#now I'm sure this has been done before and I'm not saying i *invented* anything here

[antique-symbolism]

I think I was doing something kind of interesting with vampires in CCGCCL/ABFHMM and I miss working on it

[love-killed-the-superstar]

i need more of jiro in tlr2 because i think it would be good for uno to have a role model to show him how uncool it is to constantly pick on your brother

[huffleflufflefly]

Now That I "See" You - An Ominis Gaunt x Reader One Shot

I've edited this so many times and yet I keep finding typos and mess ups 😥. I hope it's all better now.

Ominis Gaunt x Reader One Shot

Fluff? I think? I'm new to this. It's not spicy so.

Temporary eyesight, kissing, cuddling...I think that's it XD

(I got this idea from deaf people having Cochlear implants to be able to hear and I thought, what if they made glasses so you could only see when you wear them? (Using magic obviously, I know we can’t do that IRL) Also, if you got tired or overwhelmed seeing things, you could just take them off! Similar to the implants, when you don’t want to hear, you can just take the magnets off. Anyway I’m not the best at writing, but this idea was in my head for a long time! Enjoy!)

Basically: You’ve been working on a temporary fix to help Ominis see. You’ve tried multiple potions, charms, the lot. You came up with an idea to somehow enchant a pair of glasses to help him see. You’ve tried quite a few times, but you felt this pair was the one!

"I've done it!"

I yell as I sprint over to where Ominis is. He's in his usual spot. The cold, hard floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower.

"You've said that at least a hundred times already" He teased, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked in your general direction.

You shoot him a playful glare which he can sense, making his smirk grow wider. "Oh c'mon, try to be a little more supportive than that! This is for you, you know!"

I reach into my bag and pull out my invention as previous forms of it spill out, littering the floor. Pairs of glasses. Enchanted glasses to be specific. 

These are intended to let the user see temporarily while they have them on. Ominis has been very patient with you through this long process with each prototype, each one giving no new result so far aside from one that made him see a blinding light once. You apologized again and again until he scolded you. He asked you to continue in the hopes that that meant there was some improvement in store.

You'd been at it for hours, days. The dark circles under your eyes making it more than evident of your sleep deprivation. Fortunately, the boy you care so much to stay up these ungodly hours for didn't notice, or so you thought.

"I hope these work this time, for your sake." He definitely noticed. “I don’t understand why you’re going through all of this effort in the first place, (Y/N) .”

I sigh. “Do I need a reason? If I must, I was curious if there was anything that could be done. When Sebastian told me your family tried everything, I felt like there had to be something!

“You sound an awful lot like Sebastian right now.” He chuckled softly as I instruct him to close his eyes before placing the glasses on his face, resting them on the bridge of his nose.

His eyes opened slowly as he felt the cold metal against his nose. Nothing. No difference. Not even the brightness that hurt his eyes with the last pair. He comes up with something, anything to hear the smile in her voice.

“I think I see something! Little shapes!” He tries to settle his voice as he lies, but it’s obvious to  you.

“It’s alright,” You sigh in defeat, sinking to the floor to sit beside him. “I thought for sure this one would work! I used anything I could that claims to improve eyesight!”

He tilts his head toward you, a playful smirk growing on his face, “(Y/N), you can’t improve eyesight that wasn’t there to begin with.” He meant to say it in a teasing, yet comforting way, but then he heard a sniffle and quickly reached out to you, pulling you towards him before you could start crying. 

“Shh..I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, darling.” He rubs your back gently as he tries to soothe your disappointed heart. “I don’t need to see to be happy. I have you and Sebastian in my life. I couldn’t ask for anything more.” One hand moves to your hair while the other searches for and cups your cheek. “I don’t need sight to know how much I’m cared for, nor how beautiful you are.”

At this you blush slightly, the heat carrying over to his fingers. Your frown curling into a smile. “I know that…but I wanted to try. You deserve to see this beautiful world.”

He puts a finger to your lips, cutting you off. “All I want is to be here with you, my dear.” Ominis traces his finger along your lips. “And maybe a kiss as well” You look into his cloudy blue eyes, a mischievous glint dancing across them.

“That can definitely be arranged.” You reach for him and pull him close, connecting your lips, the kiss laced with passion and understanding. Feeling his kiss settled your sadness and desire to keep trying to help him see. You relax almost enough to fall asleep in his arms, but tense up when you start slipping. 

After a few moments you pull away. “You know it’s a shame, you look very handsome in these glasses.” 

He chuckles, lifting a hand to caress your cheek. “If you’d like, I’ll wear them for a bit.” His eyes widen suddenly and flicker around your face. He…sees something! Similar to his wand, being able to see shapes, silhouettes of people and objects, but a bit different. He can see a bit more shapes. 

You notice his eyes travel to yours, locking onto them. “Ominis?” You look at him, a confused, concerned expression plastered on your face. He can see the outline of your eyebrows turning inward.

“I..I can see..maybe not everything, but…(Y/N)..I think it worked after all!” He cups your face, still looking into your eyes, lifting his hands to your face to feel the features he sees. “This is incredible! I see my hands moving, the outline of your jaw, your eyes.” He pauses for a moment, a warm, affectionate smile forming on his face. “You’re beautiful (Y/N)! Just as I thought! Oh Merlin, this is incredible!”

You take a moment to register his words, blinking rapidly. Finally, your face softens and you smile. “It worked?”

“Yes! I can see far more than I can with my wand!” He reaches down with ease and grasps your hands tightly. “Thank you (Y/N), truly.” 

Feeling both accomplished and full of love for this man, you pull him into a tight embrace. You both hold each other, tearing up slightly from the excitement. You immediately start thinking of more experiments to try out.

[marvelousbuckley]

Pardon my french!

BuckTommy Positivity Week 2024 - day one

I know i'm late to the party but @searching-for-the-moon gave me a great idea so here we are. You can learn more about this challenge through @bucktommypositivityweek's blog!

Prompt: what they love most about each other

You can read it on AO3 or down below. Every fic will be posted on AO3 as chapters of the same fic!

-----

“Okay, I’m impressed now. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Tommy looks at Evan who is wearing the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, a happy grin of his own gently warming up his face as they leave the gallery where they spent two hours learning pottery. In the bag Evan is carrying lays a strange attempt of a mug, base not quite flat and edges all wrong and messy. The mug is yellow, painted with care and patience. Which weren’t enough to ensure a great result. Against the mug, two bowls are wrapped in newspaper sheets. They are bright blue with white flowers, both perfect shapes, both delicately painted. Both the work of a Tommy who cannot stop smiling while his boyfriend continues to compliment him. It is endearing, the way Evan talks and talks and talk, always eager to let Tommy knows how much he’s impressed by anything new he learns about him.

“I swear Evan, it was the first time I did pottery.”

“Not the first time you painted though, so it’s almost like you cheated.” The blond can’t stop his smile from widening again, and his free hand quickly finds itself in Tommy’s one. They walk together like that for a while, heading to Evan’s loft just four blocks away from the gallery where the class was happening.

“It is so infuriating, you are always good at everything you try, how is that possible?” He continues, not paying attention to the world around him, and Tommy has to pull him fast by the hand before Evan bumps into a trash can. The movement coax Evan in Tommy’s direction, and soon enough the two men are against each other, chests touching and the older man’s arms around Evan’s waist, a gesture his body cannot stop doing when his boyfriend is close enough. It does nothing but push another bright smile on Evan’s face and Tommy must kiss him about it.

He knows his boyfriend clumsiness and unawareness of what surrounds him should bug him, but he can’t stop thinking it makes the other man even more adorable, if it is humanly possible. Evan is living in a world of his own, and for six months now he’s been okay with letting Tommy be a part of it.

Tommy loves him for that. He loves him for pretty much everything Evan does or says.

“I’m not good at everything!” He interjects, a laugh on his voice when they start walking again and Evan gives him a deadpan look, almost bumping into another human being.

“Shut up, I’m sure you can do crazy things. Like, I don’t know, French braid! Or macarons, which is so fucking hard to do right, by the way. Hell, I am sure you know how to speak French while we’re at it!"

Evan had started hyperfixating on everything French related since the opening of the Paris Olympics. “They had a dancing croissant; can you believe it? And the torchbearer? I’ve never seen somebody this hot, except you of course. If I hadn’t discovered my bisexuality with you, this person would have done the trick just fine.”

He then proceeded to explain to Tommy what the French torchbearer had been about, some reference to video games as well as opera. “Did you know Assassin’s Creed was French? And so are the Minions! And The Daft Punk! Even the helicopter was invented by the French!”

So, Evan talking about macarons and French braid isn’t that weird.

The thing is, Tommy’s answer is a surprise so unexpected that Evan’s jaw drop when his boyfriend respond. “Oh no, you don’t want me near long haired heads, and I’m not really good at macarons, I’m more of a waffle guy anyway. French though-”

Evan stops him before he can say anything else.

“Thomas Kinard, do not tell me you know how to speak French.”

Tommy’s amused face must be a good enough answer because Evan’s stops right here, in the middle of the sidewalk, starstruck. “Do you speak French?”

« Un petit peu, je ne me suis pas entrainé depuis longtemps. »

Evan does not know what it means, he doesn’t even know if Tommy said it right or if he just invented words to play with him. But it doesn't matter anyway, he’s too flabbergasted to care.

“What. The. Fuck.” He manages to say after way to long of a pause, proof that his brain just stopped working. It makes Tommy giggle, and the pilot brings his boyfriend hand to his lips and places a kiss on each one of his fingers.

“Tout va bien ?” He then asks, knowing full well what the words cause in Evan’s head.

Chaos, pure unexpected, hot as fuck chaos.

“What. Why. How. What. Fuck, how?” The younger man is clearly losing it and Tommy knows there is only one way to soothe his lover’s brain. So he takes a step forward, Evan’s free hand still in his, his other hand cupping Evan’s face, and proceed to kiss his boyfriend slowly, almost lazy, a hint of defiance in every one of his movements. Usually Evan melts on the touch, but this time he finds the strength to back-up, well, not before he moans in Tommy’s lips and kiss him back anyway.

“I’ll still need answers Kinard.”

“Let’s go home first, and then maybe I’ll give you some.” Tommy replies, a knowing smile on his face, pupils darkening with the promise of giving.

-----

“So, how?”

They both lay in Evan’s bed, sweaty and sore and happy. The bag with their dishes inside has been abandoned on the diner table, and their clothes have been thrown in every part of the loft without any care.

Tommy thinks about his answer for a moment, before he turns his head toward Evan, looking at him with a mix of tenderness and guilt. “I… I dated a guy. It was a long time ago, but the words stayed.” It is all he his able to say before he looks away, worried that Evan might get jealous, or sad, or something. Instead, Evan puts his hand on Tommy’s chest, playing with the hairy skin, and looks at him with fondness.

“You know, you don’t have to be ashamed of your past Tommy. I have exes too.” He says, trying to comfort the older man, a bright smile even in his voice. His tone is reassuring, and Tommy finally looks back at him with a sheepish glance.

“I know, it’s just… It has always been a thing with my other exes, you know? French is romantic, French is the language of love and, well, a lot of the men I dated weren’t happy that I had learned it for someone else you know?”

Evan nods, still admiring his boyfriend, caressing his perfect body.

“Is it why you hadn’t told me about it yet?” Tommy hums and Evan drops a kiss on his cheek, a touch so intimate the pilot still can’t quite believe he deserves it. “Well, I’m not jealous, and I’m not angry. I love that you give one hundred percent when you love someone, and that you are capable of learning a whole language just for them.” He smiles again, shifting his body so he’s almost completely on top of Tommy. “And it would be really stupid of me to be mad because you can speak French to me. It’s so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I love it! I love you Tommy, and every moment that made you you. The good and the bad.” Tommy smiles disappear when Evan come and kiss him, a deep, heated kiss. In his lips Tommy swears he can taste love. “But what I love most is that I’m getting used to all those little things I learn about you. I want to be used to everything about you for ever.”

“Sounds good to me.”

-----

translation: 

- A little bit, i've not trained for a long time.

- Is everything okay?

[maytheamazing]

Saw another "Keanu is a zionist" post with no supporting evidence or citing and this annoyed me so I'm making a post about it. To preface, this is all in good faith and to educate.

Zionism is, to be put simply, the belief that Israel has a right to make their own homeland, to create a "place for all jews" by clearing out the native population and culture. As Israel is committing a genocide, it is perfectly acceptable for those supporting Israel's genocide of the Palestinian people to be labeled a zionist.

Specifically we are going to be talking about Keanu Reeves and his involvement with the zionist company Paramount, who expressed their explicit support of Israel and has not issued another statement changing their stance as far as I am aware. I will also be adding film making information as needed.

To start off, we only know of two examples of Reeves interacting with people who have a connection to Israel. He has not stated his stance on any social or political movement, full stop. The first of two such instances is his weapons trainer for John Wick 2, who was hired by the producers specifically. And the second is his attending of a party in 2014 by producer Arnon Milchan, who you may know from movies like; Fight Club, Fantastic Mr. Fox, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the Chipmunks sequels, and more. At this party Reeves was photographed speaking to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. [image description in alt]

This photo is the only information we have on this party and their interactions. Here is an article gossip mag MalibuTimes released on it. This article also goes to say that Benjamin Netanyahu and his wife made sure to interact with multiple actors- in fact the photo they used for this article is them posing with James Caan.

Seeing as this appears to be their only known interaction and Reeves has been photographed candid and not posed, it is a fair assumption to say they aren't friends catching up. On the film/actor side of things, parties like this are a fantastic way to network within the industry. Arnon Milchan is a well known name in producing movies with a long history and it would not be a smart move to decline or spur his invitation.

Now back to Paramount and Sonic 3, as is our main discussion. Paramount this last October in response to the Oct. 7th bombing announced that they stand with and support Israel.

As you should know by now, six months later, Israel has far gone past "defending itself" as some may claim it has a right to do, and firmly and undeniably into genocide. In this time Paramount has doubled down on their support, donating large sums of money to Israeli based charities and military. In their new Sonic spin off series, Knuckles, one of the human characters openly supports Israel and practices a form of martial arts invented by the Israeli armed forces.

When it comes to Sonic 3 and staff and cast involvement, a little more context is needed. Filmmaking takes a long time and a lot of hard work. The script needs to be written before the cast can audition and then rehearsals, prop design, set and location set up, rigging and prepping Sonic character stand ins for their CGI coverups, and more all need to be done before filming can ever start. According to Collider this last summer Sonic 3 was set to start filming in August of 2023; meaning that cast had been hired months before that. Contracts for movies from big studios like Paramount or Disney often include Non Disclosure Agreements so that staff members wont leak anything before its ready and/or a legally binding punishment should a leak happen. We only found out Reeves is playing Shadow the Hedgehog this last week, and filming has completed earlier this month according to ScreenRant who cited James Marsden for that confirmation. Meaning that Keanu has been done for a little while now, if he was only in booth voice acting rather than some combination of on set and in booth. Depending on the NDA the agreement can last for years, according to BrewerLog Attorney's Office the average amount of time a NDA lasts is 1-5 years and depends heavily on what is outlined and what information the business in question wants to be kept secret.

Reeves nor his PR team has yet (as of 4/28/24) to make any statement regarding his role of Shadow the Hedgehog in the upcoming film, but that's the norm for him. Keanu Reeves rather rarely does interviews or public outspeak; he doesn't even make a statement or announce when donating or setting up regular funding to charities in the past.

To wrap things up there simply isn't enough to say Keanu is a zionist. Circumstantial at best, and heavily assumptionist and bad faith at worst. If in the future there is confirmation that Keanu purposefully or willingly sides, supports, or is politically aligned with anything to do with Israel and their genocide of the Palestinian people and their destruction of Gaza Strip then I will absolutely change my tune here. But there's ACTUAL people who are vocal about their support of genocide who I see get no negative feedback. Jerry Seinfeld openly support and even donates to Israel- why say nothing about him? Or Gal Godou. I have literally seen zero posts about either of them.

TLDR; Keanu isn't a zionist, and explaining why

[faulty-writes]

Hey I hope it’s not something that’s already been requested before but could I request headcanons of Mei, Mirio and/or Toshinori after a breakup where they would still have to be around their ex partner (because of school or work) and they’re still pining over each over :(((

Thank you !

[ Honestly, I can't recall if it has because this blog is about 3 years old. But even if it was, kudos to you for choosing characters that need some nice secondary love. I hope you enjoy these headcanons dear anon. ]

It still hurt, but Mei was used to wearing a poker face. Why the two of you broke up didn't make sense. She gave up her love of invention for you or rather spent less time with her 'babies' because of you. Now that you two were separated, she felt lost. She also couldn't focus with you just a few feet from her every day at school and that made her angry.

"So, how's your latest baby?" She finally managed to speak to you after a few weeks and as awkward as the butterflies in her stomach were, she felt relieved when you replied. Although she didn't care about your invention, she cared about your voice and being close to you again.

Naturally, she was determined to keep you to herself despite the breakup. This meant she was also willing to let certain inventions go awry whenever she witnessed someone else flirt with you. When this happened, she'd smile. "Oops, guess this baby needs more work!" She knew you knew it was intentional, but you never did anything about it.

You didn't realize how much you missed her until you found her goggles in your bedroom. When you returned them to her, a tremble coursed through your body when her fingertips brushed against yours. The urge to hold her hand was strong, but you walked away before she could say a word.

You'd toss and turn at night, unable to sleep knowing she was in the room next to yours. You missed lying on her chest and feeling the warmth of her body against yours. You also missed how her hand stroked through your hair until you fell asleep.

A few times you awkwardly found each other in the forest near Yuuei High. The feeling of nostalgia overcame you when Mei reminded you of a few funny stories from your time together. The memories made you laugh and yet wonder if it was too late to rekindle what you had.

He couldn't smile for a week after the breakup. Although it was unlike him, he avoided you which you immediately noticed as did your shared friends Nejire and Tamaki and sadly, this only added to the pain of your broken heart.

To think you'd break up with him because he was quirkless now was definitely a hit on his ego. However, in your defense, you thought it was better to give him time to sort his life out and not worry about you. But you realized you were wrong and regretted what you had done.

Nejire and Tamaki took it upon themselves to find out why the two of you broke up. While Nejire was disappointed that you broke up with Mirio because you thought it'd help him, Tamaki managed to get Mirio to agree to stop avoiding you.

The first time the two of you talked since the breakup was when you were assigned to address one of the first-year classes and there was an awkward tension in the air when Mirio actually greeted you with, "Oh, hey there sunshine," which was something he called you when you were together and it was then you realized how much you missed that nickname.

It was a nightmare to focus in class. To make matters worse his desk was not too far from yours, and the fact you could feel his stare, or at least thought you did made your stomach twist into so many knots that you weren't sure if you were still falling in love with him or continuing to feel that regret.

"I don't know how I'll do it, but I'm sure I'll win their heart back someday Tamaki! And I won't stop trying! After all, don't you think Y/n and I belong together?" Of course, he'd first have to figure out a way to get his quirk back and when he did, he'd convince you that no matter what happened, he'd never need space from you.

He thought breaking up with you was the only way to protect you. Heroes were particularly known for avoiding relationships because of their busy schedules and the fear that their loved ones would become the target of an attack. But he quickly realized he was wrong. While he tried to convince you to get back together, you suggested focusing on your teaching careers.

You never thought you were the jealous type. However, when Ashido made a comment about Nemuri and Toshinori on a date, even if it was in good humor and Nemuri shared that old men weren't her thing, it made you furious, and without thinking you lectured her on inappropriate jokes. The strangest thing was you knew Toshinori was free to do as he pleased but hated the idea of him being with anyone else.

Everyone including the students and your fellow teachers noticed the awkward tension in the room whenever you and Toshinori were near each other. "I can't take this anymore!" Hizashi screamed one day. "What is with you two kit kats!?" he demanded. "I'm afraid things have been a bit strange between us since the breakup," Toshinori confessed after you walked out of the room.

"Hm, I see so that's the problem, isn't it? Most men never know what they want, and they drive the people they hurt to do things like this," Nemuri stated as she entangled her fingers in your hair. You were currently lying on her lap, intoxicated. While she didn't blame you for drinking after you confessed how much the breakup hurt you, she was concerned about both your and Toshinori's well-being.

"I know it's not much but, I remember how much you like flowers so…" You knew he was attempting to make a conversation, but your anger got the best of you and without thinking, you used your quirk to destroy the flowers in front of him and while he was shocked by your reaction. It also reminded him of that fierce nature you held and why he was so attracted to you in the first place.

"No, nothing's wrong sir!" he insisted although he knew it wasn't wise to try and fool Principal Nezu so with a sigh, he glanced down with a determined look on his face. "There's not much I can do at this point. I know that Y/n and I may still have feelings for each other, and I don't blame them for acting the way they are. But...I'd like to find a way to become their everything again, not just their hero."

[altraviolet]

old fic retrospective

I realized today that the oldest fic I've written that's still available online was posted in 2004. it's 20 years old!!! holy moly!!

(I wrote fic way before then, but those stories are all lost, either to long-dead computers or long-dead websites)

I just finished reading a bunch of my old fics and thought it'd be neat to write out some of my observations :)

also, before anyone asks, I won't be linking to my old work. maybe someday I'll share, but not now.

The Things That I Have Improved On:

-headhopping: the narrative jumps from character to character in a way that I don't write anymore. the jumps are clearly done and don't interfere with the reading experience - I think I did it well - but that type of writing is considered old fashioned now, and a limited third person is more my style. to fix this, I'd use limited third person, as I do now

-scene length: not sure how to explain this one. the stories feel like they drag a little, even though there isn't anything actually extraneous in the text. to fix this, I'd probably try to trim a bit, or make sure the dialog has more action around it

-that's a little too much stylization, babe: I went really hard on the abstract descriptions. this is something I really love to write, but the old fics go a little too far imho. sometimes it gets a bit cringey. even when purposefully done, the 90's style of in your face awesomeness can be a bit much. to fix this, I'd knock it down a little. for reference, The Angel Breaker is this kind of style at the knocked down level, heh

The Things I've Stayed Good At:

(I'm basing this on the comments I got)

-worldbuilding: people complimented me on writing believable sciencey stuff, expanding on canon, and integrating my fanon into the canon seamlessly/filling in plot holes believably. there was a fic where a character talked about mechanical stuff they invented and the compliments were very similar to things I've heard about my TF writing. I'm happy to say that this has always been a strength and something I still enjoy!

-characters in character: people complimented me on writing characters in character, and also on expanding female characters' importance in stories (it was fashionable to hate on the female characters, sadly)

-the story overall: I used to get a ton of comments and I never got a flame, haha. people complimented the stories overall as being very well written and enjoyable, and I'm proud of that, and very glad that it still seems to be the case! one person even suspected I worked "behind the scenes" on creating the canon, which made me smile, because more than once I have been asked if I wrote the TF comics. heh heh.

(I have never written for TF canon)

Why Am I Sharing This? Seems A Bit Egotistical

I think it's nice to be able to look back and see strengths and weaknesses and improvements. Also, I know a lot of people enjoy my stuff, and sometimes people leave comments saying they feel like they'll "never be as good as" I am. So I want to share so that you know that the writing you see now is built on a lot of practice. I've been writing for over 20 years. I've improved and you can, too :)

It's much easier to see improvement in art, because two side by side pictures can be evaluated with a glance. But for fic, well, you'd have to read it, and that takes a lot more time. A summary feels like the quicker way to share with others the improvements I've made.

Where To Go From Here?

Well, I would like to write original works. I considered TEG my big practice for that. My brain is not ready, though, so I'm slowly composing a new fic. I do hope that when the season properly changes [I do MUCH better in cold weather, dear god, when will the summer end] my brain will kick back into creative gear. There have been a lot of Stressful Things happening this year. As soon as the last upcoming Big Family Obligation is done, I'll be able to focus a bit more on writing. Oh, also, hah, let's hope for a good outcome in the November election 🤞 Um, ok, try to stay on topic... yeah. Once things calm down, I really wanna hermit up and Fuckin' Write. So yeah. Write!

Any advice?

Write? You gotta keep writing to get better. Just like art. If you don't practice, you don't get better. If you have specific writing advice questions, feel free to hit the ask box.

Thanks for reading :)

[onewomancitadel]

A smattering of general updates:

I played Tears of the Kingdom. I didn't really enjoy it. I understand why it was popular though; I'm just not the demographic for these types of video games anymore. I didn't find it creatively rewarding and after a time I sat there thinking 'I would rather be writing right now', and since then I have learnt that writing is made easier by doing things which are not writing, because it makes me miss it. My dad also doesn't really like it but for some reason has played hundreds of hours in it. I don't know either - I think he will take anything called Zelda at this point.

I spectated the Doctor Who David Tennant Special and watched some clips of the new season. I'm not a fan of RTD, and not a DW fan anymore (not for a long time), but it was an interesting study in how studios try to attract old and new fans.

I read a lot of books, and that lie people tell you about all books being good for you is a lie, because a cyberpunk anthology of short stories made me so angry I got heartburn. I think people who say that are saying so because they wish that they could read a lot, in which case I say, yes I think reading is a gift and we should engage with it, however, sometimes I get so physically angry from something stupid/bad I've read because bad writers exist that it gives me actual pain. I am reading Howl's Moving Castle right now and it's very joyful; I am very surprised by the liberties the animated film took! However so far I do think both experiences are worthwhile, and if you enjoyed the Ghibli film, I very much recommend checking out the original book if you want to revisit that world again. The prose is straightforward but a little whimsical, and Howl is very, very funny. I have laughed aloud a few times.

Well, you know I rewatched Dark, and it's funny that during my exile I said 'this is like if RWBY got the ending it deserves' and then, er, I found out it's not renewed yet, and that's still up in the air, which for the entirety of RWBY I have only had one true moment of doubt of such a thing, and that was a while ago.

On that topic, yes, I still ship Jaune/Cinder, believe Cinder's redemption is likely, etc., although there are some more external concerns I would wager now than before. Before I thought it very possible to do without any commercial influence, and it depends what compromises they do or don't end up making or having already made. My analysis of Jaune's arc in V9 may not hold water as much (e.g. if you lean towards the view there were rewrites to cater to growing the audience, or perhaps it's two ideas married? I'm not sure) so I'm going to think about it more, and there always has been a tension in RWBY between what is being expected/baited and what is foreshadowed/said/actually happens.

I figured out how to write again and what was blocking me, so there's that. To talk about it a bit more, since my break I have worked every single day on writing. My key takeaways are that you need a delicate balance of delusion and self-doubt to get anything done - you don't know you can do something until you actually do it - and every excuse I invented for not writing was not the reason I was not writing. I can write with a migraine beginning to set in on an uncomfortable desk where I can't even rest my elbows properly on the end of a bed with no back support without aircon in the middle of summer before I've even taken my hair out from bedtime plaits in my pyjamas. I didn't even expect to get my fic done right before midnight, actually I was like 'well lol that's not going to happen, I'll write anyway though, fuck New Year's' because I wasn't doing anything, and then I finished and looked at the time and was like ooooh. I actually completed my goal! So I'm very proud of that. Anyway writing is breathing, to me, I go crazy if I don't do it, no matter what it is, and every single piece of nonsense advice of productivity was not helpful, ever, but I did figure it out. Also admittedly I got a fire burning under me again because I found out I was actually right about Raven, in which case I took that as a sign from heaven I was on the right track. One should hope.

I am excited about Dune Part Two, yes, although I am trying to avoid Villeneuve talking about the film because I know all the marketing is basically directed at people who aren't Dune fans, and I have to see it for myself to see what it's worth. I enjoyed the first film, and Villeneuve seems excited to direct Dune Messiah, in which case I am willing to do whatever possible to make that happen. Because that's about as complete a story you're going to get in a major motion picture adaptation and it would be So Fucking Good.

[alyszaen]

~ "Circle Triangle Square" - changbin x chichi ~

embedding in time: march 2023 word count: 1.1k words summary: changbin needs to know why chichi has been closed off around him warnings: pure angst, swearing, yelling disclaimer: Chichi is an O/C invented by @chiskz who gave me explicit permission to create and post this. a/n: I recommend reading this first. You don't have to, but it makes everything make more sense

Part Two Part Three

Do not repost or translate my work. © All Rights Reserved Reblog or comment if you liked it. Let me know what you enjoyed.

Chichi radiated confidence. Her eyes looked like small crescent moons because of the wide grin she was giving Changbin. He sat across from her, seperated by the glass wall in the recording studio. "How did I do? I think this is it!", she was satisfied with the ad-lips she just sang into the microphone. They were recording them for their upcoming album. All of the other members were already done, but with her busy schedule for Troubl3mak3rs, some personal projects and life in general, the oldest only now got the time to record. And who better to create some ad-lips with than Seo "Yooooh" Changbin.

She took of the headphones she was wearing all throughout the process and put them in their designated space. When she looked at the rapper through the see-through wall, he seemed anything but happy. His hands were moving through his hair, pulling it back and out of his face. He seemed stressed, his eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong, Binnie?" Ichi couldn't hear his sigh, but it was obvious that something was bothering him. Were her recordings not as good as she thought?

"Why are you being distant with me?", he didn't look angry at all, instead a hurt expression became clear through his glossy eyes. The girl knew what he was talking about, but she couldn't tell him that. There was no way she could explain why she stayed away from him, so she did the only thing she could think of in this moment; She lied. "What are you talking about?"

He stood up fast, pushing his chair back with so much strength that it got shoved into the dark couch behind him. It would definitely leave a mark on the leather, but that didn't matter to Changbin right now. What mattered, was to find out why his best friend was lying to him right now. "YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" The young mans eyes widened, he didn't mean to yell at her. He knew of her past and the damage it could do, but he was so afraid to loose her, almost intoxicated with that fear, that he lost control of the volume. She didn't even flinch, sure he would never hurt her. Yet he still apologized instantly - ashamed that he shouted at her.

Instead of panicking, Ichi grew furious. She walked towards the door seperating the recording room from all of the mixing-technology and opened it with all her strength. It didn't slam against the frame, because it was secured with rubber, but it still visualized her anger well.

"What the actual fuck, Changbin?" He visibly cringed at the name, not used to being called anything but loving nicknames by her. Tears built up in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She may trust him with her life, but showing weakness - which crying in front of the members felt like to her - was not something she took lightly. It was almost trivial. Of course they had all seen her with tears on her cheeks, but never like this. Never because she was the one causing someone else pain.

She stepped closer, now directly staring at the muscular man in front of her. "You know I care about you. I'd never want to hurt you. Ever...", towards the end of her sentence her voice grew quiet. Enormous amounts of guilt spread through her entire body. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Then why the hell have you been ignoring me? You say you don't want to hurt me...", before his voice could become more forceful he caught himself, not wanting to get too loud again. His next words were quiet, a mere whisper. Anyone observing would think he was saying something sweet or comforting. His voice was warm and almost soft, "But you have been the cause of most of my pain during the last weeks.", his voice broke, tears pooling in his eyes aswell, "I needed you! I needed my best friend to cheer me up, but she wasn't there...she was the reason why I needed cheering up in the first place."

Chichi couldn't practically feel her heart break into a million tiny pieces at his words. Her bottom lip quivered, her mouth drying up in an instant. Her chest felt heavy, but not in a comfortable way. Instead of feeling heavy with love, it felt heavy with pain. It was like someone filled her chest with thousands of stones and told her to keep moving. Every single breath felt like a burden on her body. She knew she couldn't keep it a secret anymore. It was eating her alive to be the cause of so much pain for him; To be the reason her best friends heart was aching. She was fighting with herself. The girl knew she owed him this honesty, but she was deadly afraid of what would happen once he knew. Ichi didn't think she would survive it if she lost him. Especially not like this.

This was the moment where Park Ichi let go of her restraints for the first time in years. She released all the built up emotions, all the fear and pain and anger that she stored in her body for so long. And with that release she also rid herself of the control for them. Ichi let the tears roll down her cheeks a while ago, her pupils widened in stress. "You want to know, why I've been ignoring you, huh, Changbin?", she took one last step closer, pointing her finger at his chest. With every word she said she got louder and louder. "I was ignoring you, because I can't be close to you anymore. I want to cry because I can't touch you. My heart aches because I just want you to tell me THAT EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE, BUT IT WON'T BE!", she was yelling now. Enraged by her own emotions. "I'M IN MOTHERFUCKING LOVE WITH YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING IDIOT!"

Chichis eyes widened in shock. She unconsiously threw her hands over her mouth. The tears she was releasing were not from anger or sadness anymore. They were filled with regret. She could never take this back. This would change everything. She probably just destroyed her most dear friendship and there was no way to change that.

And the only thing Changbin did was stare at her...

Taglist: @longingpurity @hyujinnie1 @sensitiveandhungry @minvho @hee0soo @minnnie-binnie @zoe8stay @l3visbby @bbyquokka @imafivestarkpopstan @mxnsxngie @serenitysoda200 @lino-jagiyaa @notastraykid Feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[coredrill]

as foretold, bang brave bang bravern was crazy good this week

it's just. gosh. for as much as i talk abt bravern being unhinged the fact of the matter is that it is actually SO restrained. ESPECIALLY for something in a medium that is already a little self-indulgent and referential. like for all of bravern himself's clear love for mecha there have been so few explicit references to other shows? and then this ep had so fucking many - ttgl (which - fucking hilarious to use it against a character KONISHI is voicing and then have that DD be fucking useless except for wanting to see some cool fights LSKDJFH) and flcl and symmetrical docking and rider kick and jeeg and gundam and the fuckin uhhhhhhhh exkaiser i think but i dont remember for sure its the same one that showed up in the earlier fight w superbia too. like w the other mecha on the roof framing. and probably about thirty more that i'm for sure missing or not recognizing or forgetting ON TOP OF all the obari posing and punching which have been sneaking into the visuals before this - but it was all for the purpose of having us watch this hype battle and get all excited to make the ending hit THAT much harder. and holding off the first gattai until episode NINE???? the thing we're all expecting to happen at any fucking moment, because there was no way that the souls of isami and bravern could've combined and actually resonated for a true gattai until that point????? like it's ALL in service of the story rather than wow cool robot even tho it IS a pretty damn cool robot. this show makes me feel like i did my homework and i'm acing the test AND I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THAT MUCH MECHA TBH. LMFAO. all the "who is this show even FOR (eyeroll emoji)" comments back in like ep2 get funnier every week bc bravern knows its audience like the back of its hand and it gets clearer and clearer every week that its execution is fucking razor sharp. this show is SO SUCKING GOOD and I LOVE IT. that was supposed to say fucking good but sucking works too

the fucking NOISE superbia makes when bravern is like "don't u want to fight me when i'm EVEN STRONGER" took me the FUCK out

[gets beer sponsorship] [makes Consumption Of Food And Drink a tether point to Humanity] [out-cooks the cooking show] i'm gonna buy more kona beer (<- fucking hates beer)

fish jumpscare !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i honestly don't think i've seen any anime with a fucking ED DROP before. lmfao

lewis smith. you want so badly to be the protagonist. to be the rival. to be the one who dies to motivate the hero. to be the MECHA ITSELF. and yet you are the love interest!!! you are GOING to be saved whether you want it or not!!! you ARE rain mikamura. you ARE the heroine. Let Isami Save You. you've got a family of people who fuck with time in different and fun ways to save each other and its his turn now whether you like it or not!!!!!!!!

he rly did put that mask back on right before he died…………..subtext, cowards, so on and so forth

thanks bravern for inventing gay ppl. was surprised to get a literal love confession AND an almost-kiss here but tbh at this point i think isami could use a good old-fashioned hug more than anything else. like one of those that cracks his spine. poor baby rice cracker is goin thru it LMAO. also i keep calling isami baby rice cracker and i cannot stop myself anymore………..baby rice cracker…………

me after saying every week that this show has done something to my brain "guys i think this show has done something to my brain"

wow this post is allover the place moreso than usual. like i said earlier this ep was so fucking DENSE and GOOD that i'm gonna need some time to process All That. gosh. [bravern voice] BRAAAAAAVEEEERN!!!!!!!!!!!

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

a trailer for Clementine Book Two dropped and y'all... it looks kinda good

T'was a stormy Thursday afternoon as I sat exhausted in my comfy chair after a long day at work, but with the weekend in sight I had little to frown about. Thunder rumbling outside, pitter patter of rain against my window, all cozy enough to make my eyes flutter shut. A nap sounded like a fine idea to start the weekend....

Then I got a notification—the Clementine Book Two trailer dropped. I bolted up from my chair, eyes narrowed down at my phone, and muttered to myself: "Aw shit, here we go again."

Yep. I'm here to dissect a trailer for a book no one wants and share my opinions and theories about it. You can watch the trailer for it here.

Honestly y'all, I think it looks good. I wouldn't say it's great or anything. I'm not THAT hopeful for Book Two. But it's a better trailer than Book One's, that's for sure. The artwork and animations look better and the music slaps.

After having watched it a few times now, I'm starting to question something about myself because I'm not nearly as offended by the existence of these books like I used to be. I still think the games are superior and the comics are indeed flawed, like I stand by all my criticisms, but seeing fans still throw temper tantrums like grumpy toddlers is just... silly? and irritating? At this point, just calm down. If this comic is really that bothersome for you, maybe you should just not look at it? Y'know, for your own well-being?

With that said, onto the screenshots and analysis:

Immediately I gotta point out the improvements in the art. I quite like these shots, there's a definite improvement over Book One.

We see a neat looking walker with either Olivia or a new character lurking behind it, Clementine's crying, and then some silhouettes of who I'm assuming are this new group, or they could be a pack of walkers.

So, I find these shots fascinating. We get a look at a bunch of new characters, and it looks like this new island group is a good mix of ages. We have a kid with an amputated arm, a character in wheelchair- though I believe that first shot kind of looks like Clementine based on the hair and the fact that Ricca and Olivia are there, and that second group screenshot shows a different person using one so maybe they have multiple chairs or something.

I feel like Book One missed an opportunity with the first community Clementine visited, the one where she met Amos and got her new leg. There are other characters there with prosthetics and you'd think Clementine might be interested in speaking to them, y'know? Not many people know what it's like to lose a limb, especially the way she did, and it might be nice for her to related to someone who has gone through a similar experience.

So if Clementine and friends are staying her for a long period of time, I would like to see her talk with that kid missing an arm, or the person using the wheelchair. There's a lot of potential in that.

Also, I do feel like I should bring this up because a criticism I keep hearing about this is the same bullshit I always hear: "A new group with children? The games already did this! Tillie's just copying TFS!"

How many times do I have to read this before I'm allowed to just start grunting disdainly at people?

Like I dunno if y'all have forgotten, but every single season of TWDG had Clementine meet a new group of people, and all of them had at least one kid around her age. TFS didn't invent the concept of a group of kids surviving in the apocalypse, and TWD has several instances of main characters meeting new groups.

Pretty much everything in TWD has been done. If you're gonna be pissy about this comic rehashing previous tropes and ideas, then I better hear you also being pissy about everything post the original TWD comics, and that includes every season of TWDG.

And yes, I get it. It's annoying that Clementine left Ericson and now she's finding a new group. Nothing new is being said here, we've all said it a million times, we know already.

And then there's this:

"but Clem already had a mentor! What about Lee??"

I don't know if you've heard, but Lee's super dead and no longer available for any mentor position.

Luke, Kenny, and Jane were also mentor characters for Clementine in S2. ANF she had Javi. Then in S4 she became the mentor character with AJ. This is a nothing criticism. Hell, you can't even call it that because what it really boils down to is bitching over nothing.

That's what I'm so over. Every time I see someone complain that the comics are just copying the games or whatever, I get irritated because that's not a real criticism. It's people looking to validate their dislike of the comics by making it sound way worse than it really is. You don't have to like the comics, and you can take issue with their existence. There are plenty of things to criticize about Book One that have nothing to do with the damn games, and while I can hope Book Two is an improvement, I am skeptical.

But I'm bored of your "#notmyclementine," it's says nothing new.

ANYWAY... my ranting aside, this must be Miss Morro. I'm curious about her and what her deal is. She's supposedly an "enigmatic doctor" and I'm interested to see if she turns out to be the secret baddie of this book or a red herring.

Ah yes, I'm sure everything on this island isn't going to be super normal, all happy sunshine and rainbows... until it's not. Because that's just how TWD operates.

It looks like they have a nice set up. They have boats for what I assume is fishing, a lot of land, buildings, and are those balloons I see? floating up from a car?? That tells me there's some sort of celebration that's gonna happen.

And it looks like Clementine has her new hat. Not as iconic as her old hat, but I'm sure the sunhat will make a name for itself.

Ah okay. The other thing people were pissy about.

We're still pushing this love story between Clementine and Ricca, just as we did in Book One's trailer.... only for the "romance" in Book One to be lackluster, or rather, nonexistent. As I said in my review, Clementine had more chemistry with Amos than she did with Ricca and that's not great when Ricca's supposed to be the main love interest.

But if we're still doing this, and we clearly are because their hands are touching and we all know that's THE #1 sign of true love, then y'know what? I'm rooting for it.

Don't look at me like that. I'm not letting go of clouis for clemricca, y'all should know better than that. I'm not so weak willed as to think that entertaining the idea of Clementine and Ricca being together in these comics will somehow hurt my love of clouis. The games and comics exist as separate things, it's fine.

I want to see where Tillie takes this. I want to see if Ricca's allowed to be a fleshed out character and not just a place holder love interest. Now that Amos is gone [or is he?] then we should have some free time to devote to them, no?

Also, to answer your question: No, it's never safe to fall in love, this is TWD, don't be silly.

Hmmmm, a dark secret, you say?

I know you're trying to make me think Miss Morro has the dark secret... but I'm suspicious that it's a trick.

Y'all wanna take bets on what the secret of Miss Morro/the island group is? Are they a cult? Cannibals? Doin' weird shit with the walkers? Is this island like the island in Lost and monster bullshit's about to happen?

What's gonna be the twist here, y'know? Tell me what you think, the more absurd the better.

I'm going with the plot twist that they're all genuinely nice people except there's a traitor amongst the group out for revenge... and that traitor is Arvo who got wind that Clementine named her prosthetic after Kenny, remembered how terrible the ending of S2 was, and wants revenge.

That's a lot of walkers.

Looks like a herd will pass through the area... wonder if they just happened by or if someone led them there, hmmm?

Lots of Clementine tears in this trailer, and given she and Ricca are both crying, some emotional shit's probably going down. Maybe they're talking about what happened in Book One, maybe Olivia's just died, maybe Clementine's going more in-depth about her past is ways that will give me a headache. Who knows.

"Clementine has a choice. Keep running and save herself. Or fight a lose it all."

Y'know... I know this won't happen, but a part of me wants a plot twist where Clementine abandons the group and saves herself. I mean, she already abandoned Ericson. She's clearly capable of abandoning AJ for selfish reasons. I would be impressed if Clementine and Ricca just left when shit hit the fan and saved themselves while the island group just burns.

But this IS a YA story, so Clementine's gonna be the hero and sacrifice everything to save everyone, and survive. There's a final book after this so I'm positive that Clementine and Ricca are safe.

Given this kid's crying and we get a close up of the walker's face, I'm predicting that the walker is someone they knew. Or they've never had to kill one before.

Is that.... is that my boy??

My dude?? My guy?? The best character from Book One??

Amos is here, except not really. I'm 99% sure Clementine's dying [again] and is having a dream sequence with Amos telling her she's not gonna die.

Listen, I'm gonna be real with you. I don't think Amos is dead. Unless you show me his corpse or him as a walker, I don't believe he died. Nope. Sorry, but no. You know how this works. Proof, or get outta here with this "Amos couldn't have survived the fall" nonsense. I know he was shoved off a cliff but c'mon. I have to hold out hope for SOMETHING, and that something is the shocking return of an alive Amos.

Also, very interesting that Clementine's seeing him at all. What, no Lee suddenly appearing to her? It's almost like she had a great dynamic and chemistry with Amos over the the rest of the group and his supposed "death" had a big impact on her.

This trailer does a lot better at creating intrigue over what's going to happen. And to clarify, while I'm hopeful that this comic will be an improvement over the first, I'm not expecting it to blow my mind or anything. I'm not expecting it to be great, but I wouldn't complain if it was, y'know?

I already have my copy pre-ordered. I'm prepared to read it ten times so that I can write a thorough "I read it so you don't have to" analysis and review.

And because this has to be said since the trailer's comments are disabled: don't be a dick, y'know? I'd love to hear your thoughts on the trailer and what we know of Book Two so far, but if you're just gonna spew nonsense about hating Tillie or try to convince me she's bad, just... piss off? I don't care, no one cares, come back when you have something of value to add to the conversation. Thanks.

[jubilantmedusa]

Hi! I just wanted to say that I really like your fics <3 I re-read your latest Zukka one 3 times. Do you plan to write any more soon? What type of ideas do you have? I hope I don't sound pushy I'm just curious!

Aww, so glad you enjoyed it :)

I doesn't take much to get me to talk about ideas and WIPs so here you go!

I'm not sure how soon any of this will get done, just because life is very busy right now (which is the reason I've been focusing on short stuff - I prefer medium/long, but short is more achivable right now; and it is a fun challenge to stick to a word limit).

Actively working on:

Zukka HC Sketch + Fic: I have two other Zukka H/C-ish sketches that I need to write stories for. They should be a little less angsty then the last one, in theory, but still have some H/C element. Waiting for inspiration to strike. (1 - 1.5k each goal). I might do more of these, or I might switch to a non-H/C sketch/fic focus. Or I might stop when those two are done. IDK. Whatever's fun.

Iroh and Zuko Post "The Desert" Whump AU: Zuko and Iroh’s escape from "The Desert" is intercepted by an enemy who quickly surmises that the most effective way to torture Iroh is to torture Zuko. With Iroh literally losing his mind, can Zuko (who is not doing well) save his uncle and himself? (currently at 4k; estimated 12 - 16k)

If I can finish the above by the end of the year I'll be pleased.

Ideas that I really want to do and have at least done *some* pre-writing for:

Iroh's Second Spirit World Journey: An Iroh centric story that diverges after "The Earth King." When Zuko never wakes up from his angst coma, Iroh goes literally beyond the ends of the earth to try to save him (aka - Iroh's second spirit world journey). Could have a sequal (or even be a trilogy, potentially), but not required. I really want to write this but I'm not sure if it would have an audience. Estimate: long, over 25k

Escaping the Desert: Another "The Desert" divergence story - Zuko and Iroh are captured by the Rough Rhinoes. Unfortunately, so is Toph. Zuko will do anything to save his uncle, but what about the strange blind girl who was with the avatar? Estimate 15 - 25k. The problem with this one is it would more or less require a trilogy... but if I can keep all the stories to around 10-15k that may be achievable.

Zukka Iron Lung: There is a plague that only effect firebenders. This spurs the invention of the iron lung -- Sokka is one of the lead engineers. When Sokka goes to the Fire Nation to Save the Day, he catches feelings for the Fire Lord. Unfortunately, Zuko then catches the plague. Length TBD.

Zukka Post Series romance: Zuko was injured/disabled before the finale and never took the throne. Sokka hasn't spoke to him since. He has, however, developed PTSD. With his life seemingly falling apart. Sokka decides to run away and go to university at Ba Sing Se. He stops for tea at the Jasmine Dragon, which is now run by, you guessed it, Zuko. Angst and romance ensures. Bonus airbender field trip. Length TBD.

Ice Demon / Waterbender Hospital - This is something I'm not sure anyone would be interested in except me, but I do like medical whump. I've done some light worldbuilding for a waterbender hospital, and have a vague idea of sending Zuko there when he's attacked by an Ice spirit. For some reason. Maybe involving Aang and his quest to master the avatar state? or maybe not, because that would be a lot of story. Lots of more to develop here. Could be gen or Zukka. Season 3 somewhere. Length TBD.

Fire Demon story - I would love to write a longer form season one AU that shamlessly steals the premise of the excellent short fic Fire Walk by Sholio and makes it into a multi-chapter Zuko joins the gang early story. Length TBD.

Ancedotes: This is an idea for a series of short form slice of life/characters backstory fics (3 - 8k, lets say). So far they'd include - "Old Man " a story that answers the question 'how did Sokka learn about physics?' - coming of age/loss of innocence; "Losing at Pai Sho" a story about teen Iroh learning to not be arrogant; and "First Kiss" - the only idea I've ever had for an Azula story, featuring Ty Lee's first kiss and Azula's first... something else. I have an idea for Toph and Zuko, but not committed to them. Katara story has not come to me. I also wanted to pair these with exercises from The 3 A.M. Epiphany because idk the whim struck and the idea is in my head.

Aside form that, I'd like to write a few whumpy Zuko short stories (3 - 10k) that focus on the gaang relationships I haven't written about as much - friendship fics featuring Katara & Zuko, Aang & Zuko, or Toph & Zuko.

If I am ever to become independently wealthy, I'll write my season 3 AU.

And if I ever feel very, very silly - but still slightly angsty - I'll have Iroh commission a symphony in C.

Thank you so much for the question! I am flattered. It was very nice.

If there's an idea you (or anyone who stumbles across this) especially likes, let me know!

[oblivious-aro]

Friends in strange Places Ch. 6 Pt 2

What if Vlad was good instead of evil? Link to chapter 1:

Friends in Strange Places Chapter 1, a danny phantom fanfic | FanFiction

FANFICTION.NET

Summary: With a little encouragement from Vlad, Danny works up the nerve to tell his parents. Sam and Tucker realize they have some things to discuss.

Word Count: 8600

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

By the time Danny managed to get the thespian ghost into The Thermos and fly back home, Vlad had already left. Danny was disappointed to have missed him, but he did get a play-by-play of the entire visit from his parents over dinner.

"...and it turns out Vladdie hasn't had any luck designing an ecto-based adhesive either! But thanks to his input, we should be able to increase the efficiency of The Spectre Speeder tenfold!"

"That's fascinating Dad." Jazz deadpanned "So you and Vlad have been breaking the ice okay then?"

"Yup!" Maddie smiled "Oh, I'm so glad Vlad decided to open up to us. It's been so nice working with him again."

"Wow," Jazz said "Vlad sharing his secret with you two really seems to have made a difference in your relationship. Even if he was scared to do it, it certainly seems to have been worth the risk."

Danny glared at Jazz.

"You said it Jazzy!" Jack beamed, oblivious to the secret conversation between his children "Now that we know what's been going on with Vladdie all this time, we're closer than ever before!"

"You don't say." Jazz stared directly at Danny as she spoke.

"I'm done eating, I'm going to my room now." Danny pushed his chair back and began to walk towards the stairs.

"Sorry Danny," Maddie grabbed his shoulder as he passed her "You and your father are on dishes tonight."

"What? But I did them last night!"

"Yeah?" Jazz put the stack of plates in the sink "And who did them the last two nights in before that?"

"That was only because-" he'd had to leave halfway through dinner to deal with Skulker's newest (not to mention very destructive) 'toy'.

"Because what, Danny?" Maddie cocked an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Danny grumbled.

"See you in the lab, Hun." Maddie gave Jack a peck on the cheek "I want to get started on archiving today's data."

With that, she disappeared down the basement stairs.

"Come on, Danno," Jack gave the pouting Danny a pat on the back "The sooner we get this done, the sooner it'll be over. You washing or drying tonight?"

"I'll dry." Danny said. His father had an unfortunate tendency to put dishes away in the wrong places, and Danny did not feel like dealing with Jazz's complaining tomorrow morning.

"So," Danny asked as his dad handed him a plate "How are things going with Vlad? It's really not awkward with his whole, you know...'ghostly' situation?"

"Nonsense Danny!" Jack waved his hand "We barely even talked about it."

Danny wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I mean," Jack continued "We did sit down and discuss the situation when he first got here, but it didn't take long for us to get back into the swing of researching together just like old times. In fact, the data we collected today has given me a great idea for a new weapon! I call it The Fenton Ghost Gooer!"

"You're not like, married to that name, are you?" Danny scrunched his nose.

"It's gonna be great!" See, your mother and I haven't had much success with ectoplasmic based adhesive in the past, but after studying its behaviour at high velocity under varying degrees of impact force..."

Danny rolled his eyes. It could be so difficult to get his father to stay on a topic that wasn't whatever his latest ghost invention was.

"Dad, would it bother you if you saw Vlad using his ghost powers?" Danny interrupted his rambling.

"What do you mean, Son?" Jack frowned.

"I know you and Mom don't hate Vlad or anything for being half-gho-"

"Of course we don't hate Vladdie!" Jack made an offended expression "He's our best friend!"

"Yeah I know, but I mean like, wouldn't it wig you out to see him flying around or sticking his arm through something? Like, how'd you feel when you first saw him transform?"

"Well I suppose it was a little startling." Jack said "But Vladdie had only really told us about his powers less than a minute ago, so you can't really blame me for being shocked. Your mother and you kids were pretty shaken too, if I recall correctly. Heck, you and your friends barely said a word the whole drive home!"

"Uh...yup! That's right! Totally shocked!" Danny laughed nervously.

"But once your mother and I talked things out, and I got a good night's sleep to think it over, I was able to...what's the word Jazz uses? 'Process' the situation. Sure, it's a little strange that Vlad's got ghostly abilities, but the fact is he does and he's our friend, so we're just going to have to get used to it. Simple as that. The lesson here Danny is that when your problems seem too strange and impossible to figure out, get a good night's sleep. That's something my father taught me. Your brain does amazing things while you're sleeping. Can't tell you how many times I've gone to bed thinking I'd have to scrap some glitchy invention, only to wake up knowing exactly how to fix it!"

Danny wasn't sure he believed his dad. How could Vlad turning out to be half-ghost be so simple for him? Seeing your best friend using the same abilities as the creatures you've hated and hunted obsessively for years had to be a weird, right? Like, at least a little?

"What's got you asking about Vladdie so much anyway, Son?"

"Oh uh, no reason. Just curious."

Jack smiled softly at Danny and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Danny, if Vlad's ghost powers freak you out, you should know you have nothing to worry about. I know he might have looked a little intimidating when he fought that lake monster, but looks are just looks, and despite how Vlad might have looked, he's isn't actually a ghost, so-"

"Ew Dad, you're soaking through my shirt!" Danny pushed Jack's soapy hand off of his shoulder "And I'm not scared of Vlad. I haven't even been scared of ghosts since I was seven."

"Well that's good to hear then." Jack gave Danny's back a strong pat before resuming his scrubbing. "Because there's absolutely no reason to be afraid of Vladdie. And there's gonna be absolutely no reason to be afraid of ghosts anymore once I finish The Fenton Ghost Gooer!"

Danny smiled as his dad started to explain his latest invention.

If nothing else, Jack Fenton was genuine. If he said he didn't have a problem with Vlad's ghost powers, then he meant it.

So why was some small part of Danny still so hesitate?

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

"Aim left! Left!" Tucker cried.

Their entire view was obscured by an explosion before a metallic skull appeared on the computer screen with the words Game Over overlaying it.

"Okay, that might have been a little too left."

"Y'know," Valerie said "I just don't think this game is for me."

"Aw come on, you were way better that time."

"Was I?"

"I mean, you almost made it past level one. That's an improvement!"

Valerie did not look impressed.

"You know, I really thought your ghost hunting skills would translate directly to DOOMED. It's basically the same mechanics."

"What're you talking about? Aiming a real blaster is waay smoother then trying to line up your sight with that thing." Valerie pointed at the computer mouse like it was something offensive.

"Aw well," Tucker shrugged "Can't say you didn't try."

"Indeed." Valerie checked her watch "I'd better get going. Sorry DOOMED didn't work out."

"S'all good." Tucker waved his hand "I still got Danny and Sam to play with. We've got loads of other stuff we can try doing together."

"Alright, but I'm choosing the next date activity." Valerie smiled.

"Sounds good." Tucker frowned "Wait, this was a date?"

"I'm pretty sure this counts?"

"Oh, if that's the case, I feel kind of bad making you spend a date playing a video game you didn't enjoy."

"I mean, I did enjoy watching you freak out every time one of those robot bat things showed up."

"They suck up your health! It's imperative to get rid of them as fast as possible before they become too beefy! Sure, they're pretty harmless if you kill them right away, but it's insane that the developers put an enemy that's capable of getting so powerful at level one!"

"See that," Valerie smiled as she swung her backpack over her shoulder "That's weirdly charming. Now I really got to go. See you tomorrow."

"See you!" Tucker called back. Valerie had officially been over enough times that he didn't need to show her out anymore.

And now that she was gone, it was time for DOOMED with Danny.

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

Pow! Pow!

"Oh my gosh it's satisfying watching an enemy actually get hit." Tucker said over the voice chat. His parents had gotten him a mic set for his birthday.

"I take it DOOMED with Valerie didn't go well?" Danny's asked.

"Dude, she is so bad! Uh, don't tell her I said that."

"Ha ha, I won't. It's weird, though. Considering her ghost hunting skills, I figured she'd be great at this game."

"I thought so too, but nope! It was like that time we watched my little cousin play Mario at my eleventh birthday party."

"Ugh, why'd you bring that up? That was a genuinely painful experience."

"So was watching Valerie play!"

They continued to play in near silence for a while, only talking to warn each other of an approaching enemy.

Just as Tucker was getting ready to call it, Danny spoke:

"Thanks for hanging out tonight, Tuck. I think I needed this."

"Hey, no problem man. Is something going on?" Tucker asked casually. He very much knew that there was a lot going on with Danny, but he figured between Sam and Jazz, Danny didn't need another person smothering him.

That being said, Tucker was still worried about his best friend. He could hardly help it.

"I'm just stressed about telling my parents." Danny paused to blast an approaching spider "I know they're gonna accept me, but the idea of actually telling them is still pretty terrifying. I know it's not a big thing, just two sentences or whatever, but it still feels like the most monumental thing I've ever done."

"Honestly, I think that's pretty reasonable. I know you know they'll be cool, but this is still the biggest secret you've ever kept. Makes sense you're wigged out about finally letting go."

"Yeah, ha ha. I'll figure it out eventually, though. Hopefully. Anyway, one more round?"

"Sure thing Dude."

They were interrupted by the notification sound effect of another player joining.

"Hey, poetry slam ended earlier than I thought it would. You two still playing?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but we're just doing one last round." Danny replied.

"That's fine. Still gives me enough time for me to hand you both your own butts."

Tucker was pretty sure he could hear Sam's smug grin through his headset.

"Don't think your victory's so assured, Sam." Tucker said "I've been working on a new strategy that'll knock your socks clean off!"

"Ooh! I'm shaking in my rank three crusher boots with bonus spike damage."

Despite Tucker's trash talk, he'd gotten used to losing a while ago. It was just fun to pretend he might one day outrank Sam.

Mostly he was just happy that Danny was getting a break.

...and also the opportunity to test out his new poison upgrade.

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

Danny sighed with relief as he dropped the last of the rags into The Fenton Washing Machine. Not all of the ectoplasm from his parents catapult experiment had made it into the The Containment Tank, and Danny still wasn't having any luck convincing Jazz to swap chores with him.

Danny had just turned the washer on when his ghost sense went off. With a loud groan, Danny turned and glared at the portal. He felt every muscle in his body relax when Vlad floated out.

"Do you somehow just know when I've just finished cleaning the lab?" Danny was too exhausted to muster up a polite greeting "If you're looking for my parents, they're actually out right now. My dad realized we were out of fudge after dinner, and he almost died when he saw we weren't stocked up on baking ingredients."

"I can practically hear Jack's panicked voice." Vlad grinned "But it's actually you I'm after." Vlad said.

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes. Although Jack and Maddie seem relatively comfortable with my ghostly side, I don't think it'd be a good idea to just fly into their lab through the portal as a ghost. I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"Fair. How'd it go with them yesterday anyway?"

"Rather well, all things considered. Being so open about my abilities with them has certainly been a...mental adjustment after decades of secrecy and hiding, but as I said they really do seem to have taken it rather well."

"That's good to hear." Danny smiled. Hearing Vlad say that made him feel lighter inside. "So what'd you want to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to inquire about your plans to tell your parents about your accident." Vlad said. The lightness in Danny vanished "I assume you haven't already?"

"Uh...no, I...have not done that yet." Danny hoped Vlad couldn't tell how dry his mouth was.

Vlad frowned.

"You seem rather perturbed Daniel. Do you...not want to tell them?"

"I do!" Danny said quickly "Really! It just...never seems like the right time, I guess."

"You guess?"

Danny sighed.

"You know, things aren't terrible right now." Danny rubbed the back of his neck "I guess it's just...I don't really know what will happen when I tell them. I mean, I know they won't banish me to The Ghost Zone or dissect me or whatever, but things are going to..be different, you know? And honestly, that kind of scares me. I guess I was too busy worrying about what could go wrong to think about what would happen if things went right, so I really don't know what to expect."

Vlad's eyes softened with sympathy.

"As they say, misery is comfortable."

"What? No, that's stupid. I hate being miserable, everyone does."

"Daniel you just told me that a part of you would rather live in a house with two people who are trying to hunt you, surrounded by hazardous devices, than tell your parents about your ghost part."

"No, that's- I mean...huh."

"I do understand how you're feeling." Vlad said. "Now that your parents know about my powers, I was more than a tad nervous to come down here yesterday, and there is a reason I stalled telling them until the end of the trip. But, as someone who's been where you are, I can confidently say things are better now that they know. Even with all the unknown elements."

"I know things'll be better," Danny said "It's just so weird to think how much one little conversation can change."

"Things are going to change. It might be a bit awkward with your parents at first, I won't lie. The idea of being in my ghost form around Jack and Maddie still makes me...apprehensive, and I'm not sure I'll feel comfortable with it any time soon. For all I know, I may never."

"Well that's comforting."

"But I'm not scared of my best friends shooting me anymore, so that's a plus." Vlad grinned "Kind of outweighs having to deal with the awkwardness, if you ask me."

"Yeah," Danny laughed half-heartedly "I suppose it would."

"You want my advice? Tell them tonight."

"Tonight!?" Danny almost had a heart attack

"Yes tonight. Not telling Jack and Maddie sooner has been my biggest regret. You know you want to do this. Save yourself the unnecessary worry and just get it done."

Danny thought about it. He supposed Vlad's logic was sound, and if there was anyone he should listen to for tips on telling his parents they were half-ghost it was him, but the thought of doing it so soon made him dizzy. He knew he'd been stalling, but he needed a little more time to prepare than that.

"I'll do it tomorrow night." he said, sounding much firmer than he felt.

"Well I say never put off till tomorrow what can be done today," Vlad shrugged "But the decision is yours. Good luck Little Badger!"

With that, Vlad flew backwards through the portal, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

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

Tucker had to stop himself from cheering as the lunch lady finished scooping the casserole of the day onto his tray. In his opinion, it was insanely cruel of the faculty to schedule his biweekly PE period right before lunch. As if gym class wasn't long enough!

He quickly found Sam in their usual spot and took a seat across from her.

"Where's Danny?" Tucker asked before shoving a large spoonful of casserole into his mouth. It was tomato and ground beef with macaroni noodle today.

"Give you three guesses and two of them don't count." Sam replied.

"Ah." Tucker swallowed "Was it The Box Ghost again?"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it was Klemper. Danny said something about frozen toilets."

"Ooh, maybe Danny should let him keep going for a bit! I think they have to cancel school if the toilets don't work."

"Tucker, broken plumbing facilities in a building with over five hundred people could pose a serious problem. Do you know how many students here have bladder issues?"

"Okay jeez, I was only joking."

There was a brief silence as the two of them started to eat their lunches.

"I really could've used you with Danny the other day, you know." Sam said "It's like you don't even care that your best friend's about to tell his parents the biggest secret of his life."

"What? Sam, of course I care. I'm worried about Danny too, but there's no point in pushing him if he's not ready yet."

Sam was about to angrily retort, but she stopped herself, the conversation with Danny replaying in her head.

Why was she so angry at Tucker? Sure, it was kind of annoying he hadn't backed her up, but she had to admit his logic wasn't totally unreasonable.

"I guess." she relented. It felt weird admitting Tucker was right so easily.

Wait, why did that feel so weird? They were friends, best friends. It shouldn't take so much restraint just to agree with each other about something so minor.

Danny was right. Something was wrong.

Not that it was all Sam's doing, Tucker could be annoying and insensitive. A lot of the time, in fact.

But was Sam maybe...not always interpreting his intentions in the best light? Just maybe?

A lot of mixed thoughts were going through Sam's head, but one thing she knew for sure was that if they wanted to fix what was going on, someone had to start somewhere.

"Hey, um, I just wanted to say I'm...sorry I teased you about Valerie so much. You told me to stop and I didn't, even though I should have."

Tucker blinked, completely taken aback by her sudden apology. It probably didn't help that she'd been giving him the gears less than a minute ago.

Admittedly, that might have been a weird place to start, but it was the first thing Sam thought of, and Sam was the kind of person who liked to start fixing a problem as soon as possible.

She just hoped Tucker wouldn't make fun of her apology for revenge.

"Uh...no hard feelings." Tucker said, his shocked expression morphing into a grin "In fact, since you apologized, and I'm such a gracious friend, I promise I won't make as much fun of you when you get your embarrassing first crush." Tucker winked and did finger guns.

Sam felt a flash of annoyance. Of course, Tucker didn't know she was aromantic, chances were he didn't even know what 'aromantic' meant, so Sam knew it wasn't fair for her to be mad at him.

Well, she had just decided she wanted to fix the kink in their friendship, and an important part of friendship was being able to trust your friends with your secrets...

"Actually...I don't think I'll ever get a crush." Sam said.

"Aww, come on. I know being gloomy's your thing, but I'm sure someday you'll-"

"No Tucker, I'm aromantic."

"Oh. Um, what's that?"

"It means I don't get crushes, and I'm never going to fall in love. Ever." Sam crossed her arms "And before you try to give me another pitying platitude, I'm actually quite happy with this development."

"Okay, but how do you know you'll never fall in love?" Tucker asked.

Anger burned in Sam.

"Ugh!" she threw up her hands "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you!"

She knew this would happen! She knew Tucker wouldn't take her seriously! She knew he'd-

"No no no no wait, I totally believe you!" Tucker threw up his hands defensively "I just meant, like, how'd you figure it out? I'm sorry, I didn't realize how that would sound! I didn't mean it like that, I promise!"

The fire in Sam instantly died.

"You...really believe me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because people are never taken seriously when they say they aren't interested in romance. I've lost count of the number of movies I've seen where someone says they're happy being single, but by the end they've started a relationship with someone and everyone's acting like they're 'fixed' now." Sam unconsciously clenched her fists. She'd never realized that that trope bothered her so much until right now. "Plus you specifically never take anything I say seriously."

"What? Yes I do! What are you talking about?"

"Well you weren't exactly the most supportive of my menu update at the start of the year."

"Sam, you literally forced everyone in the school to change to a very niche diet. You gotta admit that's a little extreme."

"Okay fine, maybe that wasn't my best idea. But it feels like ever since then, you've never tried to help me with my world-improving projects. You don't even really listen to my ideas. Like, the world's on fire, and all my friends, family, and fellow students ever seem to want to do about it is laugh at me for trying to fix things!"

The passion in Sam's voice sobered Tucker's normally humorous attitude.

"I didn't think you cared what other people said about you." he said.

"I don't." Sam looked defiantly into Tucker's eyes "I'm an activist to try and make the world a better place, I'm not interested in this for personal glory." Sam gaze shifted away from Tucker's face and she crossed her arms over her body "But y'know, I...might care a little bit what my best friends say about me."

"Oh." Tucker looked away too. "I...I guess that makes sense."

There was a long silence.

"So...how did you figure it out?" Tucker asked "I mean, if you like girls then you figure it out by liking a girl and vice versa, but there isn't really a sign if you don't like anybody, so how do you know you won't like anybody ever?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at Tucker.

"N-not saying you're wrong about saying you're aromantic! Or that anybody else is! I'm really just curious, I swear! Actually you know what, you don't have answer that. I probably shouldn't have even asked."

Tucker proceeded to shove an entire handful of tater tots in his mouth. Sam was pretty sure it was to stop himself from rambling any more. It was a very Tucker thing to do. She might've laughed if Tucker's question hadn't been making her think so hard.

Sam wasn't offended by the question, she knew Tucker was a curious person who meant it genuinely, it was just a difficult question to answer.

"I don't know." Sam admitted "It just...feels right. I don't know how to explain it any better. The idea of not falling in love feels like it fits better than the typical romantic ideas everyone's always pushing, and like, when I read about some of the experiences of other aromantic people I've found online, it just feels so right. Like someone finally gets it. I can't really explain it much better than that, but I just know it's true that I'm not going to fall in love."

"I guess it's like getting a crush." Tucker mused "You can't really explain it, you just kind of know."

Sam frowned. She didn't think it was exactly like that, but she could see that Tucker was trying to be understanding. Not to mention she had just told herself she was going to try and be more civil with him.

"Uh, maybe." she said "Honestly, the idea was kind of weird at first, but the more time goes on, the more I actually really like knowing I'm aro. It's great. Figuring that out feels like scratching an itch I didn't even know I had."

"I definitely get that."

"You do?"

Tucker felt his heart skip a beat.

"I...think I might be bi." Tucker said.

"Yeah? Good for you." Sam gave Tucker a small but genuine smile.

Tucker felt his whole body relax.

Wait, why was he so relieved? He hadn't felt this tense when he was telling Danny or Valerie.

Maybe Danny was on to something about him and Sam...

"You okay over there?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just uh, thinking about some stuff. You don't seem surprised."

"Tucker, remember the drive in Danny's RV to Vlad's cottage?"

"Oh yeah. I kind of hoped everyone had forgotten about that nightmare."

"I mean, I had planned on never mentioning it again ever, but I don't think I could forget it if I tried. But hey, at least I figured out my romantic orientation. So that's pretty cool." Sam shrugged casually.

"I wish I felt as confident about being bi as you do about being...what was it?"

"Aromantic. Aro for short."

"Aro, got it. I mean, I'm warming up to the idea of being bi, but it's been quite the adjustment for my brain. At first it felt like I maybe wasn't even allowed to call myself that."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I for sure do get crushes on guys sometimes, but it really isn't a lot of the time. I'm really mostly into girls, so sometimes it kind of feels like I'm trying to claim something I'm not sure I have any right to."

"So what? You gotta like 'this many' boys to be bi? And who exactly is checking that?"

Tucker laughed a little before continuing.

"Yeah, I know it sounds kind of ridiculous. I have been feeling more comfortable calling myself as bi the longer I've thought about it, but I still can't quite shake this feeling that at some random moment someone's gonna jump out and call me out on it."

"Don't worry," Sam picked up her milk carton and drained the last of it "If anyone even tries to imply you're not 'bi enough' or whatever, I'll just have a nice little chat with them."

Sam finished her statement by crushing the empty milk carton in her hand, all five of her nails leaving gashes in cardboard.

Tucker was going to laugh at Sam's joke, but the carton-crushing demonstration ad actually been genuinely intimidating (Sam was pretty good at being intimidating), so the noise he ended up making was somewhere between a laugh and a yelp.

Sam nearly jumped out of her seat.

"How did you even make that sound?" she asked.

"I don't know, and I don't think I could make it again if I tried."

Sam laughed.

It was actually really nice hearing her laugh like that. Tucker couldn't recall the last time Sam had laughed at one of his jokes.

That might have had something to do with the fact that a lot of his jokes were made at her expense.

Like, a lot of them.

Tucker honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd really gone out of his way to be nice to Sam. Not since the meat incident.

This was not a comfortable realization.

"Hey Sam," Tucker wasn't exactly sure how to say what he wanted to say, but he knew he had to say something "I'm sorry I haven't been taking you seriously lately. I know I haven't exactly been the best listener. Don't get me wrong, some of you ideas are insane and I want no part in them, but I'm gonna at least start trying taking them seriously now. I'll start taking you seriously, I promise."

Sam was slightly taken aback. She hadn't expected an apology from Tucker, and she hadn't realized how much she'd wanted to hear that until he said it.

"Wow," she started to say "I really-"

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Danny suddenly appeared and sat down beside Sam. Tucker genuinely wasn't sure whether they just hadn't notice him approach, or if he'd snuck in ghost-style.

"It's all good du-" Tucker paused when he noticed the apprehensive look in Danny's eyes "You okay? You look like something's up."

Danny took a long breath.

"Are you two free to come over tonight?"

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

Walking down the basement stairs felt like walking through molasses. Not because it was slow, but because each step seemed to take a monumental amount of effort. The journey was actually over surprisingly quickly.

Danny wondered if there was any way he could have lengthened it.

His parents hadn't noticed his descent, both of them deeply absorbed in...whatever giant metal contraption they were working on. Danny didn't really care right now.

He walked up to his parents and loudly cleared his throat, causing them both to snap their heads up.

"H-hey Mom, Dad."

"Hey Danny!" his father set his wrench down to wave at him "How was school?"

"Uh, g-good. School was good."

"Did you need something, Sweetie?" Maddie frowned, sensing his nervousness.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

"Um yeah, I kind of...have something to tell you. It's...about the accident I had with the ghost portal."

Jack and Maddie's faces immediately turned serious.

"Danny," Maddie said gently "

"Yeah, I know, I know. That's not it though. It's..."

Danny took a deep breath.

And just jumped in.

"It made me...like Vlad."

"Like...Vlad?" Maddie raised an eyebrow.

"Half-ghost. The portal made me half-ghost. I have ghost powers like Vlad."

There was a beat of silence. Maddie and Jack looked at each other briefly and turned back to Danny.

"Now Son," Jack smiled "I know you two both had ghost portal accidents, but there's no way our portal affected you in the same extreme way. Sure, maybe you've been having minor side effects-"

"That you should have told us about earlier." Maddie cut in sternly.

"What your mother said. But there's no way you could have been affected as drastically as Vlad. You don't even-"

Jack was cut off by two blinding rings of light splitting around Danny's waist, turning him into the ghostly version of himself.

The sight made both of his parents go slack-jawed.

Maybe it had been a bit much to transform without warning, but after weeks of stalling and months of hesitation, Danny had run out of patience.

"I'm half-ghost like Vlad." he repeated, summoning the rings and transforming back.

It was shockingly easy to say. Although walking down the basement stairs had been torture, once he'd started talking, it had felt weirdly natural to just keep going, like he was just telling them what score he'd gotten on a math test. Danny had expected more resistance.

Telling Jazz had been harder.

"Y-you really are like Vlad..." Jack's voice was almost a whisper.

Oh right, their reaction. The beating of Danny's heart instantly washed away the peace he'd been feeling.

This was actually much worse than telling Jazz.

"Y-yeah?"

"Danny?" Maddie's voice was strained "How long have you...been like Vlad?"

"Since the first day." I...walked out of the portal looking like that. I just managed to transform back before you and Dad came back."

"Jack," Maddie put a hand on the work bench to steady herself "I thought you said you tested thoroughly for any mutations or contaminations!"

"Of course I did, Madds! I did a DNA test and everything and couldn't find any indication of..."

Jack suddenly stopped talking. He and Maddie snapped their heads to Danny as if they'd suddenly remembered he was there.

"All those months..." Maddie pulled down her hood, revealing eyes filled with horror "Listening to us going on and on about capturing and dissecting ghosts...oh! No wonder you didn't tell us! You must've been scared half to death."

Danny almost laughed at his mother's choice of words, but he was still too tense to move. He knew his parents weren't going to hurt him, but for some reason he felt like he was in trouble.

"Oh, baby." Maddie wrapped Danny in a hug. She kissed his forehead and rubbed his back.

"Y-you guys aren't mad?"

"Mad?" his father said. "Danno, I don't blame you one bit. I'd have been scared out of my britches too if I was in your position and I heard my parents talking about ghosts the way your mother and I do."

He came over and wrapped his arms around Danny and Maddie.

"We love you kiddo." he said "And we're both so proud of you for telling us."

Maddie squeezed Danny harder.

Danny felt his muscles relax and his heart slow back to normal.

He'd done it. He'd really done it.

Honestly, Danny didn't know how he felt right now. It was weirdly quiet in his head.

But one thing Danny knew for sure was that it felt good to finally have to stop hiding.

This was good.

Danny smiled and hugged his parents back.

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

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all sat at the kitchen table, none of them daring to speak. They'd all been counting the seconds since Danny had gone down the stairs. It had only been two minutes, but it had been a very long two minutes.

The only sound being made was Tucker tapping his knuckles on the table. Sam very much wanted to ask him to stop, but she also didn't want to be the first one to speak.

"Do you think we should go down and check on him?" Tucker asked, his hand finally stilling.

"I'm sure he's fine, just be patient." Despite her grounded words, Sam's anxiety leaked into her voice.

"Sam's right." Jazz said firmly "We're all worried, but this is Danny's moment, so it's our job to be his support and remain fluid enough to react to what he needs depending on which way the situation goes. The best way to do that we have to remain calm and-"

The basement door began to open. Jazz was on her feet in an instant.

"Where's Danny?! Is he okay?!"

"Calm down Jazz, everything's good. Great actually."

Danny's voice was light and full of joy. He didn't even sound annoyed at Jazz's excessive worrying.

Jazz's shoulder's instantly relaxed and she went over to stand by her family. Sam and Tucker awkwardly followed.

"So they...all know?" Maddie said, gesturing to the room.

"Yeah." Danny smiled "No more secrets."

Despite how nice a moment this was, it was also kind of an awkward one. Everyone appreciated how hard it had been for Danny to get here, and they were all feeling the relief, but the question of 'now what do we do?' went unspoken amongst them all.

"I...brought a cake." Sam said.

"Really?" Danny asked, surprised.

"Well, if you don't want it..."

"No, I definitely do, I just...why did you get a cake?"

"Well I didn't really know what the proper protocol was for when your best friend tells his parents he's half-ghost, but a cake seemed like, maybe appropriate?" Sam shrugged.

Danny went over to the white box on the table and lifted the cover.

"Congratulations On The Thing With Your Parents?"

"Tucker's was in charge of the writing."

"I didn't see you pitching in any ideas for a tasteful message that would fit on a cake and not attract suspicion from the cake decorator."

"My contribution was paying for the cake."

"Aw, that was such a lovely gesture, you two." Maddie beamed "Jazz, could you get the plates out? Let's serve this bad boy up!"

"I call the first piece!" Jack said.

"Now Jack, considering the occasion, I think it's only appropriate that Danny gets the first piece."

"Oh, alright." Jack smiled at Danny and patted his shoulder "I suppose that's fair. But I get the second piece, since I called it!"

"Jack..." Maddie said disapprovingly.

"Dad can have the first piece. I don't mind, I know how he gets." Danny said. He was just glad that things were still normal. Sure, his parents probably still had some adjusting to do, but they still saw him as the same Danny he was before, and that was big enough of a relief. "But I'm getting a corner piece."

Honestly though, Danny could've had to give away the entire cake and it wouldn't have killed his mood.

It was finally over. He didn't have to hide or make his friends lie for him anymore. Not to the people who mattered, anyway.

Danny continued to stare at his mom after she handed him a piece of cake and began cutting one for his dad.

He was still nervous abut what the future held for his family's dynamic, but for the first time he also felt excited to find out.

But for now he was just going to enjoy his cake.

[tired-reader-writer]

Team Zahhak lair recerence. Very spooky— are those fetuses?

This panel makes my brain go brr bc yes this humanizes Hilmes but also there's a lot of factors contributing to that impression even outside of the dialogue— the panel is relatively small, giving off a vulnerable, subdued feel. His eyes (which often come across as inhuman or burning with an unearthly flame) are not shown, his expression is milder here than before, and the actual dialogue bubbles are also small to give a vibe different from usual: he is not the intense, terrifying man he usually is, he's a grieving person who feels responsible for Kharlan's family after what he's done for him. The result combined with the actual text of the dialogue conveys Hilmes' humanity even before we learn of his backstory. Good. Job.

Also, show us Kharlan's wife, Arakawa. Where is she.

He leaves, and his expression is difficult to see and he's shrouded in shadows. I wonder how he dealt with this loss when he gets truly alone. Does he keep thinking of Kharlan, replaying memories? Imagining an unusually quiet and subdued Hilmes all alone in a big room :(

Before, I used to wonder why the fuck Hilmes was rewarding Team Zahhak with gold of all things— I theorized on whether perhaps precious metals or the like could have a fueling effect on magic but turns out I was overthinking it. It's not bc money is somehow useful to Team Zahhak, no, it's because Hilmes does not understand Team Zahhak and what they're striving for. This scene was meant to convey that they definitely got their thing going on and are likely using Hilmes, and Hilmes is in the dark about a lot of things, including their intentions, going by how the Master dismissively flicks a coin away. It holds no meaning to him, it has no worth.

I kinda feel like a fool, lol.

So slaves are not meant to be seen on the main streets? I guess they have their own dedicated pathways? Or is this a Lusitanian invention? Hmm.

Not screencapped but the anklets make an appearance again!

Palace refs! This reminds me of the water garden in Otoyomegatari (which I screencapped in this post) which makes sense considering they're both drawn from the same cultural inspiration.

Yikes.

It should be that confessions brought forth by torture should not be trusted bc humans will just say whatever they think their tormenters want them to say just to make the torture end, it's not about obtaining accurate info or confessions at all, has never been. It's about the captors exerting their power over the captive, and it's disgusting.

The same principle applies here. People aren't converting out of genuine faith, they're converting as part of self-preservation. And while I'm not sure Bodin is consciously aware of it or not but it's clear that he just likes flaunting his power over the defenseless rather than wishing to make people see the true glory of Yaldabaoth or whatever.

God I hate this guy.

This must be the royal archives!

The burning of books still boils my blood, it's abhorrent. And Bodin even threw a fellow Lusitanian into the fire just because he suggested a sensible thing of, y'know, not setting these tomes on fire willy-nilly.

It's okay, it's okay, chapter 121 is there for us. It's okay. But god I hate this man.

Foreshadowing! :D Rereading Bodin's atrocities gave me even more satisfaction for chapter 121.

I don't really have anything interesting to say about this, just putting it here bc I find it neat.

This is the first we hear of Narsus freeing his household slaves— when we're first introduced to him we only learn that he's a master tactician who pissed off the royal court and left, and though we already had a favorable impression of him (and his anti-slavery sentiments are already apparent) this sheds a newer light on his character.

It is not enough to just flip an old system over like a table and say “there, done, everything's fine and dandy now!”, it doesn't work that way. It is not enough to have an uprising or a revolution or whatever, it is even more important to have a clear vision of what comes after and how to achieve it. Good ruling isn't about winning battles it's about competent administration and resource distribution and all that jazz. It is not enough to just destroy, you must create as well.

The slaves in Ecbatana did not have the means to act on their (supposed) freedom because they hadn't planned for it, they don't have the means to, all they could do was the uprising without the follow-up and... I do not blame them, they didn't know any better, but this just shows how important these sorts of things is.

This also sheds a light on Hilmes because... he doesn't have a vision for Pars' future beyond him ruling it. That is not enough.

And look at Daryun looking concerned for Narsus!

[eilooxara]

I'm tired of people who pretend categorization is inherently bad

Like sure, bad categorization is bad

But regular old categorization is actually good!

(I know this sounds like it's about gender and sexuality but it's actually about music)

Someone said "genre is fake" and they could not be more wrong

(maybe they were riffing on "gender is fake" but that's ALSO wrong, actually for the same reasons, but THIS POST IS ABOUT MUSIC)

Like yes. There exist genres that are fake. "Pop" is one. That's not a judgment about the relative quality of pop music, that's a statement about the existence of pop as a kind of music at all.

It just means popular, what's popular changes over time, many unrelated styles can be popular at the same time, there's no inherent musical similarity among the set of music that has been called pop

So why is pop music a thing? Well it's an industry category. Broadcasters and record labels care about what's pop music because it fits into their business model a certain way.

So, pop is not a real genre. Alternative rock isn't a genre for the same reason: it's a product category created to be sold to the people who don't like pop music (whatever that may be). These are inventions by corporations for selling products.

(Now, the "genre is fake" person was talking about the distinction between "country" and "Americana", which is a corner of music I know absolutely nothing about. Maybe one or both of those genres are fake. Maybe these categorizations don't tell you anything useful about the sound of the music in question. I suspect the former is absolutely fake, because I keep being surprised at what gets called "country" because none of it has anything in common with the other stuff I've heard called that.)

But most music genres are in fact real! They are based on specific characteristics shared in common among the whole set of music in that genre and, critically, each new piece of music is not created in vacuo but in response to the music that already exists, with characteristics in common with some subset of all extant music

So when new music is made it's going to belong to a genre! If I play power chords on an electric guitar with a lot of distortion and growl it's going to be metal. If I play a bodhrán and sing in 3/4 time with four measure phrases with stress on beats 1 and 3, it's an Irish jig.

"But Xara, what about when someone makes completely new music that's not like anything anyone's ever heard before?" ok well first of all that doesn't happen as much as you're implying, second if it did happen it would be dogshit, and third if it's good enough that anyone cares about it then that's just a new genre, which happens all the time anyway. Many musicians defy categorization; they combine influences and novel sounds in a way that hasn't been done before, amd if anyone cares, a new genre is born.

Like, say, death metal. What happened is that a band called Death played metal in a way that was novel and those who drew inspiration from that formed a new genre called death metal and that proliferated away from the source material as each new death metal band was riffing on the work of all previous death metal rather than just Death

SO, categories are created because they convey information! If I tell someone who knows what death metal is that a band is death metal, they're going to know it involves fast tempo, heavily distorted rhythm guitar played with a palm muting technique, a particular style of growled vocals, and frequent key changes. If it does something ELSE, like say it's also got a bodhrán and 3/4 timing in 4-measure phrases with stress on beats 1 and 3, then I can tell someone it's a death metal Irish jig.

(this is why genre labels get long)

People like to make fun of genre names that start with "post". But that label carries information (with one exception) just like any good category label does. What it means is that musicians who are very familiar with, say, rock, are creating something (post-rock) that is heavily influenced by rock but defies some central element of the genre (verse and chorus structure for example) to an extent that it can't really be called rock anymore. (or punk or hardcore or whatever we're being post of [except metal. Post-metal is actually metal inspired by post-rock, so it IS still metal. If you want a genre that's actually the post of metal, it doesn't get called that but it's whatever Anathema played since A Natural Disaster])

It's like

There's the whole "is a hot dog a sandwich" thing

And the thing is that if I tell someone who knows what a sandwich is that they're getting a sandwich, they'll know it's going to be a food that they can pick up with their hands and take a bite from, probably without getting their hands sticky, and that this is the normal and expected way to eat the food

The category contains information!!

Like sure sandwichness is fake I guess if you think that the existence of boundary cases makes a category fake, but sandwichness is a USEFUL construct that helps people convey information

If I am expecting a sandwich I'd be more satisfied with a burrito than a plate of spaghetti, and I'd be more satisfied with a plate of spaghetti than a concrete brick

Genre is not fake! Categorization is not bad! Nothing is "just a word" (except when it is, like pop music)!

As with all my rants, anyone who tries to pick a fight with me on this is getting blocked, not responded to.

[rjalker]

here's the finished almost half of the Flatland "translation" into casual English.

First draft lol

uh lets see if tumblr will let me paste the images in all at once or if it's gonna be difficult...

nope it's not letting me put the images and it got rid of the image descriptions. alrighty then. so just ignore it when it mentions a diagram I'm not adding them all back in manually

This is 15,000+ words. With almost 15,000 to go that still needs done.

Preface to the Second and Revised Edition, 1884.

By the Original Editor

I am writing this preface for my friend from Flatland, since he has been so mentally devastated by his years spent in prison that he can’t write it himself. Rather than copying his words directly, I am paraphrasing on his behalf so you, my readers, will understand what he means.

First of all, he wants to thank all of his readers, both fans and critics, in Spaceland, who’ve enjoyed his book so much that he had to get it reprinted again to meet the demand.

Second of all, also wants to apologize for some errors and misprints in the original edition, though these aren’t actually his fault.

Third of all, he wants to explain a few things that have confused some readers.

He wanted to respond himself, but he’s not the Square he used to be. The problem is not just that he is a prisoner, it’s that no one believes what he has to say, and do nothing but mock him. He’s also an old man now, and his memory is fading. He’s forgotten many of the ideas he learned on his adventure in Spaceland, and the words to describe them.

So he has asked me to reply on his behalf, to explain two points that many confused readers are upset by.

The first thing people complain about is that when a Flatlander sees a Line, that means they have to be seeing something that does have height, not just width and length, otherwise it would be invisible from the side. So why doesn’t he admit that his people already exist in three dimensions?

I understand that people are going to complain about this, since it’s such an obvious problem with the idea that Flatlanders only exist in two dimensions. I gotta say, I really wasn’t sure how to respond when I first read this comment, since I couldn’t think of any counter argument, but fortunately my friend was able to answer it in a way that makes sense to me, so I’ll paraphrase his words here for you:

"I admit," he said, "What this critic said about us having some height is true, but that doesn’t mean we exist in three dimensions the way Spacelanders do. Yes, Flatlanders are tall as well as long and wide, otherwise we’d be invisible, but this isn’t something we can measure or recognize on our own – (Remember, I didn’t even know the word “up” before my adventure in Spaceland) -- and you Spacelanders also have a fourth dimension you don’t have a name for, that I’ll call ‘extra-height’, that you can’t measure or understand on your own either, but that doesn’t mean you’re fourth-dimensional beings anymore than I’m a third dimensional being. Even after my adventure, I still can’t measure height, or “upwards”, not by seeing it, or even trying to imagine it. But I know it’s there, and I have to rely on pure faith.

“Let me try to explain. You can only measure something if it has variation to be measured in the first place. If everyone, and every single thing you see – animals, people, trees, buildings -- is exactly the same height, you can’t measure height, because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s just the way the world is. Nothing is shorter than anything else, or taller. There’s nothing there to measure. Especially because everything you see is all that you can see. You can’t see above the height of everything, or below it. It’s just what’s there.

“Some Spacelander critics who like to complain too much have suggested we invent a so-called “delicate micrometer” to measure our height, but again, that’s impossible for us to do, because we can’t measure upwards, nor can we compare it to anything else.

“When we see a Line, we see something that is long and bright, and that’s how we know it’s a Line. Brightness and length are needed for us to understand what we are seeing. If there’s no brightness, the Line becomes invisible to us, and may as well not exist.

“This is why, when I try to explin the concept of height, or ‘upwards’ to my Flatland friends, when I try to point out the existance of height in a Line, the only thing they can see is the Brightness. And when I tell them I mean something else, a different dimension, they demand I prove it’s there by measuring it. Which I obviously can’t do, for the reasons I’ve already explained. You can’t measure what has no variation.

“It was just yesterday that the Chief Circle – our High Priest, or maybe in your terms better understood as the ultimate President or King – came to visit me, the seventh of his yearly visits. And just like the last six times he came to visit me, he asked me the same question: ‘Are you sane yet?’.

“And so I tried to explain to him that he was tall as well as wide and long. And you can probably guess his response. ‘You say I am ‘high’, so measure my ‘high-ness’, and then I’ll believe you.’

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do the impossible? I’ve already explained that we can’t measure height. There was nothing I could do to prove what I said, and we both knew it. He left the room, just as triumphant as the earlier six visits.

“Still confused? Then put yourself in my shoes – imagine a person from the Fourth Dimension decided to visit you, said:

“‘Whenever you open your eyes, you see what appears to be a two dimensional image, and you understand that these are actually many different three-dimensional objects, through shading and light, and because you can reach out and touch them. And you think all you are seeing is Three-Dimensional, but really, you’re also seeing a Fourth Dimension, and it’s not colour, or shadows, or anything like that, but a true, separate Dimension. No, I can’t point it out to you, no, I can’t give you any way of measuring it or seeing it, you just have to trust me.’

“And how would you respond to someone saying this? Wouldn’t you want him thrown into an asylum too?

“Well, that’s what happened to me. I was a Square who tried to convince my countrymen that there was a Third Timension, and I was locked up, just as you Spacelanders would lock up anyone who tried to tell you there was a Fourth Dimension.

“Alas, the family resemblance of ignorance and bigotry runs strong through humanity in all Dimensions! Points, Lines, Squares, Cubes, Extra-Cubes, it doesn’t matter – we are all just as likely to make the same mistakes, believing only what we can see, and refusing to think beyond that.

“As your famous Spaceland playwrite, William Shakespeare once said, 'One touch of Nature makes all worlds akin'."

That’s what he told me in response to this complaint, and it makes sense to me.

As a further note on this point, the Author also wants me to also tell you that in this updated edition of his story, we have added back in some of the extra details of his conversations with the Sphere that we originally left out, because we assumed you, the audience, would find them boring and unnecessary.

So there is his defence against the first point of complaint. I can’t find anything to argue with about it, it seems like a solid defence.

As for the second point of complaint…I wish I could tell you that his response to the criticism was just as well thought out, but I can’t.

It has been objected that he is a woman-hater, and, because many of the people making this complaint are Women themselves who feel hurt by this, I want to reassure you to the best of my ability that this is not the case, at least as far as I can tell you that without lying.

The unfortunate fact is that the Square who is the Author of this book is not used to thinking in terms of morality, let alone the ideas of morality that we in Spaceland have.

If I were to literally transcribe his response to this complaint, I’d be making him look much worse than he really is, because he doesn’t really understand how to articulate his thoughts on this topic, because Flatland (or at least, his country in Flatland) does not have the words to describe it.

((Note from the 2023 editor: I want to emphasize that when the original Editor here says the Author didn’t have the words for morality, he means that very literally, as you’ll see later, when the Author is narrating for himself.))

So, as I am already doing by paraphrasing his words for you, I paraphrase again his response to this allegation of misogyny.

It’s my understanding that since he was imprisoned seven years ago, he has changed many of the personal views he expressed in this book, both in regards to Women, as well as the Isosceles and other Lower Classes, such as Irregulars.

His opinion is now much closer to that of the Sphere who visited him, that Straight Lines are in many ways superior to Circles.

But, because he wrote this book from the perspective of a Historian, he aligned himself (maybe too closely) with the general views held by the Higher Classes of Flatland, and, as I’ve since told him, many among us here in Spaceland.

I don’t think I need to tell you that many of our own Historians, who are mostly Men, have generally not considered the lives of Women or other Oppressed People to be worthy of writing about or considering.

The Author also wishes to deny the idea that he is still a supporter of the Circles and Aristocracy. He has had a long time to think since his imprisonment, and while he doesn’t deny that the Circles are very intelligent – otherwise, he says, they wouldn’t have managed to stay in control for so long – he believes that the facts of Flatland speak for themselves.

Revolution cannot always be suppressed by slaughter, and because the Circles themselves tend to be infertile, he believes that Nature Herself has condemned their actions as a failure in the end.

“And this is where,” He said, “I see the laws of Nature working in all worlds. Man thinks he is doing one thing, and he thinks he knows best, but Nature is wise, and cannot be denied. Her end goal is much different, and better, than what Man plans for.”

For the other complaints, the Author begs the readers not to assume that every detail of daily life in Flatland is a mirror of some other detail in Spaceland.

He hopes that his book, taken as a whole, will be educational as well as amusing to Spacelanders who are willing to suspend their disbelief and not immediately cry, “That can’t happen”, or “No, things only work like this”.

The rest of this book, I leave to him, in his original words, now with the small edition of some clarification in his conversations with the Sphere.

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

by A Square

Table of Contents:

Part One: This World

01. Of the Nature of Flatland

02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

04. Concerning the Women

05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

06. Of Recognition by Sight

07. Concerning Irregular Figures

08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

10. Of the Suppression of the Chromatic Sedition

11. Concerning our Priests

12. Of the Doctrine of our Priests

Part Two: Other Worlds

13. How I had a Vision of Lineland

14. How I vainly tried to explain the nature of Flatland

15. Concerning a Stranger from Spaceland

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

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

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

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

20. How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision

21. How I tried to teach the Theory of Three Dimensions to my Grandson, and with what success

22. How I then tried to diffuse the Theory of Three Dimensions by other means, and of the result

PART I: THIS WORLD

"Be patient, for the world is broad and wide."

Section 01. Of the Nature of Flatland

I don’t call our world Flatland because that’s what we call it, but because I want to make what it’s like clearer to you, my happy readers who are privileged to live in Space.

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on which Straight Lines, Triangles, Squares, Pentagons, Hexagons, and other geometric shapes, rather than being drawn by pencil or pen, are alive, and move freely about, either on, or maybe you’d call it within, the surface of the paper, but unable to rise above or sink below it. Almost like shadows, but hard and solid, with glowing edges.

If you can imagine this, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what my country looks like.

Just a few years ago, I would have said, “my universe” instead of “my country”, but now I know better.

In such a flat land, you Spacelanders will almost immediately assume that it’s impossible for there to be anything you would consider “solid”. And yet, if you look down, you’ll see the Triangles, Squares, and other figures, just like I said.

We on the other hand, see no such thing, because the only things we can see are straight lines.

If this sounds confusing, let me give you an example, which you can follow along with while you read.

Get a penny, or another small coin or similar object, and place it in the middle of one of your tables in Spaceland.

When you stand above it and look down, you see the penny as a circle.

But, if you move back to the edge of the table, and lower yourself partway towards the ground – more like the way we Flatlanders see the world – you’ll see that the penny now looks less like a circle, and more like an oval.

Then, when your eye is level with the edge of the table, when you are closest to what you can get to being “on our level”, you’ll see that the penny, seen from above as a circle, now appears to just be a straight line.

The same thing would happen if you did this with a Triangle, or Square, or any other shape you could cut out of cardboard. As soon as you look at it with your eye on the table, it looks like a straight line.

Take for example an equilateral Triangle—who with us is a Tradesman, or Proffesional Man, of the respectable class.

Figure 1 below represents the Tradesman as you would see him while you were bending over him from above, as a triangle with all three sides of equal length.

Figures 2 and 3 represent the Tradesman as you would see him if you began to move your eye closer to the level of the table.

Figure 4 represents what you would see if your eye were level with the table: nothing but a straight line, which is how we see him in Flatland.

When I visited Spaceland, among other things not work talking about in detail, I was told that your sailors have a similar experience when they’re out on the ocean – distant lands might have bays, cliffs, buildings, and all kind of shapes on them from close by, but until you get close enough, or unless the sun’s bright enough to cast stark shadows, all you can see at a distance is a grey line on the horizon.

That’s like what we see when one of our triangular or other acquaintances comes towards us in Flatland. We have no shadows like you do, and none of the other advantages your vision has in Spaceland. If our friend comes closer to us, he becomes larger, if he goes away, he becomes smaller, but he’s always a straight Line. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Triangle, Square, Pentagon, Hexagon, Circle, or anything else. He always looks like a straight Line, and nothing else.

You’ll of course be wondering how we tell eachother apart if this is all we can see, and I’ll be able to make you understand better once I finish describing the people who live in Flatland.

But for the moment, let me pause this subject, and instead tell you about our houses, and the climate of Flatland.

Section 02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

Like in your world, we also have four points on our compass: North, South, East, and West.

Since we have no sun or other celestial bodies like you do, we can’t tell where North is in the way you do, but we have our own way.

Similar to your birds, we always know where south is, because for us, we are constantly being pulled in that direction. This pull is very small in our most northern countries, so light that even a reasonably healthy Woman can travel for several furlongs (note that 1 furlong is equal to 220 yards) northward without difficulty.

But even at its lightest, we can still feel it, and tell which way is South. As an added bonus, the rain, which always falls on a predictable schedule, always comes from the North.

Because of this, when we are in a town or city, we can tell the direction from the way the houses are built – because the rain comes from the north, the solid roof faces north, so that the water can run of and safely down the sides without getting inside.

When you’re out in the country were there are no houses, you can use the trunks of the trees instead.

As you can see, it’s usually pretty easy for us to get our bearings.

But one problem is that when you are so far north that you can barely feel this pull, if you were walking in a deserted plain with no trees or houses in sight, I’ve sometimes gotten so turned around that I had to stand in place for hours straight, waiting for the rain to come so I’d know which way to go.

If you are ill or old, or a delicate Female, this pull to the South weighs heavier than on the healthy members of the Male Sex, so it’s considered polite that, if you meet a Lady in the street, you will move to the South and give her the North side to walk on. This can be easier said than done in such short notice, if you are in a northern climate where it’s hard to tell which way is south, or if you’re feeling sick yourself.

Unlike your buildings, ours have no windows, because light comes to us everywhere equally, whether you’re inside and out, during the day or night, and where this light comes from, we don’t know.

A long time ago, philosophers and scholars used to ask eachother “What is the origin of light?” and debate the possible answers. Many people have tried to find the answer to this question, and the only result is that our lunatic asylums have precious space taken up by the people who’ve claimed to solve it.

Our Government tried to persuade people to stop trying to solve this problem by forcing those who did to pay heavy taxes, but when it kept being a problem, the Law Makers, not so long ago comparatively, finally made it completely illegal to talk about.

And here I am, the only one in Flatland who knows the truth to where light comes from. But I can’t explain it to my countrymen, and they just laugh at me – me! The only one in this world who understands that Light comes from the Third Dimension! They laugh at me like I’m the maddest of the mad.

But I’ve gotten off track and this is a painful topic, so let’s get back to talking about houses.

Most of our houses are five-sided shapes, or as they are commonly called, pentagons.

Here is an illustration to help you understand:

The two northernmost sides of a pentagon house, which in the illustration are labled “RO” and “OF”, make of the roof, and these normally don’t have any doors. On the eastern side, there is a small door for Women, and across from it on the Western side is a much larger door for Men. The Southern side, or floor, usually doesn’t have any doors.

Square and triangular houses aren’t allowed, because their angles are much sharper than those of a Pentagon, and since the lines of inanimate objects, like houses, are dimmer than the lines of Men and Women, and are harder to see, if someone wasn’t paying attention, they could get seriously hurt if they accidentally ran into the corner of a Square or Triangle shaped house.

As far back as the eleventh century of our era, triangular houses have been illegal to build, with the only exceptions being for military structures like forts, ammunition stores, barracks, or other state buildings that most people aren't allowed to enter without special permission.

At that point in time, you were still allowed to build square houses, but they were subject to special taxes to discourage people from building more of them.

Three hundred years after triangular houses were outlawed, the Law finally decided that if a town’s population was above ten thousand, then the angle of a Pentagon was the smallest house-angle allowed to be built, in the interest of public safety.

The general community has common sense, and has agreed with this new law, so now, even out in the country on farms, almost all houses you can find will be pentagons. Now and then, though, in some very remote and poor farming district, an antiquarian might still find an ancient square house.

Section 03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

Most adult Flatlanders will reach a length of around eleven of your inches, or twenty-eight centimeters. Twelve inches, or around thirty centimeters, is considered a record breaking maximum.

Our Women are Straight Lines.

Our Expendable Soldiers, and the Lowest Classes of Laborers, are Triangles with two equal sides, each about eleven inches, or twenty-eight centimeters long, with their third side, or base, so short (Usually less than half an inch, or two centimeters), that they form at their vertices an extremely sharp angle, or point.

When these sorts of Triangles have a base of the most degraded type (less than an eighth of an inch, or three millimeters), it’s almost impossible to tell them apart from Straight Lines or Women, so sharp are their needle-like points.

Just like you do in Spaceland, we refer to these kinds of Triangles as Isosceles, which is how I will refer to them from now on.

Our Middle Class consists of Equilateral or Equal-Sided Triangles.

Our Professional Men and Gentlemen are Squares (which is the class I belong to) and Five-Sided Figures, otherwise known as Pentagons, as mentioned above.

Above us are the Nobility, with several classes, starting with Six-Sided Figures, or Hexagons. After Hexagons, the numbers of sides increase until one is given the honorable title of “Polygonal”, or many-sided.

When the number of one’s sides become so high, and the sides themselves each so small, that the figure can’t be told apart from a circle, he becomes part of the Circular, or Priestly order. There is no class higher than that of the Circles.

It is a Law of Nature with us that a male child will have one more side than his father, so that each generation rises in the ranks of nobility, as a rule.

This means that a Square (4 sides) will have Pentagonal sons (5 sides), and his grandsons will be Hexagons (6 sides), and his great-grandsons will be Septagons (7 sides), his great-great-grandsons Octogons (8 sides) and so on and so forth.

But this rule doesn’t always apply to the Tradesmen, the Equillateral Triangles, and it’s even less common in the Isosceles Soldiers and Workers. But to be fair, they can hardly even be described as human beings, since their sides aren’t all of equal length.

Because they’re subhuman, this Law of Nature doesn’t work on them, and most of the time, the son of an Isosceles is still an Isosceles.

But things aren’t entirely hopeless! Your children’s position in society can always get better, even if you’re one of the most degraded of Isosceles, through hard work, dedication, and many successful military campaigns!

Often, when Workers and Soldiers prove themselves to be smarter than their peers, when they are measured again, the measurements will show that their third side, or base, has grown, while their two longer sides have shrunk, producing a larger angle at the vertex!

The Priests then graciously intercede, arranging the marriage of the lucky Isosceles to a suitable Straight Line, and the sons born to these arranged marriages are almost always born with larger angles than their fathers, much closer to being an Equal-Sided Triangle than others who married for love.

Very, very, very rarely, a true, certifiable Equal-Sided Triangle is born to Isosceles parents.

(And a critic might ask, “But why does he need to be certified? When he eventually gives birth to a Square son, isn’t that a certificate from Nature herself, proving that he’s truly Equal-Sided?” And I tell you that no self-respecting Lady would ever consent to marry an uncertified Triangle.

Square sons are sometimes born to slightly Irregular Triangles, which would seem like cause for celebration, but almost every time, the Triangle’s Irregularity is passed down to his grandson, who either fails to attain the rank of Pentagon by being born a Square, or relapses entirely by being born a Triangle.)

If an Equilateral Triangle has any hope of being born to Isosceles parents, there must be a careful plan of arranged marriages for several generations, as well as strict self-control and frugality. Each generation needs to become smarter than their parents, and make sure their children are smarter than they are, for many generations.

When a True Equillateral Triangle is born to Isosceles parents, the birth is celebrated for many furlongs around.

The Sanitary and Social board performs a strict examination of the newborn, and, if he is certified as Regular, he is, with all due seriousness, allowed into the class of Equilaterals.

He is then immediately take away from his proud, sorrowing parents, and adopted by an Equilateral who has no children of his own, who has to promise never to let his adopted child go to the area where he was born, or even look at his biological parents, in case he mimics them without realizing it, and reverts to a degraded Isosceles.

The rare birth of an Equilateral from the masses of serfs is not only welcomed by the serfs themselves, as proof that their hope of their children climbing the social ladder isn’t misplaced, and gives them something to be temporarily happy about in their otherwise miserable lives, like a sudden, surprise holiday, but also by the Aristocracy.

The Higher Classes know that their own social status won’t be changed by these births, because it’s really the exact opposite – these births help maintain their power.

If the acute-angled rabble had been completely, absolutely without hope and ambition, it would have created many leaders to start their rebellious phases, and, with their superior numbers and strength, they would have been too much for even the wisdom of the Circles to handle.

But Nature is even wiser, and has decided that, as the working-classes get smarter, they also get weaker, as their acute angle, which makes them so dangerous and stupid, grows wider, getting closer to the comparatively harmless angle of an Equilateral Triangle.

In the most brutal, acute, and threatening of the Isosceles – creatures almost on the same level of Women with their lack of angle and intelligence – their ability to kill is matched by their inability to plan how to do so efficiently.

And in return, when their descendants have finally become smart enough to plan what would be devastating acts of terrorism, they’re no longer physically capable of carrying them out.

How admirable is this Law of Compensation! It just goes to show how natural, and -- dare I say, divinely inspired? -- the structure of our society is here in Flatland! It is as if Nature herself is helping our great Polygons and Circles to kill rebellion in the cradle!

Art, too, comes to the aid of Law and Order. Our doctors can usually figure out a way – through artificial compression or expansion of the figure – to make the more intelligent leaders of any given Isosceles rebellion become Equilaterals, allowing them to immediately join the privileged higher classes.

Many more of these rebel leaders, though, are too far below the standard for intelligence to be allowed the surgery, but, bewitched by the promises of becoming Regular through similar treatment, they are tricked into entering the State Hospitals, which they will never be allowed to leave. They spend the rest of their lives honorably confined to these hospitals.

Only a few of the more obstinate, foolish, or highly Irregular of the rebel leaders are actually put to death.

And then the wretched rabble of the Isosceles, without plan, without leadership, are either killed without resistance by the small group of Isosceles assassins the Chief Circle pays in case of emergencies such as this, or, more often, thanks to the suspicions and in-fighting stirred up by the Circular party, they begin attacking and killing eachother, until none of them are left alive.

There are a hundred and twenty rebellions recorded in our state records, and a further two hundred and thirty-five minor outbreaks.

All of them have ended as I have described above.

Section 04. Concerning the Women

Now that you understand how dangerous our highly-pointed Isosceles Triangles are, you can understand how much more dangerous our Women are. Because if an Isosceles is a wedge, a Woman is a needle, made up of, you might say, nothing but points, at least at the two ends.

Add to this sharpness a Woman’s ability to make herself practically invisible at will, and you’ll see that the Females of Flatland are not the kind of creatures you want to mess with.

But maybe some of my younger Readers are confused, and thinking, “But how can a Woman in Flatland make herself invisible?” I think the answer is pretty obvious, but it won’t take very long to explain, so even those who aren’t paying full attention will understand.

Place a needle, or another long, thin object, like a pencil, on a table. Then, lowering yourself until your eye is level with the surface of the table, look at your line from the side, and you'll see its whole length. But if you turn it so that you are looking straight at it from the front or back, you see nothing but a small point.

This is what happens with our Women. When her side it towards us, we see her as a straight line. When her front or “head” in you terms, the part, containing her eye or mouth (which for us, is the same organ) is pointed at us, we see a bright point.

But when her back is pointed towards us, we see a dim light, so dim it's almost as dark as an inanimate object. And this is how a Woman, by simply turning her back on you, can become practically invisible.

I need to make it clear to you just how dangerous our Women are. If running into an Equilateral Triangle, whose angle is 60°, will give you a painful gash, then running into an Officer of the military class will give you a serious wound. If a mere accidental bump from the vertex of a Private Soldier, one of the lowest of the Isosceles, is life threatening, then what can you expect from running into a Woman, except complete and total annihilation?

And when a Woman is almost invisible like this, imagine how difficult it is, even for the most caution, to avoid running into them!

Many laws have been put into place in the different countries of Flatland in order to lessen this danger, and in the Southern and less temperate climates where the force of the Southern pull, or gravity, is greater, where human beings are more likely to have sudden and involuntary movements from constantly fighting the gravity, the laws regarding Women are, naturally, much stricter and harsher.

But a general view of the regulations for Women can be understood from the following summary:

1. Every house will have one entrance on the Eastern side, to be used only by Females, and all Females must enter “in a becoming and respectful manner”. Females must never use the Men’s or Western door. [Note: When I was in Spaceland, I was told (in a conversation not transcribed in this book, to save my reader’s valuable time) that some of your Priestly institutions have a similar policy, with a separate entrance for the working poor (`Spectator', Sept. 1884, p. 1255) so that they can also "approach in a becoming and respectful manner."]

2. No Female shall walk in any public place without contually keeping up her Peace-cry, under penalty of death.

3. Any Female diagnosed with St. Vitus’s Dance ((A neurological disorder causing sudden, involuntary movements after an illness, usually affecting children)), seizures, a chronic cold accompanied by violent sneezing, or any other disease that causes involuntary movements, shall be destroyed immediately upon diagnosis.

In some countries, there is another Law that forbids Females, under penalty of death, from walking or standing in public spaces without constantly moving their backs from side to side, so that people behind them can see them better.

Other countries will sometimes demand that any Woman in public should be followed by one of her male family members or servants, and still others ban Women from public entirely, confining them to their homes except during religious festivals.

But our wisest of Circles and Politicians have found that having so many restrictions on Women not only leads to the weakening of our society overall, but also to an extremely high number of domestic murders, to the point where the number of Men killed as a result far outnumbers the accidents that the Law was attempting to avoid in the first place.

Because when the temper of a Woman is stoked by being confined to her home, or having to deal with harsh, inconvenient restrictions when in public, they are likely to unleash their fury upon their husbands and children or siblings, and several times, in countries with highly restrictive laws, the entire Male population of a town has sometimes been wiped out in just a few hours as the Females simultaneously and violently succumb to their wrath.

And this is why the first three laws I’ve outlined here are good enough on their own for the better-run countries such as the one I belong to, and can be used as a rough summary of the Female Code.

After all, it’s not the Law itself that protects us so much, as the instinct for self-preservation in the Women themselves. It I true that they can inflict instantant death by simply moving backwards, but it is also true that unless they can immediately remove their stabbing-end, their own fragile bodies can easily be shattered by the death throes of their victim, and be killed along with them.

The power of Fashion is also on our side. I said above that in some less civilized countries, Females are not allowed in public without swaying her back from side to side, but in my country, our high-ranking and ambitious ladies have been doing this of their own free will since as far back as anyone can remember. The idea that a law would have to be passed to guarantee this behavior, (which should be instinctive in ladies of high breeding), is extremely embarrassing.

The rhythmical and, if I may so say, well-modulated undulation of the back in our ladies married to Circles is envied by the wives of Equilaterals, who, trying their best, can only create a regular twitch like the ticking of a clock.

But even that simple ticking is admired by the wife of the ambitious Isosceles, who wishes to raise her family’s status, so that she becomes the first in all her family line to practice the art.

So you see, in every family worth considering, “back motion” is as old and ingrained as time itself, and the lucky Male members of these families enjoy their immunity from invisible attacks.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying our Women don’t care about their families. But, unfortunately, their emotions in the moment overpower their other feelings, driving out every other thought until their anger passes. This, of course, is the result of their unfortunate configuration as Straight Lines.

They have no angle to speak of, and thus are mentally and physically inferior to even the very lowest of the Isosceles. They are, as a result of this lack of angle, completely devoid of brain-power, and are completely incapable of self-reflection, judgment, or planning, and barely any memory at all.

This is why, when they are in a state of fury, they have no idea what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it to. They will not recognize their husband or even their children.

I’ve actually heard of a legal case where a Woman murdered everyone in her whole household, but then half an hour later, when she’d calmed down and the fragmented bodies had been swept away by Police, asked where her husband and children were. She didn’t remember a thing.

So it should be obvious that you shouldn’t annoy a Woman if she’s able to turn around and stab you. But when you have them in their apartments – which are built so narrowly specifically to prevent them from turning and attacking – you can say or do whatever you want, because they’re incapable of reacting in any way except verbal, and in a few minutes, they won’t even remember whatever it is you’ve said or done that they’re threatening to kill you for, nor will they remember the hasty promises you’ve made (with no intention of keeping) to get them to calm down.

In general, we get along pretty well with our Women, except in the lower classes of the Isosceles military. These Isosceles, lacking in angle, also lack in tact and discretion, and many times this has caused indescribable disasters.

These Isosceles rely too much on their sharp points as weapons instead of the shield of common sense and knowing how to react to different problems, so these reckless creatures often fail to properly follow the safety code for building Women’s apartments, or irritate their wives by insulting them when out in public, and then to make things worse, refuse to immediately apologize.

And, being simple creatures who are too fond of the literal truth, these Isosceles refuse to make the kinds of lavish, impossible promises that Circles readily deploy to pacify the would-be murderess.

The result of this lack of careful handing is massacre, but you shouldn’t see it as a tragedy – on the contrary, these outbreaks eliminate the more brutal and troublesome of the Isosceles, and many of our Circles view the destructiveness of the Thinner Sex as one of many favors Providence has given us for naturally suppressing the population of Isosceles, and helping to nip Revolution in the bud.

But even within the families that most strictly follow the Female Code, even with our closest-to-true circles Circular families, I have to admit, our idea of “domestic bliss” isn’t as full of affection and comfort as it is with you in Spaceland.

There is peace, as much as the absence of slaughter can be called peace, but it is impossible for there to be shared interests or hobbies between Man and Wife, with the Man’s safety paid for in the loss of true comfort.

Since time immemorial, the women of our Circular and Polygonal houses have had the habit – which has now become a kind of instinct – of always keeping their eyes and mouths pointed towards their husband and his male friends.

If a lady in a high-ranking family turned her back on her husband, it would be seen as an omen of disaster involving a grevious loss of STATUS.

But, as I will soon explain, this custom, while insuring safety, is not without its problems.

In the house of the Isosceles Working Man, or the Equilateral Tradesman, where the wife is allowed to turn her back on her husband while performing her household duties, there are moments of peace, where the wife is neither seen nor heard, except the humming sound of her ever-present Peace-cry.

But in the homes of the upper classes, these moments of peace are few and far between. There, the loud and bright face are always directed at the Master of the household, and not even the never-changing light is more persistent than the never-ending feminine chatter.

The diplomatic skill required to avoid a Woman’s sting has no power against a Woman’s mouth, and, since the wife has absolutely nothing meaningful to say, and no intelligence or conscience there to prevent her from speaking anyway, more than a few cynics have been quoted with saying they prefer the death-dealing but mercifully silent sting of a woman’s back side to the obnoxious volume of her mouth.

To my readers in Spaceland, the condition of our Women may seem truly miserable, and indeed it is, without question. A Male of even the lowest type of Isosceles can look forward to some improvement of his angle through hard work and dedication, and eventually the increased rank of his entire degrades caste, but no Woman can ever hope for such things for her own sex.

“Once a Woman, always a Woman” is a Decree of Nature; and the very Laws of Evolution seem to stack misfortunes against her.

But at least we can admire the wise arrangement Evolution and Nature have given us, so that even though the Women have to be miserable for our great society to exist, at least they’ll soon forget it.

Section 05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

You, who are blessed with the ability to perceive shading as well as light, whose people are gifted with not one, but two eyes, who are understand perspective, who get to enjoy all shades of colour without thinking about it, you who can actually SEE an angle, and see the complete circumference of a circle from your happy, elevated position in the Third Dimension without a single speck of effort—How can I make you understand how difficult it is for us in Flatland to recognize eachother?

Remember what I already explained to you earlier. All thing in Flatland, alive or inanimate, no matter what their shape, appear to be, TO OUR VIEW, the same, or nearly the same, as a Straight Line. So then how can one shape be told from another, when all shapes look the same?

The answer is threefold.

The first way of recognizing different shapes is the sense of hearing, which with us is much more highly developed than with you in Spaceland, and not only lets us recognize the voices of our friends, but even to tell which class someone belongs, at least as far as the three lower classes – the Equilateral, Square, and Pentagon – go. As for the Isosceles, well, there’s no telling.

As we rise in social standing it becomes harder and harder to tell people’s classes apart by their voice, partly because the higher classes all speak in similar ways, and partly because using someone accent to judge their class is a poor man’s skill that is looked down upon by the Aristocracy.

And if there’s any danger of offending someone more important than us, we can’t trust this skill, because among the lowest classes, the vocal organs are more strongly developed, so that an Isosceles can easily fake the accent of a Polygon, and, with some training, even a Circle himself. So a second method is more commonly used.

Feeling is, among our Women and lower classes – I’ll explain shortly about our higher classes – the main test of recognition at all times between strangers, and also when the question is not to the individual’s identity, but his class.

As a result, a “formal introduction” in Spaceland’s higher classes is the equivalent for “feeling” with us.

“Permit me to ask you to feel and be felt by my friend Mr. So-and-so”, is still the go-to phrase for our more old-fashioned gentlemen who live in the countryside far from towns.

But in the towns, and among businessmen, the words “be felt by” are cut out, and the sentence is shortened to, “Let me ask you to feel Mr. So-and-so”, and it is just assumed that the “feeling” will go both ways.

Among our younger, more modern, and dashing young gentlemen, who refuse to expend extra effort than necessary, and don’t care at all about protecting the sanctity of their language, the phrase is shortened even more, using the words “to feel” as a shortcut for “to recommend for the purpose of feeling and being felt”.

At the time this book was written, this “slang” of the now allows such disgraceful barbarism as the sentence, “Mr. Smith, permit me to feel Mr. Jones”, to exist.

But please, my Readers, don’t assume that “feeling” for us is as awkward and tedious as it would for you, or that we have to go all the way around the person, feeling all his sides, before we can figure out what class he belongs to.

Years of practice and training, started in school and continued in daily life, allows us to immediately tell apart the angles of an Equal-sided Triangle, Square, or Pentagon at a single touch. And I don’t think I need to explain how the brainless vertex of an acute-angled Isosceles is obvious even to the dullest touch.

That is why, as a general rule, we don’t need to feel more than a single angle of an individual, and this by itself can tell us the class this person belongs to, unless he belongs to one of the higher sections of the nobility, where things become much more difficult.

Even a Master of Arts from our University of Wentbridge has gotten a ten-sided and twelve-sided Polygon confused, and no Doctor of Science, in or out of that university who would pretend to know, without hesitation, the difference between a twenty-sided and a twenty-four sided member of the Aristocracy.

The Readers who have been paying attention should remember from what I said earlier about our Women’s Code should quickly understand that the process of feeling requires serious caution and self-control, otherwise the angles of the one being felt might seriously injure the feeler.

It is essential for the safety of the Feeler that the Felt should stand completely still. A twitch, fidgeting, and yes, even something as simple as a violent sneeze, can prove fatal, and have ended, before they could begin, many promising friendships.

This is especially true with the lower classes of Isosceles. Their eyes are positioned so far from their sharp points that they can barely see what’s happening on their most dangerous end. These Triangles are also literally insensitive, and can barely feel the much more refined touch of a highly organized Polygon. So no one can really be surprised if a sudden toss of the head deprives the State of a valuable life!

I’ve heard that my honorable Grandfather – (one of the least Irregular of his unhappy Isosceles class, who obtained, shortly before his death, four out of seven votes from the Sanitary and Social Board to let him be certified a an Equal-Sided Triangle) –often bemoaned, with a tear in his venerable eye, an accident of the kind I’ve just described to you, which happened to his great-great-great-Grandfather, a respectable Working Man with an angle, or brain, of 59 degrees 30 minutes.

According to this story, my unfortunate great-great-great-great-great grandfather, who was suffering from rheumatism, and while being felt by a Polygon, with one sudden, unintentional movement, accidentally stabbed the Great Man in a horrific cut straight through the diagonal.

Half because of his long suffering in prison, and half because of the moral shock that swept through all of my ancestor’s relatives, our family’s angle was thrown back by a degree and a half, cutting off their ascension to higher standing.

This resulted in the next generation of the family brain being measured at only 58 degrees, and it wasn’t until five whole generations passed that the lost ground was recovered, and the full 60 degrees obtained, finally lifting us out of the class of Isosceles. And to think this whole series of calamities all came from one little accident in the process of Feeling.

And I think at this point I can hear some of my readers exclaiming, “How can you Flatlanders know anything about angles, degrees, or minutes? We can see an angle from Spaceland, because we can see two straight lines connecting to form an angle, but you Flatlanders can only ever see one line, or just a few pieces of different lines in a bigger line – how can you hope to measure any angle, let alone measure angles of different sizes?”

My answer is that while we can’t see angles, we can infer them, and do so with great accuracy. Our sense of touch, trained through constant use, lets us tell angles apart far more accurately than you can with the naked eye. We have many natural advantages that shouldn’t be forgotten.

It is a Law of Nature that the brain of the Isosceles class begins at half a degree of angle, or thirty minutes, and if it increases, it will do so by half a degree for every generation, until the goal of 60 degrees is reached, when the newest, freeman generation leaves behind the condition of serfdom, and joins the class of the Regulars.

This means that Nature herself gives us the tools we need, in the form of an ascending scale, or alphabet, of angles for every half a degree, all the way to 60 degrees, giving us all the examples we need, specimens of which are placed in every Elementary School throughout the land.

Due to occasional slip-backs like the kind my family suffered, as well as frequent moral and intellectual stagnation, not to mention the extraordinary ability of the Criminal and Vagabond Classes to breed, there is always a vast pool of individuals with an angle of half a degree or a single degree, and a fair abundance of Specimens up to 10 degrees. These are absolutely destitute of civic rights; and many of them are too stupid to even be useful in warfare, so they are given from the State and to the schools, to be used for education.

Shackled so tightly they cannot move in any way, to remove all possibility of danger, they are placed in our kindergarten classrooms, and and used by the Board of Education to teach the young Equilateral Triangles that have been adopted away from their biological parents the proper tact and intelligence that the wretched Isosceles who produced them are completely lacking in.

In some States, these chained Specimens are sometimes given food and water, and as a result, are allowed to suffer living for several years; but in better-run areas, we know that the educational interests for the children are better served with saving the food, and simply getting new Specimens every month – which is about how long a member of the Criminal Class can last without food.

The cheaper schools which choose to prolong the life of the Specimen loses in the long term by the cost of the food, and partly in the lessened accuracy of the Specimen’s angles, which, after a few weeks of constant “feeling”, become impaired.

And let’s not forget, as we think of the advantages of the more expensive system of constantly replacing Specimens, that it helps, however slightly, to lower the numbers of the Isosceles population, a goal that every statesman in Flatland constantly keeps in sight.

This is why I think (though I do understand that many of our popularly elected School Boards prefer the cheap system) that the more expensive system is, in this case, the best use of the money.

But I shouldn’t let the politics of School Boards distract me from my real subject. I’ve said enough, I hope, to show that Recognition by Feeling isn’t as tedious or confusing process as you might assume, and it is also obviously more trustworthy than Recognition by Hearing.

But many object that this method can be dangerous. For this reason, many in the Middle and Lower classes, and almost all of those in the Polygonal or Circular orders, prefer a third method of Recognition, which I will explain to you in the next section below.

Section 06. Of Recognition by Sight

I am about to seem very inconsistent. In the previous sections I’ve told you that all things in Flatland appear to us to be nothing but a straight line; and it was implied that this makes it impossible to tell people apart by looking at them.

But now I will be explaining to my Spaceland critics how we Flatlanders do recognize one another by our sense of sight.

If you, the Reader, will take the time to revisit the paragraph where you think I claimed that Recognition by Feeling is universal, you will that I specified “among the lower classes”. Only among the higher classes in our civilized societies is Sight Recognition practiced.

That this skill can exist anywhere, for any class, is the result of the Fog that covers the land for most of the year in all parts of Flatland except in deserts. What Spacelanders see as a depressing, evil smog that blots out the landscape and makes you cold and sick, is celebrated by us as a blessing second only to air itself, and is recognized as the Nurse of art and the Parent of science.

But I’ll try to stop singing praise for this beneficent Element so that I can explain to you what I mean.

If Fog didn’t exist, all lines would appear just as sharp and clear as every other line, and this is actually the case in those unhappy desert countries where the atmosphere is perfectly dry and transparent.

But wherever Fog can be found, objects that are at a distance of, for example, three feet, are noticeably dimmer than those at a distance of two feet and eleven inches. As a result, by careful, constant observation, we are able to understand, with very high accuracy, the shape of the object we are looking at.

A specific example will allow me to make my meaning clearer to you than many more paragraphs of explanation.

Imagine that I see two strangers approaching me, whose rank I want to learn. Let’s say that they are a Merchant, and a Physician, or in other words, an Equilateral Triangle, and a Pentagon – so how do I tell them apart?

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

It will immediately be obvious to every child in Spaceland who knows anything about Geometry that if I am facing these two men so that I am looking directly at their front point (A), my view, obviously, lies perfectly between the two points on either side of that (CA, AB), so that both points appear to be the same size.

Now when I look at the Equilateral Merchant, what will I see? I will see a straight line (in reality made up of three points), with the center of the line (which is really point A) being very bright (Because point A is closest to me).

The two seeming-ends of the line, though, will be much darker, with a very sudden shift from the white of the center to almost black. This is because the points (B and c) that make up the ends of this seeming-line are much further away from me, with more Fog covering them.

On the other hand, the line that represents the Pentagon Physician with shift from white to a lighter grey rather than almost black, because the points that make up the ends of the line are not as far away from me than they were on the Triangle.

[Note from the 2023 editor: To simplify further: The closer the point is to you, the brighter it is. The further away, the darker it is. Remember this, and you’ll be fine.]

The Reader will probably understand from this example how -- after a very long course of training aided by constant practical experience – allow those of us who are well-educated to accurately tell strangers apart when it comes to the Equilateral and Isosceles classes by our sense of sight.

If my Spaceland friends have grasped this idea enough that you’re not immediately rejecting it as impossible, I’ll consider my job done in this matter. If I tried to give you any more details, I’d only confuse you hopelessly.

But for the sake of the young and inexperienced, who might assume, from the two examples I gave above of how I would recognize my Father and one of my Sons, that Recognition by Sight is easy to learn, and I feel the need to point out that, in reality, the problems posed by Sight Recognition are much more subtle and complex than my simple diagram can convey to those in Spaceland.

For example, if my Father, the Equilateral Triangle pictured above, were to approach me with one of his sides instead of his angle, then, until I’ve asked him to rotate, or until I move around him to another angle, I cannot be certain whether I am looking at my Father, the Equilateral Triangle, or a Straight Line, in other words, a Woman.

Then, when I am with one of my two Hexagonal Grandsons, looking at one of his sides, it will be clear, I hope, from the diagram below, that I will see a straight line with a large center of brightness (made up by the points A and B), with two small darker sections above and below, which quickly fade away into dimness.

But I need to resist the temptation to keep explaining about these topics.

Even the best mathematician in Spaceland should believe me when I tell you that when you are at a ball or a convention, moving around the room and other people, trying to recognize and keep track of the many high-ranking Polygons around you is no easy task.

This is why we value our expert mathematicians – Professors of both Static and Kinetic Geometry, from the University of Wentbridge -- so highly. They are the ones who teach the elites of the states the complex art of Sigh Recognition.

It is only a few of the most promising heirs of our most noble and wealthy houses who can afford the time and money necessary for mastering this noble and valuable Art.

If I, a Mathematician of fair skill, and the Grandfather of two very promising and perfectly regular Hexagons, found myself in the middle of a crowd of rotating Polygons of the higher classes, even I sometimes find myself unsure!

And of course, to a common Tradesman Equilateral or Serf Isosceles, such a sight must be as bewildering and meaningless as it would be to you, my dear Reader, if you were suddenly transported to our country.

In a crowd like this, the only thing you would see, wherever you look, is nothing but a Line that seems to be straight, but with different parts in constantly changing light or darkness.

Even if you had graduated from your third year in the University’s classes for Pentagons and Hexagons, and had memorized the theory of the subject, you would quickly find yourself realizing that it will take many years of practical experience before you could confidently move through a high-society crowd without bumping into your betters.

It is impolite in the extreme to ask to “feel” such superior nobles, and it is without a doubt, due to their superior culture and breeding, that these fashionable crowds know everything of your shape and movements, while you, still inexperienced, know next to nothing about theirs.

In other words, the only way to belong truly in Polygonal society is to be a Polygon yourself. It’s a painful lesson I have had to learn the hard way.

It is astonishing how much the Art (I like call it an instinct) of Sight Recognition is honed simply by constant practice, while avoiding the custom of “Feeling”.

[Note from the 2023 editor: I apologize in advance for the next sentence you are going to read after this interruption is done.

The author here, as you may be able to guess soon enough, thinks he knows more than he does.

I will state now, for the record, that his idea of how Deaf and mute people learn to speak is completely and blatantly false, a myth long since thrown away, but I will still transcribe his words here for the sake of posterity, and to better help you understand his mindset.

Let me make it absolutely clear that denying Deaf and mute children access to language of sign language or Augmentive and Alternative Communication devices (AAC), and forcing them to lipread or spend years learning to speak perfectly aloud, does not help them learn to communicate better, the only thing it accomplishes is isolating and punishing them and delaying their ability to talk to you.

Let them learn sign language (and learn it alongside them!). Get them an AAC device. Stop trying to fit a square through a circular hole! It is a myth that sign language stops Deaf and mute people from speaking – just because you didn’t bother to learn doesn’t mean they’re not talking!

Interruption over now. You may continue.]

Just as with you, the deaf and mute, if allowed to gesticulate and to use sign language, will never acquire the more difficult, but far more valuable art of speech and lip-reading, so it is with us as regards "Seeing" and "Feeling".

None who in early life resort to "Feeling" will ever learn "Seeing" in perfection.

This is why “Feeling” is either discouraged or forbidden completely among the families of our Higher Classes.

The children of High-Class Polygons are not sent to the common Public Elementary schools where Feeling is taught. Instead, they are sent to private schools with very strict entrance requirements. At these schools, to “feel” is seen as a serious problem, and is punished with Suspension for the first offence, and complete Expulsion for the second.

But the lower classes think of Sight Recognition as an unattainable luxury. The common Equilateral Tradesman can’t afford to send even just one of his sons away to spend an entire third of his life studying abstract ideas.

So the children of the poor are allowed “feel” as soon as they begin moving, and in doing so become practiced at moving and interacting with others very quickly, which makes them seem, to the untrained eye, much better developed than the comparatively listless, unmoving attitude of young nobles Polygons of the same age.

But don’t let this disparity fool you – once the young Polygons have finally completed their course at the University, and are ready to go out into the world to gain more experience, a change sweeps over them so that they seem to be born for a second time. In all the skills of art, science, and sociability, they then rapidly catch up to and out-compete their Triangular competitors with ease.

It is rare for any of the Polygonal Class to fail their Final Test at the University, but it does happen, promising a life of pitiable misery to these unsuccessful nobles.

Cast out by other Polygons, they can make no friends among the common classes either.

They cannot function in Polygonal society because of their lack of Sight Recognition, but also have no idea how to navigate by Feel, as they’ve been forbidden and shamed out of learning it their whole lives.

There are no jobs they can perform, either professional or common, and though most States do not actually ban them from getting married, it is still difficult for them to find any willing partners, since history has shown us that the children of such marriages will be, at best similarly unfit for the noble life, or, at worst, blatantly Irregular.

This trash of the Nobility is where many of the leaders of the various Tumults and Seditions of the past centuries have risen. So many, in fact, that an increasing number of our progressive Statesmen have decided that either imprisoning these wretched outcasts for life, or at least mercy killing them, would make life easier for everyone.

But I am once again becoming distracted by the subject of Irregularity, which is actually so important for you to understand that it deserves its own separate section.

Section 07. Concerning Irregular Figures

Since the start of this book I have been assuming that my Readers in Spaceland were already aware of something that I of course take for granted. I should have made sure to explain to you the most basic, fundamental law of our society, upon which everything else is built:

Every human being in Flatland is a Regular Figure. Which means that a Woman is not simply a line, she is also a Straight Line. An Isosceles Workman or Soldier must have two of his sides equal (being an Isosceles, he is of course defined by his third side being irregular). A Tradesman must have his three sides equal. Lawyers, (the group which I, your humble narrator and guide, am apart of), must have four equal sides, and in the higher Polygon class, all sides must be, generally, equal.

The size of these equal sides of course depends on how old this person is. A Female at birth is about an inch long [around 2.5 centimeters], and a tall adult Woman might be more than 12 inches [around 30.5 centimeters] long.

As for the Males of every class, as adults, the length of all their sides, when added together, measures somewhere around two feet, give or take. [around 61 centimeters].

But it is not the length of our sides that is important. I’m talking about the Equality of the sides, and it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see why the whole foundation of civilization in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal our angles might be unequal.

Instead of simply being able to judge a single angle by feel or by sight, you’d have to figure out the measurement of every single angle by time-consuming Feeling.

Life is too short for such mind-numbing groping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would be killed instantly. Feeling, as much as it can be called an art, would perish soon after.

Casual interaction would become deathly dangerous or outright impossible; no one would ever be able to interact with any stranger or make even the most basic social arrangements without being in danger. In a word, civilization would collapse into barbarism.

Am I going to fast for my Readers to understand how I’ve come to these obvious conclusions? Surely if you think for a moment, and imagine a single instance from our every day life, you’ll be convinced that every part of our society relies on Regularity, or Equality of Angles.

For example, say you meet two or three Tradesmen in the street. You know they are Tradesmen by a single glance: a seemingly straight line, with a bright point in the center, rapidly growing darker towards either end. You ask them to step into your house for lunch while you discuss business.

This is something you can do, right now, without any hesitation, because everyone knows how much space, give or take an inch or two, is taken up by an adult Triangle.

But imagine if one of these Tradesman dragged behind his regular and respectable angle, not just a straight line, but a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches on the diagonal. Now what are you supposed to do with a monster like that stuck in your door?

But I’m insulting the intelligence of my Readers by explaining things that are clear to anyone who lives in Spaceland. Obviously the measurement of a single angle wouldn’t help us interact with one another under such circumstances – one’s whole life would be hours upon hours of feeling or visually surveying the entire perimeter of everyone you meet.

It’s already hard enough to avoid running into others in a crowd, even for the trained wisdom of a well-educated Square! But if Regularity flew out the window, and you couldn’t assume anyone around you had logical angles, everything would devolve to chaos and confusion. The smallest panic would cause serious injuries, or -- if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers in the crowd -- considerable loss of life.

This is why Expediency teams up with Nature in stamping the seal of it’s approval on Regularity of conformation, and the Law, of course, seconds their efforts.

To us, “Irregularity of Figure” means a combination of both inherent moral failure and purposeful criminality, and is treated accordingly.

We do, of course, have some distributors of writings that claim there is no inherent connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity.

“The Irregular”, they say, “is, from the moment he’s born, rejected by his parents, bullied by his brothers and sisters, neglected by his nurses, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all forms of trust, responsibility, and fulfilling jobs.

“His every movement is openly surveiled by the police until he comes of age, and presents himself for inspection. Then, he is either destroyed if he is found to be Irregular past the set margin of deviation, or imprisoned in a Government Facility as a desk worker of the seventh class.

“Barred from marriage, forced to serve at a boring job for practically no pay, and with no other choice but to live and eat entirely at this same office, unable even to take a vacation except without a guard escorting him like the prisoner that he is – then is it any wonder that human nature, no matter how pure or benevolent it started out when he was born, becomes bitter and corrupted with a lifetime of this kind of treatment?”

None of this very plausible reasoning convinces me, nor has it convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors made a mistake when they set down the law that mandated Irregularity as incompatible with the safety of the State.

I have no doubt that the life of an Irregular is hard, but the best interests of the rest of society requires that it be hard.

If a man with a triangular front and polygonal back were allowed to exist, and to father even more Irregular children and grandchildren, what would become of the arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches all supposed to be changed to accommodate such monsters? Are the ticket-sellers supposed to measure every man’s perimete before they let him into a theater, or to take his place in a lecture hall?

Is an Irregular supposed to be exempt from military service? And if not, how is he going to be stopped from killing his comrades by accident?

And just think of the horrible crimes and lies these creatures must be tempted to commit! It’d be so easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front forward, and order whatever he likes, on promise of future payment, from a too-trusting salesman!

Let the falsely claimed “Philanthropists” beg all they like for the abolishment of the Irregular Penal Laws, they won’t convince me, because I, for one, have never known an Irregular who wasn’t what Natuer clearly intended him to be – a hypocrite, a misanthrope, and, as far as he can succeed, a perpetrator of all kinds of mischief.

Not that I would (at the moment) recommend the extreme measures adopted by some States, where any infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the expected angularity is summarily destroyed at birth.

Some of our best men, men of real genius, suffered, in their early childhood, through deviations as great as--or even greater than-- forty-five minutes. The loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State.

We have also achieved many victories in the art of healing, allowing most Irregularities to be either partly, or entirely, cured, through the use of medical compressions, extensions, fuses, and more.

I would say there is no point at which we should look at a newborn and decide it is incurably Irregular – but, if the Irregularities cannot be cured before the body begins to form its permenant shape, and the Medical Board has declared that nothing can be done to salvage it, then I would suggest that the Irregular offpring be painlessly euthanized.

Section 08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

If my Readers have been paying attention to this story so far, you may have realized that life in Flatland can be a little boring.

Obviously, I’m not saying there aren’t the wars, scandals, uphevals and drama that are supposed to make History interesting, or that we don’t enjoy our lives, as strange as they may seem to you in Spaceland. There is something indescribably invigorating about the need for constant calculating of angles, and the usually-instant gratification of knowing you’ve done so correctly.

I mean from the aesthetic, artistic point of view, that Flatland is, very literally, dull.

It would be difficult for it not to be, when all our lives, ideas, hopes, dreams, even our artistic masterpeices of all kinds, are nothing but a straight line, with no variation at all except for small differences of brightness and shadow.

It wasn’t always like this.

If our Tradition can be trusted, then we know that long ago, Colour allowed our ancestors to live in a splendor we can barely imagine.

Long ago, in the remotest ages of history, it is said that a Pentagon whose name we do not know for sure accidentally invented some simple colours, and a method of painting. It is said that he immediately began decorating his house. Then he painted his slaves, then his Father, his Sons, his Grandsons, and, finally, himself.

The beauty, and convenience, of the results were admired by everyone.

This Pentagon’s most commonly accepted name among historians is ‘Chromatistes’, and wherever he went, turning his colourful frame, he was the center of attention and respect.

No one needed to take the time to “feel” him anymore, and no one confused his front from his back. Every move he made was easily read by those nearby without any effort on their part or the need for calculation. No one bumped into him, or failed to move out of his way. He did not have to waste his breath exclaiming his rank, as we colourless Squares and Pentagons have to today, to get a crowd of ignorant Isosceles to show us our due respect.

The fashion spread like wildfire. Before the week was over, every Square and Triangle in the distinct had copied his example, and only a few of the more conservative Pentagons refused to join in.

After the first month or two, even the twelve-sided Dodecagons had fallen into the trend.

In less than a single year, the habit had spread to all classes in the district except the highest of the Nobility.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for this trend to make its way out of Chromatistes’ neighborhood and into surrounding regions.

Within two generations, there was no one left colourless except the Women and the Priests.

With these two classes, Nature herself seemed to plant herself as a barrier to protest this infection spreading further.

For the Innovators, as they were called, having multiple sides was almost a requirement for having colour. They would say, “Distinction of sides is intended by Nature to imply distinction of colours”.

These words were popular, flying from neighbor to neighbor, and helped to convert whole towns at a time to the new cultural wave.

But it seemed that this idea could not be applied to Priests and Women. Women, being Straight Lines, have only one side, and thus, in all ways that matter, have No Sides. Women hated to admit this, and were ashamed of it.

On the other hand, Priests, if we are to accept that they are true Circles, and not just very high-ranking Polygons with many small sides, loved to brag and boast that they also had no sides, and were instead being blessed with a perimeter of a single line, or, in other words, a Circumference.

I hope you can see now why these two Classes could not be convinced by the so-called universal truth of “Distinction of Sides implying Distinction of Colour”, when it could not, apparently, be applied to them.

Even after everyone else succumbed to the temptation of self-decoration, the Priests and Women alone were still pure and unpolluted by the touch of paint.

Immoral, vulgar, anarchical, unscientific, there are many names used to describe the ancient days of the Colour Revolt, but, from an aesthetic point of view, those days were the glorious birth of Art in Flatland. A childhood that, unfortunately, was cut short before it could mature to adulthood, or even enjoy its youth.

To live them was to live in a world of endless delight, because living meant seeing, and even the smallest group of friends was a delight to the eyes, and the richly varied colours in a church or theater are said to have, many times, been so distractingly beautiful by the actors and teachers that they forgot their jobs.

But the most beautiful sight was said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military performance.

Imagine it: To see twenty thousand black-painted Isosceles bases suddenly spin to reveal the orange and purple of their two sides at their acute point. The Equilateral Triangles tri-coloured in red, white, and blue. The Square artillarymen rapidly rotating to show mauve, ultra-marine, gamboge, and burnt umber, with their vermillion guns.

The dashing and flashing of the five-coloured Pentagons and six-coloured Hexagons racing across the fields with their surgeons, geometricians, and chiefs of staff.

With this fabulous display of colour at military parades, its easy to believe the famous story of a powerful Circle king, who found the sight of his army so beautiful that he at once threw away his royal crown and ceremonial baton, and declared that from that day forward, he was never going to pick up another tool besides the artist’s brush.

The vocabulary alone that they used to express themselves shows how amazingly colourful the times they lived in were. Even the most mundane statements made by the poorest citizens during the Colour Revolt seem to be infused with a richness and creativity that is lacking today.

All of our finest poetry, and even the little bit of rhythm and rhyme that can still be found in our scientific statements of today, we owe to the amazing era of the Colour Revolt.

Section 09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

But while the beauty of colour was thriving, the intellectual Arts were quickly dying out.

No one needed to use Sight Recognition anymore, so they stopped practicing it altogether. Soon, the studies of Geometry, Statics, Kinetics, and other similar subjects became considered pointless as well, and became looked down upon, even at our greatest University!

Not even the inferior Art of Feeling was immune, and stopped being taught at our Elementary Schools.

Then the Isosceles classes, pointing to the fact that the Specimens were no longer needed for teaching, refused to pay up the members from the Criminal class that were owed to the schools, and as a result, their numbers, and their disrespect towards the more Noble classes, increased by the day now that they were no longer subject to the custom that had both thinned their excessive numbers, and removed the most dangerous of them from society.

Year by year, the Soldiers and Workers began to insist more and more often – and with increasing truth to their claim – that there was no real difference between them and the highest ranking Polygons, now that they could deal with all the problems of life just as easily as the nobility by simply using Color Recognition.

And they weren’t happy to just let Sight Recognition naturally die either, they began to actively cause its death by demanding the right to learn it themselves, calling for the law to ban the “monopolization of aristocratic Arts”, and thus ban the exclusive scholarships that allowed the higher, non-Criminal classes to study Sight Recognition, Mathematics, and even Feeling.

It wasn’t long before they began insisting that Color, which was a second Nature, had now destroyed the need for aristocratic distinctions at all, and so this meant that the Law should follow the same path, and legally recognize all classes as absolutely equal and entitled to equal rights.

When it became clear that the higher Orders were undecided and wavering in their convictions, the Revolution pushed even harder, demanding, at last, that all classes, including the Priests and Women, should honor Colour by allowing themselves to be painted.

When it was argued that Priests and Women had no sides, so couldn’t be painted, the Revoluntionists retorted that Nature and Expediency had worked together to make the solution to this problem simple: that the front half of every human being, containing his eye and mouth, should be easy to tell apart from his back half.

They created a Bill which they showed in front of an extraordinary meeting of all the States of Flatland, proposing that all Women should have the front half of her painted red, and her back half painted green. The priests were to be painted the same way – red on the half of their body where their mouth and eye were, and green for the rest.

You can see how devilishly clever this proposal was, and trust me, this plan was not created by any Isosceles – we all know they’re too degraded to understand, let alone think of, such an amazing political move.

No, the creator of this plan was an Irregular Circle who escaped being destroyed in his childhood due to foolish sentimentality, and was now repaying that kindness by bringing down destruction upon his country, and on his countless followers.

One part of this ingenious plan was to win over the Women of all classes into joining with the side of Chromatic Innovation. Because by painting Women with the same two colors as the Priests, the Revolutionaries guarenteed that it would be easy to mistake a woman standing in a certain pose as a Priest, and treated accordingly. This could not fail to appeal to masses of the Female Sex.

But I understand that some of my Readers might not understand how a Woman and a Priest could be confused even under the new Legislation, so let me explain it to you first, it’s very easy to follow.

Imagine that a Woman – a Straight Line – is decorated according to this new Code: her front half, or head, painted red, and her back end painted green.

Imagine you are looking at her from the side, as we would see her in Flatland – obviously, you will see a straight line, half red, half green.

Now imagine a Priest, a diagram of which will be provided below. His mouth is at M, and his front semicircle is colored red, and his hind semicircle green.

As demonstrated in the diagram above, ff you look at this Great Man from the side, you will see a straight line that is half red, and half green.

The line you see may be shorter than a fully-grown Woman would be, and might grow darker at the edges faster than a Woman’s edges would, but the colors alone would be doing most of the work in identifying this person’s Class to you, allowing you to be lazy and ignore those details, making it easy to confuse a Priest with a Woman if you are not paying strict attention.

Below is another diagram to illustrate the similarities.

Now, don’t forget what I have already told you – that Sight Recognition was dying out as an art at the time of the Color Revolt, and