in Clanmew is used for harmless fibs, little pranks, and the buff-tip moth!

HERALD/HAWOF

[ID: A green butterfly with shining wings, facing the camera. It is called a Herald in English, and a Hawof in Clanmew. The species depicted is a Green Hairstreak.]

The defining example of the Herald classification is the Green Hairstreak, an iridescent green moth that lead Moth Flight to the Moonstone so many years ago. A vitally important species to WindClan culturally, a burst in its population is said to be a sign that they need to listen carefully.

Any type of moth can end up going into this category, if it becomes significant in divination. Some moths have even shifted over time out of one classification into Hawof, and back out as they stop being seen as holy in some way!

Another example of a moth of great significance is the death's head moth, called a Wayoff in Clanmew. It's a massive type of hawkmoth, and an exceedingly rare sight. It warns of grand doom, threats so large that they threaten all the Clans at once. Floods, famine, deforestation... these were all preceded by the freak sighting of a Wayoff.

Meanwhile, the Lunar Hornet, Offes in Clanmew, mimics a wasp perfectly. It's a strange creature said to be a piece of the cosmic dust between this world and StarClan, an example of the fantastic creatures they can make if they so choose. It signifies change of some sort, which a Cleric will attempt to interpret for the cat who saw the moth.

And lastly,

Translation Trivia

[ID: A cat chasing a butterfly]

Specifically for the way I have chosen to translate the names of these characters for the Better Bones AU

Moth Flight

Mothwing

Archeye

Mothwhisker

Moth Flight Hawof Faofwe (Herald + Pilgrimage)

A VERY interesting translation quirk, as her name is a remnant from Old Tribemew, one of the ancestral languages that would eventually form Clanmew!

Hawof was the ancient word for moths and butterflies, and still the word in-use in Tribemew to this day. Once they moved down from the highlands, Clanmew adopted and created several new words to describe the hundreds of new types they were seeing on a regular basis. Yet, "hawof" fossilized, coming to only describe those that were particularly holy!

"Faofwe" is another fascinating example. While it once meant 'flight' in Old Tribemew, an animal flying from one place to another, it has come to mean "pilgrimage." This is the word being used for a cat going to visit a holy location, or somewhere else that they will reach a higher religious understanding of the world.

Both of these words are sacred; the type only given to modern cats in Honor Titles.

Mothwing Beksuwesk (Elephant Hawkmoth + Insect Wing)

Sasha fled the violence of TigerClan at her first opportunity, after being trapped in the dangerous situation with no escape. After the death of her son, Tadpole, she brought her kits to RiverClan in the hopes they would be safe. Their names were Ffyy, and Yassga.

Leopardstar saw that their father was Tigerstar, and accepted... though she would change their names. They had to accept what the Clan was to decide for them.

So Yassga (Raptor, any large bird of prey) became Yi'i (sparrowhawk), and Ffyy (Any butterfly) was pigeonholed into a type of hawkmoth as Besku. She thinks of this often, that RiverClan took the name her mother gave her, that she followed Hawkfrost to the Lake, and now she is all that remains. With nothing left of her family.

Archeye Oyiwipo (Dark Arches Moth + Eye)

A simple one! He has a stripe just above one eye that perfectly resembles the tip of a Dark Arches' wing.

(note: i updated this translation from an earlier statement.)

Mothwhisker Yaerohussk (Speckled Wood Butterfly + Hussk)

Fresh from the ThunderClan Family Tree fix, Mothwhisker is a parent of Adderfang and Seedfall.

An old Oakstar loyalist, Mothwhisker was spitting from the moment he was born, clawing the nose of his Ba. On the spot, he was given the prefix Yaero, and he eventually grew into a ferocious Crusader after the death of Mapleshade's kittens and the creation of Darkstar's Commandment.

Though "Butterflywhisker" would technically have been accurate, the translator chose 'moth' for brevity. Clan cats don't distinguish between the two, regardless.

[iamnmbr3]

i love your taste in hp fics. what have you been reading lately?

why thank you! :) here you go!

Heart of Emeralds by Phantomato (words: 10,200 | rating: T | Regulus Black/Tom Riddle | Major Character Death)

The locket horcrux has his own agenda: reunite the soul, rejoin the main body. When Regulus’ defection gives him an opportunity to set this in motion, he finds himself relying on Regulus’ questionable loyalty.

The customer is always right by Metalomagnetic (words: 7,200 | gen | unrated)

In the summer of 1945, Caractacus Burke hires a new assistant to help with the shop. His son doesn't know what to make of Tom Riddle, the young charismatic man that doesn't seem to mind working hard for just a handful of coins.

Inhuman Resources by Asenora (words: 4,210 | rating: G | gen)

Speaking from the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, Sirius Black will assure his godson that Dolores Umbridge is definitely not a Death Eater. How does he know? Well, he's seen the paper trail...

of all my demon spirits by basketofnovas (slashmarks) (words: 1,730 | rating: T | Gen)

After the end of term, Ginny gets a new diary and struggles with the events of her first year.

The Shack at the End of the Lane by Asenora (words: 4,156 | rating: G | gen)

It was an unconventional choice, on the part of the universe, to make Tom Riddle's victims meet his mother the moment they arrived in the afterlife.

Gilderoy Lockhart: Dabbling with Dark Lords by Math_and_Lunacy (words: 1,826 | unrated | gen)

He didn’t know who this Harry Potter person was, but surely Potter wasn’t half as brave and heroic as Gilderoy. Where, after all, were the series of books detailing Harry Potter’s adventures? Where were Potter’s fans?

Amulette d'amour by The_Carnivorous_Muffin, Vinelle (words: 97,035 | Tom Riddle/Alphard Black | unrated)

Tom is commissioned to repair a magical amulet.

Escape by SofiaDragon (words: 50,231 | rating: M | Gen)

Harry Potter reacts much differently to the Dementor attack on his cousin and it causes a cascade of changes in the lives of everyone he knows. He runs away to France to escape the English Ministry's bias and gets a solicitor (lawyer) to deal with his legal issues. Part one of a book 5 and on re-write that can be read stand-alone. Featuring: Snape's POV. People making decisions for Harry without talking to him about it first. The Horcrux in his head influencing Harry's mind. Professional psychologists/mind healers doing good work. Snape using cannibus. He would not go back to Privet Drive without bringing the law. He’d lose his temper and end up in Azkaban. Even with aurors at his back, he was likely to hex dear old Tuney into next week if he had to interact with her again. The fines would be worth it.

[ltash]

Venom

Part 5 "Flicker of doubt"

Simon Ghost Riley x female OC

He was his target and she was becoming his prey the moment he knows about her. The hunter was going to be hunted.

"I have found the one whom my soul loves."

Anastasia cleaned up the table, her mind replaying every moment of the dinner. She had planned to slip the pills into his tea, but his presence had been so overwhelming that she completely forgot. She mentally kicked herself for the missed opportunity but reminded herself that there would be other chances.

In her mind, she reviewed her interactions with him. The way he looked at her, the intensity in his eyes, the casual yet deliberate way he spoke - it all pointed to a man who was always on guard, always calculating. This wasn't going to be easy, and she knew it.

Better luck next time, she thought, trying to bolster her resolve. She would have to come up with a new plan, one that took into account his wariness and her own growing fascination with him.

The following day, she decided to take a different approach. She needed to earn his trust more naturally, make him lower his defenses without raising his suspicions. That meant finding common ground, something they could bond over.

Anastasia spent the day thinking about what she knew of his background. The military, the combat experience, the rough edges. She needed to appear more vulnerable, more relatable. Perhaps she could fabricate a story about her own hardships, something to create a connection. But it had to be believable, something that wouldn't break under scrutiny.

She dialed Makarov's number again to inform him about her progress. As the phone rang, she paced her apartment, adrenaline still pumping from her encounter with Ghost. When Makarov answered, his voice was a familiar comfort.

"Privet, Anastasiya!" Makarov greeted.

"Privet, Vladimir! Vy ne poverite, chego ya tol'ko chto dostig," she cheered into the phone, excitement evident in her tone.

"I chto eto bylo, moya dorogaya?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"YA priglasil yego na uzhin segodnya vecherom. Vse proshlo gladko," she exclaimed, unable to hide her pride.

"Priyatno slyshat'. Prodolzhayte progress," he said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction before he hung up.

Ghost stood just outside the door, his ears straining to catch the faint murmur of Anastasiya's voice over the phone. The urgency in her tone was palpable, and though he couldn't understand the words she spoke-delivered in a rapid-fire cadence of Russian-they carried a weight that stirred unease within him.

As a seasoned operative, Ghost was accustomed to deciphering cryptic conversations, but this one struck a chord deeper than usual. Anastasiya's voice held a mixture of excitement and apprehension, hinting at the gravity of whatever progress she had achieved. Her commitment to the mission was unwavering, but Ghost couldn't shake off his doubts.

He pressed his ear closer to the door, trying to catch any more snippets of conversation. The language barrier was a frustration; he couldn't understand Russian, and the tone alone wasn't enough to decipher her intentions. The only words he could pick out were names: Anastasiya and Vladimir. He made a mental note of them.

He quietly stepped back from the door, his mind racing. Her sudden move from Russia to Manchester, her remote job, the convenient timing of her appearances—all of it felt too orchestrated. Ghost knew better than to believe in coincidences.

Back inside her apartment, Anastasia took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had successfully made her first significant move, but now came the harder part: gaining his trust. She knew she couldn't rush it. Ghost was a careful man, one who didn't let his guard down easily.

As she tidied up, she replayed their interactions in her mind. She needed a new strategy, a way to appear more vulnerable, more in need of his help. It was a delicate balance—she had to befriend him without arousing his suspicions.

The following day, she woke up determined. Today, she decided, she would create a scenario that required his assistance again. She looked around her apartment for inspiration and finally settled on a simple but effective plan.

Later that afternoon, she carried a new coffee container to Ghost's door and knocked. When he opened it, he looked at her with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"Simon, could you help me? I can't seem to open this," she said, holding out the container with an embarrassed smile.

He studied her for a moment before nodding and taking the container from her hands. As he effortlessly twisted off the lid, she thanked him, giving him another opportunity to lower his guard around her.

Ghost handed the container back to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You should get a better grip," he said, his tone not unkind but still guarded.

"I'll try," she laughed lightly. "Thanks again."

"Why don't you come inside, Anastasia?" Ghost offered, gesturing her to come into his apartment.

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded and stepped inside. Her eyes darted around, taking in the surroundings. The apartment was simple and elegant, each item meticulously placed. It was opposite to the chaotic life she imagined Ghost lived outside these walls.

As she moved further into the living room, her gaze fell upon a wall adorned with framed medals and certificates. They were a testament to his achievements, his service, and his dedication. Each one told a story of bravery and sacrifice, further complicating her feelings about the mission she was on. Her eyes lingered on the name engraved on them: Simon Riley. Special Air Service written on some, with the TF141 emblem prominently displayed.

She took in every detail, her mind racing. "What does TF141 mean?" she asked, feigning casual curiosity.

Ghost turned to face her, his piercing eyes studying her expression. "Task Force 141," he replied. "It's a multinational special operations unit. We handle high-risk missions that require a certain level of expertise."

"Impressive," Anastasia said, genuinely intrigued. "It sounds like you've been through a lot."

He shrugged, a hint of pride in his voice. "It comes with the territory. We do what needs to be done."

She nodded, absorbing the information. Each new detail she learned about him added to the complexity of her mission. She needed to tread carefully, to continue building this fragile connection without raising his suspicions.

"You must have some incredible stories," she said, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Maybe," he replied, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "But they're not exactly dinner conversation."

She laughed softly, appreciating his attempt at humor. "I suppose not. Still, it must be rewarding, knowing you've made a difference."

Ghost's expression turned somber. "It's not always about the rewards. Sometimes, it's about making sure the bad guys don't win."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and Anastasia felt a pang of guilt. She was here under false pretenses, and every moment spent with him made her mission feel more personal, more complicated.

"Well," she said, changing the subject, "I wanted to thank you for your help with the sink. It means a lot."

He waved off her gratitude. "It's nothing. Just being neighborly."

She smiled, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "Still, it means a lot."

As they stood there, the tension between them seemed to ease slightly. Anastasia knew she had to keep playing her part, to continue weaving this intricate web of trust and deception.

"If you ever need anything," Ghost said, breaking the silence, "you know where to find me."

"Thank you, Simon," she replied, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. "I'll keep that in mind."

She left his apartment, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, and she knew she had to stay one step ahead. The game was far from over, and she was determined to see it through to the end.

As he closed the door behind her, Ghost couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Anastasia. His instincts told him to stay vigilant, and he intended to follow them. He would play along for now, but he would be watching her closely, ready to counter any move she made.

Anastasia returned to her apartment, her heart pounding. She knew this game of deception and trust would only get more intense.

At night, feeling the stirrings of boredom, Anastasia decided to hit a nightclub and enjoy herself. She was a wandering soul, and the prospect of going out alone at night didn't faze her. She knew how to defend herself, a skill honed through years of training and experience.

She slipped into a sleek, black party dress that accentuated her curves, paired it with a pair of killer heels, and headed outside. The city lights glowed against the dark sky, and the air buzzed with the energy of a Friday night. It was almost 9 p.m.

The nightclub she chose was one of the more popular spots in town, known for its vibrant atmosphere and eclectic mix of music. As she entered, the pounding beat of the music hit her, and the colorful lights danced around the room, reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Anastasia made her way to the bar, ordering a drink and taking a moment to soak in the scene. The club was packed with people, a sea of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music. She sipped her cocktail, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her.

Despite the crowd, she felt a sense of solitude. This was her escape, a brief respite from the complexities of her mission. She allowed herself to get lost in the music, her body swaying to the beat. For a moment, she could forget about Simon Riley, Makarov, and the dangerous game she was playing.

As the night wore on, she found herself on the dance floor, moving with a confidence and grace that drew admiring glances from those around her. The bass thumped in her chest, and she closed her eyes, letting the music take over. This was her element, a place where she could be free, if only for a little while.

Anastasia left her cocktail on the table to dance. It was a moment of carelessness, a lapse in her usually sharp vigilance. When she returned to her drink, she took a sip without thinking twice. The music still pulsed through the air, and the lights still danced, but something felt wrong.

Within minutes, her head began to pound, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Panic surged as she realized her drink had been spiked. She cursed herself for being so reckless, knowing she was now left helpless and vulnerable.

Stumbling through the crowd, she tried to make her way out of the nightclub. Her vision blurred, and her legs felt like lead. Just as she reached the door, a man grabbed her, his grip firm and insistent as he started dragging her towards the exit.

When Anastasia ventured out of the building, Ghost had already seen her heading somewhere. His instincts told him to keep an eye on her, so he quickly grabbed his jacket and followed at a discreet distance. He watched as she entered a bustling nightclub, and he slipped inside, mingling with the crowd to avoid detection.

As the music thumped and lights flashed, Ghost positioned himself where he could observe her without being seen. He watched her dance, noting the way she moved with a mixture of grace and abandon. For a moment, he was lost in thought, remembering the last person who had stirred any real emotion in him.

He never felt attachment or a soft spot for anyone, except for the love of his life who had worked alongside him in the task force. She had been his anchor, his reason to keep going through the darkest of times. But she had slipped from his hands like dust, dying in his arms during a mission gone wrong. After her and Johnny's deaths, Ghost had shut himself off from love, choosing to bury his heart under layers of steel and resolve.

Yet, there was something about Anastasia that gnawed at him. Perhaps it was the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide, or the glimpses of strength and determination she showed when she thought no one was watching. Whatever it was, it stirred a part of him he had thought long dead.

He saw her leave her drink unattended and tensed as she returned to it, taking a sip. Within moments, he noticed her movements becoming sluggish, her steps unsteady. It was clear she had been drugged. His anger flared, not just at the person who had spiked her drink, but at himself for not intervening sooner.

Ghost followed her as she tried to make her way out of the club. When a man grabbed her and started dragging her towards the exit, Ghost's rage turned into a cold, calculated resolve. He moved swiftly, his presence like a dark shadow over the scene.

"Get your fucking hands off her," he growled, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife.

The man holding Anastasia hesitated, looking back at Ghost with a mix of fear and defiance. "This isn't your business," he spat.

Ghost's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "I'm making it my business. Let her go. Now." He growled.

The man released her immediately, shoving her towards Ghost before retreating. Ghost caught her, holding her steady as she fought to stay conscious.

"You're alright," he murmured, his tone surprisingly gentle. "I've got you."

He carried her out of the nightclub, cradling her protectively as he made his way to his car. He drove with a single-minded focus, determined to get her to safety. When they arrived at his apartment, he laid her on the couch, fetching water and a damp cloth to help her recover.

"Drink this," he instructed, helping her take small sips.

Anastasia's eyes fluttered open, and she managed a faint smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

Ghost nodded, his eyes softening for just a moment. "Rest. We'll talk in the morning."

As he watched her drift off to sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was more than just a neighbor. There was a connection between them, something that went beyond the mission or the circumstances that had brought them together. For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt a flicker of something he had long buried—hope.

Sitting on the couch, Ghost watched Anastasia sleep. Her soft snores and the gentle rise and fall of her chest were oddly soothing. Her small, innocent face with freckles made her look almost childlike in repose, but he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to her than met the eye.

Her ginger hair framed her face, matching her eyebrows and lashes. For a moment, he allowed himself to be mesmerized by her serene beauty. Was she really that innocent?

His gaze shifted to her purse lying on the couch. He knew this was his chance to find out if she was deceiving him. Carefully, he opened the purse and began rummaging through her belongings. Her mobile phone was there, but it was password-protected. He frowned, placing it aside as he continued his search.

Her ID, driver's license, and passport were all in order, showing nothing out of the ordinary. He sifted through makeup items, a small notepad, and a few receipts, but nothing stood out.

Ghost glanced at her ID again, noting her age. She was 21, almost eight years younger than him. It was impressive for someone so young to have moved from Russia to Manchester and hold a professional degree in software engineering. The details added to the enigma she presented, making him more curious.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, frustrated by the lack of evidence. He placed her purse back on the couch, none the wiser.

As he sat back, his mind raced with thoughts. If she was playing a game, she was doing it well. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, yet he couldn't deny the growing intrigue he felt towards her. There was something about her that tugged at his long-buried humanity, making him want to believe in her innocence.

He watched her for a few more minutes, then decided to get some sleep himself. Tomorrow, he would need to confront her and get some answers. As he lay down on the other couch, his mind drifted back to the mission that had taken the love of his life. He couldn't let history repeat itself. He had to stay sharp, for his sake and hers.

[wizardfrog69]

okay but fyodor and s/o who is also slavic and knows a bunch of languages and sometimes both of them forget a word in the only language they both speak (japanese or english idk) and they try their hardest to describe it💀 this happens to me a lot😭

Omg that happens to me all the time or I would forget how to pronounce a word. Thanks for the request.

'•.¸♡ what is it called again? ♡¸.•'

Fyodor x gn!reader

Fluff

Masterlist

Enjoy!

!please read this note first! There will be parts spoken in other languages, whenever they are it will look something like this - 'привет' (privet- hello), first the word, how to pronounce it and the translation. This will be used for languages that use the Latin letters as well e.g. 'cześć' (cheshch - hello) i would like to apologise before hand if the pronunciation is a bit off for some of the words, idk how you would write the pronunciation of some words/letters. The language reader speak is Polish 'cause I don't know common words between Russian and other languages. Thank you for reading and enjoy the show.

It's unusual for people who speak multiple languages to forget words, but what do you do when you forget something? You play charades or say 'the thing' till the other person understands what you're saying.

Other times you forget the word completely and have to manage with whatever other words you got.

'Hey, do you know where the thing is?' You asked looking a pair of scissors. 'The thing?' Fyodor repeated confused. 'You know the thing that you do the thing with.' You explain, furious at yourself for not knowing what the word you were looking for was. 'The thing that you can cut with.' You continued explaining. 'Scissors or a knife?' Fyodor asked, aiding you in finding the right words. 'Yes! Scissors! Where are they?' A slight smile grew on you face as you remembered the word.

Sometimes you two were unfortunate to forget words in English/Japanese completely so you had to make do with your native languages.

Some words would always be similar but you never seemed to understand each other.

'как продвигается ужин, дорогая?' (kak prodvigayetsya uzhin, dorogaya? - How's dinner going, dear?) Fyodor asked walking into the kitchen. 'Huh?' You looked at Fyodor with a puzzled look.

'O co ci chodzi?' (O tso chee hodzee - what are you saying?) You asked in return, it wasn't common for one of you to forget English/Japanese but for you both to forget at the same time, it was going to be difficult to communicate.

Fyodor only sighed in response knowing you were both fucked when it comes to talk for a while. Fyodor still tried talking to you hoping you would catch a word or two, and after living together you did learn a word or two from each other so hopefully it won't be so bad.

You heard the timer go off and walked over to the pot filled with delicious smelling soup. 'Możesz mi ten drugi garnek podać?' (Mozshesh mee ten drugee garnek podach - can you pass me the other pot?) You asked. Fyodor gave you a confused look and asked 'что?' (Chto - what?) 'Ah sama go sobie wezmę' (ah sama go sobie vezme - ah I'll take it myself) you waved him out of the way.

Fyodor only smiled slightly half understanding the last word you spoke. He saw what you were doing and offered to help, without mentioning it to you. He took the sieve and placed it on top of the empty pot you prepared. You took the filled with soup and poured it over the sieve. After draining the soup you walked of with the pot to quickly wash it and Fyodor threw away the unwanted vegetables. The sieve was place above the skin and you drained another pot holding ushka (not actual ears tho).

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

Sorry I didn't really know what to write about at the end :')

Now I want boshch.

The movie of the hour is - cadaver! At first it gave occult vibes, then post war and back to a cult.

Have a wonderful day/night and stay hydrated!

-love, Az

[pinkacademic]

How Barbie: Princess Charm School engages with Class Inequality

Barbie: Princess Charm School engages with class inequality by presenting a story of someone being given the opportunities to escape their class experience. The twentieth film in the Barbie movies franchise of pink powerful (mostly) princesses is the tale of an unwitting princess raised in poverty and “unlocking her princess potential.”

In the fictional land of Gardania, Blair Willows is a hardworking young woman who is granted the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attend the titular Princess Charm School and train as a lady royal, giving her the skills necessary for a job in a royal household. It would put her up, likely for life, and allow her to fund her sick mother’s medical care and give her sister opportunities that Blair most likely hadn’t had at the same age.

While Blair does discover that she is in fact the long-presumed dead Princess Sofia, true heir to the Gardanian throne, she actually spends the majority of the movie’s runtime fighting the uphill battle against class inequality as the only commoner among the future princesses and well-off lady royals.

To preface, herein is an analysis of the plot and how aspects of Blair’s class background affects her character, but also brief interludes for speculation, though, as often as possible, it is inspired by or compared to real-life equivelents, due to Gardania being a fictional place.

A Brief Summary of Barbie: Princess Charm School

For those who do not follow Barbie movies as closely as gospel, like I have no shame in doing, Barbie: Princess Charm School is the story of Blair Willows, a young woman who wins the opportunity to attend a prestigious school, and who during her time there, discovers she is the presumed-dead Princess Sofia. During her time in Princess Charm School, Blair uncovers cruel plots by the devious Dame Devin, who is determined to put her daughter Delancey on the throne. She also meets Headmistress Alexandra Privet who tutors her in the skills she’ll need to pass her year in school, and Princesses Hadley and Isla who become her confidantes- and provide the necessary exposition.

Blair also meets Delancey Devin, who goes against her mother’s wishes and helps Blair, Hadley, and Isla to discover the truth, and places Gardania’s Magical Crown on Blair’s head, which reveals her to truly be the heir to the throne.

You can tell she’s Not Yet a Princess

Blair’s background is established from the opening scene of the film, which is a montage to the song “You can tell she’s a Princess.” While obviously the song is direct and blatant foreshadowing Blair’s identity being revealed later, it also sets up the movie’s key ideal that “there’s a princess in every girl.” How Blair shows this is through her hard work.

We see in the montage that Blair opens the Café Gardania in the morning, performing all of the necessary duties such as setting up the tables and chairs outside as well as the sign, and setting out the baked goods. We see her serving customers throughout the day, picking up tips to take home, and closing up the café in the evening.

Speculation: It is unclear who owns the café, and if it is a chain etc. Blair is the only worker seen, and what I consider to be likely is that the café was originally owned by her mother, with Blair working in it and possibly dropping out of school to help as her mother’s illness progressed, finally taking over.

Speculation: Blair gets access to all of the tips due to the café having belonged to her mother before her illness became too much for her. Blair has taken over in recent years, with it being likely that she never finished school and dropped out to make money to keep her family afloat. This may also be why the family are able to survive for a short period of time when Blair goes to Princess Charm School.

Regardless, it is clear that Blair is working hard in a working class position, establishing the position from which this essay will operate. As a note on the nature of speculations made within the essay, the majority of real-world comparisons will be made with Los Angeles, California due to it being a major city near El Segundo, the home of Mattel, and Malibu, the home of the character of Barbie Roberts and her family within her fictional universe separate to Gardania.

Living in a Blight

This establishment of Blair’s working class status indicates the first aspect of Blair’s class that is addressed in the movie, and that she works against over the course of the story: housing. Of course, not everyone can live in a castle, and while Blair is of course not expected to before Princess Charm School, the castle does serve as a vehicle to convey how Blair is faced with housing inequality.

When Blair gets home from her long day at work, we see that the Willows family lives in what is notably a “poorer area,” as Dame Devin later describes it as. We see the train track, which would cause noise polution, immediately making the area seem less-desirable. Blair also states that she wished they could live in a “better area,” and hoping for a “better place for [Emily] to grow up,” making it clear that it is not the place that Blair would ideally choose for her younger sister.

Speculation: It is implied also that the Willows family had to move from a nicer area, likely due to needing to save money for Blair’s adoptive mother’s medical bills. It is stated that Blair was found on a doorstep, heavily implying that the family used to have a doorstep, and a nicer home attached, likely in the suburbs.

Naturally, moving into a private school attached to a palace could certainly create feelings of inadequacy in Blair, and shows the stark contrast between what she had just come from. According to privateschoolreview.com, typical private school tuition in Los Angeles is over $16,000 USD in 2023, and according to salary.com, average waitress salary in Los Angeles is in the range of $23,000 usd, which means that without the lottery, living in Princess Charm School would be inaffordable for Blair. But it isn’t just the cost that makes the housing inequality obvious- it is the ammenities that Princess Charm School offers; this is not in reference to ammenities that might aid in education such as the ballroom and pool, but rather the vault and the security system.

The palace has an extensive vault full of trinkets beyond just the famous Magical Crown. It features references to Barbie movies such as a nutcracker toy, but what it represents is security beyond literal security for one’s possesions: it represents the financial security for possesions worth keeping secure.

When Blair enters her home, we see no visible lock, and while it presumably exists, it doesn’t quite compare to the impressive bank-type vault storage room in the palace. Vaults of this nature are comparable to the likes of Fort Knox, which, while it is significantly less-penetrable than Dame Devin’s date-based passcode, holds a significant amount of the USA’s resources.

On the same note, Hadley is familiar with the laser security system that is seen outside the main body of the vault. While laser systems as shown in the movie only exist to add drama in cinema, the kind of system can be implemented, and one to the scope of the vault would be expensive to set-up. While according to homeimprovementcents.com the upfront costs can be inexpensive, “if you want a more advanced system, you will need to pay more (…) you can spend more than you anticipated or within the budget range you had initially hoped for.”

It doesn’t appear that the Willows family have the kind of budget for even a lower-level security system. And of course, they don’t seem to have much worth stealing, with value of the sentimental variety being the key worth anything seems to hold.

One of the most major plot points of Barbie: Princess Charm School, and the one that largely prompts Delancey towards her own redemption, is Dame Devin’s plot to displace the less-fortunate people of Gardania, including Blair’s building specifically, in order to build a park. This is an aspect of housing inequality related to class as it is a distinct parallel to the history of Central Park- or rather, Seneca Village.

Note: While Los Angeles and wider California have similar issues, Central Park’s history as Seneca Village is an on-the-money comparison, as well as being arguably the best known.

The official Central Park website explains the history of the park:

“Before Central Park was created, the landscape along what is now the Park’s perimeter from West 82nd to West 89th Street was the site of Seneca Village, a community of predominantly African-Americans, many of whom owned property.”

The website also relays the destruction of the Village, noting that, “[t]here were roughly 1,600 inhabitants displaced throughout the area,” and that “[a]lthough landowners were compensated, many argued that their land was undervalued.”

This history strongly parralels not only similar events in the areas surrounding Barbie’s home of California, such as Bruce’s Beach, but also of Blair’s home in Gardania. Dame Devin refers to Gardania’s “poorer areas” as a “blight to the otherwise beautiful community,” announcing her plan, in Delancey’s name, to “bulldoze the buildings” in order to make room for “beautiful, rolling parks.” Upon Blair’s protests, Dame Devin states that the poor families will simply move elsewhere, to which Blair points out that those people can’t afford to “just pick up and move,” as Dame Devin implies.

“Comfortable? She should be all better!”

Taking a trip back to the earlier scenes, as Blair settles down in front of the old tv that has to be hit to function, we meet the representation of the next aspect of Blair’s class inequality. The reason for Blair being the sole-earner is her adoptive mother’s ill-health. While it is unclear what her mother ails from, it seems to be an on-going medical condition.

According to the Guardian, “[m]illions of Americans – as many as 25% of the population – are delaying getting medical help because of skyrocketing costs.” We can gather from dialogue that Blair’s adoptive mother has seen a doctor recently, but the jar of loose coins emphasises the scarcity of money to pay for these visits.

Meanwhile, to compare to one of the only living monarchs in real life, an article by StyleCaster states that “King Charles’s net worth is $600 million.”

It can be assumed that the princesses and non-commoner lady royals would be able to pay for Blair’s mother’s medical bills, but Blair does not have that kind of money. Even if we were to assume that princesses are more like senators than real-world royals, given the sheer number of princess graduates in Blair’s class, we can compare to Senator Alex Padilla of California who, according to incomepedia.com ”earns anywhere from $174,000-$200,000 annually.”

While that’s not exactly comparable to King Charles, it is not exactly comparable to Blair’s hypothesised $23,000 either.

Ultimately, any of the princesses could likely pay for Blair’s mother’s medical bills, and Blair just would not have that money without the Princess Charm School scholarship.

Royal Skills put to the Test

The mention of the scholarship thus brings us to the point that dominates the majority of the plot of the movie: education inequality as a result of class. Blair is awarded the amazing opportunity to attend Princess Charm School on a scholarship as rewarded by the annual lottery, which Headmistress Privet refers to as a chance to “change her life forever.”

However, while sprites such as Grace exist in Princess Charm School with the role of personal princess assistants, the lottery win is not the magic-wand solution Blair’s sister Emily seems to have hoped.

Headmistress Privet informs Blair that “only twenty-seven percent” of the lottery girls even make it to graduation, meaning Blair has just over a one-in-four chance of getting the “better life” for Emily and her mother.

This chart by slate.com highlights the very same point that Headmistress Privet warns Blair about: how likely it is that she will not be able to complete her year in Princess Charm School. She asks Blair if she “has what it takes,” but as this chart displays, it might not even matter how hard she works: If we compare becoming a princess or lady royal to a bachelor’s degree, Blair as a low-income student has to give it her all just to have a comparable chance to a middle-of-the-road princess.

Speculation: It is unclear as to whether Princess Charm School is more comparable to a university or high school setting, as it seems to be a one year course. That said, most of the students seem to have an established knowledge of how the school operates, indicating that it is more like a high school and they have all been there for three years prior to the film’s beginning, especially as we see classes going on as Blair enters.

The last point of the speculation is the most crucial, however- classes ongoing implies that Blair is either joining mid-year or before the start of the final year of multiple. It puts her at a distinct disadvantage compared to her peers.

The system of Princess Charm School, regardless of unclear details of the nature of the institution, works against Blair as she tries to advance, with her family as her constant motivation. Just like how the same article on slate.com references that:

“sociologists Elizabeth Armstrong and Laura Hamilton documented the ways that one large state flagship university sacrificed the needs of poorer undergrads in order to cater to the desires of mediocre but wealthy students looking to spend four years tailgating and doing keg stands,”

Dame Devin shows favouritism to Portia, a princess who is visibly failing a class exercise, over Blair, who Dame Devin actively wants to saboutage. In her poise lesson, Dame Devin instructs the princesses and lady royals in how to maintain correct posture and walk elegantly while balancing books on their heads. Dame Devin gives harsh criticism to the majority of the class such as comparing one girl to a “migrating duck,” and suggesting another seems “crazy,” but Portia, who is shown to seemingly be one of few friends her daughter Delancey has is “doing fine” even though she is carrying the book over her head.

In fact, Dame Devin sighs and put her head in her hand upon witnessing Portia’s inability to perform the task, in a way that implies this might be a common occurance. Teachers in Princess Charm School are well-used to Portia’s incompetance, and yet, it is Blair who is “utterly unfit for the royal life.”

Speculation: Portia’s kingdom is considered one of the most important to maintain a relationship with for Gardania, hence her getting away with this when no one else does, and hence her being Delancey’s friend.

Dame Devin’s petition to Headmistress Privet for Blair’s expulsion is also an indication of another aspect of education inequality as a result of class, as, instead of expelling Blair, Headmistress Privet offers to tutor her personally. This in and of itself has aspects, the first being another addressing of income, as Tutors.com states that “[o]n average, a private tutor costs between $25 and $80 an hour.” And, again, Blair’s potential income is not likely to account for such things.

But also, noting Headmistress Privet’s earlier note of only 27% of lottery girls making it to graduation, would more of them have succeeded if they’d also been given the same chance as Blair? Is the vast majority of these girls failing a result of lottery girls being as “unfit” for the world of princesses and lady royals, or is it a result of a failure in the system that Blair was luckily handed the opportunity to avoid?

An article in the Guardian outlines a tutoring scheme that involved university students volunteering as tutors, and highlights that one student says “the one-to-one support has “really made a difference” to her understanding of the key concepts in biology.” So, if that same logic could have been supplied to many of the lottery girls that had come before Blair, who knows how many could have become lady royals with their “pick of any lady royal position,” just as Headmistress Privet said Blair could.

Blair’s friendship with Hadley and Isla, while both of them lift her up as best as they can, serves to emphasise the gaps in knowledge Blair has as a result of class-based education inequality, be it due to losing time in school from having been working, or by the lower standard of education she’d have been used to at that point. Going back to the article on slate.com, “the Department of Education found that slightly less than ten percent of high schoolers from poorer families had top math scores, compared to 48 percent of those from wealthier backgrounds.” While the example here is maths, Blair’s history knowledge of her own country compared to her royal counterparts is lacking to a similar degree. It is Hadley and Isla who tell Blair about Gardania’s Magical Crown and the rumours about the car crash that killed Queen Isabella and King Reginald. Without their knowledge, the trio would never have placed the true heir of Gardania on the throne.

Mother and Daughter: Pulling up the Ladder, and Lowering it Back Down

Making a return to the devious Dame Devin, her actions are an example of “pulling the ladder up behind oneself,” which addresses an issue in class-climbing that can be prominant in leadership positions. We learn from Hadley and Isla that Dame Devin was once a lottery girl too, but is now hellbent on Blair’s distruction, appealing to Headmistress Privet for her expulsion from the school. Of course, we learn later that it is due to a far more sinister plot for power, but nevertheless, Dame Devin’s actions represent a huge class-related issue. The Australian newspaper The Sunday Morning Herald wrote an article about women in positions of power who, according to Lucy Brogden, “were refusing to help other women repeat their success.” If Dame Devin had had half the heart that Delancey has of her own volition later on, she could have recognised herself in Blair, recognised her own struggles, and been the one to tutor her. She could have helped every lottery girl between herself and Blair.

Instead, her jealousy and her desire for the throne- and her desire to keep her murderous past hidden, no doubt- kept her from showing kindness, and ultimately led to her downfall.

But Delancey chooses another path:

The other key aspect of why the plan succeeds is Delancey’s reformation. Her leaving a window open for the girls within the palace walls is what allows them to get anywhere near the vault. Going against her mother, Delancey is able to lower the ladder back down. Where in the Sunday Herald article Mrs Brogden states:

“Women argue that far from nurturing the growth of other female talent, they see colleagues pushing aside possible competitors by undermining their self confidence and professional standing,”

Delancey chooses to stand against that, stating she “want[s] what’s right.”

And actually, that’s a rarely-seen example of class interaction: the wealthier choosing to join a lower class status and handing the higher status to another, which is the undoing of Dame Devin. Because Delancey handing Blair the crown, lowering the ladder to her is how Blair is not only able to climb up too, but to offer something back: Delancey’s lady royal tiara.

Crowns on our Heads, Lights in the Air

And thus leads us to the concluding point that the film wants us to reach. While not every working class young woman can be the secret princess, Blair and Delancey’s swapping of roles is proof of Blair’s final words that end the film: “there’s a princess in every girl.” This is a representation of how Barbie: Princess Charm School engages with class inequality- by addressing many aspects of class, the damage that can be done, and how much work it will take to undo that damage- but by working together, Blair, Hadley, Isla, and Delancey and able to create something more powerful than the differences between them.

Barbie: Princess Charm School represents the class struggle of a young woman who did not have access to the same things as her princess peers by showing every aspect of class that Blair has to overcome in order to arrive at the position that she is in at the end. But it also shows that, it is the actions of those with the privileges that truly make it possible for Blair to attain the crown.

It is Hadley and Isla who bridge the gaps in her knowledge, Headmistress Privet who teaches her the skills she’ll need to govern, and Delancey who hands her the crown. Even tiny acts of kindness such as Miranda handing Blair a slice of strawberry swirl are the kinds of details that keep Blair going, and without which, Dame Devin would be using her daughter as a puppet to drive Gardania into the ground.

Blair’s hard work gets her far, but it is her Princess Charm School allies that allow her to overcome class inequality once and for all, which is truly the most important aspect of how Barbie: Princess Charm School addresses class inequality.

[rederiswrites]

Took a walk down to the woods with the girl this morning, to clear the brain fog and check out the berry situation. I readily admit that most of the time I straight up forget how much is back there, but at least my timing was on point with regard to the berries--wineberries just beginning to pop:

and wild blackberries, for better or worse, are everywhere. Pretty sure now that that's the bramble growing in the field, too.

There were so many other things to see and learn, too.

It was good to revisit this magnificent grandfather maple that won my heart before we ever bought this place:

Those roots fill me with such reverence and awe.

If only I can think of it at the right time of year, next early spring I'll come out and collect Common Greenbrier shoots to eat. They're supposed to be tasty, and goodness knows the plants can take the knock:

Common Greenbrier is native and has wildlife value in addition to being humanly edible, but it's also aggressive and thorny, and tend to climb and overwhelm other plants. It's probably not gonna go away, though, so we may as well be friends as enemies. I have plenty of enemies already.

Like this:

Your basic bush honeysuckle. An invasive that accounts for maybe as much as 30-40% of my woods' undergrowth by itself. It's supposedly best treated in fall, when you can go through and cut it down before painting the stumps with herbicide. Given how difficult it is to even move through most areas in our woods, I'm sure we'll be repeating that process for years to come.

My id app says this is privet, probably Chinese, another invasive understory shrub. Cute, tho.

Same treatment as the bush honeysuckle I'm guessing.

On the upside, id app says this is native viburnum, maybe nannyberry:

Berries are edible and ripen in late fall, so I should put that on the calendar! Never had one before.

I forgot just how far this path in the woods ran, and how beautiful it is. My husband didn't--he's been faithfully mowing it to keep it clear. Otherwise, like the rest of the woods you can see, it would be entirely choked with underbrush.

Never saw this delicate beauty before, and only saw one today. App id says Stachys spp. , possibly Hairy Hedge-Nettle. Not a terribly elegant name for such a lovely flower. I'd love to encourage this one to thrive!

There was so much more to see, but Tumblr is cutting me off on photos. Ah well.