#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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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

[rjalker]

no, this is what it looks like when I copy and paste that entire section of the book :)

Section 15. Concerning a Stranger from Spaceland

From dreams I proceed to facts.

It was the last day of the 1999th year of our era. The pattering of the rain had long ago announced nightfall; and I was sitting in the company of my wife, musing on the events of the past and the prospects of the coming year, the coming century, the coming Millennium.

[Note: When I say "sitting", of course I do not mean any change of attitude such as you in Spaceland signify by that word; for as we have no feet, we can no more "sit" nor "stand" (in your sense of the word) than one of your soles or flounders.

Nevertheless, we perfectly well recognize the different mental states of volition implied in "lying", "sitting", and "standing", which are to some extent indicated to a beholder by a slight increase of lustre corresponding to the increase of volition.

But on this, and a thousand other kindred subjects, time forbids me to dwell.]

My four Sons and two orphan Grandchildren had retired to their several apartments; and my wife alone remained with me to see the old Millennium out and the new one in.

I was rapt in thought, pondering in my mind some words that had casually issued from the mouth of my youngest Grandson, a most promising young Hexagon of unusual brilliancy and perfect angularity. His uncles and I had been giving him his usual practical lesson in Sight Recognition, turning ourselves upon our centres, now rapidly, now more slowly, and questioning him as to our positions; and his answers had been so satisfactory that I had been induced to reward him by giving him a few hints on Arithmetic, as applied to Geometry.

Taking nine Squares, each an inch every way, I had put them together so as to make one large Square, with a side of three inches, and I had hence proved to my little Grandson that—though it was impossible for us to SEE the inside of the Square—yet we might ascertain the number of square inches in a Square by simply squaring the number of inches in the side: "and thus," said I, "we know that 32, or 9, represents the number of square inches in a Square whose side is 3 inches long."

The little Hexagon meditated on this a while and then said to me; "But you have been teaching me to raise numbers to the third power: I suppose 33 must mean something in Geometry; what does it mean?" "Nothing at all," replied I, "not at least in Geometry; for Geometry has only Two Dimensions." And then I began to shew the boy how a Point by moving through a length of three inches makes a Line of three inches, which may be represented by 3; and how a Line of three inches, moving parallel to itself through a length of three inches, makes a Square of three inches every way, which may be represented by 32.

Upon this, my Grandson, again returning to his former suggestion, took me up rather suddenly and exclaimed, "Well, then, if a Point by moving three inches, makes a Line of three inches represented by 3; and if a straight Line of three inches, moving parallel to itself, makes a Square of three inches every way, represented by 32; it must be that a Square of three inches every way, moving somehow parallel to itself (but I don't see how) must make Something else (but I don't see what) of three inches every way—and this must be represented by 33."

"Go to bed," said I, a little ruffled by this interruption: "if you would talk less nonsense, you would remember more sense."

So my Grandson had disappeared in disgrace; and there I sat by my Wife's side, endeavouring to form a retrospect of the year 1999 and of the possibilities of the year 2000, but not quite able to shake off the thoughts suggested by the prattle of my bright little Hexagon. Only a few sands now remained in the half-hour glass. Rousing myself from my reverie I turned the glass Northward for the last time in the old Millennium; and in the act, I exclaimed aloud, "The boy is a fool."

Straightway I became conscious of a Presence in the room, and a chilling breath thrilled through my very being. "He is no such thing," cried my Wife, "and you are breaking the Commandments in thus dishonouring your own Grandson." But I took no notice of her. Looking round in every direction I could see nothing; yet still I FELT a Presence, and shivered as the cold whisper came again. I started up. "What is the matter?" said my Wife, "there is no draught; what are you looking for? There is nothing." There was nothing; and I resumed my seat, again exclaiming, "The boy is a fool, I say; 33 can have no meaning in Geometry." At once there came a distinctly audible reply, "The boy is not a fool; and 33 has an obvious Geometrical meaning."

My Wife as well as myself heard the words, although she did not understand their meaning, and both of us sprang forward in the direction of the sound. What was our horror when we saw before us a Figure! At the first glance it appeared to be a Woman, seen sideways; but a moment's observation shewed me that the extremities passed into dimness too rapidly to represent one of the Female Sex; and I should have thought it a Circle, only that it seemed to change its size in a manner impossible for a Circle or for any regular Figure of which I had had experience.

But my Wife had not my experience, nor the coolness necessary to note these characteristics. With the usual hastiness and unreasoning jealousy of her Sex, she flew at once to the conclusion that a Woman had entered the house through some small aperture. "How comes this person here?" she exclaimed, "you promised me, my dear, that there should be no ventilators in our new house." "Nor are there any," said I; "but what makes you think that the stranger is a Woman? I see by my power of Sight Recognition——" "Oh, I have no patience with your Sight Recognition," replied she, "'Feeling is believing' and 'A Straight Line to the touch is worth a Circle to the sight'"—two Proverbs, very common with the Frailer Sex in Flatland.

"Well," said I, for I was afraid of irritating her, "if it must be so, demand an introduction." Assuming her most gracious manner, my Wife advanced towards the Stranger, "Permit me, Madam, to feel and be felt by——" then, suddenly recoiling, "Oh! it is not a Woman, and there are no angles either, not a trace of one. Can it be that I have so misbehaved to a perfect Circle?"

"I am indeed, in a certain sense a Circle," replied the Voice, "and a more perfect Circle than any in Flatland; but to speak more accurately, I am many Circles in one." Then he added more mildly, "I have a message, dear Madam, to your husband, which I must not deliver in your presence; and, if you would suffer us to retire for a few minutes——" But my Wife would not listen to the proposal that our august Visitor should so incommode himself, and assuring the Circle that the hour of her own retirement had long passed, with many reiterated apologies for her recent indiscretion, she at last retreated to her apartment.

I glanced at the half-hour glass. The last sands had fallen. The third Millennium had begun.

Section 16. How the Stranger vainly endeavoured to reveal to me in words the mysteries of Spaceland

As soon as the sound of the Peace-cry of my departing Wife had died away, I began to approach the Stranger with the intention of taking a nearer view and of bidding him be seated: but his appearance struck me dumb and motionless with astonishment. Without the slightest symptoms of angularity he nevertheless varied every instant with gradations of size and brightness scarcely possible for any Figure within the scope of my experience. The thought flashed across me that I might have before me a burglar or cut-throat, some monstrous Irregular Isosceles, who, by feigning the voice of a Circle, had obtained admission somehow into the house, and was now preparing to stab me with his acute angle.

In a sitting-room, the absence of Fog (and the season happened to be remarkably dry), made it difficult for me to trust to Sight Recognition, especially at the short distance at which I was standing. Desperate with fear, I rushed forward with an unceremonious, "You must permit me, Sir—" and felt him. My Wife was right. There was not the trace of an angle, not the slightest roughness or inequality: never in my life had I met with a more perfect Circle. He remained motionless while I walked round him, beginning from his eye and returning to it again. Circular he was throughout, a perfectly satisfactory Circle; there could not be a doubt of it. Then followed a dialogue, which I will endeavour to set down as near as I can recollect it, omitting only some of my profuse apologies—for I was covered with shame and humiliation that I, a Square, should have been guilty of the impertinence of feeling a Circle. It was commenced by the Stranger with some impatience at the lengthiness of my introductory process.

STRANGER. Have you felt me enough by this time? Are you not introduced to me yet?

I. Most illustrious Sir, excuse my awkwardness, which arises not from ignorance of the usages of polite society, but from a little surprise and nervousness, consequent on this somewhat unexpected visit. And I beseech you to reveal my indiscretion to no one, and especially not to my Wife. But before your Lordship enters into further communications, would he deign to satisfy the curiosity of one who would gladly know whence his Visitor came?

STRANGER. From Space, from Space, Sir: whence else?

I. Pardon me, my Lord, but is not your Lordship already in Space, your Lordship and his humble servant, even at this moment?

STRANGER. Pooh! what do you know of Space? Define Space.

I. Space, my Lord, is height and breadth indefinitely prolonged.

STRANGER. Exactly: you see you do not even know what Space is. You think it is of Two Dimensions only; but I have come to announce to you a Third—height, breadth, and length.

I. Your Lordship is pleased to be merry. We also speak of length and height, or breadth and thickness, thus denoting Two Dimensions by four names.

STRANGER. But I mean not only three names, but Three Dimensions.

I. Would your Lordship indicate or explain to me in what direction is the Third Dimension, unknown to me?

STRANGER. I came from it. It is up above and down below.

I. My Lord means seemingly that it is Northward and Southward.

STRANGER. I mean nothing of the kind. I mean a direction in which you cannot look, because you have no eye in your side.

I. Pardon me, my Lord, a moment's inspection will convince your Lordship that I have a perfect luminary at the juncture of two of my sides.

STRANGER. Yes: but in order to see into Space you ought to have an eye, not on your Perimeter, but on your side, that is, on what you would probably call your inside; but we in Spaceland should call it your side.

I. An eye in my inside! An eye in my stomach! Your Lordship jests.

STRANGER. I am in no jesting humour. I tell you that I come from Space, or, since you will not understand what Space means, from the Land of Three Dimensions whence I but lately looked down upon your Plane which you call Space forsooth. From that position of advantage I discerned all that you speak of as SOLID (by which you mean "enclosed on four sides"), your houses, your churches, your very chests and safes, yes even your insides and stomachs, all lying open and exposed to my view.

I. Such assertions are easily made, my Lord.

STRANGER. But not easily proved, you mean. But I mean to prove mine.

When I descended here, I saw your four Sons, the Pentagons, each in his apartment, and your two Grandsons the Hexagons; I saw your youngest Hexagon remain a while with you and then retire to his room, leaving you and your Wife alone. I saw your Isosceles servants, three in number, in the kitchen at supper, and the little Page in the scullery. Then I came here, and how do you think I came?

I. Through the roof, I suppose.

STRANGER. Not so. Your roof, as you know very well, has been recently repaired, and has no aperture by which even a Woman could penetrate. I tell you I come from Space. Are you not convinced by what I have told you of your children and household?

I. Your Lordship must be aware that such facts touching the belongings of his humble servant might be easily ascertained by any one in the neighbourhood possessing your Lordship's ample means of obtaining information.

STRANGER. (TO HIMSELF.) What must I do? Stay; one more argument suggests itself to me. When you see a Straight Line—your wife, for example—how many Dimensions do you attribute to her?

I. Your Lordship would treat me as if I were one of the vulgar who, being ignorant of Mathematics, suppose that a Woman is really a Straight Line, and only of One Dimension. No, no, my Lord; we Squares are better advised, and are as well aware as your Lordship that a Woman, though popularly called a Straight Line, is, really and scientifically, a very thin Parallelogram, possessing Two Dimensions, like the rest of us, viz., length and breadth (or thickness).

STRANGER. But the very fact that a Line is visible implies that it possesses yet another Dimension.

I. My Lord, I have just acknowledged that a Woman is broad as well as long. We see her length, we infer her breadth; which, though very slight, is capable of measurement.

STRANGER. You do not understand me. I mean that when you see a Woman, you ought—besides inferring her breadth—to see her length, and to SEE what we call her HEIGHT; although that last Dimension is infinitesimal in your country. If a Line were mere length without "height", it would cease to occupy Space and would become invisible. Surely you must recognize this?

I. I must indeed confess that I do not in the least understand your Lordship. When we in Flatland see a Line, we see length and BRIGHTNESS. If the brightness disappears, the Line is extinguished, and, as you say, ceases to occupy Space. But am I to suppose that your Lordship gives to brightness the title of a Dimension, and that what we call "bright" you call "high"?

STRANGER. No, indeed. By "height" I mean a Dimension like your length: only, with you, "height" is not so easily perceptible, being extremely small.

I. My Lord, your assertion is easily put to the test. You say I have a Third Dimension, which you call "height". Now, Dimension implies direction and measurement. Do but measure my "height", or merely indicate to me the direction in which my "height" extends, and I will become your convert. Otherwise, your Lordship's own understanding must hold me excused.

STRANGER. (TO HIMSELF.) I can do neither. How shall I convince him? Surely a plain statement of facts followed by ocular demonstration ought to suffice. —Now, Sir; listen to me.

You are living on a Plane. What you style Flatland is the vast level surface of what I may call a fluid, on, or in, the top of which you and your countrymen move about, without rising above it or falling below it.

I am not a plane Figure, but a Solid. You call me a Circle; but in reality I am not a Circle, but an infinite number of Circles, of size varying from a Point to a Circle of thirteen inches in diameter, one placed on the top of the other. When I cut through your plane as I am now doing, I make in your plane a section which you, very rightly, call a Circle. For even a Sphere—which is my proper name in my own country—if he manifest himself at all to an inhabitant of Flatland—must needs manifest himself as a Circle.

Do you not remember—for I, who see all things, discerned last night the phantasmal vision of Lineland written upon your brain—do you not remember, I say, how, when you entered the realm of Lineland, you were compelled to manifest yourself to the King, not as a Square, but as a Line, because that Linear Realm had not Dimensions enough to represent the whole of you, but only a slice or section of you? In precisely the same way, your country of Two Dimensions is not spacious enough to represent me, a being of Three, but can only exhibit a slice or section of me, which is what you call a Circle.

The diminished brightness of your eye indicates incredulity. But now prepare to receive proof positive of the truth of my assertions. You cannot indeed see more than one of my sections, or Circles, at a time; for you have no power to raise your eye out of the plane of Flatland; but you can at least see that, as I rise in Space, so my sections become smaller. See now, I will rise; and the effect upon your eye will be that my Circle will become smaller and smaller till it dwindles to a point and finally vanishes.

[ID: A black and white diagram showing a Sphere intersecting a line, with an eye on the right corner of this line labeled “my eye”. At first the Sphere rests with the line intersecting the middle of his body, creating a large circle. This is labeled, “The Sphere with his section at full size”. Then we are shown “The Sphere rising”, with the line now in a lower section, creating a smaller circle. Finally the sphere is almost above the line completely, forming a tiny circle, labeled, “The Sphere on the limit of vanishing”. End ID.]

There was no "rising" that I could see; but he diminished and finally vanished. I winked once or twice to make sure that I was not dreaming. But it was no dream. For from the depths of nowhere came forth a hollow voice—close to my heart it seemed—"Am I quite gone? Are you convinced now? Well, now I will gradually return to Flatland and you shall see my section become larger and larger."

Every reader in Spaceland will easily understand that my mysterious Guest was speaking the language of truth and even of simplicity. But to me, proficient though I was in Flatland Mathematics, it was by no means a simple matter. The rough diagram given above will make it clear to any Spaceland child that the Sphere, ascending in the three positions indicated there, must needs have manifested himself to me, or to any Flatlander, as a Circle, at first of full size, then small, and at last very small indeed, approaching to a Point. But to me, although I saw the facts before me, the causes were as dark as ever. All that I could comprehend was, that the Circle had made himself smaller and vanished, and that he had now reappeared and was rapidly making himself larger.

When he regained his original size, he heaved a deep sigh; for he perceived by my silence that I had altogether failed to comprehend him. And indeed I was now inclining to the belief that he must be no Circle at all, but some extremely clever juggler; or else that the old wives' tales were true, and that after all there were such people as Enchanters and Magicians.

After a long pause he muttered to himself, "One resource alone remains, if I am not to resort to action. I must try the method of Analogy." Then followed a still longer silence, after which he continued our dialogue.

SPHERE. Tell me, Mr. Mathematician; if a Point moves Northward, and leaves a luminous wake, what name would you give to the wake?

I. A straight Line.

SPHERE. And a straight Line has how many extremities?

I. Two.

SPHERE. Now conceive the Northward straight Line moving parallel to itself, East and West, so that every point in it leaves behind it the wake of a straight Line. What name will you give to the Figure thereby formed? We will suppose that it moves through a distance equal to the original straight Line. —What name, I say?

I. A Square.

SPHERE. And how many sides has a Square? How many angles?

I. Four sides and four angles.

SPHERE. Now stretch your imagination a little, and conceive a Square in Flatland, moving parallel to itself upward.

I. What? Northward?

SPHERE. No, not Northward; upward; out of Flatland altogether.

If it moved Northward, the Southern points in the Square would have to move through the positions previously occupied by the Northern points. But that is not my meaning.

I mean that every Point in you—for you are a Square and will serve the purpose of my illustration—every Point in you, that is to say in what you call your inside, is to pass upwards through Space in such a way that no Point shall pass through the position previously occupied by any other Point; but each Point shall describe a straight Line of its own. This is all in accordance with Analogy; surely it must be clear to you.

Restraining my impatience—for I was now under a strong temptation to rush blindly at my Visitor and to precipitate him into Space, or out of Flatland, anywhere, so that I could get rid of him—I replied:—

"And what may be the nature of the Figure which I am to shape out by this motion which you are pleased to denote by the word 'upward'? I presume it is describable in the language of Flatland."

SPHERE. Oh, certainly. It is all plain and simple, and in strict accordance with Analogy—only, by the way, you must not speak of the result as being a Figure, but as a Solid. But I will describe it to you. Or rather not I, but Analogy.

We began with a single Point, which of course—being itself a Point—has only ONE terminal Point.

One Point produces a Line with TWO terminal Points.

One Line produces a Square with FOUR terminal Points.

Now you can give yourself the answer to your own question: 1, 2, 4, are evidently in Geometrical Progression. What is the next number?

I. Eight.

SPHERE. Exactly. The one Square produces a SOMETHING-WHICH- YOU-DO-NOT-AS-YET-KNOW-A-NAME-FOR-BUT-WHICH-WE-CALL-A-CUBE with EIGHT terminal Points. Now are you convinced?

I. And has this Creature sides, as well as angles or what you call "terminal Points"?

SPHERE. Of course; and all according to Analogy. But, by the way, not what YOU call sides, but what WE call sides. You would call them SOLIDS.

I. And how many solids or sides will appertain to this Being whom I am to generate by the motion of my inside in an "upward" direction, and whom you call a Cube?

SPHERE. How can you ask? And you a mathematician! The side of anything is always, if I may so say, one Dimension behind the thing. Consequently, as there is no Dimension behind a Point, a Point has 0 sides; a Line, if I may say, has 2 sides (for the Points of a Line may be called by courtesy, its sides); a Square has 4 sides; 0, 2, 4; what Progression do you call that?

I. Arithmetical.

SPHERE. And what is the next number?

I. Six.

SPHERE. Exactly. Then you see you have answered your own question. The Cube which you will generate will be bounded by six sides, that is to say, six of your insides. You see it all now, eh?

"Monster," I shrieked, "be thou juggler, enchanter, dream, or devil, no more will I endure thy mockeries. Either thou or I must perish." And saying these words I precipitated myself upon him.

Section 17. How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds

It was in vain. I brought my hardest right angle into violent collision with the Stranger, pressing on him with a force sufficient to have destroyed any ordinary Circle: but I could feel him slowly and unarrestably slipping from my contact; no edging to the right nor to the left, but moving somehow out of the world, and vanishing to nothing. Soon there was a blank. But still I heard the Intruder's voice.

SPHERE. Why will you refuse to listen to reason? I had hoped to find in you—as being a man of sense and an accomplished mathematician—a fit apostle for the Gospel of the Three Dimensions, which I am allowed to preach once only in a thousand years: but now I know not how to convince you. Stay, I have it. Deeds, and not words, shall proclaim the truth. Listen, my friend.

I have told you I can see from my position in Space the inside of all things that you consider closed. For example, I see in yonder cupboard near which you are standing, several of what you call boxes (but like everything else in Flatland, they have no tops nor bottoms) full of money; I see also two tablets of accounts. I am about to descend into that cupboard and to bring you one of those tablets. I saw you lock the cupboard half an hour ago, and I know you have the key in your possession. But I descend from Space; the doors, you see, remain unmoved. Now I am in the cupboard and am taking the tablet. Now I have it. Now I ascend with it.

I rushed to the closet and dashed the door open. One of the tablets was gone. With a mocking laugh, the Stranger appeared in the other corner of the room, and at the same time the tablet appeared upon the floor. I took it up. There could be no doubt—it was the missing tablet.

I groaned with horror, doubting whether I was not out of my senses; but the Stranger continued: "Surely you must now see that my explanation, and no other, suits the phenomena. What you call Solid things are really superficial; what you call Space is really nothing but a great Plane. I am in Space, and look down upon the insides of the things of which you only see the outsides. You could leave this Plane yourself, if you could but summon up the necessary volition. A slight upward or downward motion would enable you to see all that I can see.

"The higher I mount, and the further I go from your Plane, the more I can see, though of course I see it on a smaller scale. For example, I am ascending; now I can see your neighbour the Hexagon and his family in their several apartments; now I see the inside of the Theatre, ten doors off, from which the audience is only just departing; and on the other side a Circle in his study, sitting at his books. Now I shall come back to you. And, as a crowning proof, what do you say to my giving you a touch, just the least touch, in your stomach? It will not seriously injure you, and the slight pain you may suffer cannot be compared with the mental benefit you will receive."

Before I could utter a word of remonstrance, I felt a shooting pain in my inside, and a demoniacal laugh seemed to issue from within me. A moment afterwards the sharp agony had ceased, leaving nothing but a dull ache behind, and the Stranger began to reappear, saying, as he gradually increased in size, "There, I have not hurt you much, have I? If you are not convinced now, I don't know what will convince you. What say you?"

My resolution was taken. It seemed intolerable that I should endure existence subject to the arbitrary visitations of a Magician who could thus play tricks with one's very stomach. If only I could in any way manage to pin him against the wall till help came!

Once more I dashed my hardest angle against him, at the same time alarming the whole household by my cries for aid. I believe, at the moment of my onset, the Stranger had sunk below our Plane, and really found difficulty in rising. In any case he remained motionless, while I, hearing, as I thought, the sound of some help approaching, pressed against him with redoubled vigour, and continued to shout for assistance.

A convulsive shudder ran through the Sphere. "This must not be," I thought I heard him say: "either he must listen to reason, or I must have recourse to the last resource of civilization." Then, addressing me in a louder tone, he hurriedly exclaimed, "Listen: no stranger must witness what you have witnessed. Send your Wife back at once, before she enters the apartment. The Gospel of Three Dimensions must not be thus frustrated. Not thus must the fruits of one thousand years of waiting be thrown away. I hear her coming. Back! back! Away from me, or you must go with me—whither you know not—into the Land of Three Dimensions!"

"Fool! Madman! Irregular!" I exclaimed; "never will I release thee; thou shalt pay the penalty of thine impostures."

"Ha! Is it come to this?" thundered the Stranger: "then meet your fate: out of your Plane you go. Once, twice, thrice! 'Tis done!"

Section 18. How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there

An unspeakable horror seized me. There was a darkness; then a dizzy, sickening sensation of sight that was not like seeing; I saw a Line that was no Line; Space that was not Space: I was myself, and not myself. When I could find voice, I shrieked aloud in agony, "Either this is madness or it is Hell." "It is neither," calmly replied the voice of the Sphere, "it is Knowledge; it is Three Dimensions: open your eye once again and try to look steadily."

I looked, and, behold, a new world! There stood before me, visibly incorporate, all that I had before inferred, conjectured, dreamed, of perfect Circular beauty. What seemed the centre of the Stranger's form lay open to my view: yet I could see no heart, nor lungs, nor arteries, only a beautiful harmonious Something—for which I had no words; but you, my Readers in Spaceland, would call it the surface of the Sphere.

Prostrating myself mentally before my Guide, I cried, "How is it, O divine ideal of consummate loveliness and wisdom that I see thy inside, and yet cannot discern thy heart, thy lungs, thy arteries, thy liver?" "What you think you see, you see not," he replied; "it is not given to you, nor to any other Being to behold my internal parts. I am of a different order of Beings from those in Flatland. Were I a Circle, you could discern my intestines, but I am a Being, composed as I told you before, of many Circles, the Many in the One, called in this country a Sphere. And, just as the outside of a Cube is a Square, so the outside of a Sphere presents the appearance of a Circle."

Bewildered though I was by my Teacher's enigmatic utterance, I no longer chafed against it, but worshipped him in silent adoration. He continued, with more mildness in his voice. "Distress not yourself if you cannot at first understand the deeper mysteries of Spaceland. By degrees they will dawn upon you. Let us begin by casting back a glance at the region whence you came. Return with me a while to the plains of Flatland, and I will shew you that which you have often reasoned and thought about, but never seen with the sense of sight—a visible angle." "Impossible!" I cried; but, the Sphere leading the way, I followed as if in a dream, till once more his voice arrested me: "Look yonder, and behold your own Pentagonal house, and all its inmates."

I looked below, and saw with my physical eye all that domestic individuality which I had hitherto merely inferred with the understanding. And how poor and shadowy was the inferred conjecture in comparison with the reality which I now beheld! My four Sons calmly asleep in the North-Western rooms, my two orphan Grandsons to the South; the Servants, the Butler, my Daughter, all in their several apartments. Only my affectionate Wife, alarmed by my continued absence, had quitted her room and was roving up and down in the Hall, anxiously awaiting my return. Also the Page, aroused by my cries, had left his room, and under pretext of ascertaining whether I had fallen somewhere in a faint, was prying into the cabinet in my study. All this I could now SEE, not merely infer; and as we came nearer and nearer, I could discern even the contents of my cabinet, and the two chests of gold, and the tablets of which the Sphere had made mention.

[Image description start: A black and white diagram showing the pentagon shaped house described above, with a compass in one corner showing the house points north. In the main room of the house is the straight line labled, “My wife”, while everyone else is asleep in their own rooms, except for the Page, who is in the study. Outside the house are two thin Isosceles triangle policemen. Image description end.]

Touched by my Wife's distress, I would have sprung downward to reassure her, but I found myself incapable of motion. "Trouble not yourself about your Wife," said my Guide: "she will not be long left in anxiety; meantime, let us take a survey of Flatland."

Once more I felt myself rising through space. It was even as the Sphere had said. The further we receded from the object we beheld, the larger became the field of vision. My native city, with the interior of every house and every creature therein, lay open to my view in miniature. We mounted higher, and lo, the secrets of the earth, the depths of mines and inmost caverns of the hills, were bared before me.

Awestruck at the sight of the mysteries of the earth, thus unveiled before my unworthy eye, I said to my Companion, "Behold, I am become as a God. For the wise men in our country say that to see all things, or as they express it, OMNIVIDENCE, is the attribute of God alone." There was something of scorn in the voice of my Teacher as he made answer: "Is it so indeed? Then the very pick-pockets and cut-throats of my country are to be worshipped by your wise men as being Gods: for there is not one of them that does not see as much as you see now. But trust me, your wise men are wrong."

I. Then is omnividence the attribute of others besides Gods?

SPHERE. I do not know. But, if a pick-pocket or a cut-throat of our country can see everything that is in your country, surely that is no reason why the pick-pocket or cut-throat should be accepted by you as a God. This omnividence, as you call it—it is not a common word in Spaceland—does it make you more just, more merciful, less selfish, more loving? Not in the least. Then how does it make you more divine?

I. "More merciful, more loving!" But these are the qualities of women! And we know that a Circle is a higher Being than a Straight Line, in so far as knowledge and wisdom are more to be esteemed than mere affection.

SPHERE. It is not for me to classify human faculties according to merit. Yet many of the best and wisest in Spaceland think more of the affections than of the understanding, more of your despised Straight Lines than of your belauded Circles. But enough of this. Look yonder. Do you know that building?

I looked, and afar off I saw an immense Polygonal structure, in which I recognized the General Assembly Hall of the States of Flatland, surrounded by dense lines of Pentagonal buildings at right angles to each other, which I knew to be streets; and I perceived that I was approaching the great Metropolis.

"Here we descend," said my Guide. It was now morning, the first hour of the first day of the two thousandth year of our era. Acting, as was their wont, in strict accordance with precedent, the highest Circles of the realm were meeting in solemn conclave, as they had met on the first hour of the first day of the year 1000, and also on the first hour of the first day of the year 0.

The minutes of the previous meetings were now read by one whom I at once recognized as my brother, a perfectly Symmetrical Square, and the Chief Clerk of the High Council. It was found recorded on each occasion that: "Whereas the States had been troubled by divers ill-intentioned persons pretending to have received revelations from another World, and professing to produce demonstrations whereby they had instigated to frenzy both themselves and others, it had been for this cause unanimously resolved by the Grand Council that on the first day of each millenary, special injunctions be sent to the Prefects in the several districts of Flatland, to make strict search for such misguided persons, and without formality of mathematical examination, to destroy all such as were Isosceles of any degree, to scourge and imprison any regular Triangle, to cause any Square or Pentagon to be sent to the district Asylum, and to arrest any one of higher rank, sending him straightway to the Capital to be examined and judged by the Council."

"You hear your fate," said the Sphere to me, while the Council was passing for the third time the formal resolution. "Death or imprisonment awaits the Apostle of the Gospel of Three Dimensions." "Not so," replied I, "the matter is now so clear to me, the nature of real space so palpable, that methinks I could make a child understand it. Permit me but to descend at this moment and enlighten them." "Not yet," said my Guide, "the time will come for that. Meantime I must perform my mission. Stay thou there in thy place." Saying these words, he leaped with great dexterity into the sea (if I may so call it) of Flatland, right in the midst of the ring of Counsellors. "I come," cried he, "to proclaim that there is a land of Three Dimensions."

I could see many of the younger Counsellors start back in manifest horror, as the Sphere's circular section widened before them. But on a sign from the presiding Circle—who shewed not the slightest alarm or surprise—six Isosceles of a low type from six different quarters rushed upon the Sphere. "We have him," they cried; "No; yes; we have him still! he's going! he's gone!"

"My Lords," said the President to the Junior Circles of the Council, "there is not the slightest need for surprise; the secret archives, to which I alone have access, tell me that a similar occurrence happened on the last two millennial commencements. You will, of course, say nothing of these trifles outside the Cabinet."

Raising his voice, he now summoned the guards. "Arrest the policemen; gag them. You know your duty." After he had consigned to their fate the wretched policemen—ill-fated and unwilling witnesses of a State-secret which they were not to be permitted to reveal—he again addressed the Counsellors. "My Lords, the business of the Council being concluded, I have only to wish you a happy New Year." Before departing, he expressed, at some length, to the Clerk, my excellent but most unfortunate brother, his sincere regret that, in accordance with precedent and for the sake of secrecy, he must condemn him to perpetual imprisonment, but added his satisfaction that, unless some mention were made by him of that day's incident, his life would be spared.

Section 19. How, though the Sphere shewed me other mysteries of Spaceland, I still desired more; and what came of it

When I saw my poor brother led away to imprisonment, I attempted to leap down into the Council Chamber, desiring to intercede on his behalf, or at least bid him farewell. But I found that I had no motion of my own. I absolutely depended on the volition of my Guide, who said in gloomy tones, "Heed not thy brother; haply thou shalt have ample time hereafter to condole with him. Follow me."

[ID: A greyscale diagram showing two cubes. The first, labeled 1, has horizontal lines drawn on each face, and dotted lines on the inside to show the perspective. The second cube, labeled 2, has the whole inside scribbled in, making it appear more like a slightly stretched out hexagon than a cube. Image description end.]

Once more we ascended into space. "Hitherto," said the Sphere, "I have shewn you naught save Plane Figures and their interiors. Now I must introduce you to Solids, and reveal to you the plan upon which they are constructed. Behold this multitude of moveable square cards. See, I put one on another, not, as you supposed, Northward of the other, but ON the other. Now a second, now a third. See, I am building up a Solid by a multitude of Squares parallel to one another. Now the Solid is complete, being as high as it is long and broad, and we call it a Cube."

"Pardon me, my Lord," replied I; "but to my eye the appearance is as of an Irregular Figure whose inside is laid open to the view; in other words, methinks I see no Solid, but a Plane such as we infer in Flatland; only of an Irregularity which betokens some monstrous criminal, so that the very sight of it is painful to my eyes."

"True," said the Sphere, "it appears to you a Plane, because you are not accustomed to light and shade and perspective; just as in Flatland a Hexagon would appear a Straight Line to one who has not the Art of Sight Recognition. But in reality it is a Solid, as you shall learn by the sense of Feeling."

He then introduced me to the Cube, and I found that this marvellous Being was indeed no Plane, but a Solid; and that he was endowed with six plane sides and eight terminal points called solid angles; and I remembered the saying of the Sphere that just such a Creature as this would be formed by a Square moving, in Space, parallel to himself: and I rejoiced to think that so insignificant a Creature as I could in some sense be called the Progenitor of so illustrious an offspring.

But still I could not fully understand the meaning of what my Teacher had told me concerning "light" and "shade" and "perspective"; and I did not hesitate to put my difficulties before him.

Were I to give the Sphere's explanation of these matters, succinct and clear though it was, it would be tedious to an inhabitant of Space, who knows these things already. Suffice it, that by his lucid statements, and by changing the position of objects and lights, and by allowing me to feel the several objects and even his own sacred Person, he at last made all things clear to me, so that I could now readily distinguish between a Circle and a Sphere, a Plane Figure and a Solid.

This was the Climax, the Paradise, of my strange eventful History. Henceforth I have to relate the story of my miserable Fall:—most miserable, yet surely most undeserved! For why should the thirst for knowledge be aroused, only to be disappointed and punished? My volition shrinks from the painful task of recalling my humiliation; yet, like a second Prometheus, I will endure this and worse, if by any means I may arouse in the interiors of Plane and Solid Humanity a spirit of rebellion against the Conceit which would limit our Dimensions to Two or Three or any number short of Infinity. Away then with all personal considerations! Let me continue to the end, as I began, without further digressions or anticipations, pursuing the plain path of dispassionate History. The exact facts, the exact words,—and they are burnt in upon my brain,—shall be set down without alteration of an iota; and let my Readers judge between me and Destiny.

The Sphere would willingly have continued his lessons by indoctrinating me in the conformation of all regular Solids, Cylinders, Cones, Pyramids, Pentahedrons, Hexahedrons, Dodecahedrons, and Spheres: but I ventured to interrupt him. Not that I was wearied of knowledge. On the contrary, I thirsted for yet deeper and fuller draughts than he was offering to me.

"Pardon me," said I, "O Thou Whom I must no longer address as the Perfection of all Beauty; but let me beg thee to vouchsafe thy servant a sight of thine interior."

SPHERE. My what?

I. Thine interior: thy stomach, thy intestines.

SPHERE. Whence this ill-timed impertinent request? And what mean you by saying that I am no longer the Perfection of all Beauty?

I. My Lord, your own wisdom has taught me to aspire to One even more great, more beautiful, and more closely approximate to Perfection than yourself. As you yourself, superior to all Flatland forms, combine many Circles in One, so doubtless there is One above you who combines many Spheres in One Supreme Existence, surpassing even the Solids of Spaceland. And even as we, who are now in Space, look down on Flatland and see the insides of all things, so of a certainty there is yet above us some higher, purer region, whither thou dost surely purpose to lead me—O Thou Whom I shall always call, everywhere and in all Dimensions, my Priest, Philosopher, and Friend—some yet more spacious Space, some more dimensionable Dimensionality, from the vantage-ground of which we shall look down together upon the revealed insides of Solid things, and where thine own intestines, and those of thy kindred Spheres, will lie exposed to the view of the poor wandering exile from Flatland, to whom so much has already been vouchsafed.

SPHERE. Pooh! Stuff! Enough of this trifling! The time is short, and much remains to be done before you are fit to proclaim the Gospel of Three Dimensions to your blind benighted countrymen in Flatland.

I. Nay, gracious Teacher, deny me not what I know it is in thy power to perform. Grant me but one glimpse of thine interior, and I am satisfied for ever, remaining henceforth thy docile pupil, thy unemancipable slave, ready to receive all thy teachings and to feed upon the words that fall from thy lips.

SPHERE. Well, then, to content and silence you, let me say at once, I would shew you what you wish if I could; but I cannot. Would you have me turn my stomach inside out to oblige you?

I. But my Lord has shewn me the intestines of all my countrymen in the Land of Two Dimensions by taking me with him into the Land of Three. What therefore more easy than now to take his servant on a second journey into the blessed region of the Fourth Dimension, where I shall look down with him once more upon this land of Three Dimensions, and see the inside of every three-dimensioned house, the secrets of the solid earth, the treasures of the mines in Spaceland, and the intestines of every solid living creature, even of the noble and adorable Spheres.

SPHERE. But where is this land of Four Dimensions?

I. I know not: but doubtless my Teacher knows.

SPHERE. Not I. There is no such land. The very idea of it is utterly inconceivable.

I. Not inconceivable, my Lord, to me, and therefore still less inconceivable to my Master. Nay, I despair not that, even here, in this region of Three Dimensions, your Lordship's art may make the Fourth Dimension visible to me; just as in the Land of Two Dimensions my Teacher's skill would fain have opened the eyes of his blind servant to the invisible presence of a Third Dimension, though I saw it not.

Let me recall the past. Was I not taught below that when I saw a Line and inferred a Plane, I in reality saw a Third unrecognized Dimension, not the same as brightness, called "height"? And does it not now follow that, in this region, when I see a Plane and infer a Solid, I really see a Fourth unrecognized Dimension, not the same as colour, but existent, though infinitesimal and incapable of measurement?

And besides this, there is the Argument from Analogy of Figures.

SPHERE. Analogy! Nonsense: what analogy?

I. Your Lordship tempts his servant to see whether he remembers the revelations imparted to him. Trifle not with me, my Lord; I crave, I thirst, for more knowledge. Doubtless we cannot SEE that other higher Spaceland now, because we we have no eye in our stomachs. But, just as there WAS the realm of Flatland, though that poor puny Lineland Monarch could neither turn to left nor right to discern it, and just as there WAS close at hand, and touching my frame, the land of Three Dimensions, though I, blind senseless wretch, had no power to touch it, no eye in my interior to discern it, so of a surety there is a Fourth Dimension, which my Lord perceives with the inner eye of thought. And that it must exist my Lord himself has taught me. Or can he have forgotten what he himself imparted to his servant?

In One Dimension, did not a moving Point produce a Line with TWO terminal points?

In Two Dimensions, did not a moving Line produce a Square with FOUR terminal points?

In Three Dimensions, did not a moving Square produce—did not this eye of mine behold it—that blessed Being, a Cube, with EIGHT terminal points?

And in Four Dimensions shall not a moving Cube—alas, for Analogy, and alas for the Progress of Truth, if it be not so—shall not, I say, the motion of a divine Cube result in a still more divine Organization with SIXTEEN terminal points?

Behold the infallible confirmation of the Series, 2, 4, 8, 16: is not this a Geometrical Progression? Is not this—if I might quote my Lord's own words—"strictly according to Analogy"?

Again, was I not taught by my Lord that as in a Line there are TWO bounding Points, and in a Square there are FOUR bounding Lines, so in a Cube there must be SIX bounding Squares? Behold once more the confirming Series, 2, 4, 6: is not this an Arithmetical Progression? And consequently does it not of necessity follow that the more divine offspring of the divine Cube in the Land of Four Dimensions, must have 8 bounding Cubes: and is not this also, as my Lord has taught me to believe, "strictly according to Analogy"?

O, my Lord, my Lord, behold, I cast myself in faith upon conjecture, not knowing the facts; and I appeal to your Lordship to confirm or deny my logical anticipations. If I am wrong, I yield, and will no longer demand a fourth Dimension; but, if I am right, my Lord will listen to reason.

I ask therefore, is it, or is it not, the fact, that ere now your countrymen also have witnessed the descent of Beings of a higher order than their own, entering closed rooms, even as your Lordship entered mine, without the opening of doors or windows, and appearing and vanishing at will? On the reply to this question I am ready to stake everything. Deny it, and I am henceforth silent. Only vouchsafe an answer.

SPHERE. (AFTER A PAUSE). It is reported so. But men are divided in opinion as to the facts. And even granting the facts, they explain them in different ways. And in any case, however great may be the number of different explanations, no one has adopted or suggested the theory of a Fourth Dimension. Therefore, pray have done with this trifling, and let us return to business.

I. I was certain of it. I was certain that my anticipations would be fulfilled. And now have patience with me and answer me yet one more question, best of Teachers! Those who have thus appeared—no one knows whence—and have returned—no one knows whither—have they also contracted their sections and vanished somehow into that more Spacious Space, whither I now entreat you to conduct me?

SPHERE (MOODILY). They have vanished, certainly—if they ever appeared. But most people say that these visions arose from the thought—you will not understand me—from the brain; from the perturbed angularity of the Seer.

I. Say they so? Oh, believe them not. Or if it indeed be so, that this other Space is really Thoughtland, then take me to that blessed Region where I in Thought shall see the insides of all solid things. There, before my ravished eye, a Cube, moving in some altogether new direction, but strictly according to Analogy, so as to make every particle of his interior pass through a new kind of Space, with a wake of its own—shall create a still more perfect perfection than himself, with sixteen terminal Extra-solid angles, and Eight solid Cubes for his Perimeter. And once there, shall we stay our upward course? In that blessed region of Four Dimensions, shall we linger on the threshold of the Fifth, and not enter therein? Ah, no! Let us rather resolve that our ambition shall soar with our corporal ascent. Then, yielding to our intellectual onset, the gates of the Sixth Dimension shall fly open; after that a Seventh, and then an Eighth— How long I should have continued I know not. In vain did the Sphere, in his voice of thunder, reiterate his command of silence, and threaten me with the direst penalties if I persisted. Nothing could stem the flood of my ecstatic aspirations. Perhaps I was to blame; but indeed I was intoxicated with the recent draughts of Truth to which he himself had introduced me. However, the end was not long in coming. My words were cut short by a crash outside, and a simultaneous crash inside me, which impelled me through space with a velocity that precluded speech. Down! down! down! I was rapidly descending; and I knew that return to Flatland was my doom. One glimpse, one last and never-to-be-forgotten glimpse I had of that dull level wilderness—which was now to become my Universe again—spread out before my eye. Then a darkness. Then a final, all-consummating thunder-peal; and, when I came to myself, I was once more a common creeping Square, in my Study at home, listening to the Peace-Cry of my approaching Wife.