#no one was doing these parallels so i took it upon myself

[celandineitsaflowerdickward]

THE CLONE WARS S4EP10; “Carnage of Krell” & THE BAD BATCH S2EP3; “The Lone Clone”

BONUS; Fives in clone wars s4ep10

[lou-struck]

Passing the Time

Satan x reader

W.C: 1.5k

~While out running some holiday errands, your path is interrupted by one of the longest lines you have ever seen in your life. 

Of course, the night before Asmodeus' holiday fashion show. Beel had to go and accidentally spill hellfire hot sauce all over the vest he is supposed to wear. With the fifth born already way too stressed out over the big event, you took the liberty of taking the stained and slightly singed garment to the dry cleaners before they close for the night.

The fall Devildom air carries a biting chill as you walk through the crowded square. Lights twinkle from the shop windows as demons pass by you busily. The narrow walkway has you pulling the garment bag closer to your chest to make weaving through the streets much easier. 

It works like a charm until you come across a long line of Demons, witches, and creatures alike that cut through the pavement. 

Although you really should hurry, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to follow the line to see where it leads. Walking parallel to the enchanted velvet rope, you make it to the bookstore, where several muscled security guards stand at the entrance. Their scaly arms crossed over their chests as they stand guard over the closed doors. 

Judging from the chalkboard sign on the ground, it looks like there is to be a meet and greet at the shop in a few hours with some kind of author. You aren't familiar with their name, but judging by the line that has nearly doubled in size in the five minutes you have been walking, they must be fairly popular.

You want to learn more about the event, but a quick glance at the large clock tower tells you that you only have a few minutes left to make it to the dry cleaners. 

You are just about to leave, a head of bright blonde hair gets your attention. 

Satan stands on the other side of the rope near the beginning of the line; the sight makes you smile to yourself because, of course, Satan would be here with an armload of books. 

You approach the book-loving Avatar of Wrath; he sees you, and his features go from bored to delighted. "Hello, Mc; what brings you here?"

"I saw the line and got curious," you admit, "Quite the turnout today."

"Indeed, but I have to admit I'm actually not here for myself this time around," he says, holding out the stack of books in his arms so you can get a better look at them. Upon closer inspection they are bound graphic novels. You remember Levi gushing about that particular series not too long ago. 

"Those are for Levi, aren't they?" you gush, watching as embarrassed blush blooms on the Avatar of Wrath's face. He can be such a softie sometimes.

"For Christmas," he relents, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to get these collector's editions signed, but the event doesn't start for a few more hours, so I'm just waiting it out." He shows you the stack of books in his arms excitedly. "I'm glad I got here when I did, but all this waiting is a bit tedious." 

"I have to stop real quick at the dry cleaners, but I could come and wait with you after?" You offer, holding out the bag for him to see. You can only imagine how bored he will be standing in line for so long.

His smile is as radiant as the evening star, but he shakes his head, pulling another book out of the bag at his side. "Although that would be wonderful, I did bring my own entertainment. I'll just read until the signing starts."

"That's smart, "you say, thankful that Satan has something to tide him over. Although Beel is the sin of gluttony, no one can devour a novel like Satan can. "and then, when you are done you can just go inside the bookstore and buy a new one as a reward."

"Precisely." He beams, a soft blush on his cheeks as he imagines buying even more books for his hoard. "I knew you would understand the method to my madness. Just in case, I do have a few novels downloaded on my DDD, but I simply hate reading books on screens. I would much rather have the weight of a real book in my hands."

The clock in the square chimes, and you see that it is A quarter till six; the dry cleaners close in 15 minutes, so you have to get a move on.

"Let me guess, you have to get going?" the demon notes, sounding a bit disappointed.

"I do, but I'll see you later, okay?" Turning and waving a quick goodbye to the demon who will be standing in that line for quite a while.

~

It's been a few hours, and after you made it to the dry cleaners, you decided to walk around some of the shops, admiring the beautifully festive window displays, and take yourself out on a little Christmas shopping date.

Although you had no intention of spending Grimm on yourself today, sometimes the universe clearly had other plans. A little bag of nonessentials swings in your grasp as you pass the bookstore, once again finding Satan in line. His nose deep in his book in the same spot you had left him in. "Satan?" You call, trying to get his attention to no avail.

Stepping closer, you wave your hands in front of him. But he still does not register your presence. His book must be amazing because he is completely zoned out to the world around him. It's a miracle no one tried to pickpocket him.

"Satan?" you say again, this time placing your hand between his face and the book. He steps back startled, his wide green eyes softening when they land on you.

"Oh, Mc." He says embarrassedly. "I didn't see you there, I hope you weren't standing there long. Were you able to make it to the cleaners?"

"I did, and then I went and did some more shopping. You remove the box of muffins you picked out at a small bakery. "Don't these look great? I thought they would be nice to have with breakfast tomorrow since we will all be busy getting ready for Asmo's show."

He regards the pastries with his intelligent gaze. "They do look delicious; I think everyone will appreciate the gesture." he stops and looks at your other bags, "you must've been very efficient with your shopping today."

"I'm not sure what you mean," you say feeling more than a bit confused at his word choice. If anything, you feel like you wasted a lot of time shopping and wandering aimlessly through the decorated streets. "It's been a few hours.

"Has it?" he says with wide eyes. "Wow, time really flies. It looks like the doors will be opening soon if you would like to wait with me."

"Excus~" The demon behind you starts to object, but all it takes is a quick glare from Satan to have it shrinking away cowardly.

You slip under the rope and shoot a quick apologetic glance at the lesser demon. "I won't be getting any books signed, So think of it like I'm not even here."

They mumble but don't object. And you continue standing with Satan

"Thank you for waiting with me, Mc," he beams. "Reading is a great way for me to pass the time, but I have a tendency to get a little distracted. If you hadn't gotten my attention, I probably would've missed the signing event."

There is a little pain behind those last words, and you get the feeling that he is speaking from experience. "It's no problem at all; it's nice to get to spend a bit of extra time with you like this. How was the book?"

Asking him about books is like catnip to the demon; his features are overtaken by joy as he places the heavy book into your hand. "It's wonderful; the plot is unique, and all the characters seem to be enhanced by their fatal flaws. You must read it once I am through with it. 

"Then I will definitely have to give it a read, but I feel like at this point my TBR list is longer than a novel at this point. 

"Only one Novel?" he laughs, "I suppose I'll have to give you more recommendations then. But all jokes aside,  this one really should get moved up to the top of the list." 

"It's that good?" you exclaim in disbelief.

"Indeed, I think I will pick up the rest of the series after we get those books signed for Levi. Perhaps we can read them together."

"I would love that," you say, never being one to turn down one of his book recommendations. 

He looks completely over the moon, "wonderful, I love getting to share all these different worlds with you."

"Wherever you want to go, I will read along with you."

The Bookstore doors open wide, and the security begins to slowly let the crowd funnel inside the bookstore for a moment with the author. 

"It looks like we just have a little bit longer to wait," you say with a slight shiver in your voice as some cold wind cuts through you.

"Truly, I don't mind at all. I doubt standing in line would be half as enjoyable with anyone else." He says, taking your hand; the moment your hands touch his, the cold around you seems to disappear.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi, other half, I've came to beg you to write some smutty thing for me. You once posted sth about riding Aegon's belly and yOU BITCH, I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO STOP THINKING ABOUT IT SINCE THEN. So I'm begging you, queen of chubby!aegon, to write something about getting off on Aegon's fat belly (and u know the details, i know u do bc we share the same mind).

i love u, please and thank u🤍🥺

I LOVE YOU! and whoopsie, I can't help it if my thotty thots overtake your mind <3 lord have mercy, I really took my time with this one boo, like I actually lost myself AHAHA you know what they say, great minds think alike :))) hope you enjoy lovely x

Satisfied, Yet?

PAIRING: chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader.

WORDS: 2,464.

WARNINGS: NSFW, slight mention of fatphobic comment, thigh/stomach riding, p in v sex, swearing.

Since being anointed as King, Aegon's life had altered drastically. Most of these changes not only seeped into his political stance in the realm, or in his dutiful role of upholding social responsibilities, although in his physicality, too. Since, having been betrothed to Aegon from his long, before days as Prince till now, you'd been front row and center to all these unfolding changes...

Nonetheless, at the very least you were quite absorbed in all the theatrics, particularly relishing in your husband's growing figure.

Aegon had always been an envoy to gluttony since his youth, his habits had only recently begun to swell from a boy's meager appetite into a man's. Since his coronation, Aegon, with you loyally by his side, had been invited and exposed to plentiful feasts, tourneys, banquets and celebrations in honor of his succession, with copious amounts of succulent roasts, pastries, sweets, treats and wine, that could fulfillingly feed the entire realm thrice. It was inevitable that such a habit of glutton would overtake…

Although you modestly dined in moderation, Aegon often found himself feasting, ravishing through the delectable flavours each region of the realm had to offer to their newly appointed King, eagerly hoping to appease his Grace.  As time went on, you found that his table manners had become wilted, as he’d often lost focus, disengaging in conversations, too enraptured by gorging himself on the delicacies offered to him by his meek subjects. You’d even occasionally witness him satisfyingly licking the tasteful grease off of his now thick, pudgy fingers, savoring the sacred moment, as his other free hand massaged his full, distended belly. 

In doing so, and unknowing to Aegon’s own naked eye, his appetite grew just as rapid as his waistline. His grandsire, the Hand, Otto Hightower, often eyed the King with disgust although, so long as Aegon showed up to such meaningful events, he did not protest. Nor did the Dowager Queen, Alicent, for she grew weary and apprehensive to provoke Aegon, now that he was King. Thus, no one dared to fuss. 

If you were being frank with yourself, you intently observed Aegon’s newly found habits, not in a parallel way to his grandsire, although with lust. Aegon’s appetite was what you’d believed, fit for a King. The repercussions of this, you reaped bashfully, as you gradually watched your beloved husband's figure swell. He maintained muscle, through occasional combat training and flights with Sunfyre, although now a visible layer of fat had grown all over, padding the muscle beneath. His legs, once modestly average sized, had now grown to be as thick as tree trunks, along with his bulky biceps and forearms to match. Although the centerpiece of attraction was his abdominal region, now protruding over his hidden waistline, the soft flesh hung, resting over his stocky thighs whenever you found him lounging. 

Gods be good, was it a mission to remain incessantly composed for hours when you were present to spoil your longing eyes upon your dear husband sprawled comfortably upon the Iron Throne… He’d grown into the seat, the fat of his thighs digging into the edge, subtly hanging over its edge, as he just managed to fit in. The image was stupendously ingrained into your brain, and the only thoughts that you could muster were sinful. 

Nonetheless, Aegon remained oblivious to the venereal effect his appearance was having on you…

****

“Fuck-” Aegon frusturatingly huffed.

“What is it, my love?” You concerningly question. Slowly closing the pages of your novel that rested against your lap, as you turned to face your husband, you had been greeted with an exasperated Aegon, his plump cheeks reddened from all the bustling noises you’d mindlessly heard in the background whilst reading. 

“It seems I am in need of a new fitting. I have been struggling to button these trousers on, dearest, not to mention how uncomfortably tight they now feel,” Aegon sulkingly protested. You carefully watched on, as you witnessed Aegon curiously pondering over his reflection in the mirror of your shared compartment. The pantaloons he’d been whining about, he’d just managed to dress, although remained loose and unsecured where it should have been buttoned and fitted. Instead, his portly belly hung low, his flesh engulfing over the opening and seams of the pants. 

“Be honest before the Gods dearest, have I grown?” Aegon uttered, as he turned to face you sharply, his hands gliding over his swollen belly, as the one squeezed the mold of fat over where his ribs lay protected beneath.

“I-uh, I do not know what you mean, dearest. Y-You look fine,” You meekly respond, unable to maintain direct eye contact, once Aegon was done sizing himself down, returning his gaze unto you. A stern look had brewed across his face, as you lowered your head to the book on your lap, fiddling with its torn edges.

“Do not toy with me, Y/N. Be honest, at the very least, I command that you speak the truth before your King. Have I grown…fat?” A distaste apparent in his stern voice, Aegon looked upon you with fretful eyes. 

Your reluctant gaze had softened with adoration. You did not wish for Aegon to feel even the slightest tinge of shame for his change, nor did you want him to think it possible, that you were revolted by the very sight of your husband.

“Y-You may have grown somewhat in size, but Aeg, that does not mean I love you any less. No lesser, than the day my maiden eyes had laid upon you.” 

Although you spoke warmly of the truth, Aegon refused to believe. Disapprovingly shaking his head in protest, he tore his attention away from you, avoiding eye contact as his glistening, lilac eyes had now wandered to the ground beneath his feet. His hands nervously gliding up and down the sides of his thick thighs, as he slowly seated himself down over the edge of the bed, an audible creak of the wooden frame fracturing the silence. 

“People must look upon us, and feel pity unto you, my wife. For look at the ‘hog’ she has now binded herself to-”

“Aegon, please-” You firmly interjected, racing over towards your husband, as you gracefully knelt before him, your hands now appearing tiny, sprawled against his large thighs, gripping the flesh for stability. 

“Aeg, look at me-” Your hand reached over, tugging at his fatty chin to redirect his attention solely onto you. 

“They-” Your fleeting eyes darting towards the shut door and back towards him, indicating to the world beyond.

“-should not matter. I would never say such vile things, nor could I ever think of you like that.” 

Aegon remained chillingly quiet, although you’d faintly glimpsed a sudden glint in his eyes, as his fixed attention lingered over your soft lips. 

“Prove it.” 

His sudden words took a solid few seconds to register in your mind, before you’d fathomed its meaning. Prove so, how? 

You knew exactly what was required of you. Your readiness for this moment had been stirring amid the quiet moments against the bustle and haste, of the banquets and festivities you’d both attended, that you often found yourself reservedly pondering in your own lustful thoughts, envisioning many things… 

“Sit properly on the bed,” You boldly uttered, as you stood yourself up, pushing yourself up from Aegon’s knees, leaning yourself ever so slightly forward that the evident cleavage in your tightly fitted gown were brazenly displayed to Aegon, as you stood swiftly. It made you innocently chuckle seeing Aegon smacking his juicy lips in response, as he strugglingly shuffled himself atop the bed, right towards the center of the wooden headboard. His large, rough hands steadily rubbed against the tight fabric of his thighs in anticipation for what was to come, as he intently observed you from afar. 

Both your undivided attention remained mutually onto each other: a faint, tender smile appearing on your face, as you noticed the hunger in Aegon’s eyes [mildly similar to how he gushed over the plated feasts], a smirk beaming across his face. 

Slowly walking over towards him, you’d managed to hike the front of your dress up sensually, before crawling atop the bed, only to find yourself straddling your beloved husband. Your legs had been stretched out broadly, accommodating for his wider frame, as his stomach pushed against the sensitive region of your lower abdomen and entrance. Gods, did his thighs feel so tender and soft beneath your ass, as you comfortably lowered yourself down, readjusting your position. Your arms instinctively stretch over towards his neck line, as your fingers begin to tangle and pull on the platinum, short strands from behind. 

It seemed the warm, tense friction of your body against Aegon’s was already beginning to stir the new King, pleasantly.

Closing in the distance between your faces, as your moist lips teasingly hovered over his plump ones. 

“You want me to prove it, baby… So be it,” You softly whispered, the warmth of your breath Aegon had inhaled, unable to remain patient, the young King pushed his mouth against yours, his tongue shoving its way through in exchange for a long, passionate kiss. Somehow, his pudgy hands had managed to find their way towards your backside, roughly squeezing the flesh of each cheek, you were certain his fingerprints would remain evident. 

Almost in tune to a rhythm, you began to pace yourself in a loop, slowly rocking forwards and back against the thin fabric of Aegon’s strained pants, your body shoving in deeper towards his distended belly, before leaning back to give him some momentary relief. 

“Mhmm,” Aegon lowly moaned, as one hand remained glued to your tender ass cheek, whilst the other snaked its way firmly behind your back, his rough hand gripping your neck, his thick fingers entangled in your hair, as he massaged the base of your head. 

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me, seeing you become this-” You breathlessly whimpered, as you tore apart your lips from his to speak. 

Aegon sensed the sincerity in your tone, and the soft, pleasing look in your eyes, as you ached for him. You could’ve sworn he could physically feel the throbbing sensation pulsating from your moist cunt, against the soft flesh of his full gut. 

“And what is it that I have done? What is it that you wish to do to me, my sweet, sweet angel?” 

Your pace had subtly quicked, briefly feeling Aegon trying to align your cunt to his cock, he undoubtedly was not expecting your next move. 

Insisting Aegon to recline himself further back into a semi-fowler position, the plentiful, fluffed cushions supporting his heavy mass in conjunction to the solid headboard hidden beneath. You swiftly shuffled yourself further up his body, thrusting yourself forward with enough momentum that you now sat atop, straddling his doughy, bloated stomach beneath. Your hands now gripping dearly onto his broad, dense shoulders, nails digging into the cloth-like fabric of his white shirt, as you further continued to thrust against him, riding his flesh beneath deeply and vigorously. 

“Fuck, Y/N-” He growled, as his grip remained strained onto your hips, as they rhythmically bucked forwards and back, desperately riding in deeper into his mass. 

“See-uh-See, what you’ve done to me, this, all of this-” You squeeze a little more into the flesh of his skin, pulling at the fat that embodied your husband, signifying his tremendous growth. Your moistened cunt began to coat his pale, soft skin stripped with reddened marks and stripes all along his sides and below, with your sweetness, as his shirt hiked up against your movements. 

“L-Look, my King, look at exactly what you’ve done to m-me-” You bashfully utter, as your spine instinctively arches, the collision and smacking of your skin against his continued to be heard in such close proximity, only muffled by either of your mindless moans and grunts. Nestled between your lower cunt and backside, you could feel something poking through, Aegon’s thick cock beginning to swell, feeling its pulsating urge beneath the strained fabric, the incessant need to shove itself inside of you grew with each movement. 

“Hmmf-” Aegon’s heavy, volatile breathing grew rapidly: as he ate himself to swell, his efforts became strained, often catching him huffing and puffing after hiking up a dense flight of stairs. 

“Come on, Aegon- I-I’m so close already-” You stutteringly whimper, sensual moans mindlessly interrupting your words. Now your wetness began to lubricate his succulent, fleshy skin entirely, as your cum pooled beneath, making your movements easier, gliding over his portly stomach. Where his lean pecs had once been, now a thick layer of adipose mounted over: one hand remained gripped to his shoulder, desperate for the stable support, whilst the other firmly cupped and squeezed at his enlarged, swollen pec. The roughness of your touch against the sensitive site, scored a loud plea for your name from his lips, that momentarily left your lifted breasts, before resuming to suckle on your soft skin. 

“Prove me wrong, baby. Prove me so fucking wrong-” Aegon groaned and moaned desperately, his grip remained firm as he tried desperately to shove you down deeper into his body. 

Instantly, you felt your pulsating cunt drench his swollen, soft belly as you pleasantly cried out, moaning Aegon’s name like a banshee in the night. His cock beneath you twitched in response, some moistness had brewed and seeped beneath its place, for it seemed Aegon was just as close to pumping, making a mess of himself. Although, as surprisingly swift as he could be for his size, Aegon thoroughly knew his way around your body, despite the changes to his own. His pants already undone from before, he could easily lift you up momentarily, pulling it down further enough for his bare cock to protrude through, aggressively shoving himself into you as you now remained atop. His thick cum coating your inner walls, as his veiny, fat cock grazed over your sweet spot, whilst your walls clenched on his thick cock. 

“Fuck, baby-” He subtly mouthed,  as he prompted himself further up, although his belly innately blocking his way, as he tried to lean over towards your own feeble body. The pace of your breathing now in sync with his, as your heated bodies lunged over towards one another for support, he held your weak self in his bulky arms, Aegon’s dense cock still remained inside of you, its strong pulse echoing from within your walls. 

“Satisfied, yet?” You helplessly pant, as you reluctantly pull yourself out of Aegon, repositioning yourself laying, nestled by his side. 

“I guess I should hold back on training for a little while longer, I wouldn't want to lose this figure, if that’s what I’ll be expecting, dear wife.”

[aster-blogging-dracula]

Ok so today's entry is definitely gonna be important for the analysis on how the topic of sexuality (which is one among MANY topics that this novel covers) is explored throughout the story and throughout the concept of vampirism in it.

I wanted to note these things down for myself cause this is a topic that really boils my blood when seeing academic analysis of it but I want to read the full text carefully through Dracula Daily and make a proper personal opinion of it before reading anything else (academia.edu PLEASE stop emailing me things I will crush my head on the wall). (For now, my overall opinion on this topic is that academics focus way too much on making a metaphor out of everything when a lot of things in this story make more sense when analyzed as parallelism, or as a literal part of the plot with no further meaning...)

Anyways. This is the first time in the story when a scene of (almost) vampire feeding is narrated, and the scene that makes Johnathan go "this is it, nowhere is safe". So this kind of settles a first impression on what being preyed upon by a vampire feels like (at the same time it could also serve as reference for when vampire feeding feels WAY differently from today, and therefore can be interpreted differently). We have:

The feeling of seduction of some sorts(EDIT: I should point out that vampire seduction by this time was already, from The Vampyre to Carmilla, along with several folklore, a well established trope). Is Johnathan's initial fear out of an unconscious feeling that they're vampires? Because of their sudden appearance in the otherwise empty room? Because he loathes being disloyal to Mina? Could be a mix, we will never know. But it's interesting to ask oneself these things.

I'm not going to expand on why the description of how the girl approaches Johnathan's neck is erotic, just go read it. I listened to the Re:Dracula entry today and aw lawd that's... The academics win on this one that does sound like a sexual thing good god.

It also sounds quite monstrous tho. The licking of the teeth, the red tongue, is similar to how the wolves were described on may 5th (and later, Dracula's gesture towards the other girls is compared to the one he used with the wolves, This is actually the first direct association between wolves and vampires as a similar being I think)

Dracula's "I too can love" speech and him undressing Johnathan is a whole topic for a different post which I do Not Have The Energy To Make (and that someone out there will probably do better than me today)

Lastly, we have Johnathan's dread at the end. That's a lot of dread wow, even worse than Dracula. Now, of course, a big part of this is due to them being VAMPIRES. WHO WILL KILL HIM. Because this is a vampire story. But it also leads us to other questions. Could this dread also be a dread of the desire he felt? Because of loyalty to Mina or because of the dominant stance the vampiresses took (which was Inappropriate in victoriam standards)?. These are the questions academics usually explore. There's also the less "This symbolizes That" approach which takes the fact that vampires=dreadful because of plot reasons, and draws the conclusion that making such a dreadful creature have a sexual attitude, said attitude is demonized. Additionally, in the Dracula Daily fandom, there are also people noticing how his dread is akin to the feelings of an SA victim. (Which leads us to the question of How Did Bram Know That?)

In any case. One thing is clear. They're vampires. They want his blood. Poor boy has been sleep deprived, questioning his sanity, and being manipulated by his employer for more than a week now. His employer who has just saved him from getting eaten. That's a shock. That's a big fucking shock alright.

[greyborn2]

A SUMMARY OF MAORMER*

*with occasional headcanon

Gosh, so this one took a while. What follows is a complete summary of maormeri lore as it currently stands. Mostly taken from ESO since, well, that's been are biggest source so far really. Everything written in blue is as near to fact as we can get. It is either directly stated or pretty clearly inferred from the pieces of lore we have. HOWEVER... well, I couldn't help myself. I'm a theorist. Everything not written in blue is more theorizing and worldbuilding on my part. As a general rule I've kept to a 'connect and fill in the dots' approach rather than wholesale making stuff up. So while a lot of this isn't canon, I'm doing my best to keep to its spirit. Also; this is a long ass post so feel free to just skip around to titled areas that interest you!!

HISTORY AND RELIGION

Altmeri and Maormeri history (and faith, on the sea elves’ part) understandably differ somewhat on the topic of king Orgnum. The Altmer hold that he was once a nobleman, and priest of Auriel, and a phenomenally powerful sorcerer who turned from his god. He, they go on to claim, would start a cult in reverence of himself, bankrolled by arcane relics he forged. The Aldmer eventually being forced to break a part of their homeland away, cast it into the sea, and weave powerful mist magicks around it to contain their enemies.

The Maormer claim and fervently believe, for their part, that what the other Mer worship as Auriel is simply a small fragment of the whole truth. Their faith sticks surprisingly close to that of the Redguards; that the time god is both beginning and ending. The serpent god Satakal who bites on and eats his own tail. A god not unlike a synthesis of the traditional Auriel and the Nordic Alduin. They say Satakal, coiling serpent of time, upon who's scales all reality rests, would fall in love with the Mother Sea; from their union all the beasts of the shores and seas came. And so in love with the Mother Sea and his children was Satakal that he would shed his godly scales, for this rotation of time, walk as an elf. King Orgnum. From there the Maormeri and Altmeri tellings converge. They speak of Orgnum attempting to speak the truth to the Aldmer, of how most rejected him, and how he and the Maormer were banished.

While Orgnum-as-Satakal is the primary god of the Maormer, much reverence is also paid to the Mother Sea as well.

Some tellings draw more parallels between the story of Satakal and Mother Sea to that of Anu and Padomay, with each related to the other respectively. By this account Orgnum, as the second incarnation of their telling of Anu, can be seen as a synthesis of Anuiel and Auriel into one.

Maormer see Orgnum as not just their king, but king by right of all the seas, of his love. By this reasoning all islands, from the tiniest rock to the summerset isles themselves, are his by right.

Legend claims that Orgnum made the Maormer his children, and the children of Mother Sea, by ''spilling the spirit of the sea'' into their blood, and it was this that transformed the Aldmer into the Maormer.

When Satakal assumed the skin of Orgnum, his visage as serpent god of time still shone through his mortal form. He began looking as an ancient Mer, and as this rotation of time slowly shortens so to does his mortal life, growing younger and younger by the centuries instead of older. In the current era, it is rumoured, that king Orgnum looks as an adolescent.

Though king Orgnum's full face is almost never seen, everything below the eyes being hidden by a long veil, those who have seen it say he possesses an otherworldly beauty. Some priests and priestesses to Satakal adopt this item of fashion.

Another mark of Orgnum’s divinity is his third arm. Legend says that one can reach toward the past, one the present, and one the future. Though little has been seen of his ability to manipulate time beyond minor miracles.

King Orgnum is able to adjust his form, taking on the shape of the largest sea serpent ever seen. This silver scaled beast is the terror of the Altmeri navy and has been seen swallowing entire ships whole. It is Orgnum’s duel nature of man and serpent that the common Maormer echoes by bonding with a sea serpent at birth.

PYANDONEA

Pyandonea is a floating island chain, kept above the sea by a vast 'bed' of roots beneath her, massive deposits of the naturally floating frog metal, and a small amount of lingering Aldmeri magicks.

Pyandonea, and her surrounding sea, is eternally shrouded in unrelenting mist. Without magical aid the mist is quite literally impossible to traverse. An unaided Maormer could no more leave the isles than a mainlander could enter it. Only with the aid of Sea Witches can passage to and from the isles be formed, as well as between island settlement and island settlement.

The landmass of Pyandonea is that of dizzyingly vast mountain archipelagos overflowing with verdant jungle rainforest, from which mist and waterfalls pour down constantly. The seas around her a maze of kelp which grabs, entangles, and drowns unwary sailors and ships alike, or smashes them against the rocks... though it is only with the aid of these grasping kelps holding onto the underlying root bed of Pyandonea that it stays in one place at all. Sea beasts and water spirits prowl water and land, only adding to the danger. She is a land designed to keep people in, and out, with no passage between; and it took the Maormer much skill to escape her and turn her defences to their advantage.

Maormer settlements are often built in or around the remains of huge emperor crabs, whale carcasses, or otherwise slain titans of the deep. Maormeri ships hunt them, drive them against the shores, and harvest what meat they can; but there is often enough leftover food to support a population for the years necessary to build up a new port or town, and so some of the crew stay behind. Further inland are overgrown Aldmeri ruins, some still inhabited as strange cities that look indistinguishable from the abandoned ones from outside, only within the vines cut away and replaced with signs of civilization. Orgnum himself holds court and rules (when he is not at sea, which he is for most the of year) in one such overgrown city of ruins.

Shades of blue and white are the most popular architectural colours, just as they are most popular in fashion. White marble walls with blue shingles, deep blue sunshades spread between the whitened ribs of old krakens, sky blue tents in bustling markets. It is seen as representative and in honour of the sea; of both her waves and her crashing foam.

Despite the jungles and humidity, Pyandonea is still quite unlike the forests of Topal or the Niben. Unlike both of those it is much further from the equator, almost down to the southern ice sheets, and thus even without snowfall it can be devastatingly cold. Unprepared travellers can find themselves soaked in the mist and losing an entire limb to frostbite... if they are lucky.

BIOLOGY

Maormer are split into, very broadly, two categories. The majority of Maormer are milky white in skin and eye colour, with predominantly white, black, or grey hair. Their ears end with fin-like ridges, and they are able of safely consume salt water - their tongues have an adaptation to safely filter out salt from water, an ability that even remains for a while even after death and removal. Contrary to popular belief, they do not have gills or any special ability to breathe underwater. Finally, almost all possess a mouth of sharp teeth, specialized in tearing meat and breaking shells. So called 'leviathan' Maormer are a minority, making up perhaps a tenth of the overall population. Theirs is a bloodline that has been altered by powerful magicks - sorcery combining their ancestors with beasts of the sea. While most leviathan Maormer are descended of sea snake-hybrids, having faintly white scaled skin, fangs, gills, and springy bones that flow through water at terrifying speed this is not the case of all leviathans. Some have chitinous shells, others semi-translucent jellyfish skin, some even bearing tentacles and bioluminescent patterns. There are as many shapes of leviathan as there are fish in the sea. All are larger than their kin, though, all more at home at sea than land, and all both feared and respected by their fellows. Any captain worth their salt has a coterie of leviathans in their crew.

Maormer are naturally resistant to lightning, though fire and heat can be potentially debilitating - drying their skin out far faster and leaving longer lasting damage than it does to mainlanders.

Maormer possess the uncanny ability to 'blend' into the background and go unseen until they move, or make a noise, oftentimes to the shock of those who forgot they were even there to begin with. While the ability seems chameleonic it doesn’t actually alter the colour or texture of their skin, indeed, even a Maormer in full armor has this power. This ability is most obvious in mist and fog, where they can achieve something even surpassing invisibility.

Maormer are naturally attuned to find their balance on moving ground, be that on the deck of a ship or on the shores of their floating island-homeland of Pyandonea. When forced onto stationary land almost all seem to fall into a strange, staggering, swagger, and many suffer from so-called 'land sickness'.

CULTURE

Maormer society is organized more as a fleet than a traditional nation. Orgnum presides over the entire kingdom as both god and king. Beneath him are the many Sealords, occasionally referred to as ‘Coastal Princes’, each commanding over a fleet and clan, with many holding seaports and territory on Pyandonea itself. These Sealords are the admirals of their people. Beneath them are countless captains of near endless degrees of power. Some are near-rivals to Sealords, commanding small fleets, and ports, all across Maormer territory. Most command a single ship and crew, however. All Maormer, from the lowest sailor to the highest Sealord give a tribute of their take to those above them. All wealth trickles toward their king.

Maormeri society is traditionally a strict meritocracy. When a Sealord dies, their most powerful captain takes the role. When a captain dies, their first mate assumes command and is expected to assign the most capable Maormer under their command to their former position. Nepotism is a grave offence, a betrayal of those that serve under them.

Maormer often take slaves, as well as plunder, in their raids. Those who require too much work to keep are often killed or abandoned, with the fit potentially remaining with their new crew and captors for the rest of their lives. In dire straits, slaves are sacrificed to power Maormeri sorceries. It is not entirely unheard of for a slave to eventually earn their freedom, either remaining with the crew as a true member, or being left on the mainland once more.

A Maormer ship is nearly entirely self-sufficient, and can remain at sea indefinitely barring repair work. The sea provides adequate food and water for a Maormeri crew, and captured supplies can support whatever slaves the ship has.

Every ship keeps one or more Sea Witch, incredibly powerful mages able to command weather to devastating effect. Most Sea Witches are then further accompanied by a throng of apprentices, called Stormcallers.

Maormer trade with both Khajiit and Redguards as often as they prey on them, though some travel further afield. Even far-off Skyrim is at least partially known to them.

Almost every Maormer owns a sea serpent. When a new Maormer is born, the serpent who hatched nearest to the event is assigned to them. The two care and protect each other, forming a deep symbiotic bond. Though few sea serpents are afforded the food needed to grow to ship-crushing sizes, those who do make terrifying mounts for their bonded Maormer. Rider and beast attack as one, the intelligence of their Maormer given to their mount's terrifying strength in pure harmony.

Those Maormer who, by some means, lose their serpent are often paired again with likewise orphaned serpents - if such an opportunity is possible.

After a raid, the take is surprisingly often most distributed fairly and evenly amongst the crew. A captain or Sealord who denies his people their fair share is seen as betraying their service, and rarely long for this world.

Those Maormer unable or unwilling to live a life at sea will most often instead find themselves working as shipwrights or any number of other occupations in Pyandonea's ports. They are a small, but vital, minority.

While all Maormeri ships and crews are combat-able, not all are pirates and raiders. Some work as merchants, trading goods between Pyandonea and the broader fleet. Others make way as diplomats between the Sealords. Many more are simply 'civilian' ships; little different from a mainlander village save for the fact that they are always at sea and farm kelp and fish in place of grain and livestock.

For those Maormer unable to breathe underwater, drowning is a terrible fear. Many legends are of drowning Maormer being saved at the last moment from this fate, and their armor and clothing is designed to adapt as best it can to water and save them from drowning. Fabrics and leathers (mostly from porpoises and ornaugs) are kept resilient to water retention and wet-weight, boots are either designed with mostly uncovered feet or such that they can easily be shed, and the only metal broadly used is frog metal, or orgnium, a metal strong as steel but bearing incredibly buoyancy.

Mainlanders are often seen as clumsy, stumbling, and ill-suited to life at sea. The phrase 'groundwalker' is thus used as both a clear statement of fact but, also, often an insult to the clumsy or foolish. The irony that Maormer are just as clumsy on land is utterly lost on them - or, more likely, they simply believe it more important that one be at home at sea.

Treason and mutiny are one and the same, and both are rare indeed. The offence and mistreatment a captain must provide their crew with is incredible before the bonds of loyalty (and often blood ties too) are broken.

Song and music are major parts of Maormeri culture. From the rhythm keeping slave chants, to the sailors’ shanties, and and even the popular tunes of a pungi in a seaside town, it is hard to go long in Maormeri company without someone striking up a song or tune.

Maormer are far, far, less obsessed with breeding, pedigree, and lineage than the Altmer, or indeed most elven culture. In their eyes, their blood is only a very small part of what makes them better than mainlanders. Theirs is a sense of cultural superiority more so than racial, and those who integrate are often treated little differently than born Maormer - save perhaps for the occasional joke at their expense as they fail to find their sea legs. The endless forms a leviathan Maormer can take have almost enforced this view of accepted diversity amongst them.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Randomly struck me how Arya's first trip down to the Winterfell crypts seems to parallel Jon's recurrent crypt dreams on one particular motif - a dead king rising.

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. “There are worse things than spiders and rats,” he whispered. “This is where the dead walk.” That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya’s hand. When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

Arya IV, AGOT

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he’d heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night’s Watch now, not a frightened boy.

Jon VIII, ASOS

In Jon's dream, he's a witness to the Stark kings rising to confront him. But in Arya's POV, Jon is the dead rising from a tomb to confront them.

It's just funny because a common theme in Jon's crypt dreams is how he doesn't belong. He voices the rejection to himself - he's not a Stark, he has no place.

Jon shook his head. “No one. The castle is always empty.” He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. “Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It’s black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it’s not them I’m afraid of. I scream that I’m not a Stark, that this isn’t my place, but it’s no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream.” He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. “That’s when I always wake.” His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf’s shaggy white fur. “Do you dream of Horn Hill?” Jon asked.

Jon IV, AGOT

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. “Father?” he called. “Bran? Rickon?” No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. “Uncle?” he called. “Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me.” Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark …

Jon VIII, ASOS

Yet Arya's POV shows that Jon does have a place. Not only that, but he becomes a resident of the crypts as a ghost. There's the implication too that he spends more time in there than all his siblings as he waits for them to arrive. Then when they do, he rises out of his own tomb like the dead Kings of Winter rise out of theirs in his dreams.

Bran's POV also says that only Starks belong in the crypts.

After that, oddly, Rickon decided he liked the Walders. They never played lord of the crossing again, but they played other games—monsters and maidens, rats and cats, come-into-my-castle, all sorts of things. With Rickon by their side, the Walders plundered the kitchens for pies and honeycombs, raced round the walls, tossed bones to the pups in the kennels, and trained with wooden swords under Ser Rodrik’s sharp eye. Rickon even showed them the deep vaults under the earth where the stonemason was carving father’s tomb. “You had no right!” Bran screamed at his brother when he heard. “That was our place, a Stark place!” But Rickon never cared.

Bran I, ACOK

It seems that Snow or Targaryen, bastard or trueborn, it doesn't actually matter. At the end of the day, Jon will always be one of them: a Stark son, and a true King of Winter.

[possibly-not-a-ghost]

Wriothesley and Arlecchino

Okay but can we talk about Wriothesley and Arlecchino for a second because I am bouncing off the walls thinking about the two of them in relation to each other.

Spoilers for Wriothesley's story quest and voice lines below!

Recently, I've been thinking about how isolated Wriothesley is in terms of characters and how much or how little would change if he were not to exist or be a designated playable character. I love that man don't get me wrong but I was was just thinking about why he was made into something of such importance. Literally, he's in an underwater prison and they could've had an NPC warden with the same traits. Figuratively, we know he has a very dubious ability to trust as seen is voice line.

I've managed to get myself to a pretty comfortable place in life, but there's still some things I want that are outside my reach, like a peaceful and happy childhood, or the ability to trust other people. - More About Wriothesley: V

Anyways after watching the trailer with Arlecchino, I was struck with how much Wriothesley and Arlecchino both parallel each other or perhaps could even serve as each other's foils depending on how Arle's lore will change upon release!

Both were orphans. Each had siblings they were raised and some of which did not survive. Both killed their parental figures while young. But whereas Wriothesley was convicted and exiled for his crimes, Arlecchino was pardoned and not only that but her crimes were 'rewarded' with the title as Harbinger. (I use reward in a dubious sense as we don't know how she felt about her inherited title yet or if she was more or less thrust into it with no real agency in the matter.)

She was given a new name, Wriothesley chose his and discarded the one his adopted parents gave him.

God, even the start of the short when "Mother" is telling a story to the children we see how the future where they'd be pitted against each other but through their eyes. The colors are soft and bright. It's a child-like rendition of the brutal reality that Arle would later be faced with.

During Wriothesley's story quest, we learn the full extent of his backstory. He was being fostered by a couple who seemed perfectly lovely and loving but the truth of the matter was that they were trafficking the children under their care. That, or 'disposing' of them if they were useless or found out the truth. To use a veneer of love, of kindness and safety and that have that shattered in the most brutal of betrayals. Sounds familiar, huh?

"They did all of that, but never considered how their actions would utterly ruin all the children they took under their wing. Worse, perhaps they never cared about that at all."

—But I did.

Wriothesley, who took extreme actions and murdered his foster parents so the other children could live and be free, shouldering that sin.

Arlecchino who presumably had her siblings blood on her hands. Who had no siblings left but murdered "Mother" anyways. (I'm not entirely sold that her friend didn't throw herself on Arle's sword but nvm) and once alone, was placed back into that cycle that made her as we see her today in the first place.

Do I ship them? Do I want them to be found family? Enemies? Distant acquaintances? YESS I just want to see them interact with each other, hoyo please.

[t4llhum4n]

So. It's time to fulfill my promise about Porter lmao.

Theory (and spoilers for Vincent and Sam's playlists as well as Sam's bonus scene) will be below the cut.

Well, at least we know now that he isn't Hush's brother.

In all seriousness though, I had no idea how to approach a theory about this guy that hasn't already been shouted from the rooftops on tumblr. So, I started with the bonus scene, and upon relistening, I heard something that I found.. odd.

Why, and how, was Porter the one texting Sam?

Everyone that I've seen is talking about Vincent and Porter's history (which is something I ended up doing too whoops), so with this, I want to theorize about Sam and Porter's (potential) history. Bear with me, I kind of lost interest in the Solaire's storylines in light of things like the Balance and Carpe Deus, so I might mess some things up lmao.

I've seen, and agree with, the "Porter is Alexis' progeny" theory, at least at its basic level. I do think that Porter was potentially turned by Alexis, hence the "Solaire," but I'm wondering if his situation wasn't closer Sam's than we originally thought. Let me cook real quick.

We don't know how old Porter is. We don't know when Porter was turned. Hell, we don't even know if this guy was empowered or not (different can of worms, I'm putting that aside). All we have is that he uses the last name "Solaire" and that he has Sam's contact information. Admittedly, we don't know much about Alexis past her age, but for the sake of this theory, that's all we really need.

If Alexis has been a vampire for over fifty years, and Sam has been a vampire for under twenty, then that leaves a little over thirty years where Alexis' could've been fucking around and finding out. The thing that people (including myself) tend to forget when thinking about Sam's turning is that Alexis knew how to do it. Sure, it was done to her by William, but we know from the timeline that she was badly injured when she was turned, so she probably didn't learn it just from that first instance. Furthermore, considering that she has been described as "difficult" and "a hellion" along with the fact that she was apparently so awful that William swore he'd never turn another person again, I'm guessing that she didn't study up on vampires and how they work.

So, what else is there? Hands-on experience; the best teacher. Enter, Porter. I'm not going to give an estimate of his age beyond "older than Sam," because an exact number doesn't really matter for this. I am, however, going to do what I do best, and point out parallels that I've noticed. Namely, the parallels between Fred and "Bright Eyes'" turning, and Sam's own experience with turning.

Time for a quick run-down for those who aren't too familiar with the Fred/"Bright Eyes" storyline! Basically, Quinn leaves both Fred and "Bright" on the brink of death. Sam sees Fred, turns him to save his life, and then tells Fred how to turn other people so he can save "Bright," which he does. From there, Sam takes on both vampires as his own, seeing as Fred is too inexperienced with, well, everything, to be a proper Maker. He teaches them for a couple of years, and then lets them go off on their own once he thinks they're ready. And at the end of it all, Fred decides to take Sam's last name.

Cool, great recap, but why am I bringing it up? Well, let's look over to Sam's story real quick. He was turned, though against his will, by Alexis, someone who we can infer isn't responsible enough to be a proper Maker. We know that once William caught wind of the full situation, he took matters into his own hands, separated the two, and set Sam up in a cabin on his own, as per his request. Knowing William, he most likely offered more help, but knowing Sam, he probably declined, and opted to live alone comfortably on the edge of the territory. In both situations, we have someone who can't or isn't a good Maker, and said vampire's Maker taking responsibility for their progeny's progeny.

What if this isn't William's first rodeo with caring for one of Alexis' progeny? What if Porter was one of Alexis' first progeny, with circumstances being similar to that of Sam's turning, and William took him under his wing? The difference this time, though, is that Porter accepted William's offer of more help. Now, this could be because William heard about Porter's situation sooner after it happened, or that Porter was unempowered and had no clue about anything -- either way, this next claim stands. What if Porter took the name "Solaire" from William, not Alexis?

If this is true, it would explain two things; 1) why Porter has Sam's number, and 2) why Porter and Vincent were at odds. The first reason is kind of self-explanatory. If Porter heard about what happened with Sam and Alexis via someone else in the clan and he empathized with it, then he probably would've reached out to offer support. What became of him reaching out could be a number of things, but it ended with the two of them exchanging contact information, and that's why Porter has Sam's number.

Now, on to the rockier claim. Let's start with this: I'm going to say that Porter is older than Vincent. If we run with the assumption that what I said earlier about William and Porter's relationship is true, Porter would've seen William as his true Maker, despite William not being the one to turn him. So, when Vincent gets turned, and William starts devoting his time to him, we can assume that Porter might get a little jealous. And that jealousy grew over time, especially because Vincent kept refusing the help that William was offering. He had the privilege of actually having a good and competent Maker, and he was spitting in his face? If what I theorized about Porter's past is true, then it's natural that that would irk him.

He kept it under wraps, though, and it got easier to tolerate Vincent; especially when he put his pride away and stopped being so difficult. But part of him was always stewing with jealousy. Now, I'm not saying that jealousy is the only reason why Porter and Vincent got into a fight that almost resulted in their deaths. I think that there was something that initiated it. Maybe it was something one of them said or did to the other -- I'm not sure. That being said, whatever it was brought all that jealousy to a head, and that's why they fought.

I don't know though! And I'm more than open to other interpretations. I have a few floater thoughts if we look at Porter in a more sinister light (e.g. Alexis and Porter are close and he got the number from her right before he sent the text), but I hadn't seen anyone make him out to be more sympathetic yet, so I decided to go that route! I hope you enjoyed this mess of a theory, and as always, if you notice any plotholes or have any evidence that contradicts this, please let me know :)

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - June 5

Dr. Seward is back with another exciting podcast update :D

(Also, for clarity’s sake, I’ll probably be calling him Jack/Seward from here on out because first and foremost, I just like that nickname for him and also it’s a little bit easier to differentiate Jonathan vs. John. Since he’s only been referred to as John thus far — that will change later — I just wanted to clear up that when I say “Jack”, I mean Dr. John Seward!)

Looks like he’s studying Renfield again, who is proving to be an “interesting” case.

“He has certain qualities very largely developed; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not yet know.”

Per the last Jack podcast, he talked about selfish vs. unselfish people and their threat level (I talk more about that here, if you’re interested). He seems to have decided upon Renfield being a selfish man — aka his threat level is low — though he does seem to have an unspecified purpose that Seward can’t figure out. I wonder how Jack differentiates between an unselfish person’s duty and a selfish person’s purpose, since they seem to be almost the same thing, per his logic. Then again, they could be very different!

“His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies.”

Jack, buddy, I love you, but you can’t say someone has a love of animals and then in the same sentence think they’re probably also abnormally cruel to them?! Then again, I have to keep in mind, he’s also speaking these words so this is more of an active stream of consciousness than, say, Jonathan’s journal. I suppose it would put it more in line with Lucy’s letters, who impulse writes. Love to see these parallels!

On another note, how did Renfield catch these flies without hurting them and where is he storing them? Did the asylum give him jars or did he have to improvise? I have so many questions, but my bug phobia prevents me from wanting the answers tbh.

“He has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate.”

Yesh, that begs the question: how many flies did he catch? Again, I actually don’t want the answers, but since I’m analyzing this, I at least needed to ask.

Ok fine, let’s do a little math here. It’s been 11 days since the last time we heard from Seward. He didn’t talk about the fly-catching the last time, but perhaps it was because there was only like 5-6 flies there and he didn’t feel the need to mention it.

So if we give Renfield 5 flies the first day (minimum estimate) and he catches around 10 flies a day (a high guess, yes, but we know Renfield is determined and this is an average so some days he might’ve caught 8 and some days he might’ve caught 15) a day, we can multiply 11 x 10 to give us 110 flies + 5 (from the first day) = about 115 flies!! (I really hope I did this math right or I’m going to look silly)

In the iconic words of Phil Swift, “That’s a lot of damage.”

Again, this is an estimate — I’m not pretending this is actually the number, though it is certainly a possibility. While that seems like a large number for one man to catch and a lot of flies to get into a room, keep in mind this is the 1890s, which means more bugs in the area and Renfield could’ve skewed the numbers by leaving old food around to attract flies.

“To my astonishment, he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: ‘May I have three days? I shall clear them away.’ Of course, I said that would do. I must watch him.”

Seward, I would suggest watching him very closely because uh…I happen to remember how he’s going to clear the flies and spoiler alert: it’s not just opening up whatever storage container he has them in. So, you can imagine with my bug phobia, I’d rather not analyze this further. Let’s just say it’s interesting he picked three days as the number to clear them away. He’s just built different, I guess.

So that’s it! For the next two weeks, we will be in a Dracula Daily Drought (try saying that five times fast). I am already sad about this!! 😫😭😭

In the meantime, I suppose it is high time I finish my BBC Dracula liveblog, so be on the lookout for that (I am more likely to do it putting it in writing!!).

[swearyshera]

Alice,

I've loved being able to read Sweary She-Ra through the years. I happened upon it only a few months after finishing She-Ra (I was late to the party due to not having Netflix, oops), and it gave me so much wonderful content to keep my excitement for the series alive.

The way you explored the characters, especially Catra's mental health and her relationship with Shadow Weaver, helped give me a new understanding and greater appreciation of them. I bring up Catra specifically because, I'll be honest, I wasn't a big Catra fan for awhile. I liked her well enough, then kinda didn't in season 4, but grew fond of her again around season 5. But you helped me understand her thought-process, and I came to like her more because of it. I really like that you also handled her in a nuanced way, where, as you've said many times, you explained her behavior without excusing it, and that made all the difference.

One of the things I really appreciated about your take on She-Ra was how apparent your intelligence was, as well as your writing skill. It wasn't just "Catra says fuck and Glimmer has killed dozens," even though it could have been--you went the extra mile (or kilometer, since you're British :P) and gave us a variety of jokes, as well as mood shifts from comedic to tragic to dramatic to hopeful. All of the characters felt like themselves, even though they were pushed up to 11 and had some creative liberties taken, such as Frosta being a demon and Hordak's Geordie accent. You had a good handle on all of them, which can be very hard to do with a large cast, especially one written by another writer.

I also really appreciated that you took the time to answer asks and build a community here. It gave us lovely jokes such as Bob (that's right, I haven't forgotten about him), Catra's age, and Entrapta reading our comments. I've always been very shy online, but seeing you having such nice interactions with fans helped me open up, and I'm glad I did! I used to ask anonymously from time to time (yes, my first ask was about DT, all the way back during your start on season one, what else would it be? XD), and I'm glad I've gotten to chat and joke with you, as have the rest of us.

I'm so glad that you stuck with this and created such a wonderful fan-series. We never got a movie, but this was just as good, in my opinion. It was like watching SPOP for the first time all over again. I'm excited to see what you create next, be it SPOP-related or not. I hope the future has great things in store for you.

You brought us laughs, tears, and spectacular Glimmer-swears, and your blog means so much to so many people. You mean so much to so many people. I hope you find success in your future endeavors!

FOR THE HONOR OF GAYSKULL!

What can I say, it's truly been an honour (of Gayskull) to write something that I had no idea brought so much to many people. I'm genuinely quite humbled by the reaction.

I always wanted to be fair to all the characters, to show their reasons without necessarily validating the invalid stuff that they've done, and that particularly came across with Catra. It's no secret that I see a lot of parallels between her and my own history, but I've applied the same take-no-shit but be kind approach that I took with myself over the years. And I've learned a lot about mental health during that time, so I could give that sometimes painful realism, but also know just how to make fun of it in the right way.

In some ways, I feel like the characters I've written have taken on their own personality that's very distinct from the original, and that's probably why I think there's a little more mileage in them yet. Both in terms of original stuff (my pilot script Snowflakes has almost 1:1 versions of DT and Perfuma!), but also in the possibility for creating more Sweary stuff, and that is slowly taking shape - although I am taking it easy for a bit, I've already outlined a story which I'd love to make into an audio drama. Currently workshopping it with a couple of people, so watch this space...

It has been a joy to get so many asks from people, yourself included, and my inbox will always be open. I'm not going anywhere for a while! You were very much my DT-asker-in-chief, and I'm super glad you enjoyed their scenes (heck, you even got them a cameo at the end!). So thank you immensely for the support.

I'm happy I've been able to contribute to a wonderful fandom in such a way, and I'm eager to keep on giving back to a community that has given me so many amazing friends.

FOR THE HONOR OF GAYSKULL!

[epersonae]

You've made me mad with power. Director's Cut of "I Spit On Your Grave", please.

Obviously I wanted -- no, needed -- to write a fic where Stede finds out what actually happened with Izzy while he was gone.

It is a key aspect of my Bad Ending fic in case I never make it through to where you are that Stede does NOT know, because I think otherwise he would have actually killed Izzy in that fic. I had a lovely long conversation with my therapist about that, both that fic generally and this question of knowing what was done to someone you love who is gone. Because HOOBOY did s2 kick up all my feelings about Ryn's parents, especially their mother; there was a piece of information that I found out after Ryn died that made me so angry I did seriously have a full-blown panic attack about it.

So yeah, I was always going to write something, but part of my writing process especially with shorter works is that I need a hook, something to get me into it -- an image or a sentence, something concrete to pull together whatever messy ideas have been spinning around in the blender.

And of course, I might have written it sooner (and it would have been a different fic) but I did break my leg right before Christmas, and that basically took me out not just physically but also mentally for about two months. I actually started making some notes in late January but I didn't have any stamina to do the writing until late February.

I knew the hook was going to be a bit back from the actual harm -- I've been fascinated by this question of how Izzy never says that "his captain" is actually Blackbeard since way back in my first watches of the show, and then there's kind of a running joke around here about how Stede always leads describing the meet-cute with "so I'd been gut-stabbed" like babygirl what. And the phrase "just happened upon our ship" or whatever that is, when MY DUDE HE'S BEEN FOLLOWING YOU THIS WHOLE TIME. The whole thing has this mix of Izzy having been lying through his teeth and Stede being hilariously oblivious that cries out for something to dig into.

And then I saw this post by @iamadequate1, and OH OKAY. Because weaponized therapy language and isolation in emotional abuse is something that, well. Yeah. Plus it had all the relevant bits of dialogue in one post! Plus I'd been thinking about Izzy as an unreliable narrator for almost two years, and I'd been thinking specifically about people with uhhhhhh a "flexible relationship with the truth" (to use a line from the fic), and a tendency to say different things to different people in order to evade responsibility.

So I made some notes, according to the document history at the end of January, and then probably either went back to sleep or back to watching Perry Mason. Came back to it in late February, and the first two-thirds or so came together pretty quickly and then I got stuck. I knew I wanted something with Stede yelling at the grave, but I'd sort of written myself into a corner where that didn't seem to be happening. (Basically, got to the point where he holds Ed while Ed is crying.)

And then I saw THIS post by @celluloidbroomcloset, and something clicked together about "doggie heaven" and the parallel with Ned Low, and somehow that was the rug that tied the room together. Probably because also they're both dead, Izzy and Ned, and that leads to this question of the impossibility of revenge, and that so much of the time there's just nothing you can do, really, and that also hurts. Even if they're not dead; there's just no point, like what the fuck are you gonna do, exactly? Which is sort of where the Mary parallel comes in, I think, and also not giving Izzy credit for bringing them together, because that's all them.

All in all this is a really special fic for me, trying to find this balancing point where things are pretty good for them, actually, but they still need to work through their respective hurts and be properly seen -- fill in all the blanks so they can move forward.

[good-beanswrites]

Hello again, I'm here to request once more. Feel free to take all the time you need btw! I would always be patient for your wonderful works ^^

This time I'd like to request from the Drabble List#2 - 47 with the 020607 Trio (mainly Mahiru though). And yes, this is hugely inspired by that one minigram with Mahiru. And as usual, feel free to change the scenario and/or the characters.

Thank you again, good luck with your future studies and take all the time you need!!

Woo thank you so much!! :'D This one was a ton of fun (and once again led me to get smacked in the face with unlikely character parallels I wasn't aware of before). It's from Kazui's pov but it's still mainly about Mahiru. I ended up going canon-compliant, but I did consider sticking super close to the minigram and do a little normal-au where Mahiru drags them across Japan to make a perfectly homemade cake 😅

Everyone knew Mahiru had a tough time distinguishing genuine from joke, but Kazui hadn’t expected it to come back to bite him. Mahiru wasn’t stupid by any means; sometimes she just forgot that others weren’t as unabashedly honest as herself. When she said something, she meant it. Kazui… not so much.

Which is why, following a conversation about her skills in the kitchen, in response to being pressed about his own household, he thought it would be inconsequential to utter the following words to her.

“Bake me a cake, and we’ll talk.” 

Kazui had laughed his booming laugh, Mahiru had giggled in her sweet little way. Neither realized what had just transpired.

That is, until Yuno dragged Kazui across the prison the following day to make him aware of the monster he had released upon the kitchens. The two hurried over to find a massive operation underway: Mahiru had several layers in the works, she was stirring multiple fruit fillings, decoration choices scattered across the countertop, and anyone who dared venture too close was shooed away with a slap from her wooden spoon. 

It took a few minutes to get the situation all worked out.

“So… you didn’t really want a cake…?” She asked, pausing mid-stir. Her eyes were so big and round.

Yuno came to the rescue. “Of course he does!” She interrupted. “Everyone here would die for a taste of your baking~” 

Kazui nodded. “I just didn’t mean for you to work so hard for my sake. I’m really not worth all this effort…”

Mahiru’s jaw fell, offended on his behalf. “Yes you are!” Her attention was momentarily caught by a timer chiming. Kazui took the bowl from her so she could take a pan from the oven. He picked up where she left off stirring. 

“Either way, why don’t I help you out?” Yuno had grabbed some ingredients from the counter as well. “While we bake, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. A little,” he repeated. 

And he did. Her questions were easier than he’d expected. While the others knew how to poke and prod about each other’s murders, Mahiru really did just want to know about his home life. While she buzzed around the kitchen switching pans and creating intricate icing patterns, she asked him about his childhood, his hobbies, his job. As soon as she saw his wife was a touchy subject, she let it drop (though with a bit of disappointment, to be sure). He scrambled a bit as Yuno the human lie detector would shoot him a look now and then. Overall, though, his measured answers managed to satisfy both women without giving much of himself away.

When they carried the spectacular cake into the common room to everyone’s amazement, Mahiru prodded him with her elbow.

“We should talk more! I mean, come on. How difficult was that?”

If only she knew the half of it.

———

“Hey, Mahiru.” Kazui traded weak smiles with Yuno as he joined her by the bed.

“Oh. Hi Kazui,” came her weak voice. She tried her best to smile under the tangle of bandages that surrounded her. Then, silence. 

Aside from a few coughs and small requests, that silence stretched on for hours. He and Yuno usually had a lot to talk about, but neither could muster anything up today.

He thought Mahiru had dozed off, but she surprised him by taking his hand. “Kazui?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think I’m unforgivable?” 

He blinked. “I can’t really say.” 

The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones. Well, the glare that Yuno was trying to murder him with also helped. “Er, I forgive you, of course. But… I don’t know anything about you, Mahiru. Not really. I can’t say why others would think you’re unforgivable or not.” 

“...I see.”

Yuno looked like she wanted to add something, but couldn’t find the words. Traces of emotions flickered over her face before she could cover them up. Kazui guessed she wanted to defend Mahiru. But maybe she also agreed with him. And that was when the realization struck him.

“I guess, I always thought you were so much better than me and Yuno when it came to talking about yourself. You do it all the time, and very easily. But now that I think about it, I probably know just as much about your situation as you know about mine. For such an honest person, you hide everything just like we do. Or maybe, you hide from everything, like we do.”

More silence.

A teary smile appeared on her face. “You know… you could bake me a cake… and maybe we’ll talk.”

Kazui didn’t laugh, and she didn’t giggle. He nodded, solemnly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

[vickyvicarious]

Lucy wrote her memorandum so no one else will get in trouble through her, and if I remember correctly Jonathan too at one point said that he's writing about what is happening as facts for someone else to benefit from if he perishes...

You have excellent timing, I was actually planning to talk about yesterday's Lucy/Jonathan parallels when I came back to see this. Yes! In fact, there are several lines which call back to Jonathan quotes:

"If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye." Jonathan, 4 May "I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact record of what took place to-night." Lucy, 17 September

I'm pretty sure Jonathan has a few other similar lines but this is the first one. And it becomes apparent that his journal is written for multiple purposes, including keeping his own sanity intact, serving as a record he can consult, a place he can be honest about his emotions... but from very early on it is also intended as a resource that can be seen by others. Jonathan's intention is for them to know the truth of what happened to him. But in a way at the end, the diary is also intended to serve the purpose of countermanding his own assistance in getting Dracula to England. He doesn't want anyone to 'get into trouble through him' either, it's what provokes him to make the shovel attack. (Alas, then he breaks down and his memory loss and trauma lead him to choose not to open it.)

And of course, Jonathan also has several different times he emphasizes that he is making an exact record. He's not the only one, of course. The Captain of the Demeter does the same. All three narrators who suffer from Dracula preying upon them for extended amounts of time take care to say this.

"I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!" Jonathan, 5 May I have a dim half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress more poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press of water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems to have passed away; the noises that used to frighten me out of my wits—the flapping against the windows, the distant voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and commanded me to do I know not what—have all ceased. [...] But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone. Thank God for mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our friends who have been so kind! Lucy, 17 September

Lucy is more willing to confess to the strange things she thinks here, for the first time. Jonathan wasn't, in the beginning, and we aren't sure whether he ever fully did (he certainly had nightmares he wasn't talking about, regardless of how open he was about more confirmable experiences). But they both experience similar uncertainty about the reality of what is happening to them. They both suffer memory loss - at different points, maybe in somewhat different ways, but also maybe not that different? They also both hope to be saved for the sake of those who love them.

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised! Jonathan, 24 June I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother's poor body, which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased to beat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while. The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the dogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. Lucy, 17 September

Both Jonathan and Lucy are hypnotized by vampires in their swirling specks of dust form. Both begin to come back to their senses as they hear dogs howling.

"If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he!—I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place." Jonathan, 8 May "What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thing of night and gloom and fear?" Jonathan, 24 June "What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead!" Lucy, 17 September

They both speak of being alone with the dead, though in Lucy's case she doesn't realize the full extent of the 'dead' who are with her. But both bring this up in the context of being unable to speak/communicate with other people, and in both cases this is because Dracula has deliberately isolated them. By trapping Jonathan in the castle, by drugging the maids...

I included the second Jonathan quote because I love how despite this completely understandable despair and uncertainty, both he and Lucy take action almost immediately after writing those lines. Jonathan decides to make the climb through the window the very next day, and Lucy resolves to hide her memorandum in order to make sure it is found. They both have very limited resources/options, but neither sinks into despair for too long. They fight till the end.

"The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!" Jonathan, 25 June "At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!" Jonathan, 30 June "I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing. [...] Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!" Lucy, 17 September

They both fully understand that they are facing death, and in fact are more likely to die than to survive. Both are certain the risk is worth it and press forward despite the danger/their fear or weakness. Both fear something worse than death happening to them, and appeal to god for a death as a human... though Lucy's pleas are less explicit about this because she doesn't remember enough to be able to verbalize any distinct other possibility.

And of course, when convinced they are about to die, both of them dedicate their final words to their loved ones.

.

And that's just the quotes that stuck out to me. There's also other things, like:

A shared feeling of inevitability (in Jonathan's case, externally imposed by Dracula's deadline/the threat of the vampire ladies; in Lucy's, it comes as a result of her long health struggles and the impending danger tonight she cannot stave off alone)

Being menaced by wolves under Dracula's command, who don't actively hurt either narrator but do serve to trap them in with him for the night

Everything about their nightmares, especially the timing of Jonathan's nightmares being specifically mentioned on the same day as Lucy's nightmare becomes a waking one

Each of their avenues of protection/escape being eroded or blocked one by one, leading them to lose hope for their survival. Sort of overlaps with that shared feeling of inevitability, but I wanna emphasize how Dracula is intentionally cutting them off repeatedly as they try various things.

I mentioned the dogs already, but Lucy's two encounters with Dracula in swirling speck form echo Jonathan's two close calls with the vampire ladies who first showed that form, except Jonathan was saved both times and Lucy wasn't. Even when she came out of the trance for a while, it was too late.

It was a lot.

[am-i-interrupting]

Requesting a Hazbin Hotel Matchup!

I would prefer a male character! (Despite that, I am an ace lesbian. I just wanna indulge my comphet fictional crushes iykwim + i prefer more of the male cast in hazbin. I totally understand if you'd prefer to match me up with a female character) I use she/they pronouns.

A few personality traits of mine would be hardworking, clumsy, compassionate, and playful. I am a workaholic, and often work myself to the bone. Ironically, to others, I try my best to ensure they don't overwork themselves. I'm a bit of a people pleaser to the point where I jeopardize my mental health, but I'm working on it. I'm decently good at appearing mature and socially adept (if a bit anxious) when around strangers, but around those close to me, I admit I am a bit of a baby, being playful.

I have ADHD, a Depressive Disorder, and strongly believe I have Autism. Some jokes, sarcasm, and flirting goes iver my head, but if I notice, I do like to play along. I like cutesy pastel colored clothing in a sort of streetwear style. Like, cargo pants are great but I also love cute skirts. I'm an artist and a gamer. I like to animate and am working towards developing video games! My love language is definitely physical touch and quality time. Hugs are important to me. I like being close to people I care about, even if we're not doing the same thing. Parallel play is peak to me.

My music taste swings around wildly. I've always been a sucker for vocaloid and musical theatre songs. Lately, I've been listening to Epic The Musical and Calliope Mori. I love to sing and play the violin, so any music that I can vibe to, I like. I like plushies quite a bit, even though it's childish. My sense of humor is nonsensical even to me. I laugh a lot, basically, from dark jokes to antihumor.

I'm unsure of my demon form, to be honest. I'd probably have something to do with video games or art, and my favourite animals are small round birds (like the white-browed tit-warbler), jellyfish, and frogs. Feel free to describe my sinner form however you want! (I am short though)

I hope this isn't too much haha I just realized how much I rambled

I don't really want full NSFW headcanons, but some spiciness/non-explicit stuff is good.

Thank you!

-👾 (so i can find this later)

Your Match Up Is. . .

Lucifer!

You probably met him at the Hotel.

Now, Lucifer wasn’t immediately obsessed with you. No, no, he had his daughter to focus on.

However, you caught his attention soon enough.

It was actually while working on the Hotel rebuilding that you caught his eye.

With you darting around from place to place, making sure everything got done while also making sure everyone else took a break, you made yourself known.

Unfortunately, no one made sure you took a break so he took that role upon himself.

It probably took some convincing but eventually he got you to do it.

Over time you two got closer and closer.

It was one of those things were everyone else realized you were both in deep for each other before either of you did.

This is because neither of you recognized when the other was flirting. . . like at all.

It would probably be Angel or maybe even Charlie saddling up to one of you going, “Soooo, when are you gonna ask them out?”

Immediate denial followed up by very intense analyzation of every single one of your interactions with each other because what are they talki. . . Ooooh, you see it now.

It’d be a while before you two got together.

When you did though, prepare for heaven in hell.

Wow, Lucifer sure is a catch.

He is so sweet and so caring.

He is able to recognize signs that your depression is getting worse because of his own and together you’re able to help each other through the spirals.

You’re also able to give each other advice that actually works with you AuDHD brains because there is no way that man is neurotypical.

Get ready to be able to infodump any time you want to and be listened to with the most attention. He is asking all the questions.

You’re making a game? What genre? What animation style? What’s the main story line? What’s that side character that you made too detailed of a background for? Tell him everything.

You like drawing? He likes making ducks. Can you draw him ducks for him to make when he’s in a funk?

And you have plushes! They can be friends with his ducks.

If he hears you listening to a song from a musical, it’s over. You’re not doing whatever it was you were doing. You are now obligated to reenact the scene from him.

He loves dancing with you.

Sometimes though, he can get a bit in a Gomez Addams-like mood and he’ll just start kissing your arms, then your neck, the one thing leads to another.

This man is big on oral.

Cuddles after. Always.

He is a big cuddler.

This man is so touch starved it’s not even funny.

He intends to make up for it so a hand is almost always on you. He is always in your space.

You are never falling asleep without being cuddled again.

[whenlifegivesyousparklingwater]

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Dear Public Diary,

I feel an increasing sense of dread as April approaches. As a student in the humanities and social sciences, not only do I have research of my own to do, but I have so many papers to write for courses. Just in the next week, I have two papers due, neither of which I have started. I have been staring at the same page and reading the same sentences over and over. I cannot concentrate or comprehend what I am reading. However, in my defense, Locke writes in paragraph-length sentences that could have easily been broken up into at least three separate statements. This inability to be productive, combined with the inability to relax, puts me in stasis, where I just freeze up. It's not that I don't like the Enlightenment thinkers... or maybe it is.

I have to remind myself that just because power is shared among several White men (as opposed to power concentrated in one White man) does not make it democratic. It's so easy to read ideological philosophical texts and convince myself that I am one of the humans they speak of, though I know that these thinkers would not have considered me as one. Even still--centuries after Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau--I am not truly considered as a full, free [hu]man by the government. It is not really that oppressed people are becoming a part of this "human" category; we are just changing the boundary between who is in the human and subhuman categories. We are just given an illusion of progress by introducing new moral justifications.

For example, in the US, we are taught to believe that racism ended with MLK--we no longer treat Black people as lesser just because of skin color! Hooray! However, what the government did was refocus our morality--we believe criminals deserve to be punished and treated as lesser. Solution: make Americans believe crime is out of control and that Black people are criminals. Now we draw the line slightly differently from where it was before, but not really. It just gives us new moral justifications to put a certain group of people in the trash to be forgotten. This is a weird analogy, but it reminds me of the barber poles that captivated me as a child; the spinning motion combined with the diagonal lines give the illusion that the lines are continually going upward when, in reality, the stripes are not changing.

I am taking a graduate-level course in philosophy of law; this semester, it is focused on feminism and pornography laws. We are reading In Harm's Way: The [P]ornography Civil Rights Hearings by Catharine MacKinnon. The hearings took place in the 80s when there were no real laws limiting porn or allowing people to seek justice for wrongs they faced because of porn. I'm happy to discuss the philosophical, sociological, and psychological dimensions of harm caused by porn, but that would be an entire dissertation on its own, so I will hold myself back for the time being.

In the past seven days, I have read ten books. These were mindless fantasy romances, so I breezed through them, no critical thinking skills activated. However, it made me stop and analyze the parallels between mainstream romance books and visual pornography. Porn had previously been limited to the men who had access to art (so basically the upper class) or brothels. Until the internet age, it was not as democratically accessible. Nowadays, even young children are able to access porn without any barriers. Porn tends to refer to visual mediums (rather than literary), and we as a society now recognize the existence and harms of sex trafficking and its role in creating porn. People tend to believe that the harm of pornography lies in the women who are forced to perform and that this is what makes the ethics of porn questionable. [Of course, some may argue upon which ones or what situations can be evaluated as "forced," but that's a topic to tackle on another day.]

However, this is my controversial opinion: I think porn and the pimps of this multi-billion dollar industry have strategically adapted to the new social constraints of the time. Behold, spicy books: a newly-mainstream medium of porn that still maintains abuse/violence as something sexually arousing, maintains toxic gender dynamics (i.e., male dom/female sub), brings in a new demographic of customers (i.e., women), and seems ethical (i.e., no women are harmed in the process). Seems like female sexual liberation, but is it really? I recently went to a local bookstore, and they had a whole section of the store dedicated to BookTok romance books with an emphasis on those with "spice." Alarmingly, it was right next to the Young Adult (YA) section (ages 12-18). The displayed spicy books have such deceiving, innocent, cute covers that make children pick them up and prevent parents from knowing the true nature of the story. Pimps would often show children porn as educational material of sorts so that they know how to behave and what to reenact. Especially since sex education is not very thorough (if there is any at all), these toxic dynamics displayed in these books become young girls' sex education.

Even for us adults, it's important to analyze whether the maledom/femsub dynamic is truly a personal preference that many people also happen to hold or whether it is an internalization of misogyny. Although these YouTube shorts were satirical, I saw a few that were something like "POV: you're dating a book girlfriend" and the girlfriend would do toxic things, like objectify their partners, have unrealistic expectations, expect/demand violent actions in sex that the men are not comfortable doing, etc. Seems like an ironic reversal of the previous situation with visual pornography. [It is important to remember we are still in a male-dominated society, and as long as we are in a male-dominated society, men will not truly understand the harm porn has caused women.] However, men are being called "too sensitive" by talking about the harm these books are causing in relationships. Wouldn't this be another form of silencing a group, this time on the basis of toxic masculinity ideals? Then, we are not necessarily giving more people voices but shifting who gets the voice based on a shallow understanding of the deeper issue at hand.

One of the reasons why violent porn should not be protected by the First Amendment is because of the real-life harms that they cause. For example, porn may just say these are "sexual fantasies," but they cause real-life harm as real-life men seek to reenact them with women in coerced/forced situations. Just because one has a camera recording should not mean that the violent act is protected under free speech. If real-life harm is being caused because of smut, smut should not be fully defended by the First Amendment as free speech. More importantly, we need to realize that these books are not "just fiction" or "just sexual fantasies" and understand the real-life implications. I guess smut books can also be seen as a form of sex discrimination under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act in that they create content based on gender/sex where one group (i.e., women) is degraded, and these books facilitate gender-based discrimination in real life. Anyways, these are my thoughts.

I have a breakfast meeting to get ready for, so I will call it a day here.

Yours Truly,

RCH

Edited to change some wordings

[hanzajesthanza]

For "send a character" ask - Zoltan Chivay.

send me a character and i will tell you my:

first impression

when i first met him in witcher 3, i'll be honest, he did not make much of an impression on me... there wasn't much context given to his and geralt's relationship so i kind of shrugged him off

in baptism of fire though i was more amused by his first appearance, and the wolf song made me laugh

impression now

this turned into my whole analysis and thoughts on zoltan's role in the story, so... here you are.

upon my rereads of baptism of fire, i think i have a better understanding of zoltan's role.

zoltan is one of the two "wise kings" geralt meets in his journey (the other being regis)... i mean, zoltan, sultan, rēgis, rēx.

zoltan advises geralt about altruism - helping others, whereas regis advises geralt about accepting company - helping himself. these are the two biggest challenges geralt faces, and this book is all about his character development as he embarks on his hero's journey...

geralt always wants to help others, and never wants to accept help.

zoltan advises him that he can only help as much as he can, and cannot save the entire world:

‘Unbridled altruism is a huge vice of mine,’ he explained. ‘I simply have to do good. I am a sensible dwarf, however, and know that I’m unable to do everyone good. Were I to attempt to be good to everyone, to the entire world and to all the creatures living in it, it would be a drop of fresh water in the salt sea. In other words, a wasted effort. Thus, I decided to do specific good; good which would not go to waste. I’m good to myself and my immediate circle.’

notably, this lesson comes first (in chapter 2).

of course, zoltan breaks his own rule, as he has taken the women from kernow under his wing, and later has taken even more refugees under his protection:

Geralt turned his head, pointed with his chin at the two women and the two children, and then bored his eyes into the dwarf. Zoltan cleared his throat. ‘We came across the two young ’uns and the women here in Angren,’ he explained in hushed tones. ‘They’d got lost during their escape. They were alone, fearful and hungry, so we took them on board, and we’re looking after them. It just seemed to happen.’ ‘It just seemed to happen,’ Geralt echoed, smiling faintly. ‘You’re an incorrigible altruist, Zoltan Chivay.’ ‘We all have our faults. I mean, you’re still determined to rescue your girl.’

later (in chapter 5) regis gives geralt a following advice: that though he wants to help his ciri, he must also accept help:

"You’ll pass through fire, which burns, but also purges. And you’ll do it alone. For were someone to support you in this, help you, take on even a scrap of that baptism of fire, that pain, that penance, they would, by the same token, impoverish you. They would deprive you of part of the expiation you desire, which would be owed to them for their involvement. After all, it should be your exclusive expiation. Only you have a debt to pay off, and you don’t want to run up debts with other creditors at the same time. (...)" "A sense of guilt, as well as the need for expiation, for a cleansing baptism of fire, aren’t things you can claim an exclusive right to. Life differs from banking because it has debts which are paid off by running up debts with others."

so as you see, zoltan is one-half of the advice geralt needs to accept in order to grow and move forward in the story.

it's no surprise then, to me, that when geralt and his newfound company runs into zoltan and his company again at the end of the book (chapter 7), it is zoltan and regis speaking with geralt apart from the others.

a parallel with zoltan's comments about how he picked up the refugee women and children:

'Thank you for your aid, barber-surgeon. I see you’ve also joined the Witcher’s company.’ ‘It just seemed to happen.’ ‘Mmm,’ Zoltan said and stroked his beard.

and then, it is the joint three of them that receive the girl's prophecy and do not say a word of it to the others... the old king (regis), the current king (zoltan), the new king (geralt)

another role of zoltan in relation to geralt's development is that he is a model for geralt to become a leader of his own company.

the first time they meet, geralt has only dandelion and milva with him, who he is also trying to shun the company of because he doesn't want them to risk their necks for his journey. it is then they meet zoltan leading his company of five (four dwarves, one gnome).

they separate, but, at the end of the book, when they meet again, geralt has now accrued his full company (minus angouleme, who was an unpredicted addition by sapkowski). although he has not yet stepped into the role of leader, geralt has followed zoltan chivay's example: he has found a company. and zoltan comments on this:

'I wish you and your company luck. It’s a strange company, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ ‘They want to help,’ the Witcher said softly. ‘That’s something new for me. Which is why I’ve decided not to enquire into their motives.

finally, zoltan is the one who gives geralt his sihill, the legendary hero his legendary weapon. when they part, he gives him his sword, to embark on his journey... quite poetic.

i also appreciate how zoltan and percival introducing geralt to sihill in chapter 2 of baptism of fire is a humorous contrast to the dramatic introduction of ciri to her zireael in chapter 4 of tower of the swallow.

and in the end, in the last chapter of lady of the lake, when geralt tries to put his sword down, he tries to return it to zoltan, who refuses. of course, he had to use his sword "for the last time," then, but the identity of zoltan as sword-giver remains consistent.

favorite moment

alright, i technically have two favorite moments, but i'm packaging them as they're directly related to one another.

the first part is when zoltan gives geralt his sihill, telling him to remember him when he kills ciri's enemies. and geralt tells him how he won't forget him for his selfless altruism is not easily forgotten in this world:

‘That’s wise,’ Zoltan said, removing the dwarven sihil in its lacquered scabbard, wrapped in catskins, from his back. ‘Here you go, take it. Before we go our separate ways.’ ‘Zoltan…’ ‘Don’t say anything, just take it. We’ll sit out the war in the mountains. We have no need of hardware. But it’ll be pleasant to recall, from time to time, that this Mahakam-forged sihil is in safe hands and whistles in a just cause. That it won’t bring shame on itself. And when you use the blade to slaughter your Ciri’s persecutors, take one down for Caleb Stratton. And remember Zoltan Chivay and the dwarven forges.’ ‘You can be certain I will,’ Geralt said, taking the sword and slinging it across his back. ‘You can be certain I’ll remember. In this rotten world, Zoltan Chivay, goodness, honesty and integrity become deeply engraved in the memory.’

the second part of this is the follow-up. in lady of the lake, at stygga castle when they are fighting vilgefortz... sihill does something incredible, parts vilgefortz's stream of fire:

Geralt rushed at him, wiping plaster from his face. Vilgefortz turned his eyes towards him and a hand from which flames exploded with a roar. The Witcher instinctively shielded himself with his sword. The rune-covered dwarven blade protected him, astonishingly, cutting the stream of fire in half. ‘Ha!’ roared Vilgefortz. ‘Impressive, Witcher! And what say you to this?’

zoltan isn't present in at stygga castle, of course. but i remembered him and the dwarven forges.

idea for a story

i want to know how he got engaged to eudora brekekeks breckenriggs. what kind of marriage customs prevail amongst the dwarves?

unpopular opinion

zoltan should be shipped with more characters. i think his ships with geralt and dandelion are vastly underrated. i think the fandom forgets him a lot. just my two cents

favorite relationship

zoltan and percival's friendship is wonderful. i do love how he often reminds percival to go easy on the infodumping...

‘(...) Take this, little miss. It’s beryllium aluminium cyclosilicate, popularly known as…’ ‘An emerald,’ the dwarf finished off the sentence. ‘Don’t confuse the child, she won’t remember anyway.’ ‘Oh, how pretty! And how green! Thank you very, very much!’ ‘Enjoy it and may it bring you fortune.’ ‘And don’t lose it,’ Dandelion muttered. ‘Because that little pebble’s worth as much as a small farm.’ ‘Get away,’ Zoltan said, adorning his cap with the cornflowers the girl had given him. ‘It’s only a stone, nothing special. Take care of yourself, little miss. (...)'

their friendship is a lot like geralt and dandelion's in this way, it's reminiscent of...

‘How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?’ ‘Normal speech.’ ‘As you please,’ Dandelion said, not putting his lute down. ‘Listen then, noble gentlemen, to what occurred a week ago near the free town of Barefield. ‘Twas thus, that at the crack of dawn, when the rising sun had barely tinged pink the shrouds of mist hanging pendent above the meadows—’ ‘It was supposed to be normal speech,’ Geralt reminded him.

favorite headcanon

i headcanon that after some time zoltan goes to novigrad to check on how percival is doing, and as soon as he walks in the door, field marshal windbag has already squawkingly taken flight to perch on his shoulder and pull on his hair. parrots recognize and miss their owners... he and percival have joint custody of the field marshal

also not much of a headcanon, but modern au design, he would look spectacular in a tropical shirt with a bucket hat and fanny pack