#and then like death rites are cool everywhere

[mask131]

Vampires before they were cool... (2)

In my last post, I left you by the 16th century. But it was the 17th century which was the BIG century for the evolution of the vampire myth.

During the Middle-Ages, the vampire manifestations were mostly localized in Western Europe: vampire tales came from the British Isles, from France, from Spain, from Portugal. However, throughout the 16th century, these phenomenon rarefied themselves in the West… Only to brutally amplify and multiply by the East. In the 17th century, vampires popped up everywhere in the Balkans, in Greece, in Russia, in the eastern part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. In fact, by the 17th century, vampires had turned so rare in Western Europe that some people (like Voltaire in France) would later believe vampires were “invented” by the 17th century and did not exist prior to this date…

Why such a big shift? Well, sociologically speaking, Eastern Europe was a poor and isolated part of Europe at the time. The great innovations and inventions of the Renaissance had not crossed over to the East, unlike things like the vampire tales, which travelled very fast – and while the bourgeoisie and the city-dwellers of Eastern countries were educated, the rest of the population, the peasants and the folks of the countryside, usually did not know how to read or write. It was a fertile ground for folktales to take root and superstitions to manifest themselves… But there was a second reason that amplified this one: a religious difference. In Western Europe, it was a time of hunts and persecutions of all kinds – be it the Catholic Church and its Inquisition who led a merciless fight against anything deemed an “heresy” or a superstition contradicting its canon beliefs; or the Anglican Church of the Stuarts who caused one of the largest witch hunts of history. These phenomenon caused the disappearance and erasure of the vampire myth in Western Europe… But to the East, the Byzantine-descending Church had a more open-mind and a greater tolerance when it came to local folk-beliefs, even including superstitions in its rites and practices: as such, the vampire myth was welcomed by the religious authorities – a case being the brucolacs of Greece.

The Greeks have very ancient beliefs when it comes to the dead who do not rot and get out of their graves: the archetypal case is the one of the “vrykolakas” (usually re-written as “brucolac”). They were people turned undead because they were not buried in a holy ground (death by suicide, or being excommunicated). However when the legend of the vrykolakas started they were… harmless and pitiful creatures. They were tormented souls who only sought to escape the physical body they were trapped within, and did not harm humans: to send them to an eternal rest, the Church just had to remove its excommunication and their soul would be at peace. However, from the 16th century onward, the nature of the vrykolakas changed with the arrival from the West of these yet-unnamed harmful undeads. And this lead to a confusion with werewolves.

Yes, werewolves: “vrykolakas” was also a Greek term to designate werewolves, who were very present in the folklores of the Balkans or the Carpathians. The werewolf myth was, just like the vampire myth, crystallized by the Christian medieval beliefs. And just like the vampire, it had an “official” recognition: Sigismund, king of Hungary and leader of the Holy Roman Empire (1368-1437) had the Ecumenical Council of 1414 recognize officially the existence of werewolves, and in the 16th century the Roman Church led official investigations on lycanthropy. Between 1520 and the mid-17th century, more than 30 000 cases of lycanthropy had been reported in Europe (in the West, France was the most touched, while in the East they were found mainly in Serbia, Bohemia and Hungary). A rumor started spreading around, about how when werewolves died they turned into “blood-sucking undead”. This led, in the end of the 17th century, to the apparition in popular culture of vampire-werewolves entity. They were found in Silesia, Bohemia, Poland, Hungary, Moldavia, Russia, and of course Greece, where the peaceful brucolacs were turned into bloodthirsty monsters ; and by the 18th century they covered pretty much all of Northern and Central Europe. Every country had its own terms, its own names, and its own traditions when it came to these undead: “upir”, “brucolac”, “blutsauger”, “vulkodlak”… In Slovakia and Romania for example, the “dead that walks” was accused of every misfortune: famines, diseases, disasters and misfortunes were supposedly all caused by them, and it could only be solved by opening their graves and plunging a stake in their bodies. People feared the “strigoi” and the “moroi”, these corpses that got out of their coffins at night to drink the blood of the living, and they were FAR from the glamorous vampire we think of today. They were these fleshy, bloated corpses that wandered around with their eyes bulging and wide-open, never blinking, repulsive monsters with barely anything human left in them. To recognize one, you had to a find a corpse that was still fresh despite being buried for quite some times, and who had nose either on its mouth or nose. Then, you needed to pierce it with a stake, or removed its heart to burn it. In Romania, the families of the recently deceased brought wine and bread on the graves in hope of appeasing them. Slovakians rather sent elderly ladies in the cemeteries to stab graves with hawthorn branches or old knives: five in total, four for the limbs and one for the chest, to “nail” the corpse to its coffin. Eyes were closed with coins so they wouldn’t open, mouths were filled with garlic and wired shut, and if these rituals were useless a special person would be brought to destroy the corpse by decapitation, fire and religious symbols – a holy man, or a “dhampir”, a man rumored to be half-vampire… In Romania, many, MANY people could turn into vampires, not just werewolves: seventh sons of seventh sons, babies born with a caul o with teeth, individuals who had both red hair and blue eyes, and of course all the criminals, suicides and other disgraced people who did not receive proper burial.

All the fuss and commotion in Eastern Europe ended up alerting the capitals of Western Europe. In October of 1694, the French review “Le Mercure Galant” (a courtly magazine for the nobility) had an entire issue dedicated to these vampires of the east. By the end of the 17th century, while the word “vampire” still did not exist, it was a true mass psychosis, an “epidemic of undeads” followed by ferocious “hunts” during which corpses were dug up to be “killed again”… At the beginning of the 18th century, the authorities decided to take measures to calm things down and quiet this upcoming chaos. Though at this moment, the mass panic about vampires still relied on rumors, oral culture and other travel-tales: there was no written text or official report per se… Until the 18th century, when the authorities stepped in.

Cases of so-called “vampires” were studied and mediatized in Austria and Serbia, Prussia and Poland, Moravia and Russia. When the plague hit the eastern part of Prussia in 1710, the local authorities dug up themselves the corpses accused of having caused the epidemic. But two specific cases became the most famous and spectacular ones, making vampirism a full European thing.

The first was the death of a peasant: Peter Plogojowitz. He died in 1725, but his small village of Kizilova quickly called him a vampire and accused him of having caused eight deaths within the village. Testimonies talked of Plogojowitz being seen in people’s bedroom at night, trying to strangle them. When the grave was opened by the authorities, it was testified that his body had not yet rotten, and that fresh blood was on his mouth. He was quickly staked and burned. The second case was the one of Arnold Paole, a peasant from the small town of Medwegya who died falling from a cart in 1726(27?). He had apparently confessed to his fiancée, some days before his death, that he had encountered what he thought to be an undead… Paole himself was accused of having turned into a vampire, and caused the death of the village’s cattle and four people. His body was ug up and pierced with a stake. The case of Paole was extremely interesting because an authority was sent to study the case: Johann Flückinger, who investigated in his quality of both high-ranked major and army doctor. The result of his presence was the famous “Visum et Repertum” document, a 1731 report of the entire case and his conclusion, cosigned by other doctors and officers, and where (according to Antoine Faivre) the word “vampire” first appeared in the history of written texts, spelled “vanpir”. The “Visum et Repertum” became an object of curiosity for all the ruling classes of Western Europe: we know that Charles VI of Austria and Louis XV of France were both invested in the outcomes of the Plogojowitz and Paole cases. The Paole case was notably described with many details in “Le Glaneur”, a famous Franco-Dutch review often read at the Versailles court (issue of march 1732) – and it was in this “Le Glaneur” issue that the word “vampire” first appeared in the French language, spelled “vampyre”. The very same year and month, an article was published in the “London Journal” which brought over the word “vampire” to the English language.

These two cases also led to a LOT of treaties and dissertations being written about vampires, by both pseudo-scientists and actual men of the Church, which in turn caused intense debates and huge controversies among universities and literary circles. The first of those treaties is from the latter part of the 17th century, published at Leipzig in 1679, “Dissertatio historica-philosophica de Masticatione Mortuorum”, by Philip Rohr. This text tried to explain why the dead would “masticate” in their graves by explaining it was a demonic possession of the corpses. This book caused a huge controversy in the 18th century, splitting people in two sides: either you agreed with Rohr’s supernatural explanation, either you deemed this an ignorant superstition. Another famous treaty was published in Leipzig, in 1728 this time: “De Masticatione Mortuorum in Tumulis Liber” by Michael Ranft. This book opposed and discredited the thesis of Rohr by claiming the devil had no power onto the corpses of the dead, and that while the “undeads” would influence the living, they could not appear to them under any tangible form. Many other treaties would follow, such as Johann Christian Stock’s “Dissertatio Physica de Cadaveribus Sanguisugis” (1732) or Johann Heinrich Zopft’s “Dissertatio de Vampiris Serviensibus” in 1733.

Though the most famous of them all is Dom Augustin Calmet’s 1746 Parisian text, “Traité sur les revenants en corps, les excommuniés, les oupires ou vampires, broucolaques de Hongrie, de Moravie, etc », published in two volumes (Treaty on the undead in body, the excommunicated, the upirs or vampires, brucolacs of Hungaria, Moravia, etc). This Benedictine monk and famous commentator of the Bible wanted to refute the belief in vampires: to do so, he collected and analyzed an enormous amount of trivia, testimonies, folktales and “cases” surrounding vampires. While his work is mostly a naïve collection and compilation of anecdotes, it still held in the future a huge importance for the study of historians, sociologists and anthropologists, as it is one of the most complete catalogues of vampire phenomenon of its time. Other high-ranking members of the Church also tried to express the official position of their religion on vampires: Giuseppe Davanzati (archbishop of Florence, patriarch of Alexandria) wrote in 1774 “Dissertatione sopra i vampire”, and the pope Benedict XIV (Prospero Lambertini) wrote a few pages about vampires to discredit their existence in the fourth book of his enormous “De Servorum Dei Beatificatione et de Beatorum Canonizatione” (1749). Unfortunately, these anti-vampire testimonies were perceived as the Church giving a form of credit and recognition to these undead…

In France, meanwhile, the authors of the “Encyclopédie” (aka the very first encyclopedia ever) were greatly annoyed and irritated by this obsession for vampires. Voltaire, in his 1787 “Philosophical Dictionary”, wrote an entire rant about them, while Rousseau denounced the belief in vampires in a letter he sent to the archbishop of Paris. Both wondered how such superstitions could become so popular in the age of “reason and progress” that was the Enlightenment. But indeed, all these texts and treaties about vampires simply helped spread the legend, making people who had never heard about these monsters learn all about them – and most importantly, it popularized and stabilized the use of the term “vampire”, and its Latin equivalent “vampirus” (though it was still spelled differently depending on the countries and time eras: vampyr, vampyre, wampire…).

However the 19th century would see the end of the actual belief in vampires. While at the end of the 18th century vampires were still the hot talk of universities and literary salons (especially in France and Germany), the actual “cases” and supernatural phenomenon the myth built itself upon were rarer and rarer. The ideas and philosophies of the Enlightenment had finally made their way across Eastern Europe, plus the great era of the plague was over: education and health worked together to erase the vampire from people’s minds, especially as the industrialization of Europe changed heavily the lifestyle of people and the landscape of the countries. There were still cases of vampirism in the 19th century, but they were isolated, and we never saw any mass panic or large-scale “vampire hunt” as there used to be. The vampire was a manifestation of ancient and primal fears in a world filled with superstition, darkness and disease – in this new era of the miracles of technology and wonders of science, dominated by materialism and positivism, the vampire had no place in people’s hearts… The early 19th century still has magazines and newspaper talking from time to time of an Hungarian or Serbian remote village where coffins are opened in quest of vampires, but nobody is interested anymore, everybody focused on gas-lamps and railroads. Nobody dreams of the vampires, except maybe for the Romantics, who are repelled by this era of bourgeoisie and businessmen dominated by obsessive work, absolute religion and social hierarchy, and in the vampire find back this nostalgia of a distant, frightening, fascinating “magical past”…

And thus the vampire would move from a being of religion and science, of superstition and newspapers, to an entity of poems and novels – from Ossenfelder’s poem to Stoker’s Dracula…

[daffodil--lament]

caoimhin 2022 reading wrap up

- Gideon the Ninth & Harrow the Ninth - good. made me insane. read them basically cover to cover. awesome

- The Hobbit - 10/10 it's the fuckin hobbit man. this was of course a re-read because I'm cultured

- The Great Gatsby - cool. enjoyed. also a re-read. so true fitzgerald materialism is bad. I love gay people

- Dogsbody - so good. dwj's ability to balance the themes of her stories always gets me. I need to read more of her books

- Howl's Moving Castle - I've read it more than 10 times in the last two years I love it so much 10000/10

- A Study In Charlotte - I love me some sherlock holmes. I love autism. I love people who are fucked up. enjoyed it as much as I did when I was 13

- Castle In The Air - hmc sequel. gets better every re-read. dwj poses an earth shattering question: what if all your favorite characters got even stupider? (this is about prince justin. he's the worst I love him)

- A River Runs Through It - destroyed me. holy shit. I finished that last page and had to go lay down for awhile. I was thinking about it for days. I am haunted by waters. god. good lord almighty.

- House of Many Ways - MASSIVE tone shift from a river runs through it. Charmain is a bitch and I like her so much. twinkle sucks. 9 million out of ten I love you Sophie Pendragon

- Howl's Moving Castle - by the time you finish homw you have to start hmc again to distract yourself from the series ending. howl and sophie were holding one another's hands and smiling and smiling quite unable to stop. I'm gonna pass out

- Hamlet - fuckin classic duh. I read this for the first time in seventh grade because I'm better than everyone. there's a reason it's one of the most widely known pieces of literature ever written

- Pride and Prejudice - also better every time I read it. Jane Austen is a genius. I wish I had an Elizabeth to my Darcy

- The Lightning Thief - percy jackson my beloved

- Sea of Monsters - retweet

- Storm Front - harry dresden is a bitch

- Fool Moon - harry dresden gets grievously injured, still manages to kill people

- Grave Peril - michael carpenter my beloved

- Summer Knight - karrin murphy btw (she is not enjoying herself)

- Death Masks - I love small children who carry great magical power

- Persuasion - Jane Austen I love you. I played minecraft prolifically while I listened to this book. it was so good. genuinely amazing. love love love

- Loki: Agent of Asgard - I always start this and I'm like "ha ha funny comic book" and then by the end I'm completely decimated. the art is so cool and I love watching it change throughout the run. conceptually the whole story and premise are so amazing. I can't really explain the extent of how good it is and do it justice. it's just awesome

- Pride and Prejudice - I forgot that I read this twice but if it's on the list you'd better be damn sure it happened

- The Raven Boys - I love pretentious glasses-wearing teenage boys (me irl)

- Patriot Games - the Harrison Ford movie is better but it was chill ig.

- Dream Thieves - fuck shit up little man

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue - popular among welsh voices in my head

- Murder on the Orient Express - AMAZING. I love hercule poirot so much. although I sort of knew the general ending, having seen, you know, literally any TV show made in the last 100 years, I was really surprised and pleased with the way the whole novel unfolded itself. awesome

- The Raven King - honestly awesome ending to the series. thoroughly enjoyed

- Rebecca - books that changed me at age 8. not sure why my mother chose to give me this book at that age but I'm forever glad she did. Rebecca is dead the entire story and she haunts it more than any ghost could. Spectacular. something about Mrs de Winter's name never being told to us or said out loud, but Rebecca's name being EVERYWHERE.... fantastic

- Blood Rites - I LOVE YOU THOMAS

- Never Let Me Go - I understand why this was award winning and I think I will never read it again

- Howl's Moving Castle - what better way to end my year. howl said I think we ought to live happily ever after and sophie thought he meant it. also I got the fancy illustrated hardcover version for Christmas and I am so happy. I will not be lending it to anyone ever. it's my baby.

[toxicmercymain]

I saw Death Cab for Cutie at the Royal Albert Hall last night and I had seats that were so close it was so cool and special, they sounded amazing in that venue.

During the final song I cried because my dad wasn't there and he loved them too and going to see them with my dad and brother was like an almost yearly rite of passage almost. The first time I saw them was around ~14 years ago when I was a teenager and my dad took me even though he had no idea who they were because he always took his kids to see bands they were passionate about regardless. He cared so much that we all were passionate about music and drove us around everywhere to gigs for artists he'd never heard of. He loved Death Cab after that gig and every time they released a new song or album we'd discuss it all for ages and get excited about the tour.

I know he would've really loved their newest album and it sometimes really hurts when I listen to it because we never got to discuss it and get excited about it. Last night was special and the show was really incredible and I'm glad I got to share it with my brother but my dad was missing and it really hurt.

[sallymew4]

!!!!!ah

last song i listened to: atomic karate by twrp !! i love funk synth and older period styled music (not even just music, i love time-based culture…), but i also like ridiculous and satirical concepts so them and their sister(?) band nsp are pretty enjoyable to me !!!!!! listen to atomic karate rite now or exp lod e .actually listen to all of their songs and nsp

currently watching: for first time watches, community (idk why its disappearing off of so many streaming platforms !!!! down with the machine !!!!!!!) and hellsing :999 and a few others on and off cuz im really bad about starting things while already doing other things lol. and then mob psycho of course ive got that show playing on repeat in my brain twenty four SEVEN

currently reading: like a buuuunch of mangas. at the same time. im a dirty procrastinator !!!!! but some of the more prominent ones im reading — im halfway through death note, working on volume eight of soul eater, and trying to get ahold of volume four of mobsai !! im also just about finished with one of junji ito’s story collections, i love his works sooo much :) hes totally inspirational 2 me….arghh theres too many hehe all it takes are cool visuals and a somewhat interesting plot and i pick it up. i wanna read more non-fictional stuff too so i can learn stuff,,, but im sooo lazy

currently obsessed with: i need to get obsessed with more stuff tbh… some things i WANT to be obsessed with would be bird knowledge and getting really good at drawing rando weapons for funsies… ig you could say im obsessed with learning new stuff ? i find retronet culture super intriguing and i like references to it in media, and i like incorporating it into my art and things i make. i like making fun of four chan its super fun, favorite hobby [kinda joke] lol. idk if drawing would count as an obsession but i do draw a lot as well lul. OH i like gross stuff !!!!!!! everything i make must have an undertone of gross or else i am not satisfied !!!!!!!! the feeling of disgust !!!!!!!! icky feelings everywhere. and nostalgia but more the empty feeling it brings than actual nostalgia. so liek an abandoned internet forum yk

favorite color: green ! all kinds really. one day when i was younger i was like “there arent enough green lovers out there.” so i made it my favorite color €:

tagged by: this guy !!!!! @mtndw-whteout so cool awsum… . .. .

tagging ermm uhhh

@vinnfeyntheinsane

@vampirepherom0ans yeah i see you

@fishgirl514

@spacepajamas956

u dont haf 2 do this if u dont want 2 ofcors :)

TAG GAME

get to know you better game! answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better.

Last Song I listened to: Spirits by The Strumbellas

Currently watching: Star Trek: Deep Space 9. Yeah people weren’t kidding when they said this was a good series! I love TOS with all my heart but this thing is GOOD! I already had some thoughts on some of the episodes but as I make my way through the second season now, you can very well expect more rants! ;D

Currently Reading: “Identifying Children's Fidget Object Preferences: Toward Exploring the Impacts of Fidgeting and Fidget-Friendly Tangibles” a research paper on different types of fidget toy preferences because I’m wiring a research paper….

No okay… for real this time, I’m reading the amazing “when in paradise” by flipthebits on AO3! A wonderful AOS mission fic with cults, trauma and mountains upon mountains of pining. Seriously, everyone go read it, a new chapter released a few days back!!

Currently obsessed with: Embroidery! I got into it through learning book binding and finding out that I really liked the sowing part of all things but it’s so fun! Here! I made the TOS command badge and am now making the Engineering one! I am quite proud of these :D

Favourite color: Ourple!!

Tagged by: the lovely @flippyspoon

Tagging: (no pressure to respond any of y’all! I just think this could be fun!) @threefandomsinatrenchcoat @pirateshauntedbydadjokes @1031-discovery @gay-mooshrooms @frogayyyy @purpleenma

[littledreamling]

Hob Gadling who taught himself how to read in order to become a printer with the first book to ever be printed : the bible. Hob Gadling become knight getting a humanist education, learning Latin, Greek, Hebrew and studying the holy text in every iteration. Hob Gadling who has had plenty to reconsider about his faith throughout his life due to his immortality but never his queerness (and Hob Gadling has found out early on he is not straight), suddenly hearing the bible quoted to support homophobia out of nowhere in the 1980s. Hob Gadling pushing back and campaigning without care that he might be endangering the secret of his immortality against this "new translation". Hob Gadling till present days calling that out, loud and clear everywhere he goes to make sure any queer-secretly-religious or religious-secretly-queer kid (and not-kid-anymore) gets to hear it, because he might have his own quarrels with religion but he also knows how important faith can be to someone and he's not about to let bigots manipulate that against his people !!

Listen I’m a whore for religious Hob and this hits the nail on the head. I’m a little brain dead at the moment as I just got back from a bachelor’s party but I’ll attempt to do this ask justice (and if I don’t, I’ll come back to it because I live and breathe for Hob Gadling and all of his complexities).

The first words Hob ever heard recited to him were out of a bible. Growing up, Hob’s parents dragged him to church every day for Mass, where he would hear the Latin words wash over him like a cool, cleansing water and while he didn’t understand the words, they meant something to him nonetheless. When his parents and siblings died, either from the plague or other natural causes, he made sure they got their last rites, the words that would comfort and strengthen their souls on their journey to Heaven, and he took comfort in the fact that those same words would comfort and strengthen his own soul one day. He saw the priest, solemn and wise, cupping his bible with the reverence he showed to the bodies in the ground, a respect and adoration and dedication that shook Hob to his core.

The first book Hob ever touched was a bible. He still couldn’t read it, he simply placed the type letters where he was told, but the unadulterated joy and pride he felt, holding his very first book, the first book he had ever printed entirely by himself, was a feeling like no other. He couldn’t understand a single word of it, but he could’ve recited it with perfect clarity; he had placed that exact same type in that exact same order countless times, eliminating each mistake one at a time until every page was perfect. It wasn’t fancy, just a simple bible for a local parish, but deep down, Hob always thought of that one bible as his.

The first book Hob ever read was a bible. He had traveled to Venice and Florence, centers of Humanist learning and intellectualism, in the early 1500’s to learn Latin and Greek and Hebrew; to study Ancient Greek and Rome society and culture; to immerse himself in the knowledge of history, language, philosophy, art, and literature; to become educated in translation, letter-writing, public speaking, and military affairs; to study Plato and Aristotle and their texts on philosophy. He studied Jewish and Ottoman thought and better understood his own faith all the better for it (and then spent the next two hundred years unlearning all of the prejudices and biases that he had learned from the Christian-centric and racist tutors). From then on, he made it a point to always have a bible in his house. It was a constant between every life he lived; it was the second-to-last item he sold in the 1600’s (the last thing being his portrait of his lovely and lost Eleanor and his son Robyn) and the second thing he bought as soon as his fortune turned a tide (the first being an apple, an irony that he and Death chuckled over later). Even when England was under Protestant rule, as it would be for a long time, he kept a Latin bible tucked away, out of sight but never out of mind, and when the stresses of his daily life and the mind-bending reality of his everlasting life weighed heavily on him, he would pluck that bible off the shelf (he never had to dust it off, he kept it as clean and pristine as it was when he bought it) and let those cool, cleansing words wash over him once again.

This sounds like a fic, I just realized, and in some ways it is, but it’s also a deep reality of who Hob is and what he holds in utmost importance. I can also offer this little-known tidbit of information (that I think the Sandman fandom would benefit from knowing): homosexual relationships were incredibly common in the early Renaissance, at least in Italy (though if the Italians, with their proximity to the Papacy, were willing to risk it for the biscuit, the rest of Europe was probably jumping on the bandwagon too).

Among nobility, men were expected to marry around the age of 30 whereas women were expected to marry around the age of 15-20. Men were also expected to be sexually experienced in their marriage. So the question is, who exactly are they having sex with? And if you just said “each other” out loud, you’re absolutely correct. In Italian culture, noble men would frequently have sexual relationships with each other prior to getting married to their wives. Now, a lot of these men would never identify as homosexual as we would define it today; these sexual relationships were more along the lines of a gender role to be performed than any real attraction towards men, and it was seen as more of a mentor/mentee situation-the older man in the relationship was showing the ropes of sex to the younger man in the situation and then, when the older man got married, the younger man would then find someone younger to mentor. It was a way of building friendships and bonds, which sound laughable to us now, but were a genuine and deeply respected aspect of society; the feelings they had for each other were strictly platonic in the majority of cases (though gay people have always existed and I’m sure Hob Gadling would’ve reveled in this aspect of society) and would lead to business and family connections later down the line.

I want to stress that these connections were not romantic in nature; it was just a participation in society, but it also means that Hob Gadling has definitely had sex with men before, especially if he had (as I said about halfway through this extraordinarily long post) traveled to Italy for his education. He would’ve first been subservient (as the younger men were) and then moved to a more dominant role once enough time had passed for people to believe that he was getting closer to the age of marriage. He definitely would’ve realized that he was attracted to men then, if he hadn’t already in his hometown as a teenager. What’s more, these men engaged in homosexual relationships were also devout Catholics! Religion had absolutely nothing to do with it, and this would’ve been Hob’s first and lasting impression of homosexuality. Religion has nothing to do with it! It’s simply a part of society, an aspect of the larger culture that most ignored in favor of minding their own business. He would’ve been horribly enraged at the fact that modern Christians took up arms against homosexuality when Christians have had a long (long) (long) history of homosexuality and queerness.

And he’d teach that. In every class where it was relevant, in every conversation where it came up, in every religious debate. He’d make a point of mentioning that history that so many are so quick to cover up because it’s important. It’s important to him and it’s important to other queer people, not because it’s a part of queer history (again, for the vast majority of these men, they were not gay or queer in any way) but because it’s important to understand just how recently Christianity’s crusade against queer communities has cropped up (that’s not to say, however, that the church in any way condoned Renaissance Italian men and their gay sex because they decidedly did not, but it wasn’t an act punishable by death, nor was it punished at all. If anyone had a problem with it, it was their eventual wives, but they had a bigger issue with the prostitutes that their husbands would see on a regular basis even after their marriage).

So yes, to sum up my incredibly rambling post, Hob Gadling 100% has a very unique and deep connection with his religion, though he keeps it very separate from his relationship with his sexuality because that’s how it’s always been. He’s a Godly man and he’s a queer man and the two can coexist.

[gffa]

Last time I went about five months between doing a set of STAR WARS fic recs, this time it’s only been three months! Hurrah! It helps that, as always, this fandom puts out an incredible amount of excellent fic, so I feel like I’m never hurting for fics I want to yell about and shove at people, which is something I continue to appreciate as it often feels like so much of the world is such a huge tire fire. It helps to be able to find fics to retreat into, to have fun with, to express joy and creativity with, and so many of the authors in this fandom are just so good at this! To the point that these sets sometimes take awhile because there are always more fics I want to add, until the post starts threatening to be overly long instead of a decent length–in my defense, no seriously, you guys are just too good! Also, I forced myself to stop at 69 fic recs, because yes I do think it’s funny. (Nice.) STAR WARS FIC RECS: PREQUELS RECS: ✦ a comedy in four acts by jesuisdeux, obi-wan & dooku & yoda & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 4k    This was what time-travel is: staring at the dark sockets of skulls everywhere your gaze lands on. Being haunted by ghosts long gone. The apprehension of the slow yet sure approach of the inevitable which is sending chills down your spine. ✦ No Rest for the Weary by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & jedi & ocs, 61k    Needing a break from life at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, visit a Jedi AgriCorps settlement on the Midrim planet of Helia. There they encounter new friends, new enemies and have new adventures, all while attempting to navigate their sometimes turbulent relationship as Master and Padawan. ✦ Stars of Tatooine by Be_Right_Back, ahsoka & kanan & mace & rex & obi-wan & cast, 10.5k    After the end of the world, Ahsoka more or less kidnaps a child, has to air some old grievances, and tries to find whatever peace the universe can still offer. All paths in the Force lead home, eventually. ✦ Festival of Light by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 8.7k    During his first year at the Jedi Temple, Anakin learns that even the Jedi celebrate holidays. ✦ the master, the padawan, the Force by skatzaa, depa & caleb, 1.4k    Caleb expects things to be different after Master Depa takes him as her padawan, but really, it feels like nothing really changes. ✦ desecrate my lungs by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & cast, 16k wip    Time-travel fix-it in which Mustafar haunts Anakin decades after it happened and years before it would. ✦ Grace by dismantlingsummer, obi-wan & anakin, 2.3k    Shortly after Mustafar, Anakin realizes what he has done. He finds Obi-Wan to beg for death. ✦ Fifth Migration by wrennette, yoda & mace & obi-wan & ki-adi & yarael & coleman & plo & palpatine & cast, 2k    How about an AU where the Sith’s Grand Plan accounted for everything -everything that is, except the fact that the Jedi temple is actually an very ancient spacecraft and the second word got to the Jedi about there being clones on Kamino, all Jedi are called back inside and they take off immediately? Just imagine the dear chancellor’s face… ✦ fill pages with scribbled ink by magneticwave, obi-wan/padme & sabe & mace & quinlan & cast, 9.8k    A year after the Invasion of Naboo, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is invited by Queen Amidala to return to Naboo and participate in a rite known as the Night of Fireflies. Things kind of snowball from there. ✦ Mind Your Words by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin, spanking, 7k    Obi-Wan reminds Anakin that there are consequences for careless behavior for young Jedi on missions. ✦ (you taught me) the courage of stars by grumpyhedgehogs, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 5.1k wip    Ahsoka Tano flees after a warrant for her arrest is issued, but not before receiving aid from an unexpected ally. (Ahsoka proceeds to go on a road trip filled with a bunch of strangers who all say the same thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi is much more than he has ever appeared to be.) ✦ they faked it (guess everything’s complicated) by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 4.5k    Ahsoka temporarily loses memories of the events of Obi-Wan’s fake death. To help with the healing process, Anakin and Obi-Wan have to pretend that they’re okay. ✦ programed to dream by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, body horror, 1.3k    The spaceship Comet-rider is the fastest, most efficient vessel in the galaxy, and is crewed by Separatist-funded pirates. Anakin Skywalker is missing. Unfortunately, these two things are connected. ✦ Unpleasant Truths by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    Obi-Wan and Anakin are stuck in a room with one another while waiting for truth serum to wear off. ✦ moment’s silence by skatzaa, obi-wan & owen & beru & luke & leia (pre-obi-wan/beru-owen), 2k    Owen had long since resigned himself to trouble, whenever Beru got that particularly stubborn set to her jaw. ✦ hold gently and let go by shatou, obi-wan & anakin (pre-slash?), 1.7k    A troubled Anakin comes to Obi-Wan to discuss attachments. ✦ sun child by Ro29, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    (or; sometimes being so tied to the Force causes problems, Obi-Wan helps his Padawan as best he can) ✦ A Dinner Out by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & cast, 1.6k    Obi-Wan can’t get his young Padawan to eat much, so he tries something new. But trying something different has unintended consequences. ✦ Shades in the Desert by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & luke & owen/beru, 10.8k    Not even from a certain point of view did Darth Vader kill Anakin Skywalker. He wished he did, but the specter of the Jedi’s light escaped before he could finalize his fall to the dark. Meanwhile, Anakin is raising his son on Tatooine. ✦ somewhere along in the bitterness by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, major character death, 3.8k    It was probably the twelfth day floating alone in space that Obi-Wan and Anakin realized no one was coming for them. ✦ Songs for Little Jedi by soft_but_gremlin, mace & younglings, ~1k    The initiates are having nightmares, so Mace sings a lullaby to comfort them. ✦ atmosphere level by softredscrunchie, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon, 1k    As a joke, Satine tells Obi-Wan she thinks Mandalore is flat. He doesn’t take it well. ✦ on sith holocrons and misunderstandings by billowypants, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & cast, de-aged!obi-wan, 7.2k    or, de-aged!Obi-Wan has the same Force bonds as adult Obi-Wan, and he does not react well. ✦ Perseverance & Resilience by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin, 1.1k    In the aftermath of Naboo, Obi-Wan realizes he needs strength to protect his new Padawan. Growing up, Anakin needs peace. ✦ A Delicate Balance by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & yoda & jedi, spanking, 9.6k    As Anakin’s skills grow, so too does his penchant for getting into trouble. After a training mishap, Obi-Wan struggles with his role as Anakin’s master. ✦ mirror, mirror by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, 5.4k    Obi-Wan has been rescued by Anakin after being rather embarrassingly kidnapped on the remote planet of Ilnuria during his investigation of rumored kyber crystals deep beneath the planet’s surface. …But is all as it seems? ✦ Mace Windu Appreciation Week by Redminibike1, mace & obi-wan & anakin & ponds & cody & jedi & cast, 12.5k    Set of unconnected ficlets for Mace Windu Appreciation Week, because he deserves it :) ✦ begin again as a quiet thought by skatzaa, obi-wan/quinlan, d/s, ~1k    Cool, smooth leather touched his jaw—gloves. Because of course Obi-Wan had thought of that as well. ✦ Drunken Lullabies by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & anakin & siri & quinlan & aayla & garen & bant & ferus, 6.5k    “Do I really have to go to this thing?” Fourteen year old Anakin Skywalker dramatically sighed. “It’s sooo boring!” ✦ heaven knows how I love you by the_13th_battalion, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.2k    Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka are stranded on an unfamiliar planet overnight. They spend their time exploring the community- and maybe they get a little closer to each other along the way. ✦ A Reckless Padawan by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, spanking, 3.9k    When Ahsoka upsets Anakin with an act of reckless disobedience, it falls to her grandmaster to help her see the error of her ways. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Too Hot by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.8k    Too Hot: A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, that player loses. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser. ✦ Nostos by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & padme, NSFW, 17k    Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin discover that there are many ways to come home. ✦ to touch the light, darkest by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k    Obi-Wan begins to fuck Vader back to the light ✦ encode by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & padme & handmaidens & cast, 26.3k wip    Instead of being accepted into the Jedi Order at the age of 9, Anakin Skywalker became a ward of Naboo. ✦ Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs, obi-wan/anakin & mace & ahsoka & shmi & padme & cast, 31.9k wip    When Anakin Skywalker was nine, he left his whole life and mother behind to follow Qui-Gon Jinn to Coruscant and the Jedi Temple. When Anakin Skywalker was twelve, he left his whole life and Master behind to follow Mace Windu to the Outer Rim and away from the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker was twenty… ✦ use my body to break your fall by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 44.7k wip    Obi-Wan Kenobi is too good at being a Sith Lord general of the Separatist army. The Jedi Council approaches Anakin with an offer he can’t refuse. These things are, actually, related. ✦ Over and Over by obiwanobi, obi-wan/anakin, 1.4k    “I love you,” he blurts out, loud and impossible to miss. Obi-Wan blinks once, twice. And freezes. The first time Anakin tells him is a mortifying experience. ✦ Exceptions by rinverse, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & mace & quinlan & cast, NSFW, modern au, 23.4k    Young and brilliant, Anakin is the mind behind JEDI Tech’s latest innovation. Obi-Wan is the company’s perfectly composed Director of PR & Marketing. And last night, they were just two strangers at a bar, looking for something quick and easy. But life had other plans when it crossed their paths again the very next day. ✦ Here There Be Dragons by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, 10.1k    Anakin knows why he can’t shift into his animal form like every other Jedi. It’s because he doesn’t want to, it’s because he’s had a vision of what he would become, and he doesn’t want it. ✦ Waiting in a Sea of Stars by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan/anakin, ~1k    Stranded in deep space, Obi-Wan and Anakin wait for rescue. ✦ Tristitia by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 5k    An alternate timeline where Palpatine focuses his attentions on Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Anakin Skywalker after the attack on Naboo. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 11: Communication, What Communication? by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, mobster au, 7k    a 7k obikin PWP that is somehow a prompt mashup of a mobster au, an accidental sugar daddy au, with a soupçon of an anakin never left tatooine au, and a pinch of qui-gon was anakin’s dad au ✦ who a person truly is cannot be seen with the eye by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, spanking, 3.6k    Anakin purposely avoids doing what Obi-Wan tells him to do. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 12: Potidaea, 432BC, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, historical au, 4.3k    Here is a short smutty scene inspired by all those classics asks, Alcibiades praising Socrates in Plato’s Symposium, and this vase c.490-480 B.C. depicting standing, face-to-face intercrural intercourse between a bearded man and a youth, which as far as we can tell was the most common and accepted position for it in Ancient Greece. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 13: Minikin and Tiny-Wan by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 5.4k    Happy May the Fourth! In honor of this happy day, I have written the fluffiest, crackiest, vanilla-flavored smut imaginable. Based on long discussions on discord with tomicaleto about her adorable Tiny AU. ✦ to hold until brightness by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.4k    Obi-Wan feared that it drew out the darkest in him, to bring Vader to these flashes of light, but it was a trade he would make again and again without hesitation. ✦ May Be Found, If Sought by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan/anakin & mace & quinlan, magical academy au, 2.3k    In which Quinlan, Mace, and Obi-Wan teach Non-Traditional Magical Philosophy in an institution rampant with academic snobbery and discrimination, something dark is stirring in the nearby forest, and no one is ever prepared for Anakin Skywalker. A small story about first meetings in magical academia. ✦ infinitely varied by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 2.2k    Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. ✦ recipe for disaster by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 9.8k    When Ahsoka tells Anakin she doesn’t want to learn piano anymore, Anakin is heartbroken. He doesn’t care about the instrument, obviously, but he’s practically in love with her teacher. Obi-Wan offers up a solution to their impending separation, and it’s not dating like any normal person would suggest. Instead, he’s gonna teach Anakin how to cook. Except Anakin’s a pretty well-known chef, and Obi-Wan is absolutely awful in the kitchen. ✦ Pretty Kitty by GayCheerios, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.2k    “Master, you always take such good care of me,” Anakin says, a little chirp coming after his sentence, as his thumb rests on Anakin’s plump bottom lip. ✦ As One, Into Eternity by Pseudonymoose, obi-wan/anakin, force ghosts, 3.1k    Death comes, but the man who was, and is, and will be Anakin Skywalker is not gone. And in the Force, he will never be alone again. ✦ does he make you laugh? by y0u_idjits, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, fusion fic, 3.6k    “Tell me it’s not about screwing the guy who’s screwing your husband.” ✦ Rotten Work by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, 2.8k    Obi-Wan: I’ll take care of you. Anakin, with bloodshot eyes and a broken back from hours of terrible posture: It’s rotten work. Obi-Wan, who needs to bathe this man for his own sanity and health: Not to me. Not if it’s you. ✦ afterimages by shatou, obi-wan/anakin, 1.3k    Mustafar is nothing but a bad dream. ✦ understanding is honoring the truth beneath the surface by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, 7.3k    Anakin asks Obi-Wan to take control. ✦ The strongest stars… by Tomicaleto, obi-wan/anakin & beru & cast, NSFW, 7.4k    The war’s end seems to be close, with everyone looking forward to it. And when Anakin is doubting himself the most, an unexpected visit arrives at the Temple. ✦ home has a heartbeat by izazov, obi-wan/anakin, 5.6k    Or: Anakin and Obi-Wan are together, but there are still some things left unsaid between them. ✦ turn back now (i’m haunted) by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & padme & quinlan & ahsoka & cast, modern au, ghosts au, 25k wip    Anakin Skywalker’s house is haunted. Luckily for him, Padmé knows a ghost hunter. Unluckily for him, it’s the hottest, most english-professor ghost hunter he’s ever seen. And extremely unluckily for him, he’s starting to get the feeling he understands maybe ten percent of what’s actually going on here, not to mention what’s at stake. ✦ game plan by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 11.2k    Or, Vader keeps capturing Obi-Wan during the Wars. Obi-Wan keeps escaping. It’s kind of a thing. ✦ Provocation by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.9k    Or: Obi-Wan and Anakin attempt to navigate their complicated relationship with barbed words and wilful ignorance. It wasn’t going well. ✦ Languages by Crowgirl, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 6.5k    So Anakin pulls out a map and makes a list. REBELS RECS: ✦ The Scent of You by ambiguously, kanan/hera & cast, a smidge of nsfw, 2.9k    Everything changes after Malachor, and Kanan has trouble finding his balance. ✦ Heard It in a Love Song (Can’t Be Wrong) by ambiguously, zeb/kallus, 2.7k    Kallus can’t quite figure out what makes Zeb tick, but he keeps trying. ORIGINAL TRILOGY/MANDALORIAN RECS: ✦ A Discussion of Choices by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & mace, 2k    Mace Windu has traveled the galaxy since the fall of the Republic, keeping out of the Empire’s sight and teaching where he can. Upon the request of a ghost of an old friend, Mace finds himself instructing Luke Skywalker, who is still reeling from the truth of Vader’s identity. ✦ staring down the barrel of the hot sun by magneticwave, luke/din & obi-wan & grogu & mace & cast, 25.7k    “Gone to a Child of the Watch, the Darksaber has,” Grand Master Yoda announces in his creaky little voice. “Peace, there is not, and yet peace, there must be.” ✦ Released by Peppermint_Shamrock, cody & rex & luke & cast, 6k    Nearly two and a half decades late, Cody’s chip is finally removed. Adjusting to having his mind returned to him after so long takes time, and Cody struggles with questions of his purpose of the past, present, and future. Fortunately, he does not have to struggle alone. ✦ A Tatooine Rainstorm by skatzaa, leia & luke & shmi, 1.7k    Leia meets a ghost. ✦ Dealing with the Darksaber by Peppermint_Shamrock, din & bo-katan & cara, 1.3k    After her recovery, Bo-Katan contacts Din to challenge him for the darksaber. Din is still very much not interested in the whole affair. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE

[firemanwhenthefloodsrollback]

side character deaths in buffy

I've been thinking a lot recently about death in buffy, mainly inspired by Help and everything that has to say to us about avoiding, accepting and understanding death

obviously the main characters' deaths are heartbreaking, because they're written to be heartbreaking and break our relationships with characters we love and know well. buffy (twice), angel, spike, joyce, tara, anya, and all the many alternate universe and dream vision deaths that kill the main characters rip my heart out of my chest for obvious reasons. but today I've been thinking more about the deaths of people we didn't know that well and whose deaths we watch without knowing them well. so I'm gonna talk about some of those cause it's my blog and you can't stop me.

(for the purposes of this post I'm counting main characters as anyone who was in the credits, with the addition of joyce because come on)

Deputy Mayor Allan Finch/Warren in Bad Girls and Villains

These two deaths both make you gasp for the same reason - they're sudden, physically icky (warren has the edge here with the flaying but the dark blood and death rattle for allan is also horrible to watch) and while we don't have a lot of positive feelings for the victim, we gasp because of what it means for the murderers and how we suddenly realised this season is going to get darker than we thought. faith and willow both spend the rest of their time on the show dealing with the consequences of these deaths and the audience knows in the moment they happen what it has to mean for the main characters. we want to save faith and willow from the consequences of having done this. just like faith, we're confused in the dark when a figure comes towards the slayers and we don't realise what's happening immediately, and with willow we've been watching her friends approach through the forest the whole time she's giving her evil speech thinking they have to be in time to stop her because no way would the writers let willow torture a man to death on screen. If warren or the deputy mayor had died because of a demon or accident we probably wouldn't have noticed (in the deputy mayor's case) or we'd have actively applauded (I rly wanted to watch warren die).

Jesse in The Harvest

I'm guilty of forgetting about Jesse (and so is the buffy writers room when they fail to mention him for seven years) but killing off a character who looked all set to become a scooby in the pilot and then making his best friend dust him as a vampire was both shocking and showed us a lot of the issues the show would go on to consider in miniature, right at the start. we've had campy vampires running around and wisecracking, we've had vampires being cool and edgy, the master being a total ham, but then we suddenly have to watch xander grapple with the idea that vampires are more than strangers in graveyards, they're the people you knew with yellow eyes and no soul, they can talk to you with all their childhood memories of you intact. season one might do a lot of floppy cardboard monsters but Jesse's death tells us they fully intend to Go There with the horrifying psychological implications of what vampires can do to you.

Jenny Calendar and Kendra Young in Passion and Becoming

I think of these deaths together because they were both characters that we half-knew and thought we'd get to know more. they were both characters who we felt could have gone on to be in the credits, have their own plots, and had a lot left to explore on the show. having two slayers in town could have been interesting (and would go on to be interesting in season three) and as well as her love story with Giles, we'd just had the veil pulled back about Jenny's heritage and reason for coming to Sunnydale - so both of these deaths were in the horrible sweet spot of having got to know the characters more than someone like Jesse, but not feeling 'done' with them yet. they were both killed by vampires who didn't even feed on them, by neck injuries that weren't bites by 'big bad' vampires who were really after someone else. after their deaths they both set more in motion and had long thematic afterlives - we think about Kendra when faith is called, and when we meet the potentials, and Jenny gives us the soul curse and gets willow started casting spells. Kendra definitely deserved more remembering than she got, and in a world where Joss Whedon had more time for Black characters I like to think we'd have got more of her and Mr Pointy.

the normal teens buffy couldn't save

before I started writing this post, I knew this was where we were going to end up.

(Jonathan maybe doesn't totally count here but I did because his final lines made me so sad)

characters who chose to join a battle between good and evil and died as part of that fight break my heart, but at least with Jenny and Kendra they knew at least partly what they were signing up for. Larry and Harmony we knew enough to have compassion for, and even when they were mean they were mean in regular school kid ways rather than big bad evil ways. I went to school with all of these people and probably so did everyone else.

Larry and Harmony died on graduation day when they were meant to be becoming adults under posters that said 'the future is ours' - Larry was newly out as gay and Harmony was about to get out from under the popular girls and maybe become a person who could stand on her own two feet, and Buffy could have helped them if there'd been less murder and death going on everywhere around them. harmony as a screaming blonde teen was exactly the type of victim buffy saves ten times an episode in alleys outside the bronze. Jonathan had more of an arc but at the end, back in high school after making an optimistic, bittersweet speech about coming to terms with high school and being optimistic about the rest of his life, leaving behind Andrew and Warren's bitter obsessive revenge of the nerds fantasies.

and Cassie, my heartbreaking queen, the one that gets me more than anyone that I wrote about a lot yesterday, knew what was coming and that no one could save her, and all the things she listed that she knew she'd miss were teenage coming of age things. she wanted to go backpacking, attend college, go to a dance with a boy, and fall in love one day. the whole of Help, she's considering the rites of passage she won't get to do, and in her therapy sessions Buffy tries to inspire her to want to go to college or join the french foreign legion. for buffy, saving Cassie means giving her a future. we haven't met the potentials or heard the word potential yet in Help but this episode is all about potential, and Buffy's attempts to save a life meaning safeguarding someone's potential and right to grow up.

[roosinii]

Dead Beat - Everything from Sue to Lash is just awesome. The first book we saw some non-Morgan shenanigans from the Wardens and it’s just so cool. The only serious drawback is the lack of Murphy.

Small Favour - Ivy!!!! Mab being Mab and the first Jake sighting. Kincaid goes and Kincaids everywhere, it’s great.

Blood Rites - The entrance of Mouse and of course the sibling shenanigans. Harry and Murph’s cavalry ride against the car full of goons is particularly memorable.

Skin Game - What a brilliant little scheme this book was, Harry looking like he’s getting back on his feet after Changes. The only reason it isn’t higher is because of the Butters shenanigans that I find vaguely questionable.

Summer Knight - The Fae are Faeing everywhere and it’s rather cool

Honourable mentions include Death Masks, Changes, Fool Moon and Battle Ground

Guys, what are your top 5 favorite books out of the Dresden Files series? Bonus points if you say why.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

The life I once dreamed of ~ Chapter 5

The Time flew by quikly and before Azriel knew it -past two weeks.

Two weeks of training with Cassian, two weeks with his family eating dinner together and two weeks full of nightmares.

As much as he hated to admit it, but he would have been happy if he would have dreamed about the seer these whole two weeks. The dreams about her kept him distracted, but they reminded him of past happy times. Unlike his nightmares, which showed him now since two weeks almost deadly incidents that laied over fifvehundred years back at Ramiel.

It wondered him though why the war-lords wanted him and Cassian again in the Blood Rite. They already knew the surroundings -so why would they insist that they take part in it again? They had an huge adventage.

But whenever he mentioned These doubts to Cassian, the bulky Illyrian didn't seem to take him serious, shrugging his shoulders at him and telling him with a grin on his face "Maybe they want us to destroy Ramiel." Az tried to smile at that, or at least tug the corners of his mouth up a little. As much as he would appriciate that, the Illyrians were too proud of their culture, so they would never do that.

So Azriel had not gotten any clue what was expecting him exactly there.

But now he felt like as if he was throwen back in time -s tanding in some begginers fighting leathers in the foyer of his brother, without any weapon -not even truth Teller bound to his tigh- and without any blue Siphon. It was weired to say at last, turning around to the family of his brothers and his too. It still pained him to see that she wasen't standing there too. Encourageing him to come back alive and in one piece with her soft, but fierce nature. Most of the time she was soft to him and their family. But Elain had also the fierce blood of the Archerons cruseing trough her veins -even though his family didn't see that side often. 

If he remebered clearly they didn't even suspect a thing, that sweet Elain could also have a steeled tongue. To be honest he didn't get to see that side of her, too, often too.

Most of the time she let that side out - when he came back from a Mission - wounded. 

She would push him on the next Couch, or bed, and inspect the wound, he told her she didn't have to do that, because of many reasons, but mostly because it was emarrassing when she kneelt down and looked at the wounds on his legs. The wounds were normaly just light onse, but she would still scold him everytime that he should be more carefull.

And if a wound was deeper than normal, she would take some herbs and lay them on it. If it was really bad, in her opinion, she would call Madja.

The healer mostly smiled at the worried seer and tried to calm her down.

 She tried it mostly with telling her about former wounds, that were much worse, but it mostly made Elain worry even more. So he stayed in bed for his best friend. And endured all the tea she served him.

 Smiling at her and her sweet worry. 

He often tried to tell her that his wounds were, because of the lifes he protected. She listened closely whenever he did and he could see the respect and something else in her eyes, when he did, but she still kept her point about him beeing more carefull. 

It ended mostly with an argument, were both stayed away from eachother for the rest of the day, but it ended everytime the same - they would apologize for their beahaviour and cuddle up in bed again.

He smiled at the memories sadly.

What would she think if he would come back from this rite half dead? 

Would she even let him go outside alone or on missions again?

Over all his thoughts he almost forgot about his family that stood infront of the winged staircase, he could barely see them trough all the shadows that surrounded him, once not controled by seven of his blue siphones.

They swirrled around everywhere and were a dark barrier between him and the rest. Isolating him again - alone in the dark.

He smiled at the blonde haired female that stood, like everytime, there when he left. Her arms crossed over the red top, she wore, looking at him worriedly. Feyre and Rhys stood next to her, waving their goodbys to Cassian - who hugged both very tight, for a very long time. 

Even Amren and Varian where there, wishing them good luck as well.

He didn't think as he stepped closer to them. Cass let go of Feyre and Rhys - only because they all opened their arms for him. 

His brain seemed to have stopped working. Without thinking as he closed the gap between him and his family, wrapping his arms tightly around them. His two idiot brothers, he loved with all his heart, his flying Student, his former love -who was now one of his best friends, the fierce female that endured all the shitty ideas of their family with him and even her husband, who became the newest memer of their Family.

Tears started to build up in his eyes as he laid in all their arms. The middle of a circle full of people he trusted with his life.

"I'm sorry for what I did to all of you!" his voice was a mere whisper, but the arms around him tightened - showing him he should keep quiet and not drown in his worries again. So he did that and pulled them closer, his shadows lifting a little.

'Just come back in one piece. And bring her back again, search for her. I would give you all of eternity time to find her. You're the best version of yourself when you're with her.'

His High Lord didn't have to say her name to know who he ment, as he heard the calm voice of him in his head.

He didn't know how he should respond to him, so he said nothing, almost.

'Even if I die in this. I will still search for her - even after death and I would stay by her side and protect her for the rest of her life, even if it means seeing her happy without me.'

Don't! hissed a dark, cold voice at him. One of his shadows spoke to him. He wondered why it did this now, but he wouldn't let this moment be ruined by his stupid fears and companions.

He wouldn't let them control him anymore.

    *******

The goodby to his family was hard, but he had apologized at least. Still, he would not die in this. 

He had to find Elain after the Blood Rite!

The cold wind stopped howling around him, as he and Cassian landed on one of the round trainig areas, infront of Ramiel. Some Illyrians came up to them and checked imideatly if they had any knifes, daggers or any other weapon with them -but found none.

It seemed like they were the last to arrive, because they started to drop the smirking novice-warriors, once everyone was checked.

No explanation about how things were going, because everyone knew. They all trained for this week, since they were dropped into their war-camps.

The twenty novices didn't complain as their wings were bound to their backs.

Rhys was right though, they dropped Cassian at the opposite side of Ramiel, making Azriel look up at a steep, rocky cliff of one of the mountains. The Grey stone was cold and sharp under his hands as he started to climb up the rocks to the first ledge. On its way there  he started to pick some of the sharper rocks up -rocks that were suitable for daggers.

The wind threw needles into his tan skin. The leathers he wore started to rip apart already. Mor and her eye for Fashion - she was the one that told him they would fit him- they clearly didn't. The fissure under his armpit started to tear apart the fabric of the rough, dark material - stones already ripped the fabric at his knees and raillegion. Some sharp, little stones already dug into his skin. 

Azriel sighed, he should have asked Rhys to get him the leathers.

On the ledge  - there were a few conifers, but almost no grass and if, it was covered in snow, which was only normal for the early spring in the mountains. He wanted to go as far as he could, while it was still day, but Azriel didn't know when he would come across the next tree, so he sat down on the Cold, wet Stone and started sharpening the Stones, climbed the trees to search for some thick Wood sticks and put the Stone and Wood together. Connecting everything with some already torn of Cloth.

By the time he was done, it was already getting dark around him and started to freez. It was Cold, but he knew to not attract any attention with a fire, so he chopped some needled limbs from one of the conifers. But as he did, he had the awkward Feeling of beeing watched. Trained in selfecontrol he stoped his hands from shaking and turning his head around nervously - instead he just continued chopping the light wood, but send in secret his shadows out to report to him. 

They wouldn't stand out in the dark surroundings of these mountains, so  he didn't have to worry much as they started swirling around on the rocky mountain floor.

The shadows didn't need to report back to him - the problem with his bad feeling, that twisted in his gut, was solved pretty fast. There -over his head, in the crown of the pine- sat an Illyrian  warrior. 

Clothed from head to toe in black leathers only a gap, for the eyes of the warrior, was cut into the black mask. The eyes, that looked down at him, seemed bigger than normal onse, as if they were in shock.

Azriel didn't need the blink of an eye to bring, the somehow delicate Illyrian, down from the pine.

One of his shadows rushed up the stem, griping the ankle of the winged male. The shadowsinger jumped foreward, avoiding to colide with the stranger that was brought down to earth with the cracking of wooden limbs.

Once he was down, the stranger had no time to react. Azriel brought his massive figure to sit on the other males chest. He had one of his hands pining down both of his opponents over his head. While Azriels other hand tightened around the hilt of one his self-made daggers,pointing at the throat of the one beneath him. 

It felt weird to not feel the cool hilt of Truth-Teller against his scarred palms, for such tasks, but for now it had to do it.

"Who are you?" he asked in his deadly voice. He already noticed the smaller stature, but it didn't make sense, most Illyrians -him included- had a bulkier stature when they come here. Having gained muscels over the training - else they weren't allowed for the rite anyways.

And the always curious shadowsinger he was, having this sort of behaviour already carved into his Body and bones, he started his usuall way of an examination, but the male was quiet.

 Looking him dead into his hazel eyes.

His jaw clanched tight and as Azriel was about to pull of the mask - he realized his beginners mistake. But too late, the male already chocked, chocked on his own tongue.

As Azriel pulled off the black mask, he saw the red liquid that lined down the males cheeks and the foam infront of his mouth - his blue eyes still fixed on Azriel.

It was weired to see a so small Illyrian male, especially one with blonde hair -but with such determined blue eyes.

Azriel got up again, he thought of burning the body, but the fire would have drawn too much attention - then again he thought about carring the male, around with him the rest of the week, as his evidence, because no one would believe him when he would tell them about an full weaponized warrior, but then again - he didn't look like one.

With an closer look, the male looked more like … like an Assassin!

Azriels mind was imideatly flowded with questions.

He never heard anything about Illyrian Assassins, but then again, he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings for the past three years. But even in all the missions he did for Rhys, there was never even an clue about an organisation of Illyrian Assassins - because no one would set foot on Ramiel durning the Rite full weaponized, let alone come here alone. In hornor of the traditions.

Azriel had a bad feeling, as he settled himself close to the sharp rocks, sitting in the shadows, as he listened to the howling of the scary creatures of the court of nightmares.

The normaly so beautiful night sky of this court, was hung by grey clouds -just like his mood.

And for once, since he had started to step foot out of his apartment again - he felt like his old self.  At least a little bit - but he still wasen't complete.

 He would never feel complete without Elain, but for just this one week, he would have to solve this with his broken parts.

He needed to find out who  was behind that assassination as soon as possible.

So Azriel sat there, close to the cold rocks - letting himself for once not think about Elain-  but about his upcoming task and the one he had to master now.

He had to survive this whole Blood Rite, for her.

And this would be the only thought of the sweet flower grower he would allow himself for this week.

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Taglist (please contact me, if you want to be added or removed from the list):

@shimmerglimmerandsparkle / @elriel4life / @heirofthrnightcourt004

[inumaqi]

top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him.  shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself. 

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

[lou162]

Hozier lyrics from the 'Wasteland, baby!' album as Zodiac signs

Aries

Nina cried power - "It's not the wall but what's behind it. Lord, the fear of foul men is mere assignment"

Would that I - "With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet. Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat. Feel it soft and as pure as snow. Fell in love with the fire long ago"

Taurus

Talk - "I won't deny I've got in my mind now. All things I would do. So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out. How I'm imaginin' you"

Gemini

Almost (sweet music) - "The same kind of music haunts her bedroom. I'm almost me again she's almost you"

Movement - "When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me. When you move honey I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free"

Cancer

Almost (sweet music) - "I wouldn't know where to start sweet music playing in the dark, be still my foolish heart don't ruin this on me"

Leo

Wasteland, baby! - "And that day that we watch the death of the sun. That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. And you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins"

Virgo

Shrike - "Remember me love, when I'm reborn. As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn"

Wasteland, baby! - "And the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. Not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. Wasteland baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you"

Libra

Nobody - "I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint. I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave"

Scorpio

To noise making (sing) - "You don't have to sing it right. Who could call you wrong? You put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song"

To noise making (sing) - "Who could ask to be unbroken or be brave again. Or honey, hope even on this side of the grave again?"

Sagittarius

Nobody - "And I think about you, lo, everywhere I go and I've done everything and I've been everywhere you know"

Be - "Be like the love that discovered the sin. That freed the first man, would do so again. And, lover, be good to me"

Capricorn

No plan - "The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun"

Movement - "You are the rite of movement. It's reasonin' made lucid and cool. I know it's no improvement"

Aquarius

To noise making (sing) - "You don't have to sing it nice, but honey sing it strong. At best you'll find a little remedy. At worst the world will sing along"

Pisces

Talk - "I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around. And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me"

Sunlight- "Each day, you rise with me. Know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty. Oh my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight. You strap the weight of me. A death trap clad happily. With wax melted, I need to see. Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight"

[hellouniversegoodbyeworld]

Martial, Epigrams. Book 1. Bohn's Classical Library (1897)

BOOK I.

TO THE READER

I trust that, in these little books of mine, I have observed such self-control, that whoever forms a fair judgment from his own' mind can make no complaint of them, since they indulge their sportive fancies without violating the respect due even to persons of the humblest station; a respect which was so far disregarded by the authors of antiquity, that they made free use, not only of real, but of great names. For me; let fame be held in less estimation, and let such talent be the last thing commended in me.

Let the ill-natured interpreter, too, keep himself from meddling with the simple meaning of my jests, and not write my epigrams for me.1 He acted honourably who exercises perverse ingenuity on another man's book: For the free plainness of expression, that is, for the language of epigram, I would apologize, if I were introducing the practice; but it is thus that Catullus writes, and Marsus, and Pedo, and Getulicus, and every one whose writings are read through. If any assumes to be so scrupulously nice, however, that it is not allowable to address him, in a single page, in plain language, he may confine himself to this address, or rather to the title of the book. Epigrams are written for those who are accustomed to be spectators at the games of Flora. Let not Cato enter my theatre; or, if he do enter, let him look on. It appears to me that I shall do only what I have a right to do, if I close my address with the following verses:----

1 Let him not make them his own, by the false interpretation which he puts upon them.

TO CATO.

Since you knew the lascivious nature of the rites of sportive Flora, as well as the dissoluteness of the games, and the license of the populace, why, stern Cato, did you enter the theatre? Did you come in only that you might go out again?

I. TO THE READER.

The man whom you are reading is the very man that you want,----Martial, known over the whole world for his humorous books of epigrams; to whom, studious reader, you have afforded such honours, while he is alive and has a sense of them, as few poets receive after their death.

II. TO THE READER; SHOWING WHERE THE AUTHOR'S BOOKS MAY BE PURCHASED.

You who are anxious that my books should be with you everywhere, and desire to have them as companions on a long journey, buy a copy of which the parchment leaves are compressed into a small compass.1 Bestow book-cases upon large volumes; one hand will hold me. But that you may not be ignorant where I am to be bought, and wander in uncertainty over the whole town, you shall, under my guidance, be sure of obtaining me. Seek Secundus, the freedman of the learned Lucensis, behind the Temple of Peace and the Forum of Pallas.

1 That is, a copy with small pages; a small copy.

III. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.

You prefer, little book, to dwell in the shops in the Argiletum,1 though my book-case has plenty of room for you. You are ignorant, alas! you are ignorant of the fastidiousness of Rome, the mistress of the world; the sons of Man, believe me, are much too critical. Nowhere are there louder sneers; young men and old, and even boys, have the nose of the rhinoceros.2 After you have heard a loud "Bravo!" and are expecting kisses, you will go, tossed to the skies, from the jerked toga.3 Yet, that you may not so often suffer the corrections of your master, and that his relentless pen may not so often mark your vagaries, you desire, frolicsome little book, to fly through the air of heaven. Go, fly; but you would have been safer at home.

1 An open place, or square, in Rome, where tradesmen had shops. 2  Have great powers of ridicule, which the Romans often expressed by turning up or wrinkling the nose. 3  People will take you into their lap, and then jerk you out of it, as if you were tossed in a blanket

IV. TO CAESAR.

If you should chance, Caesar, to light upon my books, lay aside that look which awes the world. Even your triumphs have been accustomed to endure jests,1 nor is it any shame to a general to be a subject for witticisms. Read my verses, I pray you, with that brow with which you behold Thymele 2 and Latinus 3 the buffoon. The censorship 4 may tolerate innocent jokes: my page indulges in freedoms, but my life is pure.

1 In allusion to the jests which the soldiers threw out on their generals while they were riding in the triumphal procession. 2  A female dancer. 3 A dancer in pantomime; a sort of harlequin. 4  Alluding to Domitian having made himself perpetual censor.

V. THE EMPEROR'S REPLY.

I give you a sea-fight, and you give me epigrams: you wish, I suppose, Marcus, to be set afloat with your book.

VI. ON A LION OF CAESAR'S THAT SPARED A HARE.

While through the air of heaven the eagle was carrying the youth,1 the burden unhurt clung to its anxious talons. From Caesar's lions their own prey now succeeds in obtaining mercy, and the hare plays safe in their huge jaws. Which miracle do you think the greater? The author of each is a supreme being: the one is the work of Caesar; the other,2 of Jove.

1 Ganymede. 2 Comp. Eps. 14, 22.

VII. TO MAXIMUS

The dove, the delight of my friend Stella,3----even with Verona4 listening will I say it, ---- has surpassed, Maximus, the sparrow of Catullus. By so much is my Stella greater than your Catullus, as a dove is greater than a sparrow.

3 A poet of Patavium, who wrote an elegy on the dove of his mistress Ianthis. See B. vi. Ep. 21; B. vii. Ep. 13. 4 The birth-place of Catullus.

VIII. TO DECIANUS

In that you so far only follow the opinions of the great Thrasea and Cato of consummate virtue, that you still wish to preserve your life, and do not with bared breast rush upon drawn swords, you do, Decianus, what I should wish you to do. I do not approve of a man who purchases fame with life-blood, easy to be shed: I like him who can be praised without dying to obtain it.

IX. TO COTTA.

You wish to appear, Cotta, a pretty man and a great man at one and the same time: but he who is a pretty man, Cotta, is a very small man.

X. ON GEMELLUS AND MARONILLA.

Gemellus is seeking the hand of Maronilla, and is earnest, and lays siege to her, and beseeches her, and makes presents to her. Is she then so pretty? Nay; nothing can be more ugly. What then is the great object and attraction in her? ----Her cough.

XI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Seeing that there are given to a knight twice five pieces,1 wherefore is twice ten the amount which you spend by yourself, Sextilianus, in drink? Long since would the warm water have failed the attendants who carried it, had you not, Sextilianus, been drinking your wine unmixed.2

1 Ten sesterces, the usual sportula, or donation from the emperor. 2 The Romans used to drink their wine mixed with warm water.

XII. ON REGULUS.

Where the road runs to the towers of the cool Tivoli, sacred to Hercules, and the hoary Albula 3 smokes with sulphureous waters, a milestone, the fourth from the neighbouring city, points out a country retreat, and a hallowed grove, and a domain well beloved of the Muses. Here a rude portico used to afford cool shade in summer; a portico, ah! how nearly the desperate cause of an unheard-of calamity: for suddenly it fell in ruins, after Regulus had just been conveyed in a carriage and pair from under its high fabric. Truly Dame Fortune feared our complaints, as she would have been unable to withstand so great odium. Now even our loss delights us; so beneficial is the impression which the very danger produces; since, while standing, the edifice could not have proved to us the existence of the gods.

3 A plain near Tivoli.

XIII. ON ARRIA AND PAETUS.

When the chaste Arria handed to her Paetus the sword which she had with her own hand drawn forth from her heart, "If you believe me," said she, "the wound which I have made gives me no pain; but it is that which you will make, Paetus, that pains me."

XIV. TO DOMITIAN.

The pastimes, Caesar, the sports and the play of the lions, we have seen: your arena affords you the additional sight of the captured hare returning often in safety from the kindly tooth, and running at large through the open jaws. Whence is it that the greedy lion can spare his captured prey? He is said to be yours: thence it is that he can show mercy.

XV. TO JULIUS.

Oh! you who are regarded by me, Julius, as second to none of my companions, if well-tried friendship and longstanding ties are worth anything, already nearly a sixtieth consul is pressing upon you, and your life numbers but a few more uncertain days. Not wisely would you defer the enjoyment which you see maybe denied you, or consider the past alone as your own. Cares and linked chains of disaster are in store; joys abide not, but take flight with winced speed. Seize them with either hand, and with your full grasp; even thus they will oft-times pass away and glide from your closest embrace. 'Tis not, believe me, a wise man's part to say, "I will live." To-morrow's life is too late: live to-day.

XVI. TO AVITUS.

Of the epigrams which you read here, some are good, some middling, many bad; a book, Avitus, cannot be made in any other way.

XVII. TO TITUS.

Titus urges me to go to the Bar, and often tells me, "The gains are large." The gains of the husbandman, Titus, are likewise large.

XVIII. TO TUCCA, ON HIS PARSIMONY.

What pleasure can it give you, Tucca, to mix with old Falernian wine new wine stored up in Vatican casks? What vast amount of good has the most worthless of wine done you? or what amount of evil has the best wine done you? As for us, it is a small matter; but to murder Falernian, and to put poisonous wine in a Campanian cask, is an atrocity. Your guests may possibly have deserved to perish: a wine-jar of such value has not deserved to die.

XIX. TO AELIA.

If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.

XX. TO CAECILIANUS.

Tell me, what madness is this? While a whole crowd of invited guests is looking on, you alone, Caecilianus, devour the truffles. What shall I imprecate on you worthy of so large a stomach and throat? That you may eat a truffle such as Claudius ate.

XXI. ON PORSENA AND MUCIUS SCAEVOLA.

When the hand that aimed at the king mistook for him his secretary, it thrust itself to perish into the sacred fire but the generous foe could not endure so cruel a sight, and bade the hero, snatched from the flame, to be set free. The hand which, despising the fire, Mucius dared to burn, Porsena could not bear to look on Greater was the fame and glory of that right hand from being deceived; had it not missed its aim, it had accomplished less.

XXII. TO A HARE.

Why, silly hare, are you fleeing from the fierce jaws of the lion now grown tame? They have not learned to crush such tiny animals. Those talons, which you fear, are reserved for mighty necks, nor does a thirst so great delight in so small a draught of blood. The hare is the prey of hounds; it does not fill large mouths: the Dacian boy should not fear Caesar.

XXIII. TO COTTA.

You invite no one, Cotta, except those whom you meet at the bath; and the bath alone supplies you with guests. I used to wonder why you had never asked me, Cotta; I know now that my appearance in a state of nature was unpleasing in your eyes.

XXIV. TO DECIANUS.

You see yonder individual, Decianus, with locks uncombed, whose grave brow even you fear; who talks incessantly of the Curii and Camilli, defenders of their country's liberties: do not trust his looks; he was taken to wife but yesterday.

XXV. TO FAUSTINUS.

Issue at length your books to the public, Faustinus, and give to the light the work elaborated by your accomplished mind,----a work such as neither the Cecropian city of Pandion would condemn, nor our old men pass by in silence. Do you hesitate to admit Fame, who is standing before your door; and does it displease you to receive the reward of your labour? Let the writings, destined to live after you, begin to live through your means. Glory comes too late, when paid only to our ashes.

XXVI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Sextilianus, you drink as much as five rows of knights  1 alone: you might intoxicate yourself with water, if you so often drank as much. Nor is it the coin of those who sit near you alone that you consume in drink, but the money of those far removed from you, on the distant benches. This vintage has not been concerned with Pelignian presses, nor was this juice of the grape produced upon Tuscan heights; but it is the glorious jar of the long-departed Opimius 2 that is drained, and it is the Massic cellar that sends forth its blackened casks. Get dregs of Laletane wine from a tavern-keeper, Sextilianus, if you drink more than ten cups.3

1 Seated on the benches allotted them in the theatre. See Ep. 12. 2  The vintage of B. C. 121, in which year L. Opimius was one of the consuls, was extremely celebrated, and is frequently mentioned by the Roman writers. 3  The number to which persons at feasts usually restricted themselves.

XXVII. TO PROCILLUS.

Last night I had invited you----after some fifty glasses, I suppose, had been despatched----to sup with me to-day. You immediately thought your fortune was made, and took note of my unsober words, with a precedent but too dangerous. I hate a boon companion whose memory is good, Procillus.

XXVIII. ON ACCERRA.

Whoever believes it is of yesterday's wine that Acerra smells, is mistaken: Acerra always drinks till morning.

XXIX. TO FIDENTINUS.

Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.

XXX. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus had been a surgeon, and is now an undertaker. He has begun to be useful to the sick in the only way that he could.

XXXI. TO APOLLO, OF ENCOLPUS.

Encolpus, the favourite of the centurion his master, consecrates these, the whole of the locks from his head, to you, O Phoebus.1 When Pudens shall have rained the pleasing honour of the chief-centurionship, which he has so well merited, cut these long tresses close, O Phoebus, as soon as possible, while the tender face is yet undisfigured with down, and while the flowing hair adorns the milk-white neck; and, that both master and favourite may long enjoy your gifts, make him carry shorn, but late a man.2

1 Encolpus, a favourite of Aulus Pudens the centurion, had vowed his hair to Phoebus, is order that his master might soon be made chief centurion. Martial prays that they may both obtain what they desire. 2 Extend his youth as long as possible.

XXXII. TO SABIDIUS.

I do not love you, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, I do not love you.

The following lines, in imitation of this epigram, were made by some Oxford wit, on Dr John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686:

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell; The reason why I cannot tell. But this I'm sure I know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

XXXIII. ON GELLIA.

Gellia does not mourn for her deceased father, when she is alone; but if any one is present, obedient tears spring forth. He mourns not, Gellia, who seeks to be praised; he is the true mourner, who mourns without a witness.

XXXIV. TO LESBIA.

You always take your pleasure, Lesbia, with doors unguarded and open, nor are you at any pains to conceal your amusements. It is more the spectator, than the accomplice in your doings, that pleases you, nor are any pleasures grateful to your taste if they be secret. Yet the common courtesan excludes every witness by curtain and by bolt, and few are the chinks in a suburban brothel. Learn something at least of modesty from Chione, or from Alis: even the monumental edifices of the dead afford hiding-places for abandoned harlots. Does my censure seem too harsh? I do not exhort you to be chaste, Lesbia, but not to be caught.

XXXV. TO CORNELIUS.

You complain, Cornelius, that the verses which I compose are little remarkable for their reserve, and not such as a master can read out in his school; but such effusions, as in the case of man and wife, cannot please without some spice of pleasantry in them. What if you were to bid me write a hymeneal song in words not suited to hymeneal occasions? Who enjoins the use of attire at the Floral games, and imposes on the courtesan the reserve of the matron? This law has been allowed to frolicsome verses, that without tickling the fancy they cannot please. Lay aside, therefore, your severe look, I beseech you, and spare my jokes and gaiety, and do not desire to mutilate my compositions. Nothing is more disgusting than Priapus become a priest of Cybele.

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS LUCANUS AND TULLUS.

If, Lucanus, to you, or if to you, Tullus, had been offered such fates as the Laconian children of Leda enjoy, there would have been this noble struggle of affection in both of you, that each would have wished to die first in place of his brother; and he who should have first descended to the nether realms of shade would have said, "Live, brother, thine own term of days; live also mine."

XXXVII. TO BASSUS.

Yon deposit your excretions, without any sense of shame, into an unfortunate vessel of gold, while you drink out of glass. The former operation, consequently, is the more expensive.

XXXVIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.

With fruity accents, and so vile a tone, You quote my lines, I took them for your own.  Anon.

XXXIX. TO DECIANUS.

If there be any man fit to be numbered among one's few choice friends, a man such as the honesty of past times and ancient renown would readily acknowledge; if any man thoroughly imbued with the accomplishments of the Athenian and Latin Minervas, and exemplary for true integrity; if there be any man who cherishes what is right, and admires what is honourable, and asks nothing of the gods but what all may hear; if there be any man sustained by the strength of a great mind, may I die, if that man is not Decianus.

XL. TO AN ENVIOUS MAN.

You who make grimaces, and read these verses of mine with an ill grace, you, victim of jealousy, may, if you please, envy everybody; nobody will envy you.

XLI. TO CAECILIUS.

You imagine yourself Caecilius, a man of wit. You are no such thing, believe me. What then? A low buffoon; such a thing as wanders about in the quarters beyond the Tiber, and barters pale-coloured sulphur matches for broken glass; such a one as sells boiled peas and beans to the idle crowd; such as a lord and keeper of snakes; or as a common servant of the salt-meat-sellers; or a hoarse-voiced cook who carries round smoking sausages in steaming shops; or the worst of street poets; or a blackguard slave-dealer from Gades;1 or a chattering old debauchee. Cease at length, therefore, to imagine yourself that which is imagined by you alone, Caecilius, you who could have silenced Gabba, and even Testius Caballus, with your jokes. It is not given to every one to have taste; he who jests with a stupid effrontery is not a Testius, but a Caballus.3

1 See Juvenal xi. 163, and Mayor's note. 3 A play on the word Caballus, which, as an appellative noun, meant a hack-horse.

XLII. ON PORCIA.

When Porcia had heard the fate of her consort Brutus, and her grief was seeking the weapon, which had been carefully removed from her," You know not yet," she cried, "that death cannot be denied: I had supposed that my father had taught you this lesson by his fate. She spoke, and with eager mouth swallowed the blazing coals. "Go now, officious attendants, and refuse me a sword, if you will."

XLIII. ON MANCINUS.

Twice thirty were invited to your table, Mancinus, and nothing was placed before us yesterday but a wild-boar. Nowhere were to be seen grapes preserved from the late vines, or apples vying in flavour with sweet honey-combs; nowhere the pears which hang suspended by flexible twigs, or pomegranates the colour of summer roses: nor did the rustic basket supply its milky cheeses, or the olive emerge from its Picenian jar. Your wild-boar was by itself: and it was even of the smallest size, and such a one as might have been slaughtered by an unarmed dwarf. Besides, none of it was given us; we simply looked on it as spectators. This is the way in which even the arena places a wild-boar before us. May no wild-boar be placed before you after such doings, but may you be placed before the boar in front of which Charidemus was placed.1

1 By Domitian, to be torn in pieces. See Sueton. Life of Domit.

XLIV. TO STELLA.

If it seems to you too much, Stella, that my longer and shorter compositions are occupied with the frisky gambols of the hares and the play of the lions, and that I go over the same subject twice, do you also place a hare twice before me.

XLV. ON HIS BOOK.

That the care which I have bestowed upon what I have published may not come to nothing through the smallness of my volumes, let me rather fill up my verses with Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.1

1 Let me rather use frequent repetitions, just as Homer frequently repeats these words.

XLVI. TO HEDYLUS.

[From the Loeb translation]

When you say "I haste; now is the time," then, Hedylus, my ardour at once flags and weakens. Bid me wait: more quickly, stayed, shall I speed on. Hedylus, if you do haste, tell me not to haste!

XLVII. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus, lately a doctor, is now an undertaker: what he does as an undertaker, he used to do also as a doctor.

XLVIII. ON THE LION AND HARE.

The keepers could not snatch the bulls from those wide jaws, through which the fleeting prey, the hare, goes and returns in safety; and, what is still more strange, he starts from his foe with increased swiftness, and contracts something of the great nobleness of the lion's nature. He is not safer when he courses along the empty arena, nor with equal feeling of security does he hide him in his hutch. If, venturous hare, you seek; to avoid the teeth of the hounds, you have the jaws of the lion to which you may flee for refuge.

XLIX. TO LICINIANUS.

O you, whose name must not be left untold by Celtiberian nations, you the honour of our common country, Spain, you, Licinianus, will behold the lofty Bilbilis, renowned for horses and arms, and Catus1 venerable with his locks of snow, and eased Vadavero with ita broken cliffs, and the sweet grove of delicious Botrodus, which the happy Pomona loves. You will breast the gently-flowing water of the warm Congedus and the calm lakes of the Nymphs, and your body, relaxed by these, you may brace up in the little Salo, which hardens iron. There Voberca 2 herself will supply for your meals animals which may be brought down close at hand. The serene summer heat you will disarm by bathing in the golden Tagus, hidden beneath the shades of trees; your greedy thirst the fresh Dercenna will appease, and Nutha, which in coldness surpasses snow. But when hoar December and the furious solstice shall resound with the hoarse blasts of the north-wind, you will again seek the sunny shores of Tarraco and thine own Laletania. There you will despatch hinds caught in your supple toils, and native boars; and you will tire out the cunning hare with your hardy steed; the stags you will leave to your bailiff. The neighboring wood will come down into your very hearth, surrounded as it will be with a troop of uncombed children. The huntsman will be invited to your table, and many a guest called in from the neighbourhood will come to you. The crescent-adorned boot 3 will be nowhere to be seen, nowhere the toga and garments smelling of purple dye. Far away will be the ill-favoured Liburnian porter 4 and the grumbling client; far away the imperious demands of widows. The pale criminal will not break your deep sleep, but all the morning long you will enjoy your slumber. Let another earn the grand and wild "Bravo!" Do you pity such happy ones, and enjoy without pride true delight, while your friend Sura is crowned with applause. Not unduly does life demand of us our few remaining days, when fame has as much as is sufficient.

1 Catus and Vadavero are names of mountains near Bilbilis. Botrodus is a small town; Congedus and Salo, riven.   2 The name of a town. Dercenna and Nutha are fountains.   3 Worn by senators. 4 See Juvenal, iv. 75.

L. TO AEMILIANUS.

If your cook, Aemilianus, is called Mistyllus, why should not mine be called Taratalla?1

1 A meaningless jest taken from Homer's words (Il. i.465).

LI. TO A HARE.

No neck, save the proudest, serves for the fierce lion. Why do you, vain-glorious hare, flee from these teeth? No doubt you would wish them to stoop from the huge bull to you, and to crush a neck which they cannot see. The glory of an illustrious death must be an object of despair to you. You, a tiny prey, canst not fall before such an enemy!

LII. TO QUINCTIANUS.

To you, Quinctianus, do I commend my books, if indeed I can call books mine, which your poet recites.1 If they complain of a grievous yoke, do you come forward as their advocate, and defend them efficiently; and when he calls himself their master, say that they were mine, but have been given 2 by me to the public. If you will proclaim this three or four times, you will bring shame on the plagiary.

1 A poet that recited verses to Quinctianus; the same, probably, that is mentioned in the next epigram. 2 Manumitted; released from my portfolio.

LIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

One page only in my books belongs to you, Fidentinus, but it bears the sure stamp of its master, and accuses your verses of glaring theft. Just so does a Gallic frock coming in contact with purple city cloaks stain them with grease and filth; just so do Arretine1 pots disgrace vases of crystal; so is a buck crow, straying perchance on the banks of the Cayster, laughed to scorn amid the swans of Leda: and so, when the sacred grove resounds with the music of the tuneful nightingale, the miscreant magpie disturbs her Attic plaints. My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is yours stands up against you and says, "You are a thief"

1 Earthen pots from Arretium, a town of Etruria.

LIV. TO FUSCUS.

If, Fuscus, you have room to receive still more affection, (for you have friends around you on all sides), I ask you one place in your heart, if one still remains vacant, and that you will not refuse because I am a stranger to you: all your old friends were so once. Simply consider whether he who is presented to you a stranger is likely to become an old friend.

LV. TO FRONTO.

If you, Fronto, so distinguished an ornament of military and civil life, desire to learn the wishes of your friend Marcus, he prays for this, to be the tiller of his own farm, nor that a large one, and he loves inglorious repose in as unpretending sphere. Does any one haunt the porticoes of cold variegated Spartan marble, and run to offer, like a fool, his morning greetings, when he might, rich with the spoils of grave and field, unfold before his fire his well-filled nets, and lift the leaping fish with the quivering line, and draw forth the yellow honey from the red1 cask, while a plump housekeeper loads his unevenly-propped table, and his own eggs are cooked by an unbought fire? That the man who loves not me may not love this life, is my wish; and let him drag out life pallid with the cares of the city.

1 Stained with vermilion.

LVI. TO A VINTNER.

Harassed with continual rains, the vineyard drips with wet. You cannot sell us, vintner, even though you wish, neat wine.

LVII. TO FLACCUS.

Do you ask what sort of maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy, and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures, nor that which cloys.

LVIII. DE PUERI PRETIO.

[Untranslated]

LIX. TO FLACCUS.

The sportula1 at Baiae brings me in a hundred farthings; of what use is such a miserable sum in the midst of such sumptuous baths? Give me back the darksome baths of Lupus and Gryllus. When I sup so scantily, Flaccus, why should I bathe so luxuriously?

1 Sportula. A present from the richer class to the poorer; nominally the price of a supper. See Dict. Antiqq. s. v.

LX. ON THE LION AND HARE.

Hare, although you enter the wide jaws of the fierce lion, still he imagines his mouth to be empty. Where is the back on which he shall rush? where the shoulders on which he shall flail? where shall he fix those deep bites which he inflicts on young bulls? why do you in vain weary the lord and monarch of the groves? 'Tis only on the wild prey of his choice that he feeds.

LXI. TO LICINIANUS, ON THE COUNTRIES OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.

Verona loves the verses of her learned Poet; Mantua is blest in her Maro; the territory of Apona is renowned for its Livy, its Stella, and not less for its Flaccus. The Nile, whose waters are instead of rain, applauds its Apollodorus; the Pelignians vaunt their Ovid. Eloquent Cordova speaks of its two Senecas and its single and preeminent Lucan. Voluptuous Gades delights in her Canius,1 Emerita in my friend Decianus. Our Bilbilis will be proud of you, Licinianus, nor will be altogether silent concerning me.

1 See b. iii. Ep. 20.

LXII. ON LAEVINA.

Laevina, so chaste as to rival even the Sabine women of old, and more austere than even her stern husband, chanced, while entrusting herself sometimes to the waters of the Lucrine lake, sometimes to those of Avernus, and while frequently refreshing herself in the baths of Baiae, to fall into flames of love, and, leaving her husband, fled with a young gallant. She arrived a Penelope, she departed a Helen.

LXIII. TO CELER.

You ask me to recite to you my Epigrams. I cannot oblige you; for you wish not to hear them, Celer, but to recite them.1

1 To plagiarise them from me, and then to recite them as your own.

LXIV. TO FABULLA.

You are pretty,----we know it; and young,----it is true; and rich,----who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young.

LXV. TO CAECILIANUS.

When I said ficus, you laughed at it as a barbarous word, Caecilianus, and bade me say ficos. I shall call the produce of the fig-tree ficus; yours I shall call ficos.1

1 An untranslatable jest on the double meaning of the word ficus, which, when declined ficus, -i, means piles or someone afflicted with it; and when ficus -lis, a fig-tree.

LXVI. TO A PLAGIARIST.

You are mistaken, insatiable thief of my writings, who think a poet can be made for the mere expense which copying, and a cheap volume cost. The applause of the world is not acquired for six or even ten sesterces. Seek out for this purpose verses treasured up, and unpublished efforts, known only to one person, and which the father himself of the virgin sheet, that has not been worn and scrubbed by bushy chins, keeps sealed up in his desk. A well-known book cannot change its master. But if there is one to be found vet unpolished by the pumice-stone, yet unadorned with bosses and cover, buy it: I have such by me, and no one shall know it. Whoever recites another's compositions, and seeks for fame, must buy, not a book, but the author's silence.

LXVII. TO CHOERILUS.

"You are too free-spoken," is your constant remark to me, Choerilus. He who speaks against you, Choerilus, is indeed a free speaker.1

1 Free from all restraint, for he may say all sorts of things against you without fear of contradiction.

LXVIII. ON RUFUS.

Whatever Rufus does, Naevia is all in all to him. Whether he rejoices, or mourns, or is silent, it is ever Naevia. He eats, he drinks, he asks, he refuses, he gesticulates, Naevia alone is in his thoughts: if there were no Naevia, he would be mute. When he had written a dutiful letter yesterday to his father, he ended it with, "Naevia, light of my eyes, Naevia, my idol, farewell" Naevia read these words, and laughed with downcast looks. Naevia is not yours only: what madness is this, foolish man?

LXIX. TO MAXIMUS.

Tarentos,3 which was wont to exhibit the statue of Pan, begins now, Maximus, to exhibit that of Canius.

3 Tarentos, a place in the Campus Martius, in which was a temple consecrated to Plato, and filled with statues of Pan, the Satyrs, and other deities or remarkable personages. On Canius, a humorous poet of Gades, whose statue, it appears, was put there with Pan's, see above, Ep. 61; B. iii. Ep. 29.

LXX. TO HIS BOOK.

Go, my book, and pay my respects for me: you are ordered to go, dutiful volume, to the splendid halls of Proculus. Do you ask the way? I will tell you. You will go along by the temple of Castor, near that of ancient Vesta, and that goddess's virgin home. Thence you will pass to the majestic Palatine edifice on the sacred hill, where glitters many a statue of the supreme ruler of the empire. And let not the ray-adorned mass of the Colossus detain you, a work which is proud of surpassing that of Rhodes. But turn aside by the way where the temple of the wine-bibbing Bacchus rises, and where the couch of Cybele stands adorned with. pictures of the Corybantes. Immediately on the left is the dwelling with its splendid facade, and the halls of the lofty mansion which you are to approach. Enter it; and fear not its haughty looks or proud gate; no entrance affords more ready access; nor is there any house more inviting for Phoebus and the learned sisters to love. If Proculus shall say, "But why does he not come himself?" you may excuse me thus, "Because he could not have written what is to be read here, whatever be its merit, if he had come to pay his respects in person."

LXXI. TO SLEEP.

Let Laevia be toasted with six cups,. Justine with seven, Lycas with five, Lyde with four, Ida with three. Let the number of letters in the name of each of our mistresses be equalled by the number of cups of Falernian. But, since none of them comes, come you, Sleep, to me.

LXXII. TO FIDENTINUS, A PLAGIARIST.

Do you imagine, Fidentinus, that you are a poet by the aid of my verses, and do you wish to be thought so? Just so does Aegle think she has teeth from having purchased bone or ivory. Just so does Lycoris, who is blacker than the falling mulberry, seem fair in her own eyes, because she is painted. You too, in the same way that you are a poet, will have flowing locks when you are grown bald.

LXXIII. TO CAECILIANUS.

These was no one in the whole city, Caecilianus, who desired to meddle with your wife, even gratis, while permission was given; but now, since you have set a watch upon her, the crowd of gallants is innumerable. You are a clever fellow!

LXXIV. TO PAULA.

He was your gallant, Paula; you could however deny it He is become your husband; can you deny it now, Paula? 1

1 He was said to be your gallant when your first husband was alive. You then denied it. You married him as soon as your husband died. Will you deny it now?

LXXV. ON LINUS.

He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.

LXXVI. TO VALERIUS FLACCUS.1

Flaccus, valued object of my solicitude, hope and nursling of the city of Antenor,2 put aside Pierian strains and the lyre of the Sisters; none of those damsels will give you money. What do you expect from Phoebus? The cheat of Minerva contains the cash; she alone is wise, she alone lends to all the gods. What can the ivy of Bacchus give? The dark tree of Pallas bends down its variegated boughs under the load of fruit. Helicon, besides its waters and the garlands and lyres of the goddesses, and the great but empty applause of the multitude, has nothing. What have you to do with Cirrha? What with bare Permessis? The Roman forum is nearer and more lucrative. There is heard the chink of money; but around our desks and barren chairs kisses 3 alone resound.

Though midst the noblest poets you have place, Flaccus, the offering of Antenor's race; Renounce the Muses' songs and charming quire, For none of them enrich, though they inspire. Court not Apollo, Pallas has the gold; She 's wise, and does the gods in mortgage hold. What profit is there in an ivy wreath? Its fruits the loaden olive sinks beneath. In Helicon there's nought but springs and bays, The Muses' harps loud sounding empty praise.

1 The author of the Argonautica. 2 The city of Patavium, founded by Antenor 3 As tokens of applause.

LXXVII. ON CHARINUS.

Charinus is perfectly well, and yet he is pale; Charinus drinks sparingly, and yet he is pale; Charinus digests well, and yet he is pale; Charinus suns himself and yet he is pale; Charinus dyes his skin, and yet he is pale; Charinus indulges in [infamous debauchery], and yet he is pale.1

1 That is, he does not blush at his infamy.

LXXVIII. ON FESTUS, WHO STABBED HIMSELF.

When a devouring malady attacked his unoffending throat, and its black poison extended its ravages over his face, Festus, consoling his weeping friends, while his own eyes were dry, determined to seek the Stygian lake. He did not however pollute his pious mouth with secret poison, or aggravate his sad fate by lingering famine, but ended his pure life by a death befitting a Roman, and freed his spirit in a nobler way. This death fame may place above that of the great Cato; for Domitian was Festus' friend.2

2 Cato said that he died to avoid looking on the face of the tyrant Caesar.

LXXIX. TO ATTALUS, A BUSY-BODY.

Attalus, you are ever acting the barrister, or acting the man of business: whether there is or is not a part for you to act, Attalus, you are always acting a part. If lawsuits and business are not to be found, Attalus, you act the mule-driver. Attalus, lest a part should be wanting for you to act, act the part of executioner on yourself..

You act the pleader, and you act the man Of business; acting is your constant plan: So prone to act, the coachman's part is tried; Lest all parts fail you, act the suicide.       L. H. S.

LXXX. TO CANUS.

On the last night of your lift, Canus, a sportula was the object of your wishes. I suppose the cause of your death was, Canus, that there was only one.1

1 He had hoped for several largesses; he died of mortification at receiving only one.

LXXXI. TO SOSIBIANUS.

You know that you are the son of a slave, and you ingenuously confess it, when you call your father, Sosibianus, "master".2

2 The mother of Sosibianus had been guilty of adultery with a slave. When Sosibianus calls his reputed father Dominus, as a title of respect, but which was also a term for a master of slaves, he confessed himself a verna, or born-slave.

LXXXII. ON REGULUS.

See from what mischief this portico, which, overthrown amid clouds of dust, stretches its long ruins over the ground, lies absolved. For Regulus had but just been carried in his litter under its arch, and had got out of the way, when forthwith, borne down by its own weight, it fell; and, being no longer in fear for its master, it came down free from blood-guiltiness, a harmless ruin, without any attendant anxiety. After the fear of so great a cause for complaint is passed, who would deny, Regulus, that you, for whose sake the fall was harmless, are an object of care to the gods?

LXXXIII. ON MANNEIA.

Your lap-dog, Manneia, licks your mouth and lips: I do not wonder at a dog liking to eat ordure.1

1 A sarcasm on the foulness of Manneia's breath.

LXXXIV. ON QUIRINALIS.

Quirinalis, though he wishes to have children, has no intention of taking a wife, and has found out in what way he can accomplish his object. He takes to him his maid-servants, and fills his house and his lands with slave-knights.2 Quirinalis is a true pater-familias.

2 Equitibus vernis. (See Heinrich on Juv. ix. 10.)  Eques verna, the offspring of a knight and a slave.

LXXXV. ON AN AUCTIONEER.

A wag of an auctioneer, offering for sale some cultivated heights, and some beautiful acres of land near the city, says, "If any one imagines that Marius is compelled to sell, he is mistaken; Marius owes nothing: on the contrary, he rather has money to put out at interest." "What is his reason, then, for selling?" "In this place he lost all his slaves, and his cattle, and his profits; hence he does not like the locality." Who would have made any offer, unless he had wished to lose all his property? So the ill-fated land remains with Marius.

LXXXVI. ON NOVIUS.

Novius is my neighbour, and may be reached by the hand from my windows. Who would not envy me, and think me a happy man every hour of the day when I may enjoy the society of one so near to me? But, he is as far removed from me as Terentianus, who is now governor of Syene on the Nile. I am not privileged either to live with him, or even see him, or hear him; nor in the whole city is there any one at once so near and so far from me. I must remove farther off, or he must. If any one wishes not to see Novius, let him become his neighbour or his fellow-lodger.

My neighbour Hunks's house and mine Are built so near they almost join; The windows too project so much, That through the casements we may touch. Nay, I'm so happy, most men think, To live so near a man of chink, That they are apt to envy me, For keeping such good company: But he's far from me, I vow, As London is from good Lord Howe; For when old Hunks I chance to meet, Or one or both must quit the street. Thus he who would not see old Roger, Must be his neighbour----or his lodger.    Swift

LXXXVII. TO FESCENNIA.

That you may not be disagreeably fragrant with your yesterday's wine, you devour, luxurious Fescennia, certain of Cosmus's1 perfumes. Breakfasts of such a nature leave their mark on the teeth, but form no barrier against the emanations which escape from the depths of the stomach. Nay, the fetid smell is but the worse when mixed with perfume, and the double odour of the breath is carried but the farther. Cease then to use frauds but too well known, and disguises well understood; and simply intoxicate yourself!

1 Cosmus: a celebrated perfumer of the day, and frequently mentioned.

LXXXVIII. ON ALCIMUS.

Alcimus, whom, snatched from your lord in your opening years, the Labican earth covers with light turf, receive, not a nodding mass of Parian marble,----an unenduring monument which misapplied toil gives to the dead,----but shapely box-trees and the dark shades of the palm leaf, and dewy flowers of the mead which bloom from being watered with my tears. Receive, dear youth, the memorials of my grief: this tribute will live for you in all time. When Lachesis shall have spun to the end of my last hour, I shall ask no other honours for my ashes.

LXXXIX. TO CINNA.

You always whisper into every one's ear, Cinna; you whisper even what might be said in the hearing of the whole world. You laugh, you complain, you dispute, you weep, you sing, you criticise, you are silent, you are noisy; and all in one's ear. Has this disease so thoroughly taken possession of you, that you often praise Caesar, Cinna, in the ear? 1

1 When his praise ought to be proclaimed aloud everywhere.

XC. ON BASSA.

Inasmuch as I never saw you, Bassa, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and report in no case assigned to you a favoured lover; but every duty about your person was constantly performed by a crowd of your own sex, without the presence of even one man; you seemed to me, I confess it, to be a Lucretia.

XCI. TO LAELIUS.

You do not publish your own verses, Laelius; you criticise mine. Pray cease to criticise mine, or else publish your own.

You blame my verses and conceal your own: Either publish yours, or else let mine alone!                                                   Anon. 1695.

XCII. TO MAMURIANUS.

Cestus with tears in his eyes often complains to me, Hamurianus, of being touched with your finger. You need not use your finger merely; take Cestos all to yourself if nothing else is wanting in your establishment, Mamurianus.2 But if you have neither fire, nor legs for your bare bedstead, nor broken basin of Chione or Antiope;3 if a cloak greasy and worn hangs down your back, and a Gallic jacket covers only half of your loins; and if you feed on the smell alone of the dark kitchen, and drink on your knees dirty water with the dog;

Non culum, neque enim est cuius, qui non cacat olim, Sed fodiam digito qui super est oculum.4 Nec me zelotypum nec dixeris esse malignum: Denique paedica, Mamuriane, satur.

2 Mamurianus is ridiculed for his sordid and licentious life. He had but one eye, as appears from what is said below. Cestus was Martial's servant. 3 Names of courtesans, from whom Martial intimates that Mamurianus would accept broken vessels. 4 A play on the words culus and oculus. A common threat was, "Oculos tibieffodiam," often used in Plautus.

XCIII. ON AQUINUS AND FABRICIUS.

Here reposes Aquinas, reunited to his faithful Fabricius, who rejoices in having preceded him to the Elysian retreats. This double altar bears record that each was honoured with the rank of chief centurion; but that praise is of still greater worth which you read in this shorter inscription: Both were united in the sacred bond of a well-spent life, and, what is rarely known to fame, were friends.

XCIV. TO AEGLE THE FELLATRIX.

[Not translated in the Bohn - adapted from the Loeb]

Badly you sang while you fornicated, Aegle.  Now you sing well; but I won't kiss you.

XCV. TO AELIUS.

In constantly making a clamour, and obstructing the pleaders with your noise, Aelius, you act not without an object; you look for pay to hold your tongue.

That bawlers you out-bawl, the busy crush, No idler you, who bring to sale your hush.                                        Elphinston.

XCVI. TO HIS VERSE, ON A LICENTIOUS CHARACTER.

If it is not disagreeable, and does not annoy you, my verse, say, I pray, a word or two in the ear of our friend Maternus, so that he alone may hear. That admirer of sad-coloured coats, clad in the costume of the banks of the river Baetis, and in grey garments, who deems the wearers of scarlet not men, and calls amethyst-coloured robes the dress of women, however much he may praise natural hues, and be always seen in dark colours, has at the same time morals of an extremely flagrant hue. You will ask whence I suspect him of effeminacy. We go to the same baths; Do you ask me who this is? His name has escaped me.

XCVII. TO NAEVOLUS.

When every one is talking, then and then only, Naevolus, do you open your month; and you think yourself an advocate and a pleader. In such a way every one may be eloquent. But see, everybody is silent; say something now, Naevolus.

XCVIII. TO FLACCUS, ON DIODORUS.

Diodorus goes to law, Flaccus, and has the gout in his feet But he pays his counsel nothing; surely he has the gout also in his hands.

XCIX. TO CALENUS.

But a short time since, Calenus, you had not quite two millions of sesterces; but you were so prodigal and open-handed, and hospitable, that all your friends wished you ten millions. Heaven heard the wish and our prayers; and within, I think, six months, four deaths gave you the desired fortune. But you, as if ten millions had not been left to you, but taken from you, condemned yourself to such abstinence, wretched man, that you prepare even your most sumptuous feasts, which you provide only once in the whole year, at the cost of but a few dirty pieces of black coin; and we, seven of your old companions, stand you in just half a pound of leaden money. What blessing are we to invoke upon you worthy of such merits? We wish you, Calenus, a fortune of a hundred millions. If this falls to your lot, you will die of hunger.

C. ON AFRA.

Afra talks of her papas and her mammas; but she herself may be called the grandmamma of her papas and mammas.

CI. ON THE DEATH OF HIS AMANUENSIS DEMETRIUS.

Demetrius, whose hand was once the faithful confidant of my verses, so useful to his master, and so well known to the Caesars, has yielded up his brief life in its early prime. A fourth harvest had been added to his years, which previously numbered fifteen. That he might not, however, descend to the Stygian shades as a slave, I, when the accursed disease had seized and was withering him, took precaution, and remitted to the sick youth all my right over him as his master; he was worthy of restoration to health through my gift.1 He appreciated, with failing faculties, the kindness which he had received; and on the point of departing, a free man, to the Tartarean waters, saluted me as his patron.

1 I.e. I wish my gift could have restored him to health.

CII. TO LYCORIS.

The painter who drew your Venus, Lycoris, paid court, I suppose, to Minerva.2

2 Represented Venus less beautiful than she is, in order to please Minerva, her rival for the golden apple.

CIII. TO SCAEVOLA.

"If the gods were to give me a fortune of a million sesterces," you used to say, Scaevola, before you were a full knight,1 "oh how would I live! how magnificently, how happily!" The complaisant deities smiled and granted your wish. Since that time your toga has become much more dirty, your cloak worse; your shoe has been sewn up three and four times; of ten olives the greater portion is always put by, and one spread of the table serves for two meals; the thick dregs of pink Vejentan wine are your drink; a plate of lukewarm peas costs you a penny; your mistress a penny likewise. Cheat and liar, let us go before the tribunal of the gods; and either live, Scaevola, as befits you, or restore to the gods your million sesterces.

1 That is, before you had four hundred thousand sesterces; which was the fortune that a man must have before he could be a knight

CIV. ON A SPECTACLE IN THE ARENA.

When we see the leopard bear upon his spotted neck a light and easy yoke, and the furious tigers endure with patience the blows of the whip; the stags champ the golden curbs; the Libyan bears tamed by the bit; a boar, huge as that which Calydon is said to have produced, obey the purple muzzle; the ugly buffaloes drag chariots, and the elephant, when ordered to dance nimbly, pay prompt obedience to his swarthy leader; who would not imagine such things a spectacle given by the gods? These, however, any one disregards as of inferior attraction who sees the condescension of the lions, which the swift-footed timorous hares fatigue in the chase. They let go the little animals, catch them again, and caress them when caught, and the latter are safer in their captors' mouths than elsewhere; since the lions delight in granting them free passage through their open jaws, and in holding their teeth as with fear, for they are ashamed to crush the tender prey, after having just come from slaying bulls; This clemency does not proceed from art; the lions know whom they serve.

CV. TO QUINTUS OVIDIUS.

The wine, Ovidius, which is grown in the Nomentan fields, in proportion as it receives the addition of years, puts off, through age, its character and name; and the jar thus ancient receives whatever name you please.1

1 Being mellowed by age, it maybe called Falernian, Cecuban, or any other name given to the best wines.

CVI. TO RUFUS.

Rufus, you often pour water into your wine, and, if hard pressed by your companion, you drink just a cup now and then of diluted Falernian. Pray, is it that Naevia has promised you a night of bliss; and you prefer by sobriety to enhance your enjoyment? You sigh, you are silent, you groan: she has refused you. You may drink, then, and often, cups of four-fold size, and drown in wine your concern at her cruelty. Why do you spare yourself, Rufus? You have nothing before you but to sleep.

CVII. TO LUCIUS JULIUS.

You often say to me, dearest Lucius Julius, "Write something great: you take your ease too much." Give me then leisure,----but leisure such as that which of old Maecenas gave to his Horace and his Virgil -- and I would endeavour to write something which should live through time, and to snatch my name from the flames of the funeral pyre. Steers are unwilling to carry their yoke into barren fields. A fat soil fatigues, but the very labour bestowed on it is delightful.

CVIII. TO GALLUS.

You possess----and may it be yours and grow larger through a long series of years----a house, beautiful I admit, but on the other side of the Tiber. But my garret looks upon the laurels of Agrippa; and in this quarter I am already grown old. I must move, in order to pay you a morning call, Gallus, and you deserve this consideration, even if your house were still farther off. But it is a small matter to you, Gallus, if I add one to the number of your toga-clad visitors; while it is a great matter to me, if I withhold that one. I myself will frequently pay my respects to you at the tenth hour.1 This morning my book shall wish you "good day" in my stead.

1 The tenth hour from sunrise, corresponding to our four o'clock is the afternoon. SeeB. iv. Ep. 8.

CIX. ON A PET DOG AND THE PAINTER.

Issa is more playful than the sparrow of Catullus. Issa is more pure than the kiss of a dove. Issa is more loving than any maiden. Issa is dearer than Indian gems. The little dog Issa is the pet of Publius. If she complains, you will think she speaks. She feels both the sorrow and the gladness of her master. She lies reclined upon his neck, and sleeps, so that not a respiration is heard from her. And, however pressed, she has never sullied the coverlet with a single spot; but rouses her master with a gentle touch of her foot, and begs to be set down from the bed and relieved. Such modesty resides in this chaste little animal; she knows not the pleasures of love; nor do we find a mate worthy of so tender a damsel. That her last hour may not carry her off wholly, Publius has her limned in a picture, in which you will see an Issa so like, that not even herself is so like herself. In a word, place Issa and the picture side by side, and you will imagine either both real, or both painted.

CX. TO VELOX.

You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.1

1 Imperfect; abortive; ending in nothing.

CXI. TO REGULUS, ON SENDING HIM A BOOK AND A PRESENT OF FRANKINCENSE.

Since your reputation for wisdom, and the care which you bestow on your labours, are equal, and since your piety is not inferior to your genius, he who is surprised that a book and incense are presented to you, Regulus, is ignorant how to adapt presents to deserts.

CXII. ON PRISCUS, A USURER.

When I did not know you, I used to address you as my lord and king. Now, since I know you well, you shall be plain Priscus with me.

CXIII. TO THE READER.

If, reader, you wish to employ some good hours badly, and are an enemy to your own leisure, you will obtain whatever sportive verses I produced in my youth and boyhood, and all my trifles, which even I myself have forgotten, from Quintus Pollius Valerianus, who has resolved not to let my light effusions perish.

CXIV. TO FAUSTINUS.

These gardens adjoining your domain, Faustinus, and these small fields and moist meadows, Telesphorus Faenius owns. Here he has deposited the ashes of his daughter, and has consecrated the name, which you read, of Antulla;----though his own name should rather have been read there. It had been more just that the father should have gone to the Stygian shades; but, since this was not permitted, may he live to honour his daughter's remains.

CXV. TO PROCILLUS.

A certain damsel, envious Procillus, is desperately in love with me,----a nymph more white than the spotless swan, than silver, than snow, than lily, than privet: already you will be thinking of hanging yourself, But I long for one darker than night, than the ant, than pitch, than the jack-daw, than the cricket. If I know you well, Procillus, you will spare your life.

CXVI. ON THE TOMB OF ANTULLA.

This grove, and these fair acres of cultivated land, Faenius has consecrated to the eternal honour of the dead. In this tomb is deposited Antulla, too soon snatched from her family: in this tomb each of her parents will be united to her. If any one desires this piece of ground, I warn him not to hope for it; it is for ever devoted to its owners.

CXVII. TO LUPERCUS.

Whenever you meet me, Lupercus, you constantly say, "Shall I send my servant, for you to give him your little book of Epigrams, which I will read and return to you directly?" There is no reason, Lupercus, to trouble your servant. It is a lone journey, if he wishes to come to the Pirus;1 and I live up three pairs of stairs, and those high ones. What you want you may procure nearer at hand. You frequently go down to the Argiletum: opposite Caesar's forum is a shop, with pillars on each side covered over with titles of books, so that you may quickly run over the names of all the poets. Procure me there; you will no sooner ask Atrectus,----such is the name of the owner of the shop,----than he will give you, from the first or second shelf a Martial, well smoothed with pumice-stone, and adorned with purple, for five denarii "You are not worth so much," do you say? You are right, Lupercus.

1 The pear-tree. The name of some spot near which Martial lived.

CXVIII. TO CAEDICIANUS.

For him who is not satisfied with reading a hundred epigrams, no amount of trouble is sufficient, Caedicianus.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, Ipswich, UK, 2008. This file and all material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using unicode.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts

[wandering-wizardry]

Baby Witches guide to the Elements

Firstly, what are they?

x

Well, to get a good sense of which elements I’m speaking of, I would suggest exploring this tag. The four main ones are Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. If someone says the five elements their adding Spirit to that. Beyond that the alchemists list adds Salt, Mercury, and Sulfur. A spiritualist view can add Light, Dark, Time, Chaos, Death, Life, Luck, and more.

For this, I’m referring to the four base elements plus Spirit, which is what I use in most circumstances(I will sometimes use what I referred to as the spiritualist ones, and I have seen them used a lot in spirit classification. Whether this is because all of the online witchcraft community is too into Pokemon is hard to say).

   ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥

So, what are they actually?

You know how animals are classified into kingdoms? You have your mammals, fish, reptiles, birds, whatever octopi are. The elements are that, but for magick. It’s a classification system.

But it’s also much more than that. Because magic has the quality where anything that takes on enough meaning will have a conscience of it’s own. So, each of the elements, on top of being a classification system, is also a being in and of itself that is the patron of everything it classifies, and seeing as each element classifies 1/4th of all things in existence the beings behind then are very powerful.

   ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥

Okay, so now I have this cool thing. What do i do with it?

Good question, which I rarely see answered on this site. New witches get a lot of info thrown at them with no instruction on how to use it, and then get yelled at when they don’t know what they’re doing.

Calling the Corners: A wiccan rite where before a spell each element is called to give the spell their blessing and lend it power. I don’t personally do this as I’m not wiccan, but it’s a perfectly valid use.

Calling a specific element in a spell: This is something I do! When you have a spell, it will fall under the domain of one of the elements(sometimes more). You can call on that specific element to bolster and guide the spell.

Classification: You will see this everywhere. Zodiac, deities, tools, herbs, crystals, you name it. Even you are classified under one or two elements(I’m earth and fire)! Many things will have traditional classifications, such as Tarot suits. You can disagree with these!!! I personally switch swords and wands because how the hell are swords air and not fire?

Spirit work: Just as a heads up I’m not super well versed in spirits so take this part with a grain of salt. Spirits are often classified with the spiritualistic version of the elements. Angels being spirits of Order, The Gentry of Chaos(in general), Demons of Power(Or Death, Darkness, Knowledge). I’ve seen this used when a practitioner only wishes to work with spirits of say, Luck. Or if a Spirit Worker is calling on a spirit of Light for aid. If you’re interested in spirit work I would suggest getting this book as I’ve heard it’s one of the best resources to start.

   ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥ ♦♣♠♥

The Elements can be a very useful tool in Magick of every kind, and should be treated as such. This is all my personal experience, and if anyone would like to add or critique anything I encourage it. 

Have fun, do magick, be safe, only break things that aren’t important.

[the-light-followed]

EQUAL RITES (1987) [DISC. #3; WITCHES #1]

“‘Where does it say it?’ said Granny triumphantly.  ‘Where does it say women can’t be wizards?’  

The following thoughts sped through Cutangle’s mind:

…It doesn’t say it anywhere, it says it everywhere.  

…But young Simon seemed to say that everywhere is so much like nowhere that you can’t really tell the difference.  

…Do I want to be remembered as the first Archchancellor to allow women into the University?  Still…I’d be remembered, that’s for sure.”

Rating: 6/10

Standalone Okay: Yes

Read First: Yeah, if you like magic and bad puns, you’ll be fine.

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

Equal Rites does not mess around.  It’s early Discworld, so you’ve still got a little bit of that High Fantasy vibe to it, where sometimes Pratchett just spews fantastical-sounding terms and concepts so that the reader can’t forget that This is Fantasy, We Are Not in Kansas Anymore, Folks!  And to be perfectly honest, a lot of the plot, especially the early stuff, is kind of forgettable.  There’s a lot of people talking to people about doing stuff before the actual doing gets done, if you know what I mean.

But that doesn’t really matter, because Equal Rites has important shit to say and, by god, Pratchett is going to say it. And in case you didn’t bother to read the book itself, you can tell just by looking at the title that a) it’s about gender inequality in the magical community, and b) there’s going to be puns. So many puns.  Sir Terry, please, take pity on me.  I just don’t have the time to go around explaining to every person I meet on the street why this kind of thing makes me absolutely batshit feral for the Discworld.  

I love it so much.

Anyway.  Equal Rites is the story of Eskarina Smith, or Esk, the first ever female to be born a wizard.  The whole concept of ‘the eighth son of an eighth son is chosen by the magical staff of a dying wizard to become a new wizard’ brings up a lot of questions for me—a lot of questions that will never be answered—but if I ignore that and just accept that it’s true, then by Discworld tradition Esk is undeniably a wizard. She is the eighth, uh, child of an eighth son, chosen at birth by the magical staff of a wizard who promptly dies and decides to be reincarnated as a weirdly randy tree and then, later, as an ant.

…Cool, I guess.

More importantly, and also by Discworld tradition, Esk undeniably cannot be a wizard, because she’s born female.  Honestly, Pratchett might as well have named this Sit Down and Shut Up While I Talk About Gender Roles and Gender Inequality, You All Are Going to Listen to Me Because I’m Going to Make Bad Puns While I Do It.

Over the course of the book, Pratchett does some deep dives into what it means to be a witch, what it means to be a wizard, how they’re the same, how they’re different—and why none of that actually matters.  For something published over thirty years ago, I think Equal Rites holds up incredibly well as a conversation on gender and society, and it’s still just as relevant as ever.  It just goes to show that a) writing with thought, kindness, and care makes for a timeless product, and b) society really hasn’t made that much progress since 1987, has it?  It’s a little sad that the issues Pratchett wants us to think about here are still just as recognizable and just as common in the world as they were thirty-three years ago.

(Kind of as a side note, there are definitely things I don’t think Pratchett considered about the basic premise he’s set up, namely that just because Esk was born with a certain set of genitals, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything about her gender.  I’ve seen a lot of discussion, especially on the internet, about trans Esk, and trans wizards and witches, and what that would mean for the Discworld universe—really interesting stuff, things people should definitely look into, but not what I’m going to focus on here.  I would highly recommend that people think about it, especially cis people like me. It would be wrong to go through Equal Rites without even bringing it up, even if I read the text as more as a discussion of gender roles rather than gender identity. Since Pratchett was a cishet man writing this in the 80s, I’m also willing to bet it’s what he was intending. But it’s still an important conversation to have.)

Anyway, let’s jump in and look at the dichotomy that Pratchett is setting up for us!

What is a witch?  What is a wizard?  How are they the same, and how are they different?  Why does that split matter?

I did the messy work of going through my copy of the book and highlighting every instance where definitions are provided for ‘witches’ and ‘wizards,’ specifically so that I could run a compare-contrast, and I want to point out right off the bat that basically all of the details on so-called ‘defining’ features of these two schools of magic are provided through characters and their POV—direct dialogue and thoughts—not by word-of-god narration or omniscient POV.  So, obviously, we have to run all this through the internal bias filter; this stuff is all what people believe about wizards, witches, and magic, not necessarily how things are.

What makes a witch, according to Equal Rites:

Magic out of the ground

Dress in black to look the part

Witches bow. They’ve got to be different from everyone else; it’s “part of the secret” (headology)

Cunning, old (or they try to look it)

Suspicious, homely, and organic magic

Appearance of magic can do more work than actual magic (headology)

“Leaving the world as it was and changing the people”

They can “Borrow” and work gently

“Fighting her [Granny] was like swatting a fly on your own nose”: if you don’t struggle and make waves, you can do a lot with less outright power

Do the messy, practical stuff, not just the flash

Always, “without exception, women”

What makes a wizard:

Magic out of the sky

Over-the-top ways of dressing up to look the part, often with robes and sequins

“Books and stars and jommetry.”  (Granny absolutely does not know what geometry is, or what it is for.)

“Talked too much and pinned spells down in books like butterflies,” and looked at “numbers and angles and edges and what the stars are doing”

Wise, old

Powerful, complex, and mysterious magics

Magic is condensed out of the air and into the staff, and used by the wizard

“Magic changed the world in some way, wizards thought there was no other use for it”

Can’t “Borrow,” only take/seize control

Too busy with the “infinite” and “never noticing the definite”

 Always, “without exception, men”

Witches “normally work with what actually exists in the world,” while a wizard can give thoughts shape, “put flesh on his imagination.” Witches learn to walk softly and move over and around an obstacle, while wizards puff up and fight to go straight through it.

Witches “need a head.”  Wizards “need…a heart.”

In short, witches are self-taught, intuitive, grounded in reality, and fluid in their magic use—when they actually use it at all.  They work with what they feel and what they know about the world.  Wizards are academics and learn from set rules and their books, and their magic is often over-complex, overpowered, and difficult to control.  Wizards are more rigid and structured in their magic use—ritualistic, even—but less connected to reality or grounded in the real world.

And, of course, both groups wear fabulous outfits and dramatic pointed hats!

Just look at ‘em.  Such wonderful weirdos.

The more I look at the ‘definitions’ like this, all laid out and proper, the more I start to think that the witches who do things we would consider ‘bad’ witchcraft are just correctly using elements of wizardry. For example, think about Mrs. Earwig, with her books and rituals, her special tools and fancy dress code; even though she doesn’t focus on the world around her or the people in it, the way a ‘good’ witch would, she’s good at what she does, and so certain in herself that she can stare down the glamor of the Queen of the Elves without flinching in The Shepherd’s Crown.  On the other hand, we have our classic ‘bad’ wizard, Rincewind, who demonstrates some exceptionally witchy tendencies—he’s excellent at headology even if actual magic isn’t really in his wheelhouse, as Interesting Times makes pretty obvious.  And despite the fact that he’s a coward-sprinter who’d really rather avoid danger if at all possible, when it comes down to it, he’s still the man who’ll put himself between the world and a great evil with nothing but trembling knees, a spine reluctantly turned from water to iron, and a half-brick in a sock.  As Granny would say, he walks the line.

So, really, what does gender actually have to do with it? Why is there a distinction at all? Is it actually important?

And to make a long novel short, what Pratchett is saying in Equal Rites is that it’s not.  There’s no difference between witchcraft and wizardry that actually makes for a good reason for a gendered split.  Men aren’t inherently better at math and academia, or as Granny says, “jommetry;” women aren’t inherently more practical, emotional, or intuitive.  That’s a social construct, not a biological one.

And beyond that, even, there’s no real reason for the two ‘types’ of magic to be split up at all.  They might be different ways of operating, but it’s all magic.  Anyone could do either.  Or neither.  Or both.

There’s an early conversation between Death and the wizard whose mix-up with his staff marked Esk as a wizard—just after the man has died, when he’s realized that he’s passed his magic along to a female and, in his mind, made a terrible mistake.  “I was foolish,” he says, “I assumed the magic would know what it was doing.”  But instead of agreeing, Death tells him, “PERHAPS IT DOES.”

It all comes down to what Esk calls magic beyond magic—the reality of the thing beyond the concepts we’ve created to define and confine it.  If we’ve invented these distinctions between ‘types’ of magic, between ‘types’ of gender and the self, then what remains once we’ve removed them?  What happens when we peel them away and see what’s left behind? Why do we cling to our invented categories, the things that limit both sides and create conflict?

I really like that Equal Rites never puts Esk into a specific category.  She doesn’t end the book as a ‘true’ wizard or a ‘true’ witch, but she also doesn’t fully reject either.  As sad as I am that Pratchett never goes much deeper into Esk (her brief appearance in I Shall Wear Midnight doesn’t actually explain much), I’m fine with not having a concrete answer.  One, the other, both, neither—it’s not the point.  Magic is magic.  People are people.  Gender is, honestly, irrelevant.  Beyond the academic divides we’ve made for ourselves, it’s all the same stuff given different names.  Esk does magic, and she is herself, and in the end, she’s not bound by the limitations that witches and wizards put on their reality.

Infinite possibilities!

It’s something the other wizards and witches never get to have.  They’re so locked into what they believe magic to be, what they believe themselves to be, that they never really look outside those boxes.

It’s wild to me that the concept Pratchett is introducing here—specifically about wizards and witches and gender—basically disappears as long as Esk does.  Esk is a really cool character; the idea of female wizards and male witches is fascinating. I want more of all this.  So, I’m genuinely sad that Esk doesn’t reappear again until the Tiffany Aching books, specifically I Shall Wear Midnight—in 2010, more than twenty years after Equal Rites was published.  And we don’t get another wizard or witch or magic-user in general working outside their typical gender alignment until Geoffrey appears in 2015 in The Shepherd’s Crown and asks to become a witch, and even then, the witches take to calling him a ‘calm-weaver’ instead.

I like that the idea eventually comes full circle.  I don’t like that the circle takes thirty years, and goes basically unacknowledged in the meantime.

But the point Pratchett is making is still there in the Discworld, and it never really goes away.  Remember how I said earlier that this stuff—all this ‘witches do and are x, wizards do and are y, that’s how it has to be’ nonsense—it’s all what people believe about magic and such, not how things are?  Pratchett and Discworld are huge on belief.  Belief shapes reality, belief becomes real, and we see that over and over again.  But part of what Pratchett is saying here is that even if we all believe in something, then it doesn’t mean that it’s right.  Just because something is doesn’t mean it should be.

More importantly, though, it also doesn’t mean we’ve locked ourselves in place.  Esk proves that much.  We learn. We grow.  We change our understanding of our reality and ourselves, and we believe something different.  And then the world changes, too.

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

We get to see Granny Weatherwax for the first time!  She’s absolutely fabulous and I love this sharp-tongued bitter old lady so much.  In later books starring the witches we will focus in a lot more on Granny herself as a witch and a person, rather than just as a teacher.

Granny Weatherwax is said to live in the village of Bad Ass in Equal Rites.  In future books, she will live in Lancre.

There actually aren’t that many footnotes in this one.  Since I kind of just…expect footnotes to appear in every book Terry Pratchett touches, despite the fact that they’re super rare everywhere else, it’s almost weirder to not see a footnote every page and a half.

Esk does some magical nonsense—mainly by not realizing the magic she’s doing should be impossible—that ends up “changing the Discworld in thousands of tiny ways.”  This is probably part of Pratchett’s attempt to slowly shift what he started establishing in The Colour of Magic to what we’ll see in later Discworld books, moving from High Fantasy to more of a, I don’t know, steampunk-y magical surrealism?  What even is the Discworld, I ask you?  It’s impossible to describe.  But what Esk does to it here is described as follows: “the wavefront of probability struck the edge of Reality and rebounded like the slosh off the side of the pond which, meeting the laggard ripples coming the other way, caused small but important whirlpools in the very fabric of existence.  You can have whirlpools in the fabric of existence, because it is a very strange fabric.”

We get our first mention of sourcerers here in Equal Rites, but they’re not very well defined. We’re just told that they’re now extinct.  They’ll turn up in a lot more detail in a couple books, of course, once we get to Sourcery.

Favorite Quotes:

“I know what I mean, she told herself.  Magic’s easy, you just find the place where everything is balanced and push.  Anyone could do it.  There’s nothing magical about it.  All the funny words and waving the hands is just…it’s only for…  She stopped, surprised at herself.  She knew what she meant.  The idea was right up there in the front of her mind.  But she didn’t know how to say it in words, even to herself.”

“‘But,’ he said, ‘if it’s wizard magic she’s got, learning witchery won’t be any good, will it?  You said they’re different.’  ‘They’re both magic.  If you can’t learn to ride an elephant, you can at least ride a horse.’”

“The old witch yanked the staff out of its shadow and waved it vaguely at Esk.  ‘Here.  It’s yours. Take it.  I just hope this is the right thing to do.’  In fact the presentation of a staff to an apprentice wizard is usually a very impressive ceremony, especially if the staff has been inherited from an elder mage; by ancient lore there is a long and frightening ordeal involving masks and hoods and swords and fearful oaths about people’s tongues being cut out and their entrails torn by wild birds and their ashes scattered to the eight winds and so on.  After some hours of this sort of thing the apprentice can be admitted to the brotherhood of the Wise and Enlightened.  There is also a long speech.  By sheer coincidence Granny got the essence of it in a nutshell.”

“‘Never mind what I said, or common sense or anything.  Sometimes you just have to go the way things take you, and I reckon you’re going to wizard school one way or the other.’  Esk considered this.  ‘You mean it’s my destiny?’ she said at last.  Granny shrugged.  ‘Something like that.  Probably. Who knows?’”

“Animal minds are simple, and therefore sharp.  Animals never spend time dividing experience into little bits and speculating about all the bits they’ve missed.  The whole panoply of the universe has been neatly expressed to them as things to (a) mate with, (b) eat, (c) run away from, and (d) rocks.”

“‘Why are you holding that broomstick?’ he said.  Esk looked at it as though she had never seen it before.  ‘Everything’s got to be somewhere,’ she said.”

“Why was it that, when she heard Granny ramble on about witchcraft she longed for the cutting magic of wizardry, but whenever she heard Treatle speak in his high-pitched voice she would fight to the death for witchcraft?  She’d be both, or none at all.  And the more they intended to stop her, the more she wanted it.  She’d be a witch and a wizard too.  And she would show them.”

“‘Million-to-one chances,’ she said, ‘crop up nine times out of ten.’”

“For a moment he nursed the strangely consoling feeling that his life was totally beyond his control and whatever happened no one could blame him.”

[starlling-writes]

Bewitching Monsters - Leshen

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: swearing, sexual scenes Pairing: f/genderfluid BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist

A/N: If you reblog this, PLEASE DO NOT TAG IT AS WEND*GO! This is not a wend*go. While the leshen in this story might shift and appear similar to the common image of a one, it’s completely unrelated to any of the Indigenous Americans’ folklore of said creature. Sure, it’s a more well known tag than leshen, but that’s not the point. If I see you tagging this as wend*go, you’re gonna get blocked.

— — —

My limbs stung like hell as heat returned to them. Sitting up was a struggle, but I needed to move, needed to get my circulation up. I didn’t recognize where I was. It was a cozy log cabin a bit smaller than my own home. I didn’t remember how I got here.

After escaping the castle of some murderous vampires, I hopped on my broom and started my way home. I avoided the train, knowing they’d look for me there. Flying would take longer, but I was banking on the vampires checking my home and moving on by the time I got there. I also banked on Vérus not putting up with any lookout they might try leaving.

My broom was only able to carry me a few hours away before it needed to recharge. By then I was well into the woods. I took my cloak from my haversack to keep warm. While I didn’t need to worry about its warmth spell running out, it wasn’t a true solution against the cold. I quickly realized my folly in my rushed decision to stay off the beaten paths. There were plenty of dead branches around for a fire. But without some sort of shelter, this situation would quickly become as deadly as the one I just escaped from.

Someone had to have rescued me. But who? And how far off my path had they taken me?

“Hello?” I tentatively called out. The only things I heard were the crackling fire and the wind hissing outside.

Walking sent needles up through my legs. I wobbled my way through the house, checking the rooms, finding no one. The smell of fresh bread led me to the kitchen. There was a small loaf sitting on the table, cooling on a cloth, and the sight of it made my stomach grumble.

“Help yourself.”

I screamed and whipped around. I tripped over my feet and my hip met the edge of the table. Ignoring the pain burning in my side, I met the concerned eyes of a moth. If I had met them outside, I would have easily mistaken them for a snow sculpture if they stood still. Even their robes were icy white.

“Careful.” They tentatively held out a hand towards me, ready to assist. “Take it slow. You’re safe here. My name is Theophania.”

“Hello.” I bowed my head; it was a bit late for greetings but better than never. “You can call me Witch.”

“What were you doing in the woods?”

“Running from death.”

“Well you nearly meet it anyways.” She went to the fireplace and removed the lid from the cauldron hanging over the fire. The rich scent of stew wafted around me. “Soup is nearly done. Please, relax. You can eat in here or out on the couch. You can even eat while in the bath, if you so choose.” She laughed lightly to herself as she stirred the stew.

“I’m sorry, but where exactly am I?”

Theophania set down the spoon and replaced the lid on the cauldron. She turned and looked at me, her eyes haunting voids that revealed nothing. Her antenna, however, drooped back, giving me a sense of unease. “You’re in der Schwarzwald. Or Feldberg Forest, as most outsiders call it.”

You’ve heard tales of these woods. The forest was an entity of its own, one obstinately set against letting any society try to tame it. It wasn’t a place to go wandering. Tales say, if you were lucky, you’d just wander for endless hours and end up roughly where you started. If you weren’t lucky, the woods would become your grave. It was hard to say what stories were true and what ones were fanciful tales for entertainment.

As my situation sunk in, Theo slowly nodded. “Rest up. You’ll be meeting the waldschrat soon.”

Waldschrat—who or what was that?

 Theo was a lovely host during the two long days before I met the waldschrat. She gave me space, cooked phenomenal meals, and it was beyond cozy to snuggle with her on the couch while drinking tea.

While all that was nice, it didn’t dissuade my anxiety.

I knew it was time the moment Theo walked into the room. Her antennas were down flat and she held her hands tightly in front of her. I threw on my cloak and boots and followed her out.

The walk was silent, save for the crunching of snow under my feet. I thought of using my broom but now didn’t feel like the time to use any magic. Gods, the silence was imposing. Did anything else live in these woods? There were no other houses along our walk. I didn’t even find eyes watching from the shadows.

Theo stopped and I almost ran into her. My focus had been scattered everywhere else but snapped to mass of branches and moss in front of us. There was no snow on it. She grabbed my arm and yanked me down to my knees like her. Curse the freezing snow. As soon as she released me, I adjusted my cloak under the knees to fight against the chill.

The air rushed from behind us and swirled in a mini cyclone around the snowless mound. Then it moved. The mound grew and contorted, taking on the form of a satyr. A nightmarish satyr. A skull emerged from the branches, a raccoon I think. Blue fire sparked to life in its eyes. Ah. Waldschrat must be their term for leshen, I thought.

“Sorcerer,” crept a voice, like a whisper grew legs and skittered around like a frantic bug. “How did you come by my favor?”

It would be easier to answer if I knew what their favor was. The leshen approached, shifting as they did. Now they looked like a cervitaur with a fox skull—still nightmarish too. They hooked a claw under the twig necklace. Clarity struck. “A vampire named Aleril gave it to me before I fled Castelul Corvinilor.”

“Ah. Him.” They pulled their claw away, letting the necklace fall against my skin. It no longer felt like metal. I wanted to look, to see if it was different now, but I didn’t dare look away from the leshen. “Tell me, sorcerer. Can you cast a Grand Rite?”

“I can.”

“Then how about a bargain? I shall take you to the edge of my woods, if you perform the Rite.”

“Forgive my forwardness—why do you need a Grand Rite?”

The leshen shifted again to an amorphic mound of underbrush and detritus. “Sustenance has become scarce. I am hoping the Rite will help aid in the matter.”

Surely there were better rituals than the Grand Rite for such a thing, but I didn’t argue. “Has a druid not been able to help?”

“There’s no longer any close enough to bargain.”

“I see.” I wasn’t sure how much help I could be. I wanted to help; but as a witch, I wasn’t sure if what they were offering would equal the payment for such a ritual. I called to the Grand Scales. The ibis was sitting in its nest and regarded me for a long moment before making its decision. As I thought, the ritual required more. Hopefully the leshen won’t mind. “I can perform the Rite. However, as I am a witch, my magic will cost more than just safe travel.”

Judging by how they shifted back to a looming, monstrous form complete with wolf skull, I’d say the leshen wasn’t fond of my response. “What are your demands then?”

It was taking everything I had not to shiver. “As this is your forest, I’ll need you to participate in the Rite with me and lend some of your magic to the spell.”

They cocked their head like a quizzical animal. “Is that all?”

“No,” I hesitated. “I’ll need a spell in return.”

“What spell?” they growled.

Finding words was difficult now. “The Scales weren’t very… concise on that part. But there’s some spell you know that I apparently require.” When they didn’t respond, I rambled on. “Of course, I wouldn’t teach the spell with anyone else; and I swear by the Grand Scales to not abuse it. Or maybe you could just cast it for me when I need it, that way you don’t even have to teach it—”

“Very well,” they cut me off.

 The rest of the day, and into the next, everyone prepped for the ritual. There were a surprising number of forest folk now. Mostly, they gathered enough ribbon for the maypole—and dying more red ribbon. Some prepared food for a small feast afterwards. All simple work, but time consuming.

When it was time for the ritual, it was amazing to see how beautiful the ritual space was. Eight saplings circled the center, stretching up and meeting in the center to form a cage around the area I’d perform the Rite. At the top of the trees, the ribbons were secured in a red-white alternating pattern. Faerie lights bobbed around, giving off gentle light.

I approached the central area and noticed delicate runes carved into the saplings. In the middle laid a bed of furs. Hopefully they’d be enough to keep me warm because I wouldn’t be able to rely on my cloak during the ritual. I sat down and started meditating, getting into the proper headspace.

By the time I was ready, the leshen was already patiently waiting beside me in a humanoid form with an elk skull. “You ready?” I asked.

“At your leisure,” they nodded.

I removed my robe and shivered as goosebumps instantly covered my body—skyclad outside in winter was a bitch. I settled before my singing bowl, thankful for the furs. I picked up the mallet, hit the edge three times, then slowly drew the mallet around the rim of the bowl. The hum hung in the air as I carried out the start of the ritual. Just before the note died out, I rang the bowl three more times.

Then the band kicked up. Okay, it wasn’t much of a band, but there were enough drums, a couple fiddles, and a flute to make a nice tune. Other members of the forest took up their ribbons. I moved over to the leshen and straddled over them. They already shifted their form appropriately. Then, on cue, the forest dwellers started weaving the maypole ribbons as I lowered myself down onto the leshen’s phallus.

A creature like a leshen had no need for sex, so I wasn’t surprised by their lack of skill. But I was fine with doing all the work. It actually made it easier to channel the magic that way. I leaned forward, splaying my hands across their chest and pushing them down. This position was much better than lotus. A growl rumbled from the leshen. Then they grabbed my hips and met my rhythm. Either they were a quick learner or I was very wrong about my initial assumption.

I was not complaining.

The leshen surprised me further when I felt a large press against my entrance. I let out a gasp then glanced down between my legs. Before, the leshen’s phallus had been basic and human. Now it had a lovely knot towards the base of the shaft.

“Would you prefer I changed back?” they asked.

“No, it’s fine. I was just surprised.” I pushed down and relished how the knot stretched me. It was even more delightful as it popped in and out of me as I continued riding them. How was this the first time I fucked someone with a knot? Sure, I had a dildo or two with them, but they obviously didn’t have the same wonderful power that the leshen was putting into their thrusts.

“Fuck me from behind,” I panted. If I wasn’t so focused on the ecstasy I would have been more impressed—and maybe a bit creeped out—by how the leshen simply flowed and shifted, reforming behind me while they never stopped thrusting deep into me.

Perks of a shifter species.

Another great thing was that, since the leshen was mostly wood, it felt like I was being spanked with a paddle with each pump. Would they leave my ass red and bruised? The thought sent a rush of excitement pulsing through me.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I came before the maypole finished.

Holding myself up grew difficult. I slid down onto my forearms, my face burying into the warm furs. I no longer needed their warmth. My fingers dug into the fur as moan after moan rocked out of me. I was drowning in bliss.

The leshen’s grip constricted tight around my lower body. I wasn’t sure about them, but I wasn’t going to last much longer. Between the knot, the paddling, and the tight binding… Damn, this had been such a turn of events. I was grateful now for all the circumstances that led to this wonderful Rite.

My orgasm hit and washed through me, blocking out the world for a moment. After the initial wave of pleasure, I focused and weaved the energy we had built for the spell. The leshen release their grip and sat back on the furs beside me. I gradually got to my feet—with a little help from them—and finished off the ritual. If this Rite didn’t help bring fertility to this forest, I had no idea what would.

With the ritual done, I plopped back down on the furs, stretched, then curled up on my side. “I’m going to take a nap now, if that’s alright.”

The leshen leaned over and nuzzled my hair. They pulled my discarded cloak over me before settling against my back. “Rest well, little one.”

— — —

A/N: If you reblog this, PLEASE DO NOT TAG IT AS WEND*GO! This is not a wend*go. If I see you tagging this as such, you’re gonna get blocked.

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