#either way i think death afforded her control over her own desires in a way she hadnt experienced before

[identityquest]

lizzie get two wolves 👍

#strato.txt #oil painting #wip #im worried ive unbalanced the composition w the second one on the right tho... its so much closer to the edge #ugh whatever. aunt lizzie is the focus here #i wish i knew what she actually looked like this is just cobbled together from general features of my family #solid build... dark curly hair... bigass ears. she could be one of my cousins. she could be me #ok rq im gonna lay out the story in the tags for anyone who hasnt seen the previous lizzie art #my great-something aunt lizzie was disabled and couldnt walk very well and she died young #she wanted to see the second floor of the farm house real bad but no one ever carried her up there and she died before seeing it #they buried her in a long white dress somewhere down at the creek. we dont know where her graves lost unfortunately #the night she was buried something wearing a white dress walked into the house and up the stairs and disappeared #and sometimes you can hear her down around the creek screaming #somewhere along the line wolves got mixed into the imagery for me #my uncle told me a story about another 'white thing' that was wolfish and would jump on cars #so i just assumed lizzie was a werewolf my whole life #anyways. i think her staying after she died was a manifestation of her desire for autonomy. maybe #maybe if shed had modern accommodations she wouldnt have felt the need to stick around. or maybe she would have idk #either way i think death afforded her control over her own desires in a way she hadnt experienced before #and i think thats why she still hangs around the creek #i hope she would like this. maybe ill take it down there and leave it out for a night when its finished so she can see

[nablah]

would you please tell us more about your productions of rigoletto and/or la traviata?? 🥺

!!!

So from my ideas on Le Nozze/ Ang Kasal, ethnic and national identity would need to play heavily into Filipino adaptations/productions to actually make an impact. disclaimer: I really prefer race informed over race blind stuff because theres such a rich history you can get from a random actor/singer. and its personal. its resonant. opera where these characters are just characters are already interesting, but my point with these productions is that instead of being an offshoot of colonial influence and viewed as such, operas can be a way Filipino audiences can see themselves or their history in.

I think Rigoletto set in either the American colonial era would add another layer to the oppression Rigoletto, and to an extent, Glinda, experience due to the unequal standing of the Philippines as a colonial state. We focus a lot on Spanish oppression of Filipinos but I think the benevolent assimilation approach the US took is more in line with someone in power like the Duke who abuses those under him and is yet desired. Theres's hierarchy in Rigoletto and in the American colonial era, but these hierarchies depend more on allegiance, not race or ethnicity, though those already make a subservient Filipino as merely a little brown brother and not a true American. And the Duke, btw, doesnt even have to be American; there's a possible other layer to the idea of betrayal and abuse the Filipino elite were able to enact as allies of the new colonial power (the hot take here is the duke parallels rigoletto but in the opposite direction)

I think it would be very similar if it were set during the Marcos era; there's a reason protesters called/still call it a US-Marcos dictatorship. In this setting though, the power afforded to the Duke is no longer a colonial power but one of their own (from the concept of "tayo" vs "sila", it is a division within "tayo"). Evil wields political power and with the suppression of those who go against the administration, the threat of death and torture is much greater. Also factor in the possible allegory of Glinda as an innocent bystander who becomes a desaparecidos/disappeared like many innocents and even loyal allies of the Marcoses who were eventually betrayed. The presence of Sparafucile and Maddalena also lurk to contradict the whitewashed history the Marcoses try to portray: Ang Bagong Lipunan/A New Society, where crime and poverty are supposedly eradicated. Extrajudicial killings beyond political reasons still occur, and even act on behalf of the government. And who is Rigoletto in these two settings? A turncoat who betrays not just fellow humans but even his own ethnicity (insert rant on regionalism in the Philippines) and ideology? Or a man trying to save himself and his daughter in a system that is formed to consume them? Idk i guess these are really shallow parallels but solidarity is a thing across the world, recogizing the self through the other and whatnot.

In modern PH society, I think the nature of imperialism and capitalism really just makes a periphery nation a whore/ibong mababa ang lipad, but considering the still dilapidated health system and the "way out" for many Filipino women by marrying a rich white guy really makes Violetta a resonant character? She's not sempere libera-ing, she's still stuck in a patriarchal and a neocolonial system where she has no control, even over her own health because of the stigma she faces as a courtesan, even though its ingrained in our society to do exactly that! I mean, she is trying to escape but she will never escape!!! (whats also sad is that i'm actually equating 19th century healthcare with moden ph healthcare lol)

i'd love any thoughts though, these are just funky ideas i play with sometimes :>

#sorry napahaba #but these are just some stuff i concoct while sitting in history/asean studies/global studies class #i am playing with them #theresa-of-liechtenstein #thanks for the ask! #opera #tbh though the most fleshed out is the Marcos era rigoletto. everyone knows a glinda #everyone hates Marcos' rigolettos but why?

[gatekeeper-watchman]

What the Bible Says about Free Will – Choices

Free will or the freedom to make our own choices is a very important issue in our society. Every day, each of us chooses to do the things that we do, unless we are in a situation where we have been stripped of our freedom and then we must do as those who have control over us command us to do. This would be the case for those in prison or those who are enslaved by force in repressive societies. Even in these circumstances one still has the freedom to make certain choices although they may be limited. For example, one can choose as to what kind of attitude and response one would have to his or her oppressors. Those in prisons can still experience freedom when they have Christ because true freedom is an act of the soul and therefore, we each can make choices in our soul. Other men cannot force us to think wrongly unless we choose to agree with them.

Authority Limits Choices

Other circumstances can limit our choices because of the authority that exists in the world. One of these would be the choices of school children that are limited by the authority’s decisions and rules. This is also true of the military. These are just two of many circumstances that can limit one’s own choices.

However, no matter what our choices are today, they are ultimately creating our future because every choice that we make will either cause us to be blessed or cursed. Another way to put it is that things will get better or worse for us. All choices have consequences. These consequences will be for our betterment or will work to destroy us. We are also responsible for our choices. The Bible challenges us with this admonition in Deuteronomy 30:19, “I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore, choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.”

Messages going forth in our society today have stressed our “right to choose” but have not balanced it with the message that our choices also have consequences (especially in the area of lust and selfishness.) For instance, most movies have glamorized many things that are bad for us and have not generally shown the destructive results of smoking, drinking, adultery, fornication, gambling, abortion, etc.

These things do not often hit home until:

A loved one gets lung cancer and is dying

A child is killed by a drunk driver

Close friends divorce because of the unfaithfulness of a mate

A teen is infected with a venereal disease she will have for life

A family loses their home because of gambling debts

A baby is aborted because of the lust and selfishness of its parents leaving them struggling with guilt

Our Daily Choices

We face choices on a personal level daily:

What shall we eat? We can choose to eat healthy or just “pig out” on junk food.

Whom should we vote for? We can take the time to pray and study the candidates’ positions and vote accordingly or we can refuse to vote. When we do not vote, we are choosing to allow others to choose who shall rule over us.

Whom shall we marry? This is a serious lifetime commitment and should never be gone without God’s guidance. Making this choice foolishly or based on emotion alone has brought much heartache to many a person.

What occupation should we pursue? Those making this decision strictly based on need or money issues will regret not seeking God about this issue. God has gifted every person with certain talents to adapt to the jobs that are suited just for them at the right times in their lives.

Should I return the money that was credited to my account by accident? Remember the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” When only God is watching, what kind of choices do we make? He is looking for people He can trust, as He desires to use us in His work.

Should I purchase this item on credit? Do I need this item or is it something I want, even though I cannot afford it?

These are just some samples of choices that we face. We also face temptations that we must resist with the Word of God. The consequences of some choices are more deadly than others. When we rebel against God and choose our way, we are choosing a path of destruction that will ultimately end in hell. Because of God’s love and mercy to humanity, most of our choices do not have immediate results. We are all given time to repent and find the Lord and His ways. We may all get away with sinning for a while; however, in time we will reap what we have sown.

The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9

Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For him that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. Galatians 6:7-8

Wrong Choices Cause Soul Sickness

Many people are sick in their souls because they have not known the ways of the Lord, and therefore have made wrong decisions. God wants to heal us in every area of our souls and bodies, as well as give us a new life in the spirit. To receive healing of the soul, however, we must understand it and why it needs to be healed, restored, and renewed.

The Greek word psyche (pronounced “sue-kay”) is the word Bible writers used when talking about things of the natural man, which in English is called “the soul.” The soul of man is comprised of the mind, the will, and the emotions. Our emotional patterns tend to formulate our personalities.

The soul, or personality, is formed through a person’s reactions to the information the mind takes in. The way each person chooses to react to the things he hears, the things that happen to him, and the things he chooses to receive as truth causes each soul to become what he, or she, is. However, when a person is born again, he becomes a new creature in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17, Galatians 6:15), and the soul can be changed and renewed through the Holy Spirit.

As Christians, we are to develop the attributes of Christ and become like Him. Because much of our personalities are formed through our choices, we have to make new choices to let go old and receive the new. Our new natures are formed by the truths from the Word of God. The healing of the soul, which is a cleansing process, takes place as we learn to study the Word and develop a close fellowship with the Lord through prayer.

The Mind, Will and Emotions

We might look upon human beings in this way: each of us is a spirit who has a soul and lives in a body.

The will is how we exercise our freedom of choice. God gave man this freedom when He created Adam. God will not violate our free will and make us do the right thing, nor will He make choices for us. We can choose His way, “the law of the Spirit of life in Christ” (Romans 8:22: “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.”), or we can choose the way of self — which is the devil’s way or “the law of sin and death.”

There are only two ways: God’s or Satan’s. What man thinks is his way is Satan’s way and puts him under the authority of the enemy. If someone is not for God, he automatically is against Him (Matthew 12:30). There is no possible way man can just do his own thing and think he is not making a choice. That choice is choosing Satan’s way. Even “no choice” on man’s part is a choice, because when we refuse to choose, others will make our choices for us. Satan causes men to follow him by encouraging apathy, laziness, or lack of responsibility.

The mind is the intellect, with the reasoning being the “voice” of the mind. If the mind remains unrenewed, not “healed,” it will continue to think carnal thoughts, believe false information, and result in fleshly speaking and living.

The emotions were designed by God to express His characteristics, which are placed in our spirits when we become born again. Those are the “fruits” written about in Galatians 5:22, 23, and other places. If we do not yield to the renewal process, we continue to act like our “old father,” the devil.

Put On the Nature of Jesus

Much of the Church consider sanctification or “conforming to the image of Jesus” (Romans 8:29) to be optional. It is not taught or preached as much as it was in former generations. Many Christians born since World War II is as much a part of the “Me Generation” as the world. Self-will and rebellion are more a part of society today than at any time previously in the history of the United States. It is no surprise that much of today’s American Church operates in carnality, and it should be no surprise to us that God has finally set out to expose this evil and clean up His Church.

When Paul wrote to the Ephesians about “crucifying” the old man, this is exactly what he meant (Ephesians 4:18-24). When something is crucified, it is put to death. Every Christian needs the things of his old nature (which are part of his unregenerated soul), to be put to death for the life of God to permeate the whole person. We have been given the power through the Holy Spirit to overcome sin in our lives.  We can choose to obey God and He will empower us to overcome every sin.

Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness. For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace. What then? shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under grace? God forbid. Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness? Romans 6:12-16

Instead of pursuing holiness, many Christians have just allowed Christ to dwell in their spirits, but have not allowed Him to renew their souls and heal their bodies. As soon as a person is born again, he should begin to make the choices that will put to death his old ways of thinking, talking, and acting, and allow the Holy Spirit to replace them with God’s ways.

Overcoming Through Faith

Renewing the soul will cause negative habits and emotions to change. The key to that change is faith. Through our wills, we must choose to change. However, it is only the work of the Holy Spirit that can bring permanent change in us. We cannot do it ourselves. We choose to let go of the negative and that allows the Holy Spirit to do the changing. But doubt and unbelief can keep a person from receiving this kind of healing as much as it does heal of the body. A Christian must make the choices for God’s way and against His way in absolute faith that the Holy Spirit will do His part and make the needed changes in us.

If we allow our bodies to be lazy and undisciplined, they will suffer the consequences. Bad physical habits can hinder God’s work in us. The Holy Spirit wants to help us overcome these ungodly ways. In the soul, if we choose to be resentful, hateful, angry, unkind, discouraged, worried, fearful, impatient, lustful, greedy, etc., we will allow these things to rule us instead of calling on the strength of Christ to help us to overcome these negative attitudes.

Many habits or addictions of the soul and body can be broken with a three-day fast. Certain desires or feelings of the body are legitimate, such as hunger, sleep, and so forth. Through the five senses, the body is the receiver of information from the world around it. The senses were given to us by God to protect us, and under the direction of the Holy Spirit, they work perfectly to serve us. However, under Satan’s influence, or self-will, the senses are perverted to fulfill the lusts of the flesh which can bring destruction.

Changing Old Habits

Every sinful habit in our lives gained its foothold through our thoughts and choices. We can gain victory over those habits by thinking God’s thoughts. A person who feels unworthy and unacceptable can replace those negative feelings with the truth that through Jesus, he or she has become worthy and acceptable. The process of conforming to the image of Jesus will be successful as we choose to replace negative thoughts with positive ones.

The way to change a habit of negative thinking is to choose to change that negative thought for its opposite. The Bible calls that “overcoming evil with good” (Romans 12:19-21). For example, if a Christian finds himself ready to repeat some negative gossip about a brother or sister, he should choose to say something nice about that person instead. Very quickly, the habit of repeating negative things about other people will be broken.

The Lord wants to save us from tragedy, sickness, fear, anxiety, and the turmoil of this world. These things come upon us because of our bad choices or through ignorance or chains of iniquity. Instead, God wants us to walk in the Spirit of life so we may have His love, joy, peace, and victory (2 Corinthians 7:1) over every trial and temptation.

Bible Choice Bring Blessings

Our future is determined by all the choices we are making today.  Let us bring God in to help us make our decisions. Doing that it will determine whether our future will be secure and will have God’s blessing on it. Let us be as Joshua was and declare: “As for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.” God promised Joshua success if he obeyed the words of the Bible and chose to follow Him. Joshua and his family were blessed because he made the right choices; even though he went through many battles, God was with him.  He was an overcomer!

This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth, but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have success. Joshua 1:8

Now, therefore, fear the LORD, and serve him in sincerity and truth: and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood, and in Egypt, and serve ye the LORD. And if it seems evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD. Joshua 24:14-15

From: Elder Steven P. Miller Sunday, April 16, 2023 @ParkermillerQ, Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

[solardick]

Happy BS day. Its valentines. I’m not allowed knowing love. Because god’s an asshole. And enjoys fucken with me. And it’s always ever going to be just me. And know that in dying. I dont care anymore. That stupid girl they always talking about is going to be there. Today, yay! My lung hurts. Smoke another ciggarette.

Wonder whys the dovstor arw going to say when i ask to be euthanized. Just send me a guy already so i can spend the rest of my short life being fucked. Like i have been since my first memory. And Since im never going to add anything to life. And for the first tome this year theres the semblance of winter. Its only ten degrees warmer than it should be today and not 20.

Oh and the girl is gone. Wonder who’s gonna replace her.

Yay for being punished all fucken day. Get the fuck out of my way.

And fuck tarot im done. All y’all fo id give me the oppositre of what i create and my intent. Fuck this rapist culture. Soend tbe rest of my short life gaming and hetting drunk. An dmy dragon image in now trash.

Not allowed being healthy others control my life. Wonder what having independance from malicious influences. Something id like to experiemce before i die. Ive never been. Maybe one day. Ill go. Lol.

I nailed it in that dragon image though. My perfect reflection. And the tower crumbles. Everytime.

Mmmnn i can feel it. Serpent. Its stirring. And after fetting hit in the face with a box. Fuck this. Im done. Fuck all of you. Go sit in the corner and wait.

Souffy, fuck off pls.

And… uh, maybe she realized she was in love with me. And could no longer stay. It was a nice two step dance we did though. Was fun. Bye luv. Maybe one day.

It’s always sexual. I have a very lovable image. I just be me. I always get fucked over. But circumstances won’t allow. Im locked down. Man. And they won’t leave me be. I left my family what eight years ago now. Haven’t had any peace pressence has always been there. … born in hell. I dint know what else to say.

Well you know what they say. Gotta poor your sexuality into something else. Like making love to god. Or jesus. Or blogging indiscriminately, unfiltered. It has to be raw. Or. Not at all. When uou have nothign good to say you sys nothing at all. Maybe in. Fairy tail ‘bout being saved by thee glorious father.

Maybe her boifriend, will show up and beat me up. Because she flirted to spite. Spite. Yeah, yeah. That word, works well. Think im being framed up again? Probably.

Hahah. Ugh. I mean. Im pretty celibate. So its usually from the opposing parties. Thats how it started. Even down near 6-8 yr’old. If its coming from women, its either a good desire that would play out right if present corcumstnaves werent treating me lije a marionnette or there wasn’t amole amounts of violent carnage preventing any act forward. Or its a dirty desire. And im turned off. And do the morally good thing. Ethically may be skitchy. The couple times it did. Treatment and marionnette and all that. Not in a healthy state of being. And thats beside the while line up of scripted ones. There to be serpents. Other people serpents. The white ones with the crow.

Where do you want me to step? Here?

Uh, ok. The added script. Strength from mother to the “king” the child as self. Mother to child. Leo. And death. A parental bond with mother. One showing trust and support. Missing piece to the script. My own, fuck her. Man. I cant do it. There’s nothing there. And for as long as im nothing but tred, i couldn’t afford to care even if i wanted to.

Now to see of i camt find something to watch that isnt predomiantly gay, or gradually drawn into being. Risky stuff. I live dangerously.

Like tomorrow war, where the threat is actually the russians. With there symbolic connection to man and the machine vs. Women and temptation. Gotta fight the good fight. It had monsters and russians in it. I should have known better. In godzilla it was what the Chinese? God sake. Gotta keep my uranus in sag occupied. Uh?

I soent what 20 years in a hole. Not being a part of the system. And then as soon as i do. “Covid”happens. Yeah, ok? Where the real world? I dont think ive met it yet.

Anyway. Crazy bs aside. Im grateful she left. Better pay, closer to home. Can’t go wrong. Even though she hurt me in two ways. Knowing that she wasn’t there to get in my way today. Was awesome. And the good feeling remains. The Dove and the Dragon. The dove, a portent to positive experience. This land is populates by too many crows though. The most dominate species here. Only in the spring and summer are they mostly chased away. Creating a loop of conditional experience. That of using the the functioning increases of solar energy to overcoming the negative association to growth. Its not at all different that the tv. Of fighting monsters and such. Except that there’s not an overlaying fabricated script over nature. And this function is towards the means of reproduction and establishing a suitable nesting home.

In high populated city zones, the natural is all but lacking. Amd the mass lives within a bubble of conditioning. Which cost millions of lives to make possible. While claiming peace on earth. Though millions of lives doesn’t seem so consequential considering the what now, eight billion?

Twisted metal does seem promising. Thanks justin.

No, it’s just sneaky. It hook punches you.

Well guess im goving up media. And going back to the wind.

Well y’all could give some hearts if your going to stock me anonymously. But no. Only the bad stuff.

[stahlsharlee]

Alright, season one of Shades of Blue is finished.

And although I've rooted for Harlee, at some point I've realized I'm more and more fascinated at the lengths the Special Agent Robert Stahl goes to uphold the law.

*

He corners Harlee in the pilot and offers her a deal she can't refuse—be his asset in exchange of immunity and, more importantly—get the chance to be with her daughter if she gives up her corrupt crew.

And even if it seems Stahl is a stickler for procedure, I couldn't shake off this funky feeling that somewhere within him is a ticking bomb of anger and hurt, and power lust.

And not sooner than a third or fourth episode, I was proven right.

What Stahl did... I don't think I'd qualify it as a sexual assault (though he had pulled Harlee way harder than he should've, and the actual scene was disturbing AF... I mean, he marched into the women's bathroom and locked Harlee and himself there up). But it was an assault—he basically threw the boundaries between the handler and the asset out of the window, forcing Harlee to wear the wire while almost undressing her.

Nevertheless, that scene was hot and made me instantly invested into their negative sexual dynamic. And it also helped me to note an important thing about Stahl—he can't afford to lose the control of the situation. Losing control is like death to him.

And with that, I'm getting even more convinced that beneath his desire to punish the bad guys lies something else. Something dark.

Which I'm about to uncover. Hell yeah.

*

So far, I've noticed the two faces of Stahl.

A proud, ambitious, dedicated man who wages the war on two fronts:

tries to get the custody over his son;

to uncover the corruption within one of NY city's police precincts.

An uptight control freak. Obsessed with winning and making the name for himself. Obsessed with his power. And, as it turns out—with the subject of his investigation.

As the season progresses, so Stahl’s unhealthy obsession with Harlee does. Hiring a lookalike hooker so she'd remind him of the subject of his investigation [and infatuation]? Boy, this man's a total mess.

And yet he seems surprisingly composed on the outside. Which is a terrifying thing, actually.

From what I've gathered—he is fully acknowledging what he feels for Harlee isn't right, and what he does to her, what he wants to do to her, isn't right either. It's not love, of course. Their dynamics isn't about love.

A primal desire to own. To dominate. To prove one's power.

Harlee does it too—unintentionally first. She just want to fix things, wants to keep her crew alive and free, wants to outsmart Stahl. And, more importantly—she wants her life back, she wants the control back.

The boundaries between personal and professional ceasing to exist with these two. And Stahl’s decisions, although still calculated, are made mostly to hurt Harlee personally rather than benefit the case.

Which is also quite telling.

*

Stahl is self-conscious everything he does.

We, the viewers, notice it through Stahl's gestures, ticks, glances. With that degree of self-awareness, I keep wondering, what else he'd regard as a "normal" part of himself.

For his obsession with Harlee, it seems, he's found an excuse, and he treats it simply as a side effect. And he has no problem bringing it to Harlee at some point. It'd be an understatement to call it "inappropriate" since Stahl delivers it matter-of-factly, the way someone would share their preferences for the weather.

And that gives me chills.

*

He applies the principle of divide and conquer, almost successfully managing his "agent" facade, and his "after dark" one.

The only person who's almost caught him was poor Molly—Molly Chen, his colleague. I actually liked their dynamics a lot too. Even though Stahl was his usual asshole self, he admitted Molly was an excellent agent and was good—maybe, she was just way too good considering what happened next—partner he could trust to have his back.

And yet.

The way he treated her in her moment of weakness speaks volumes—he basically throws her under the bus after she's come to him drunk (coping with the PTSD from the murder which has happened during their op with Stahl).

He is ruthless to anyone who he thinks is on his way. His respect for Molly as a professional and him ratting her out to their superiors cozily coexist in his moral values’ system.

*

Hunger is his biggest drive. He is hungry for power. Control. Sex. Domination.

He preaches about justice and order but when needed, he paints outside the lines. More often, he is resorting to the same level of carnage his enemies do.

*

“My demons aren't remotely tackled, they're just mildly concussed” quote from Sharp Objects is applicable to many of us. We're all trying to tackle our demons and deal with our traumas. Or putting them onto the back burner—which happens far more often.

But that's not Stahl's way.

He is aware of his demons. He is in peace with them. He's tackled them [or so he thinks].

And that is what makes him so dangerous. And an absolutely splendid subject for investigation of his desires, fears, and conflicts.

I'm looking forward to what happens next in season 2.

#shades of blue #shades of blue nbc #robert stahl #warren kole #stahl_essay

[little-mad]

“Tiny ears! Remember?!” With Tara and Thomas!

Ok, I really liked writing this one

From this list of prompts here

And for anyone who doesn’t know, more details about these two can be found on my oc masterlist

______________________________________________________

After knowing one another for two months, Tara finally agreed to cross into giant territory for her meetings with Thomas. Admittedly, it was kind of awkward standing on opposite sides of the creek. More importantly, being out in the open like that, they ran the risk of getting seen by somebody. Tara definitely did not want to have to explain why she was hanging out with a giant to her family and friends back home.

The spot she and Thomas had decided on wasn’t far into giant territory, in fact Tara could still catch a glimpse of the border through the trees. Meanwhile, Thomas was about as concealed as his giant form would allow in an area with trees shorter than him.

Of course, Tara never would have agreed to the arrangement had she not been confident Thomas harbored no ill will towards her. The guy had saved her life twice, and after getting to know him better and better over time, she could almost call him a friend.

That being said, Tara had been sure to set up clear ground rules. Most important of the rules was that Thomas had to keep his hands to himself unless given express permission otherwise. The giant had pouted extensively about it. He obviously got a kick out of holding and touching her, which was exactly why Tara had forbidden it. Plus, being around hands that could easily snuff out her life made her more than a little anxious, believe it or not.

In order to avoid physical contact while still managing to remain close to Thomas’s eye level, Tara had positioned herself in a high branch of a tree directly in front of where the giant was sitting. Thomas had been fretting like a mother hen as she climbed up, insisting it was too dangerous for someone “so itty bitty.” The comment only served to make Tara climb quicker. She’d been scaling trees since she was little, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Wait, but I thought you said you wanted to study at that university?” Tara inquired as she absentmindedly swayed her dangling legs back and forth.

During their last meeting, Thomas had explained to her his desire to attend some fancy school in a giant city a ways away. They had something sort of similar on the human side of the border, but it was incredibly far away and was very selective with who they allowed as students. No one in Tara’s town ever even considered it as a feasible option.

Thomas gave a humorless laugh. “Well of course I want to, both Lane and I have dreamed of going there for years,” he explained. “But it costs an arm and a leg to even be allowed to study there, not to mention room and board, food, supply costs...we’d never be able to afford it.” He let out a resigned sigh.

A frown formed on Tara’s face. She couldn’t necessarily empathize with Thomas’s situation exactly, but the feeling of being trapped by forces out of her own control was familiar enough after encountering giants. “So what are you going to do then?” she asked. The First Hunt had marked Thomas’s transition from child to adult, meaning he could no longer rely on his parents and needed to seek out a way to make a living.

“I’ll probably start helping out at my uncle’s shop, at least for now,” Thomas said with a shrug. He didn’t look especially pleased with the plan, but before Tara could call him out on it, he spoke up again. “What about you? Are you going to keep gathering supplies for your doctor?” he questioned.

Since even before she had finished school, Tara had been assisting the town’s physician by foraging for medicinal supplies that could be found in nature. At first it had mostly been freelance, but within the past month she had begun receiving a regular wage from the doctor. Tara enjoyed the unrestrictive nature of the work, plus the pay wasn’t half bad either. That being said, she couldn’t see herself doing it for the rest of her life.

“Well actually…” Tara started, “I’ve been thinking I might want to join one of the scouting parties.” The job was mentally and physically demanding, but scouts were well paid and well respected. Plus, after almost being eaten on two separate occasions, Tara felt as though non-giant related dangers were pretty manageable.

“Are you crazy?!” Tara winced at the unexpected volume of Thomas’s voice, her hands instinctively going to cover her ears against the thundering noise.

When her ears stopped ringing, she lowered her hands and shot a scowl up at the giant’s face. “Hey!” she shouted, “Tiny ears! Remember?!” Despite his natural enthusiasm, Thomas was usually pretty good at keeping his voice at a volume that was comfortable to Tara. Over time, his accidental loud outbursts had decreased in frequency. Whatever streak he’d had was now soundly broken of course.

Thomas’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaimed in an overly hushed tone. His cheeks became tinged with a slight red color and he wore a regretful expression on his face as he looked down at Tara. “I just--I can’t believe you would actually consider doing something so needlessly risky.” When he finished the sentence he began to take on the appearance of a stern father or something.

Tara pressed her lips together. She wasn’t really sure why Thomas seemed so worked up over the idea of her joining a scouting party. In the past, she had described what the scouts did and why they were so important to the wellbeing of her town. She’d mentioned the fact that, aside from ensuring no giants ever crossed into human territory, scouts were also responsible for fending off vicious wild animals, as well as occasionally dealing with bandits that sometimes hung around the woods surrounding the town. Sure, it was probably one of the more dangerous jobs Tara could do, but it wasn’t as if it were a death sentence. It was rare that a scout was ever killed in the line of duty.

“It’s not ‘needlessly risky’, Thomas,” she insisted. “Scouts are vital to the safety of my town. Plus, it’s not as dangerous as you seem to be imagining it to be.”

“The world is a dangerous place, and you’re so small--” Thomas started, but Tara was quick to interrupt him with a raised hand.

“Okay--just because I’m small to you, doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself just fine.”

“But why risk it when you don’t have to?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to live my life in a bubble.” It was becoming increasingly clear to her that while Thomas may view her as a person in some respects, he still thought of her as some kind of weak creature in need of protection. Considering he’d had to save her life on multiple occasions, Tara supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him. But that had been when she’d been in giant territory. Things were different on her side of the border.

At first, Thomas opened his mouth as if he were about to shoot back a retort. However, after a moment’s pause, his expression softened slightly. “I’m--I just don���t want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

Tara sighed. It was hard to stay too mad at the guy when he sounded so genuine. He seemed to really care about her wellbeing, even if he was being a bit overbearing about it. She allowed her tensed shoulders to relax. “I appreciate your concern,” she began, making sure to choose her words carefully. “But I promise, I’ll be fine.” Tara offered Thomas her most sincere smile. “Besides, I don’t even know for sure if I am actually going to join a scouting party. It’s just a possibility.”

With slow, controlled movements, Thomas leant forward so that his face was hanging about a foot above where Tara sat. She stiffened when one of his hands gently settled down beside her on the branch, close but not quite making contact with her body. “You don’t know how much I wish I could touch you right now,” he stated, a petulant look on his face.

With her cheeks flushing pink, Tara attempted to disguise it by fixing an unperturbed expression on her face. “You--you can keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Grabby,” she declared stubbornly.

Even if she trusted Thomas not to hurt her, willingly allowing a giant to touch her felt like crossing some line. Of course, she’d already crossed all kinds of lines just by agreeing to meet with him in the first place. Maybe Tara wasn’t completely opposed to letting him touch her--but only for practical purposes! Allowing him to fiddle with her now was certainly not practical.

Thomas gave Tara a pouty face, but when she remained resolute, he released a dramatic sigh before pulling away. “You’re killing me here.”

Tara snorted as she shook her head. “You are such a drama queen.”

#g/t prompt #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Tara #oc: Thomas #vore mention

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Hellfire

This is a prequel to Exercises in Self Control, going into the events leading up to Enji's arrival on Reader-chan's doorstep from his POV.

You don't need to have read Exercises in Self Control to enjoy this fic, but I recommend it!

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Endeavor x Reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: Enji is possessive and thirsty in this fic so bear that in mind before continuing. Some of Enji’s fantasies involve dub con

Sequel Piece: Exercises in Self Control

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

For as long as he can remember, Enji has had problems sleeping. He’s counted the ceiling tiles, counted sheep, counted hours. He’s helped himself to cups of tea, herbal and otherwise. He’s tried meditating, he’s tried ASMR, all to no avail.

It doesn’t strike him as out of the ordinary that he can’t sleep tonight either. He stares at the ceiling, eyes wide open, listening out for the wind in the trees outside. He put chimes in their branches on purpose; something to ground himself every time he closes his eyes.

Tonight he’s grounded by something else; the warm body sharing his bed. He lies flat on his back and doesn’t look, listening to your soft breaths.

Enji is a grown man, now twice married, but this is the first time anyone has shared his bed. In his first marriage, he and Rei slept in separate beds. He visited her only occasionally and never bothered to stay the night, making sure to leave the moment the deed was done. Tonight you’re the intruder and his immediate instinct is to tell you to leave.

He can tell you’re asleep from your steady breathing and he wonders how you got so relaxed. His own children never slept in his arms even as babies but here you are, not just an adult but one he stole away, sleeping so calmly that for a second even he believes you’re an ordinary husband and wife.

You’re not, of course; your first conversation was your wedding vows. You became husband and wife knowing little more than one another’s names.

Against his better judgement, he turns to look at you, admiring what details of your face he can make out through the darkness. He knows you’re beautiful without looking.

Your beauty, in fact, was one of the first things he noticed about you and he remembers that moment with perfect clarity.

Even before Rei’s admittance into a hospital, it had been years since he felt welcome in his own home. It fell silent whenever he returned, his childrens’ laughter dying the moment he was in sight. He had always told himself it didn’t bother him; that they would understand when they were older. Everything he did, however cruel, was for their benefit in the long term.

Touya’s death was the first time he questioned it. Rei’s hospitalisation only drove the point home. For the first time in his life, he saw his house for what it truly was: misery and trauma under several layers of paint.

He couldn’t stand being there for more than a few hours, sitting alone in the dark with nothing to do but think. At first he stayed at the office for longer, taking on extra jobs and filing away paperwork long before it was due. It was a temporary solution and one that backfired spectacularly. He was greeted at work one day by smiling interns, who enthusiastically pointed out the piles of paperwork they had completed in his absence. They told him they’d done it so he could spend more time with his family and didn’t understand why he reacted with anger.

Enji realised then that he needed an alternative hiding place; somewhere no one knew him and he could spend the night alone.

He went from one bar to another, never settling down in one for too long. His reputation was crucial to his career and he didn’t want to risk being recognised.

It was with a great deal of reluctance that he finally arrived at a hostess bar. The owner was well versed in discretion and offered him his own table towards the back, as well as his pick of any of the hostesses. Enji didn’t bother to absorb any of their names or memorise their faces. Instead he asked for the owner himself to tend to him. He had a vested interest in his good graces and was therefore less inclined to gossip.

It became his routine for the next few months. Enji would finish up at the office and head straight for The White Rabbit , simmering in the corner as he sipped his drink. He stayed there until the early hours, returning to the estate once everyone else had already gone to bed and leaving for the office before they woke up.

It seems strange to him now. He used to be a regular, but he hasn’t been since he married you.

He remembers your first encounter far more clearly than you do. As far as you are concerned, your first meeting was in your home, the day he bought you from your father.

You couldn’t be more wrong, of course. He’s known you far longer than that.

Enji spent that much time at the bar that he came to know the regulars. He knew which men were married and booked hostesses to escape their wives. He knew which customers worked long hours in an office cubicle and came to the bar to let loose. He knew which ones were heroes as well and just as incognito as he was.

Among all of these customers was a familiar gaggle of six businessmen who very often dropped in after work. They were boisterous and very often blind drunk, booking multiple hostesses to sing karaoke with them.

One night in particular, you attended their table, carrying over a tray of crimson strawberry daiquiris. Your specialty, he found out later.

The businessmen were louder than usual that night and when Enji glanced over at them, it was with disapproval. He quickly became distracted, though, by something else entirely. You were setting a tray of drinks on their table, laughing and smiling as you tended to each customer.

Perhaps it was the backless dress you had on, showing off smooth, unblemished skin that reminded him of undisturbed snow and still waters. Maybe it was the coquettish way you fluttered your eyelashes as you spoke to them, giggling at their bawdy jokes and expertly dodging any of their attempts to take you by the wrist. Perhaps it was the way you left them hanging.

In any case, the next drink he ordered was a strawberry daiquiri and he relished the tangy sweetness, all while thinking of your lips.

That night, for the first time in many years, Enji fell into a deep slumber and deeper dreams. He dreamed about bending you over his desk, holding one arm behind your back and slamming into you so forcefully that you squealed. Your cunt fluttered every time his hips hit your ass, betraying how many times you had unravelled around his girth.

“Enji,” you whined, “Enji please .”

He slapped you across the ass at that, relishing the way you squealed in shock. He let go of your arm, eying the red marks he had left on your skin.

“It’s what you deserve,” he said in his dream, holding onto your hips and driving his cock in deep, so deep that you cried out and gripped the desk. He came so hard that it painted your insides and left him groaning in pleasure. He held you in place as his cock twitched and filled you with his seed, letting go only to shove his fingers deep into you to stop any drops from escaping.

“Enji,” you said, quivering.

He woke seconds later, pleasure running through him and semen covering his sheets. He cursed and threw himself out of bed, spitting obscenities as he rinsed his body clean.

For a moment, just a moment, he hated you. He was filthy, all because of you and your backless dress and long eyelashes.

You’re sleeping with your back to him tonight and he draws back the covers to admire it. He takes in your naked shoulder blades; the way the moonlight hits the curve of your spine. Not so long ago this view was enough to drive him mad.

The dream left an imprint, after all. He thought about it when he brushed his teeth, patrolled the streets, got into the bathtub at night.

He continued to attend the bar, telling himself it was because he liked the atmosphere and not because he hoped to catch another glimpse of your innocent smile.

He told himself he didn’t want you.

He didn’t want to defile you and fuck you senseless.

He didn’t want to fill your belly with yet more Todorokis.

You were a distraction and one he needed to be free of. He was Endeavor, the flame hero, the world’s number two. He couldn’t afford to fall into such debased habits as the businessmen who had tried to paw you. He was better than that, better than them and certainly better than you.

Every night he sipped strawberry daiquiris and masturbated furiously when he got home, fantasising about you in all manner of scenarios, each filthier than the last. He took photos of you as you worked and scrolled through them when he got home. He filmed you at the bar and watched it over and over, knowing what he was doing was wrong.

Heroes didn’t do this. He should have been protecting you from such terrible invasions of privacy, not enabling himself. Something about you, though, prickled at his skin. Something about the backless dresses you sometimes wore and the careful way you mixed drinks. He knew desire all too well, but never for a person. It was intoxicating; addictive. You were untouched and unspoiled and it drew him to you like a moth to a flame. He wanted to spend the rest of his life as relaxed as when he came all over his fingers, before reality sank back in and he remembered the ghosts lurking in every corner of his home.

One night, desperate to be free of you, he ventured into a nightclub and took a girl into the bathroom, pushing her down onto her knees in front of him and holding her in place to fuck her mouth. She had the same colour hair as you and that was why he chose her, pretending you were the one gagging on his cock. He thought it would help him; that once he got a fix he would stop thinking about you. Ultimately, it only made matters worse. The girl in the bathroom wasn’t you and every time he looked down at her he came crashing down to earth. He wondered what you would think of him if you knew what he had done.

It took him ages to cum that night, holding the girl’s head in place as it shot down her throat. She slumped over when he let her go, choking on semen and wiping her mouth even as he dropped notes down to the floor. Just like when he finished alone, Enji felt disgusted, tucking himself away and leaving the girl without bothering to express his gratitude.

He went to the White Rabbit straight afterwards, paying for you to stay at the bar and ordering his usual daiquiri. He expected to feel different, only to curse his own stupidity for ever thinking the woman in the nightclub could have compared.

He splashed out on bracelets, earrings and more, eager for you to wear them. The thought of them touching your body where he couldn’t made his mouth water, even though you never wore them. The only jewellery you ever wore was a set of plain earrings. Your mother’s, he found out later.

Meanwhile, his dreams only grew more obscene.

He dreamed of rescuing you from villains and insisting you spread your legs in exchange. He dreamed of hiring you as one of his house staff, permitted only to serve him without clothes. He dreamed of sitting you down on your knees before him and covering your face in cum.

He was a man possessed, desperate for any sight of you. The realisation came to him slowly: he didn’t only want to corrupt and break you anymore. He wanted you to desire him as he desired you. Perhaps even more.

He wanted you to want him, wanted you to let him touch you.

Every time he sat down in the bar, he almost managed to convince himself that your circumstances were different; that he truly was the honourable man the world believed him to be. He almost believed that his touches wouldn’t ruin you.

He was desperate and not only to be fucked, though refused to acknowledge it.

He told himself it was no weakness on his part, no dent in his armour. He wasn’t as vile or depraved as the businessmen who tried to paw you on a near daily basis.

He begged the owner of the White Rabbit to let him spend the night with you, begged him to leave the pair of you alone. He was quite convinced that he wouldn’t want you anymore the moment he had you in his arms. He’d find an imperfection on your body that would shatter the illusion.

The owner, being a shrewd businessman, refused him every time.

Enji isn’t proud of how cruel he became in his desperation. It wasn’t hard to break the owner into handing over your name, nor to track you down to your home address. It was all too easy to learn of your father’s gambling problems and difficult financial situation.

He was on your doorstep before he knew it, happy to pay any price to keep you under his roof, unspoiled and protected from harm. He was an honourable man, he told himself. He could keep his hands to himself.

It was what you deserved, after all.

You shiver next to him and he drags the covers back over your body, considering that you are the only person he has ever wanted and the only one to want him in return. He brought you into his home, yes, but you’re the one who sought him out. You’re the one who led him to the bedroom and shed your clothes willingly. He’s almost certainly spoiled your body, but if anything that makes him want you more.

He’s addicted to every inch of you: the feeling of being buried within you, the scent of your hair as he holds you close. You’re the only person he’s ever fucked for pleasure and he hasn’t been able to resist ever since. Even now that you’re asleep, he’s desperate for a fix. He feels starved of oxygen and it’s keeping him awake.

Not long ago, he would have prodded you awake and told you to spread your legs. Now, though, he rolls over onto his side so he no longer faces you, content to listen to your gentle breathing instead.

He curses under his breath as you begin to stir and squeezes his eyes shut, laying perfectly still as you yawn and turn over onto your own side to make yourself comfortable. His skin still prickles when you touch him, especially as you drape an arm around his chest and plant kisses on his shoulder.

“Enji,” you whisper, “are you awake?”

He doesn’t answer and you smile before burying your face in the back of his neck, the combined heat of your bodies lulling both of you to sleep.

He has no need of wind chimes to ground him anymore.

#enji todoroki #todoroki enji #endeavor x reader #endeavor #bnha endeavor

[nanami-says]

Part III (1/2): chapters 19-25

Vs. Mahito Arc

Chapter 19 (aka why this blog exists)

J:”Yeah, we know that. But we flatter her because she looks easy.”

⇒ ”And the three of them know it as well. But they flatter you exaggeratedly anyway because they think you’ll let them do you”

Actually Junpei’s lines.

J:”I can’t believe people like that go to my school.”

Not incorrect, I just want to point out that Junpei didn’t just say “people”, the word he used is “race” (人種）, which implies he doesn’t see them as the same kind of human he is.

J:”Was it that guy who did it? There’s no way a person could do that! If he did it, he must not be human.”

⇒ “Was it that person just now? No, would such a thing be even possible for a human being? And if it was, would they really be a ‘human being’?”

Overall correct but the flow was different. Mind you, 人 can be translated both as “person” and “human being” (among others) depending on the context. Imo this captures the nuance better but YMMV!

N:”I’m here to identify the truth and uphold the law. There was a time when I thought the society had the same goals”

⇒ ”Adapting to the facts [in front of you] and managing yourself accordingly. That’s who I am. There was a time where I mistakenly believed society operated on the same basis.”

This was really hard to translate, especially since the phrase Nanami uses here is rather formal language. I actually checked the official anime subtitles for this one and they went with “I adhere to the facts and judge on that basis”, which I guess is close enough? I’d probably go with it as well if not for the fact that he doesn’t just say 律する but 己を律する (己/onore = I/me in humble language).

Seems like the exact meaning of the phrase is difficult to understand even for Japanese people - there are whole articles out there breaking down the meaning and giving examples of how to implement it in life 8D Anyway, the simplest explanation is “to control yourself”, with further nuance of “enforcing rules on yourself in order to achieve a goal”, “restricting your desires and impulses by your own will” etc.

Thanks a lot, Gege.

Btw, Ino, who respects Nanami greatly and considers him a mentor, actually uses the same phrase, word for word, in ch. 95! (事実に即し、己を律する) That’s how important it is. Also, continuity!

Y:”Let’s do it!”

N:”There’s no need to get excited”

⇒ Y:“Let’s go all out!!”

 N:”No, if moderate’s enough, let’s just do it moderately”

They both used descriptors for just what kind of intensity they should approach the mission with. Imo, an important distinction because after they learn the full extent of the situation, Nanami takes back his words from this moment and agrees with Yuuji, going as far as to use the same words Yuuji did here.

N:”I wonder what others would think hearing you say that”

⇒ “I’m sure the others wouldn’t want to hear that from you [of all people]”

So not so much “don’t be rude” as “dude, you’re the weirdest of them all”. Emphasis mine.

N:”What I learned at Jujutsu High is that jujutsu sorcerers are idiots” 

& “What I realized while at the office is that work is idiotic”

He actually says “shit” both times lol. If it was just the humour that suffered here, it still wouldn’t be too awful but unfortunately it’s not just that. The “sorcerers are shit” line gets recalled when Nanami’s facing death, trapped in Mahito’s domain, which makes it pretty damn important. It gets translated yet differently by the official release then, too, which further damages continuity I believe Gege intended for this.

”So I took the lesser of two evils. Nothing more, nothing less”

⇒ “If both are shit, then I just chose the one I’m more cut out for. That’s all as far as the reason for my coming back is concerned.”

I mean, if we realllllly insist on watering down everything that Nanami says (as JJK translators apparently did), then the basic meaning was conveyed but the original wording and nuance was closer to what I proposed.

N:”Prove to me that you can be useful in spite of the demon Sukuna inside of you”

⇒ “Give your best to prove that you’re useful despite carrying the bomb that Sukuna is.”

Considering how 2 pages later Nanami tells Yuuji that he’s not the one Yuuji should be proving himself to, it’d have been weird if this is actually what he’d said, wouldn’t it. But Nanami’s nothing if not reasonable, so that wasn’t the case.

Y:”I’m weak and useless. I’ve been hearing a lot of that these days”

⇒ “That I’m weak and useless... I’ve been realising that to a painful extent these days”

“I’ve been hearing it” would imply that someone was actually saying it either to Yuuji himself or to others which he was aware of. (I mean, other than Sukuna.) The original wording doesn’t really hold such connotation.

N:”If you think you’re in trouble, let me know”

Y:”Have some faith in me, will ya? Just a little.”

N:”It’s not about faith.(...)”

Y:”A child? I’d rather be underestimated”.

⇒ N:“If you decide you cannot win, please call me.”

Y:”Aren’t you underestimating me too much?”

N:”This is not about ‘underestimating’ or ‘not underestimating’.(...)

Y:”[Even] being underestimated would’ve been better over being treated like a kid.”

I guess the translators wanted to avoid saying “underestimate” 3 times in a row? Albeit that’s what the original does.

More importantly though!!

N:”I’m an adult and you’re a child. I have the obligation to look after you”

⇒ “(...) It’s my obligation to prioritise you over myself.”

Quite a different nuance, right. Not just “I have to look after you” but “your well-being [life] takes priority over my own”.

N:”Experiencing these little losses is what helps people grow into adults”

⇒ “It’s the accumulation of such small despairs that turns people into adults”

Not that wildly different but despairs (hopelessnesses) >>> losses, y/y. Also “helps” made it sound more positive when it’s both a poignant and at the same time dry statement.

Chapter 20

N:”There are techniques that aren’t affected if revealed to certain enemies”

Those two feel more like separate examples to me. I.e. that there are techniques that aren’t affected if revealed, and there are some enemies that you can afford to reveal your technique to. Could apply simultaneously but don’t necessarily have to, if that makes sense?

“There is a merit to revealing one’s hand and the rules it initiates. You can make your technique even more effective.”

⇒ “It has its merits too. The ‘binding’ of ‘revealing one’s hand’ amplifies the effectiveness of your technique.”

Wild lost “binding” appears! Like I indicated before, it’s the lack of consistency to translating terms that are consistent in the original, that has negatively affected the fans’ ability to understand the basics of jjk techniques and world-building.

[Explaining Yuuji’s divergent fist]

GJ:”But it’s a lot easier said than done for anyone else.”

⇒ “It’s not something that can be easily done on purpose”

N:”His physical strength is superhuman. The impact of his hit doesn’t have incredibly strong energy, but it’s still about 20% more than a normal sorcerer. That means his delayed hit comes from his main source of cursed energy. It must be quite annoying for those on the receiving end. Such potential. If he’s able to go out all and combine his full physical strength with a cursed technique…”

⇒ “(...) The initial impact contains little cursed energy but it still achieves 120% of an average sorcerer. And then the actual cursed energy hits with a delay. For those on the receiving end it must be more unpleasant than one could imagine. And he’s got potential for growth, too. If he becomes able to add 100% of cursed energy to a 100% body…”

Uhh, this was a tricky one because on the first read it doesn’t seem that terribly wrong but when you read the original carefully, you realise this and that got lost in translation. My version should be closer to the original meaning.

I:”We’re going to have to ask the murderer about the technique”

⇒ “That’s just something that you can’t know unless you ask the offender about their technique”

Obviously Ieiri wasn’t suggesting to literally ask the murderer.

“However there’s evidence the brain stems were modified. Their consciousness were also modified to create a state of confusion”

⇒ (...) This was probably done to create a disturbance of consciousness... a state of mental confusion”

Slightly different nuance for this one.

Y:”For me, the gravity of death is the same regardless. This isn’t right!”

First sentence is mostly correct but it should’ve been “the gravity of death of another person” (emphasis mine).

Second sentence sounds too mild for what is actually Yuuji being super mad specifically about the way those people were killed? The phrase he uses means something like "This is just in way too poor taste”, “way too vulgar” etc. I guess if you went for a less literal translation, you could say “just too disgusting”/”revolting”.

N:”This matter won’t be taken care of so easily. Let’s do it”

⇒ “Looks like ‘moderately’ won’t be enough here. Let’s go all out.”

This is the instance of Nanami retracting his words and backing Yuuji up by borrowing his own words that I mentioned earlier!

M:”Jujutsu sorcerers brand such entities as “special grade potential spirits” and fear them as much as powerful curses. The fact that they categorize them as such really shows their shallowness”

⇒ “Jujutsu sorcerers register them as “special grade potential apparitions” and remain on alert against them [on alert for their appearance]. The same applies to powerful unidentified curses. That they categorise them as ‘potential apparitions’ just shows how little they truly see.”

It’s not that sorcerers fear them per se but that they (most likely) monitor them and are on guard against them. When followed up by the “what people truly genuinely fear are natural disasters [forces of nature]” conversation, it becomes clear that what Mahito scorns sorcerers for is their short-sightedness for thinking all powerful curses must be born out of people’s imagination, ~urban legends~ etc.

[Junpei asking what Mahito was born from]

M:”Thanks to the hatred spewed between people I was born”

⇒ “I’m a curse born out of the fear and hatred people harbour towards [other] people"

or even

“I’m a curse born out of people hating and fearing people”

Again a quite different nuance. They really shouldn’t have edited “fear” out.

Chapter 21

J:’Don’t you think that whoever first said, ‘The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference’ must be rotting in hell? There’s no way hating people is better than feeling indifferent towards them.”

⇒ “(...) There’s no way that approaching others with evil intentions is better than not interacting [with them] at all”

The first sentence is mostly fine although the original doesn’t include the “is not hate” bit, it only says “the opposite of love is indifference”. The second part is quite different. After all, hating doesn’t necessarily imply there’s any action taken.

“Complicating simple things for the sake of meaning is such a Japanese thing to do”

⇒ “Japanese sure love it - complicating simple answers and gloating in it”

I didn’t like the “for the sake of meaning” bit, imo it’s over-interpreting.

J:”Indifference. That’s what humans should strive for.”

M:”Sounds more like revenge”

J:“Are you saying that I got it all mixed up?”

Junpei’s first line here is fine although interestingly enough he puts it as “a virtue humans should strive for”. Then it’s

⇒ M:“And yet you wish for revenge”

J:”Are you trying to say I’m contradicting myself?”

M:”In this world, only I understand the soul’s composition. I can even transmogrify living beings. Emotions come from the soul. It’s too simplistic to call it ‘heart’. People overthink the things they can’t see. (...)”

⇒ “In this world I’m the only one who understands the soul’s composition. After all, I change the shape of living beings by touching it. Emotions are products of the metabolism of the soul. It’s altogether too mechanical [of a process] to call it a heart. People assign too much value to things invisible to the eye.(...)”

Last one is literally “consider ‘special’ way too much”, simpler wording than what I went with but I tried to make it more legible.

The “metabolism of the soul” phrase is especially vital because Junpei throws it at Yuuji almost word for word when confronted by him at the school after his mother’s death.

More philosophy lessons from Mahito-sensei \o/

“Don’t limit yourself to just being indifferent. There’s no reason to live by such a restricting philosophy.”

⇒ “Don’t allow yourself to be shackled by the ideal called ‘indifference’. There’s no need for there to be consistency in one’s way of life.”

Mahito actually takes the “is ‘consistency’ necessary” stance a few times in the manga, including when he and Getou squabble about the relationship between the body and the soul in Shibuya. A pity about the mistranslation here.

“I support everything you represent, Junpei��

⇒ “I’ll affirm your everything, Junpei”

Imo the act of supporting and the act of affirming while similar aren’t one and the same, hence the change.

N:”Either come alone, or risk bringing Itadori with me. I chose the former, nothing more. He’s still a child, after all.”

⇒ “The risk of venturing [into the enemy’s territory] alone, or the risk of bringing Itadori-kun with me. I simply chose the former. He’s still a child, after all.”

Idk, I feel like cutting out “the risk” from the first option makes Nanami sound more callous? Like Yuuji’s a liability and going by himself is a sounder option. Whereas, it was actually him weighing two risks against each other and deciding that potentially endangering Yuuji is the one he can afford less.

[After Yuuji asks why he doesn’t know important jujutsu related stuff.]

I:”Because Gojou’s your mentor.” ⇒ “it’s because Gojou’s ...”

He actually uses a lovely adjective to describe Gojou, which can mean a plethora of things, including: irresponsible, sloppy, lazy, unreliable, careless, perfunctory etc. etc.

Ichiji? Not a member of Gojou Satoru Fanclub.

Y:”This feels like a bad plan”

⇒ “This feels so staged, I don’t like it.”

Lit. “play [perform, read] one's own work”. I think what Yuuji might’ve meant here was that the plan felt dishonest? Second sentence could also be “I don’t feel up for it.”

Chapter 22

M:”Was that some kind of cursed technique?”

N:”What do you mean by ‘some kind’? I don’t appreciate questions that are left open to interpretation”

⇒ “(...) I hate abstract questions that put the whole burden on the other person”

Lit. “that leave it to others”. Other than Nanami being more straightforward with “hate”/”dislike”, I think this was him expressing he doesn’t like people who don’t even try to think for themselves and immediately demand answers from others instead.

“It would be silly to not assume a connection(...)”

⇒ “It would be more unnatural not to assume a connection(...)”

Different wording (unnatural instead of silly), which imo affects Nanami’s characterisation.

M:”The shape of the body will always be dependent on the shape of the soul”

This sounds a bit too passive and generic? Closer to “The shape of the body gets pulled along by the shape of the soul”, which is literally what Mahito’s technique does.

I’m heavily paraphrasing but!

magazine raw scans: ”it's 6:30 PM now and I started working at 11 AM, so I'm going to finish by 7PM no matter what”

official English release:”it's 5:30 PM now and I started at 10, gotta finish by 6”

The time change is so random, I wonder if Gege simply changed it themselves for the volume release. Maybe to bring it closer to the common office job times? Typical Japanese work day at the office begins at 9AM and lasts 8h + 1h break (completely unpaid but compulsory). I guess if Nanami skipped the break then working 10AM-6PM would make it exactly 8h?

The biggest mystery of jjk.

Chapter 23

M:”Even if sorcerers can protect their bodies using cursed energy, they can’t protect their souls”

⇒ “Even if sorcerers can protect their bodies using cursed energy, they [just] aren’t used to protecting their souls”.

So it’s not that they “can’t” as in “are incapable of” and more that there’s never been the need, so they never learned how and aren’t used to doing it. As proven by Yuuji later it’s not impossible.

M:”Overtime? He restricts himself based on time! He was limiting his power until now!”

⇒ “Overtime work? A ‘biding’ based on time! He was suppressing his power by himself until now!”

Another instance where “binding” as a term makes its appearance (it even uses quotation marks) but wasn’t properly denoted by the translators.

M:”A large-scale attack, and he doesn’t care if he gets hit while doing it!”

⇒ “A large-scale attack [done] with the resolve of [potentially] getting killed along with me!”.

The phrase Mahito uses here is 相打ち, lit. “killing [hitting] each other at the same time”. Also, “doesn’t care” and “is prepared/has the resolve” are quite different, aren’t they.

Chapter 24

J:”The way a perfectionist is willing to lay everything out there is beautifully portrayed”

⇒ ”The change in emotions [leading up] to a perfectionist abandoning everything is properly portrayed here”

I’m including this because knowing Gege, it’s not just simple movie talk, and it’s actually foreshadowing Yuuji’s future fate or something 8D

I can’t decide if it’s “abandon” (also “throw out of the window”) or “sacrifice” because the word used can mean either. I’m leaving that to everyone’s interpretation.

“Like I thought, that sorcerer’s nuts!”

⇒ “He doesn’t look it but he sure does reckless things, that sorcerer”

How does "he doesn't look it but (...)" even become "like I thought (...)"? He was laughing at and enjoying the contrast between Nanami's appearance/attitude and his actions/fighting.

M:”My cursed energy is also controlled by my will”

⇒ “The spending of cursed energy too is among things I can supply by myself.”

I’m not entirely sure because it’s a tricky one, so take this one with a grain of salt. But the official release is definitely missing “spending/expenditure” and Mahito isn’t talking about using/manipulating his cursed energy in general but “the amount of cursed energy spent”.

“Mr. Irresponsible Gojou” ⇒  “Devil-may-care Gojou-san”

“Mr. Mature Nanami” ⇒ “The adult of [all] adults Nanami-san”/”the adult above all adults”

I just really enjoy Ichiji and his little epithets, I guess.

J:”Have you ever killed anyone?”

⇒ “Have you ever killed a human being/another human?”

Just putting it out there because imo there's a distinction between “anyone” and “a human being”. Especially considering how much of this arc was questioning what being a human means.

Y:”Um… I mean, the choice to kill will definitely find its way to me”

⇒ "How to put it... once I've killed someone, "killing" would become one of the possible options [to take] in my life".

Maybe the nuance was there in the official release too and I just didn't pick up on it but to me the former makes it sound more like he’s saying "I may still have to kill one day". Whereas the original seems to hold the connotation that if you do something once - even if it’s something as horrible as killing another human being - it becomes easier to do it again in the future because it's a choice you've made before, it's not untouchable anymore.

Chapter 25

[Yuuji expressing his regret over Nanami choosing to go fight Mahito alone.]

"Am I in your way, Nanamin?”

⇒ “Am I a burden [to you], Nanamin?”

A different nuance for this line.

“’My friend died but I wasn’t there because I’m a child.’ I wouldn't do that to you. That said"

⇒ "’My comrade died. But I wasn’t there. Why? Because I am a child.’ I would hate something like that" [to be put in such a position]

And this is just pure mistranslation. The whole “my comrade died but I wasn’t there because I’m a child” line is actually Yuuji painting a possible scenario (he does it with short sentences but the speech is overall polite). What they translated as “that said” was actually a follow-up to that scenario and could be translated as “something like that”.

N:”Being a child is not a bad thing”

⇒ “Being a child is in no way a crime”

I wanted to point this out since the original word’s most common meaning is actually “sin”, which is significantly heavier than just “not a bad thing”. Could also go with a milder “is not something to feel guilty about” here I guess.

G:”How’s the curtain coming along?”

M:”Can’t get in, can get out. This only applies to humans with weak cursed energy.”

⇒ G:”What’s the effect of the ‘curtain’?”

M:“Can't get out from the inside, can get in from the outside. (...)”

Literally the opposite for the curtain’s effect. Emphasis is Gege’s, too! Also Getou’s question was actually about how exactly the curtain in question would work, and not just how it was coming along.

M:”We’ll make them fight and force Yuji Itadori to make a binding vow in Sukuna’s favor”

Just to reiterate, whenever “binding vow” appears, it’s actually just “binding”.

[to part iii (2/2)]

[to part iii (2/2)]

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsukaisen #jjktranslation #jjk translation

[tsushimanoonryo]

Drabble: Chiyoko pt. 1

The fox was hurt. No. The fox was dying. 

It was a little thing, still only a pup. Something had gotten to it-- perhaps a wild boar by the look of the wound on its side-- and it lay in the grass gasping for breath as it bled out. It was alone, perhaps abandoned for dead by its mother and it made the boy weep to see it.

No, he thought, sniffing as he wiped away his tears. I am samurai. I will not cry over a fox.

But at ten, Hiroto Shimura was not yet a samurai. He was well on his way to becoming one, though. For as long as he could remember, he spent every day with his tutors for hours learning the martial way and the code of bushido. He would spend afternoons with his older brothers as well, sparring and practicing archery under the watchful eye of their father, the jito of Tsushima. And sometimes he would be allowed to travel to Omi village to train with his friend Kazumasa, the son of Lord Sakai, a boy who was younger than he was but already as tough as an ox.

Hiroto strove every day to become strong like they were. As the youngest Shimura boy, he knew he would never inherit the title of jito. But he could become a strong warrior and a great retainer for his eldest brother if he trained his mind and body. He knew from his lessons that a good samurai had control of his emotions so he willed himself to stop crying over the fox.

He had half a mind to leave it in the grass. Nature would deal with it as it always did. It hurt his heart to see the fox pup struggling to breathe, but that was the way of things. As a samurai, he would be expected to face death head-on every day without fear. Leaving the fox to its fate would help strengthen his resolve and grow as a warrior.

Hiroto turned to leave, but stopped as he heard the fox let out a rattling breath. His mind raced back to something his mother had told him once. Foxes were messengers of the kami. Inari had blessed the Shimura family with wealth, rice, and many, many sons (although the kami had yet to give his mother the daughter she so desired). If this fox was one of Inari’s messengers, leaving it to die could have dire consequences for Hiroto’s family. A samurai was also expected to show mercy when it was appropriate. Perhaps this was just such an occasion.

So he turned, scampering back to the fox. It looked pitiful, lying there in the grass struggling to breathe. It didn’t resist as Hiroto gingerly picked it up and cradled it’s frail body in his arms. His nursemaid would be annoyed that he’d gotten his kimono bloody, but he would worry about that later. For now, he needed to get the pup somewhere safe and figure out how to care for it.

………………………………………………….

His brothers had teased him when they saw him trudge back to Castle Shimura holding the dying fox pup. Once his mother realized what he was holding, however, she’d scolded them and athen led Hiroto to the family altar. They lay the fox down before it and said a few prayers to the kami before sending for a healer to help with the animal.

“You did a good thing, Hiroto,” she told him gently. “You never know when Inari is watching.”

The healer did not think the fox was going to make it. It was too young and too weak from blood loss. He did what he could at the behest of Lady Shimura and her young son, but he did not have any confidence that the pup would recover. Yet recover it did.

Despite the odds, the fox grew stronger by the day until it was able to walk on its own. Hiroto took it upon himself to care for it and the pup quickly became attached to him and he to it. But that was dangerous. As supportive as his mother was of caring for the fox, she warned him that eventually he would have to let it go.

“Your pup is a wild animal, my sweet one,” she said. “You will have to let her go back to her home eventually. A castle is no place for a fox and Inari wants their messenger back.”

………………………………………………….

After a month, it was clear the fox pup was fully recovered. Hiroto could avoid the matter no longer and with a great sadness in his heart, he scooped the fox up in his arms and returned to the patch of grass outside of the castle where he’d first found it.

“I wish I could keep you,” he said, setting the fox down. “But hahaue says you are a wild animal and must return to the forest.”

The fox pup sat on her haunches and cocked her head as Hiroto spoke. It was almost as if she could understand him, but he knew that was impossible. Foxes were smart, but they could not understand human language.

“Thank you for letting me care for you,” he said, bowing to the fox, even though he knew it was a bit ridiculous. “Please tell Inari to look favorably on the Shimura family in the future.”

The fox made a chirping noise at him, but did not move to leave. Hiroto stared at it for a moment before reaching out a hand to stroke the fox’s head. She nuzzled into his hand, making a pleased sound before hopping away. She only stopped to look over her shoulder once and then disappeared into the nearby brush.

It seemed too abrupt of a departure. Hiroto had bonded with the fox pup while caring for her and to see her bound away without hesitation broke his heart. She is a wild animal, he reminded himself. Hahaue told you that.

But this broken heart would be a lesson too. People would come and go throughout his life. Some of these departures would be more permanent than others. If he was to be a good samurai, he would have to deal with those losses with a level head and a mastered heart. So he took a second to steel his resolve then turned to make his way back to the castle.

………………………………………………….

There was a large commotion when he arrived. Maids were running back and forth, digging through chests that hadn’t been opened since long before he was born. Some of them, he thought, might not have even been opened since before his parents’ marriage.

“Haku,” he said, pulling on the hem of his nursemaid’s yukata as she rushed back. “What’s happening?”

“Go find your mother,” Haku said impatiently, as she dug through a chest of old kimono. “She can explain. I’m busy right now.”

Had any of the other servants spoken to him like that, Hiroto would have been angry and put his foot down. But Haku had built up a lifetime of goodwill by being otherwise kind to him, so he swallowed his frustrations and wandered off to his mother’s chambers.

He could hear her speaking to someone through the shoji doors before he entered.

“Hahaue?” he called out. “May I come in?”

“Yes, my sweet one,” she answered. “Please do!”

She sounded excited and Hiroto furrowed his brow as he slid the door open.

A young girl was kneeling in front of his mother. She couldn’t have been more than five years old. She looked to be a peasant, all rough and ragged and dirty. But even through all of that, he could tell she was an exceptionally beautiful child. Too beautiful to be the daughter of a peasant. The girl smiled brightly when she saw him, which just made her loveliness all the more apparent.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Hiroto,” his mother answered. “We found her on the grounds of the castle and she won’t speak. Either that or she can’t.”

His mother’s cheekbones flushed pink as she looked at the little girl. There was something twinkling in her eye, although Hiroto could not tell what it was.

“I sent your brothers to ask around the nearby villages and hamlets to see if someone is missing a daughter,” she continued. “Although I fear the poor thing may be an orphan.”

Her tone of voice sounded more excited than pitiable and suddenly Hiroto understood his mother’s excitement. She’d wanted a daughter for years, but was only able to bear sons. It was not uncommon for samurai families to adopt children from the peasantry to raise to the samurai class. And to see a child this lovely toiling in the fields would be a shame; her face was much more suited to nobility.

“I’ve spoken with your father about her already,” she said. “If we can’t find her parents, or if we do and they are willing to part with her, we can keep her here and raise her as our own. We can more than afford another mouth to feed.”

Hiroto thought his mother was speaking more to herself than to him. He would have no say in whatever his parents decided.

“My lady,” a servant said, poking her head into the room. “The bath is ready. And we’ve found your old kimono from when you were a girl. The seamstresses are ready for whatever alterations you want us to make.

“Perfect,” Lady Shimura said. Then she turned to Hiroto. “Will you take our guest down to the baths while I meet with the seamstresses?”

“Yes, hahaue,” Hiroto said with a dutiful bow.

He motioned to the girl to follow him. She only stared up at him smiling and made no move to stand up. So he reached down to grab her hand and lead her to the baths. She was silent the whole way, looking around at everything and smiling. 

“You’re not simple are you?” he asked. She made no reply.

There was an attendant waiting for them at the tub who helped the girl undress. Hiroto averted his eyes bashfully, never having seen an unclothed girl before. But something caught his eye to make him turn to look for her.

“That scar,” he said, pointing rudely. “Where did you get it?”

On the girls’ torso was a large, puckered scar. It looked like a puncture wound. Like someone had stabbed her with a spear. Or like she’d been gored by a boar.

“Young master,” the attendant scolded. “Don’t point like that. This girl may be your sister soon. You must be kind to her.” Properly chastened, Hiroto closed his mouth and dropped his hand to his side. But it was strange. A wound like that should have killed a girl her age. It still looked freshly healed too. It made no sense for her to be as healthy as she was. If she were truly an orphan, she would have had no one but herself to clean and care for the wound.

He furrowed his brow and shot her a look, only to find that the girl was staring right at him. Something gleamed in her eyes, making her look far older than five years old. When the bath attendant turned away, she slowly raised a finger to her lips, beckoning him to be silent. There was something intelligent in the expression and suddenly Hiroto felt bad for asking if she was simple. Then he was shooed away from the bath as the attendants took over cleaning the child.

………………………………………………….

“No one claimed her, hahaue,” his eldest brother said. “No one even seemed to recognize her.”

“The kami have smiled upon you, Ayame,” their father said. “It seems we’ve been blessed with the daughter you’ve always wanted.”

Lady Shimura was so overcome with emotion that she couldn’t speak. She only sat holding the freshly-washed girl in her arms while tears of joy streamed down her face.

The mood was jovial as the Shimura family welcomed the girl into their fold, although Hiroto couldn’t quite let himself relax. There was something strange about the girl and the rest of his family was too blind to see it. The girl was harboring a secret, although it didn’t seem like a dangerous one. But Hiroto was only ten years old and if his parents and older brothers didn’t see anything wrong, then he supposed he would keep his mouth shut. But he couldn’t forget the glint in the girl’s eye down at the baths.

“What should we call her, hahaue?” his second eldest brother asked. “She needs a name.”

Lady Shimura stopped for a second to think.

“You are so lovely, little one” she said, looking down at the girl in her arms. “We should call you Chiyoko.”

“Chiyoko Shimura,” Lord Shimura said. “That’s a good name. Auspicious, even.”

“Chiyoko,” the girl repeated.

Everyone in the room grew silent. It was the first time any of them had heard her speak.

“My name is Chiyoko.”

#drabble #headcanon #chiyoko sakai #chiyoko shimura #lord shimura #fanfic #ghost of tsushima #backstory #cut for length #chiyoko sakai was a kitsune and you cannot tell me otherwise

[argentdandelion]

Grace Monroe is a Liar (And Why That’s a Good Thing)

Note: this article does not sufficiently weigh Simon’s bad behaviors in Episode 11, “The New Apex”. This article has been kept unmodified for posterity.

Grace Analysis

“You know Sheena...you were right. Chloe shouldn't smile until her parents can afford to give her braces."

Grace is not simply a liar, however: she is also, to put it plainly, fake. She’s something of a social chameleon, but rather than drastically changing her presentation to fit in, she dons a fabricated, friendly and encouraging persona to make others “fit” her own desires. She even has variants of her persona for different audiences. She sounds like a friendly “cool kid” to 15-year-old Jesse, claiming he was a “natural” on his first raid although he only halfheartedly kicked a cube. She acts like an adoring parent to the younger Apex kids, squatting to the level of shorter Apex children, praising their offerings, and telling them she’ll keep the offerings someplace special. To Hazel (and Tuba) she acts like a kindergarten teacher at the first day of school, simultaneously making Hazel excited about The Apex and acting assuring to Tuba.

The most striking evidence for Grace’s lying social-chameleon-esque acts is how much her mannerisms and very voice change when addressing the Apex kids and Jesse compared to addressing Simon. In the first and second episode, she feels open to banter and bicker with Simon, such as exchanging unflattering nicknames or saying she doesn’t want his “ripeness” (body odor) giving away their position; she treats no one else as a friend like this.

Grace is not simply an insincere “queen bee” highschooler-type, either. As Uncivilized Elk has pointed out in “Cult Recruitment in "The Mall Car" – Infinity Train Analysis & Review” (warning; profanity), intentionally or not Grace’s tactics with Jesse show a step-by-step plan to indoctrinate Jesse into the Apex’s worldview. She praises Jesse and acts as if she cares about him, but is only manipulating him to a particular end. For example, when Jesse thinks the candy tastes bad, she convinces him to throw it to the wheels of the train, telling him he can “do what he wants”. However, this is almost certainly a precursor to making Jesse accept “wheeling” (killing by throwing them to the train’s wheels) denizens. Furthermore, in “The Jungle Car” she misdirects Hazel on who’s to blame for an unpopular decision, minimizes it (saying Simon was “confused”) and “resolves” the problem almost immediately: very suspicious abuser or cult-like behavior.

Initially, she engages in cognitive empathy (internal emulation of the emotional states of others) without really caring about others, to figure out how people work and so manipulate them. She has a utilitarian sort of approach, changing her persona to make others do what she wants and change them. To be fair, it’s possible not all of her kindness and empathy is faked. When Jesse took his exit, Simon calls him “weak”, but Grace says he wasn’t weak, but misled, and says: "We just lost another human, Simon. Show some respect.” Still, she’s certainly not sincere, overall. For example, despite teaching him he can “do what he wants”, when what Jesse wants goes against The Apex, Grace and Simon immediately try to stop him.

However, over time, Grace's temporary, utilitarian approach of altering personas to her goal makes her "become the mask". She eventually finds it hard to justify her continued kind and compassionate acts to Hazel in relation to her Apex worldviews, and the contradiction causes her distress.

Simon Analysis

Simon, in contrast, lies much less than Grace and is more open about how he feels, especially in his disdain for Denizens. While he initially seems friendly, when Jesse’s off on a raid he has no patience with MT’s concerns and outright tells her to “get out of here before Jesse gets back. You can’t help him like we can.” (Possible: it didn’t occur to him that Jesse might still trust Lake, so being too mean to Lake would come back to bite him.) He is also more open about his disdain for nulls around Hazel, though it would clearly benefit him to tone it down before they can “ditch” Tuba.

Two of Simon’s more important deceptions are notably half-truths, not outright claims. He claims MT broke Todd’s ankle, which is technically true: Todd kicked MT’s metal body and in the process broke his ankle. Arguably, him saying “no one knows” where the passengers go is him honestly saying he doesn’t know exactly where they go; how could he know Jesse Cosay’s home was in Arizona, and which specific location? Indeed, sometimes he does not lie even would it be very practical to do so. For example, although acting as if he “couldn’t save her in time” and pretending to be deeply unsettled by Tuba’s death would have gotten rid of Tuba and not put Hazel’s cooperation into question, he outright tells Hazel he wheeled her. His attempt to comfort her about “never hav[ing] to worry about that null again” could suggest obliviousness to the viewpoints of others, but it could also be his version of trustworthy, straightforward honesty, in accordance with his own beliefs.

It’s important to note that, though Simon is more honest than Grace, he still lies, deceives, and manipulates others. The difference between them is finesse, speed, and frequency. Though Simon may think of Grace as his plaything, or come to think of her as such, it’s Grace who’s effective at making others her playthings, by manipulating her social presentation like a social chameleon.

Root Causes

Arguably, both Grace and Simon do not treat people as means in themselves, but means to an end: in essence, other passengers are treated as tools for their own goals. It’s interesting to see how much Grace and Simon treat Apex members (and each other) like they treat nulls: that they are “only good as they are useful”. When they stop being “useful”, in the sense of helping the Apex or each other according to plan, they eventually become aggressive. Admittedly, the change to aggression is slower and more complicated for Simon to Grace in Season 3; Simon’s end goal for Grace could easily have been “comfort and companionship”, which friends naturally give anyway.

Grace emphasizes Jesse’s ability to choose for himself, but when Jesse’s decision strays from The Apex’s values and Grace’s plans, she doesn’t let him go with a “you’re missing out, buddy” lamentation. Instead, she says: “I wanted to go for the easy way, but you made it hard” and shows the Flecs where Lake is, presumably so they can do the dirty work for them. Jesse has value to Grace as an Apex member, one under her control, and not in any other sense. Grace’s logic for showing Lake to the Flecs parallels Simon’s actions in trapping Grace in her own memory tape; he says “you made me do this”. The Cat outright says Simon treats Grace as an object with: “and how should she be acting? She’s not like one of your toys.”

Grace Monroe is a liar, and much more so than Simon. And it’s because she is, in the words of the Memory Tape’s Hazel, a “coward leading cowards”. Grace’s lying comes from her fear: her fear of being wrong, of not being enough, of being alone. Her kindness to the Apex kids, faked or superficial as it may be, probably comes from the desire to give them what her parents would not. Adding onto her cowardice and fears, she initially hid her dropping number from Simon in “The Chat Chalet Car” because she "didn't want the Apex...or you...to see me like this...and think less of me." Though her fear Simon would think less of her for it was unfounded, as Simon sincerely supported her then, afterwards she hid her number from Simon. She “cut him out” (in Simon’s words) from her lack of courage to be open and honest. As Memory-Hazel points out, when Grace had the “chance to make it right”, by revealing she knew about Hazel’s condition when it was obvious she was a turtle, she did not.

Conclusion

Grace and Simon are both villain protagonists messed up by unresolved trauma and eight years of being on the train with no guidance whatsoever. One starts off slightly worse than the other, only to get much better discard her animus for nulls. One starts off slightly better, only to get much worse and expand his animus for nulls to humans as well: his former best (and only) friend, at that. It’s the tiny differences in how they relate to others and operate that cause their slightly different moral starting points and massively different end points.

#Infinity Train #Grace Monroe #Grace (Infinity Train) #Simon Laurent #Simon (Infinity Train) #Meta #Analysis #Character Study

[contrivedcoincidences6]

SO this is a continuation on my missing moments from the comics series called “Dirty Hands” @otterandterrier has betaed each and every one of them and I couldn’t do it with out her.  You can read these stories on their own but why not just read all of them? 💁🏻 This particular story is verrryyyyy NSFW

This takes place after Issues #16-19 right after Leia has a run in with a former Alliance spy turned crazy bad guy. Eneb Ray was an Alderaanian survivor who, after a run in with Palpatine, loses his shit and decides he needs to teach Leia how to kill people. So he traps her in the Alliance’s most secrete secure prison and tries to force her to kill the prisoners. Han and Luke come and try to save her but are immediately captured and used as hostages. (Also because this does come up Han and Luke had to herd literal Nerfs in the Falcon after Han lost a bunch of Alliance money gambling. It is golden.)

***

The trip to the base on Horox III from Sunspot prison was mercifully short for the small crews of the Millenium Falcon and the Volt Cobra. At first Leia had naturally just walked over to the Falcon for her trip back, but she found the place covered in various mysterious substances and smelling like it had been filled to the brim with Nerfs, which was a definite step down from the usual mix of dirty socks and wet Wookiee. When she’d said as much, Luke had turned pink and mumbled something unintelligible while Han had become belligerent. So Leia flew back with Sana, glad for the extra time away from Han for her to think through her next step with him.

Before going to Sunspot prison with Sana, Leia had shared multiple passionate kisses with the smuggler and he had seemed to want to discuss it, and assuredly continue it, when she got back. She, however, was not as eager for such a conversation. 

They arrived at the outpost exhausted and wounded, and Leia went to find a quiet place to finish putting together her report on what had happened. Horox III was desolate, which was a big reason why it had been chosen. When the rebels had set up camp, they’d built a couple permanent buildings but for the most part the outpost was just temporary structures and tents.

Hoping to avoid Han, Leia was watchful and quick, and only when she was behind a wall and out of sight of the Falcon she started to breathe a sigh of relief... until Han’s voice sounded behind her. 

“You really should be heading to medical, get some bacta on your arm.” 

Leia stiffened and turned to face him. She was covered in all manner of scratches and bruises from head to toe but had little interest in being a captive audience for Han while she got fixed up. 

Glancing down at the long gash on her arm, she scowled. It was worse than she’d thought and looking at it brought the pain to the front of her mind. 

“Thank you for your concern,” she said flatly, and started to walk away. 

“Hey.” Han followed her. “Just wait a sec, okay? Sorry Luke and I kriffed up the rescue.”

She frowned at him, shook her head, and kept walking until he took hold of her arm and stopped her. 

After a deep breath, Leia forged ahead with a speech she’d been practicing ever since their first kiss. 

“I’m not sure what you are expecting from me but I can’t give it. The kisses have been… nice…” 

Han snorted at her choice of words and she paused to glare at him. 

“Han, I don’t have time or patience for whatever this is,” Leia gestured angrily between them, “so I would appreciate it if you could drop it. If that’s beyond your capabilities, then we will just need to start avoiding each other-” 

“Kriff, Leia, you’re acting like I proposed to you or somethin’!” Han waved his arms in his patently wild way and, despite her deep blush, she continued before he could ramp up his rant. 

“We work too closely for this to become an issue; it’s a distraction I can’t afford.”

“So your life just stops then until- what- the war’s over?”

“My life stopped when Alderaan was destroyed.”

Han’s face grew deadly serious and he moved in close to her. She felt claustrophobic trapped between him and the wall, and looked anywhere but his face until he put a finger to her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. 

“How long are you planning on punishing yourself for what the Empire did?”

“Get over yourself Han.” Leia was fuming but he didn’t back down. She could have gotten away from him, either kneed him in the the groin or just slipped away, but she didn't. Instead, she stared up into his eyes. Equal parts brown, green, and gold, Han’s eyes were a reflection of the man himself; all contradictions fighting to take over, changing to fit the situation. They were dark as she looked up to meet them. They reminded her of the forests on Alderaan, beautiful and untamed, and she felt her heart give way a little bit under his gaze.

She really didn’t mean to kiss him, but in that moment it had felt like her only option, like it was what she was meant to be doing.

The past few days-hell, the past few months-had been so frightening, that sinking into Han’s kiss did more for her than a bacta tank. He leaned her against the wall and Leia couldn’t stop the thrill that ran through her body when she felt him press against her. 

Static filled Leia’s ears when Han ran his tongue between her lips and she gripped his arms, holding herself in place. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer.  

The man knew how to kiss, and she opened up her mouth to let him show her the extent of those skills. 

He pressed against her hungrily and lightly bit her bottom lip. Leia felt herself responding in kind, needing him more than air. 

The distant sound of laughter from a nearby hangar forced them apart. They were hidden enough but someone could easily come across them. 

“Not here,” Leia said roughly, and she pushed him away before continuing her path to the tent she’d been assigned. 

Han followed her wordlessly, a man possessed, but still wary of any onlookers. Leia, however, hardly noticed her surroundings. She felt more alive than she had since she’d been on the Death Star. 

Fine. She would give into her unrelenting want for Han Solo, she would quench that thirst and move on.  

When he entered the tent, they hardly paused to look at each other, instead just colliding in the middle of the small space. Han’s hands tracked burning trails up and down her bruised body causing a small eruption of lust to explode in her belly. He roughly grabbed her ass, pushing her hips against his and she felt him there, hard as iron and hot to the touch through their clothing. 

She suppressed her moan by biting his neck lightly which in turn brought up a choked sound from him. 

“Quiet,” she rasped and kissed him again. 

Han was unusually quiet and in some ways that made it easier for Leia to pretend it would mean nothing. It wasn’t really Han, the brilliant yet goofy smuggler who tried so hard to pretend he didn’t care. This wasn’t the man who had helped her off the Death Star and who had chased after Darth Vader in a stolen AT-AT, who questioned her relentlessly but always backed her up when it mattered. 

This was just a body, a hard, calloused, warm body, with hands that knew exactly what to do and when. Hands that were making quick work of her bodysuit. 

There was a wince and a sharp intake of breath when Han looked down at her body. She was covered in bruises from her fight with Eneb Ray. The thought of the former Alliance spy caused a pain that began inside Leia’s soul and overwhelmed any physical pain; she couldn’t take it. She chased it away by taking hold of Han’s inert hands and placing them firmly on her cloth covered breasts. The thin fabric of her bra made for excellent friction between Han’s mechanic’s fingers and her diamond-hard nipples. 

He worked her body the way she’d watched him work his ship and countless pieces of equipment. Leia tried to ignore the way he looked at her, though; it was too tender to be coming from Han. His eyes would turn mossy and soft for moments between kisses and she preferred the dark desire that took over when she moved her hips against him in a way that made small fireworks explode all over her body. 

She tugged at his troublesome blaster belt until he finally grunted and pulled it off himself. Even the moment of lost connection felt like a blow to Leia, and she pulled him back quickly, letting one hand go back to her breast but moving the other between her legs. Han gasped silently into her mouth when his fingers touched her warm hot center, but he hardly hesitated. 

His fingers moved in different ways until he found exactly what she liked, and then he didn’t stop. 

Leia’s legs nearly gave out when he trapped her clit between two fingers and played with it there. God, it was almost exactly how she touched herself, how she’d touched herself just days before thinking of him, and that thought was overwhelming. 

“Cot,” she mumbled into his mouth. The one word was so mumbled, it sounded like an alien language, but Han moved to the cot without any further explanation. 

“Yes…” Leia breathed when he settled his weight on top of her and began moving his fingers again. His hips moved against her leg and the feeling of his hard cock was delicious and dangerous.

“Yeah, you like that?” Han asked gruffly. She squinted open one eye to see his sideways grin and wanted to argue with him, but the way he was moving his fingers was too heavenly and she didn’t want him to stop. So she just nodded. 

His smile took on a hint of playful menace and he took one of her nipples between his lips, lightly brushing his teeth against the puckered skin. 

“Aghhh!” Leia burst out before she could slam her hand over her mouth. She hated how vulnerable she felt, so easily read by Han and his-what had to be- Force-filled fingers. She wanted to push him off her and take control, but the waves of pleasure were stronger than her need to dominate Han Solo, so she let him have this round. 

After just a few more minutes, she could practically see her climax behind her eyelids; she bit down on one finger to keep from shouting as she thrust her hips against Han’s moving fingers in just the right way and she was flying through hyperspace to an unknown destination. 

Before the fuzzy feelings of her orgasm wore off, she was struggling to push his pants down. Han eagerly helped her and, after an eternity, he was in her hands. 

Leia had done this before and had been unimpressed. She’d been aroused by her boyfriend at the time and had enjoyed running her hands up and down his erection, causing him to lose it before he’d been inside her. Eventually they’d had sex, and afterwards Leia had wondered what all the fuss had been about. 

The boy at the time had been a secret fling, a way for her to privately rebel without truly being destructive, but this was Han, and the thought of having that kind of power over him almost drove her right back over the edge. 

She was starting to understand the hype.

Thanking the stars that the Alliance asked all people under their command take tri-monthly shots, Leia was about to pull him right into her when she realized how intimate their position was. He was looking at her like she was some kind of beautiful fantasy, and part of her soul lit up at that in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. So instead, she flipped herself over and onto her hands and knees. It would be better this way, not meeting his eyes. 

Han didn’t seem to mind; he practically growled as he grabbed hold of her hips and pushed in. 

Leia threw her face into the rough, Alliance-issued, probably used pillow and let out a silent scream. Han nearly bit into her shoulder, trying to control his own reaction, and he stopped moving for a minute as they got used to the feeling. 

It was such a good feeling, too. Leia pushed back against him, needing more, and he obliged. 

Within minutes they were moving together, totally lost to the world around them, only aware of each other and their own efforts to be as quiet as possible. 

Later Leia would thank the Force that most people had been busy at that time of day, and be grateful that the sound of running ships and equipment would have drowned out anyone but the closest bystanders, because she knew they were loud at the end. 

Han especially broke his silent streak with a string of Corellian curses as he came. He kept moving inside of her, seemingly determined to get her off again and, with one hand on the railing of the cot, he moved the other between her legs and swirled around her clit with his rough fingers until she came violently around him. 

They collapsed seconds later, sweaty, dirty, and sated. 

For a few minutes following the deed, Leia let Han collect her in his arms, but horror filled her when she began to gather her breath and understand her surroundings. 

“This won’t change things,” Leia insisted against his neck before she began to push away. He tried to hold onto her, but sighed in resignation and let her go when she kept moving. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he muttered and wearily watched her as she began to dress. 

When Leia threw his pants on the cot next to him, he grabbed for them in a huff and was dressed before she was. 

She could see the frustration coming off of him in waves and knew he was trying to find the words to express it. 

“I need to find General Madine and turn in my reports,” Leia said, pointedly ignoring the awkwardness hanging in the air around them. 

“Sure. Have a good day, Your Highness,” Han snapped at her before he stalked out of the tent. 

After he left, she took one more look at the ruined cot and closed her eyes, wondering how much she’d regret this. 

Squaring her shoulders and collecting her data pads, she finally left the tent, determined to forget about this new tryst.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars comics #hanleia #hanleia fanfiction #Princess Leia #leia organa #han solo #han solo and princess leia #han and leia

[ilblogdellamati]

Hey! I hope you’re doing well ✨ This isn’t usually how I message someone for the second time ever - so apologies in advance - but as a fellow generally concerned citizen I thought you’d maybe hear me out? You know that post about Biden’s horrific gun control proposal (how police don’t need a warrant)? I saw a version of that too and it got me thinking a lot! Then I saw you share the same post and figured you’d be like-minded enough to maybe discuss it? Totally fair to not engage either! You can decide - it is your blog! 💕👍

The version I saw had a little more info and talked about how gun control laws in general do more harm than good and have a history of being racist and used to take guns from BIPOC - even things like buy backs and background checks. And it was cool because honestly this is a huuuuge pill I just recently (like.... 3 days ago? but also like. years in the making, ya know?) learned to swallow because I HAAAAATE guns. I wish they didn’t exist/had never been invented. Guns are terrifying tools of mass destruction and it’s awful how easily they can take life. Especially when they’re used to prey on people with less power (BIPOC, women, queer people, children). So for a long time I really believed in heavy gun control and was a big advocate for it.

Then in the past few years I started to meet a more diverse group of people who owned guns. Like my Indigenous friend and fellow activist who bought a gun after known local white supremacists (including a sheriff) released her home address and she began to receive intense death threats. Or my young neighbor with two babies who’s abusive ex-husband still had a key to her apartment bc the landlords wouldn’t change her lock and she couldn’t afford to do it herself. It occurred to me the guns were the only things keeping them safe in a society that didn’t want to.

I began to realize I didn’t want to take their guns away - I wanted to create a society in which they didn’t need the guns in the first place. What I had to accept after I got there - and this was the hardest part for me - was that meant guns needed to be accessible to them until that safety was guaranteed. And the more I learned about mass incarceration and how, similar to drugs, consequences for white people using illegal guns are often minimal while heavily criminalized for people of color using legally owned firearms.... or about how biased the judicial system is and thus how background checks could disqualify innocent people who needed and deserved the protection of a gun.... I had to ask myself - are these gun control measures actually preventing harm or preventing self defense?

So I’ve started to do a lot of listening and a lot of learning from a lot of people. And I still honestly don’t know where I sit exactly. But these are some things I’ve come to accept about gun control:

Citizens owning guns is not inherently a bad thing. This country is full of white supremacists drenched in toxic-patriarchal ideals (including a lot of police/military) who use their guns to murder people. Guns are also an important and powerful tool oppressed people can use to fight back. If you take citizen’s guns without also disarming the police/military you are actively empowering an already racist, murderous system. And mainly: preventing gun violence in this country has more to do with challenging and addressing systemic and individual racism/white supremacy/entitlement, than it does with physically limiting who owns guns.

This is a really, really good thread on Instagram about this same topic that sites historical references. I thought I’d share it with you too cause it helped me really flesh out a lot of the abstract thoughts I had in my head! https://www.instagram.com/p/CMxDGGflwWy/?igshid=hm3uhtn27nno

And at this point I’ve gotten really carried away. Sorry! I got started and then it all just came spilling out!

All of this to say - wow what a complicated and nuanced issue! I hope you’re open to hearing this perspective. For me - I know there is still so much to learn and so many people who know more than I do. I’m sure my opinions will continue to change as time goes on, so I figured I’d share this stage of understanding with you! I feel like I know the source of the problem now, but have absolutely no idea how to go about solving it. LOL helpful, right? I do feel more prepared and knowledgeable about what routes minimize harm vs routes that only appear to! And I feel like that is super important at least!

Sending you love and also kudos for reading this ramble of a message! Thank you for doing your best to make the world a better place 💗 That’s all any of us can do, ya know? 🤗 Hope you have a good rest of your day!

Hey! The fact that you have to reach me like this is probably because tumblr decided at one point to remove the messaging feature from my blog and never gave it back despite me asking over and over again.

Just right off the bat the only reason I didn't reblog the same version as you is because it came off as unnecessarily abrasive, accusatory and inaccurate.

"This is what you asked for" yeah no this is not what I asked for at all.

Not growing up in the US I was brought up in my family to think guns were killing machines only to be used for hunting and even then only if the intention of the hunt was providing food. I despised the simple idea of them.

Moving to North America i had the eye opening realization that to many people owning a gun is in fact a safety precaution. I got to see with my own two eyes how warped the system is and how there is a need to reform it so that guns are not necessary. On that front I totally agree.

I do still believe in gun control though, I don't agree that there is nothing inherently wrong with a citizen owning a gun because ideally you wouldn't need it AND you wouldn't get gunned down in the street by a cop.

Overall it's a very complex issue and there are many fronts to it and as an immigrant all I can say is my opinion on how I find the police here a special brand repulsive. It's tragic that minorities have to resort to self defense and still have the narrative spun on them making them out to be the violent ones. I also think it's disgusting that 4 year olds know how to assemble and fire an assault rifle but hey maybe that's just culture shock.

The post i rebloged was about a dangerous bill passing disguised as "gun control" that ended up being nothing but a new loophole for the authorities to inflict violence on an already vulnerable group. I wanted to spead awareness about that.

The reason I didn't use that specific version was because it implied this is the outcome that all people pro gun control desired all along or that worse this is the only way to enforce gun control and we were dumb to even ask for it. That does not sit well with me.

A country where my 19 year old idiot brother is considering buying a gun "just for the clout" and would actually be allowed to do it is not a safe country.

[mehenxe]

“ i want to be in love. ” / “ can i be a little nasty?” / “ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” / “ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” / “ terrified of my love for you?” / “ your words felt like sharp knives. ” / “ how did you become like this?” / “ say something nice or don’t speak. ” / “ really? what did you dream about?” / “ we were both afraid, shut up. ” — dealer's choice, have fun.

“ i want to be in love. ” // the grey seer ◌ her best friend.

and the depiction of love upon the laptop screen in front of them, high-definition, remastered in soundtrack, unfolds. black-and-white creases and tears, static in the picture, what could i do if i didn’t have you? where will i go? and the embrace, the hands around the shoulders, the subtle squeezing of the appendages. she watches the scene, & then watches him, enraptured, wanting it. does he even realise he has remarked this aloud to her? spoken it into existence, wished so desperately for its occurrence? “i know,” she whispers. just in case he hadn’t. just in case this is a secret he wished for the walls to swallow. “i know you do. and maybe you already are. and it just hasn’t seen you yet.” perhaps she is thinking of herself. perhaps she is thinking of a woman with dark, short hair and gloss on her lips. perhaps she is thinking about all the things she said. or hadn’t. “it’ll happen. i promise. just be patient.”

“ can i be a little nasty? ” // the french serpent ◌ his beaded shark.

the inquiry interrupts the little song and dance he has happening in front of the stove. two pans on the burners, one sizzling, one being brought up to sizzling after being coated in olive oil. it is a surprise supper, which he framed as cooking for others but, in truth, he planned to cook for the two of them. he glances over his shoulder, arching his brow. breakfast for supper: the staple of french toast, of course, and then some spins on grilled cheese, quick little soup. something sweet bakes in the oven. he meets that little smirk, and realises he must be in a good mood. ( it pleases him greatly to see him smile. ) “a — little nast-ee?” he is dressed in a matching set of black silk pyjamas and bright blue shark slippers. his apron is blush-pink, with the princess is in the castle embroidered in the corner. he shakes his hips as if dancing. “now, i am intrigued? tell me at once what is on your mind, eh? nice kisses in, ah, naughty places?”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” // the god of death ◌ his god of life.

the city stretches out behind them, fog-riddled, dense, encrypted. a myriad of secrets he must discover within its recesses, all of them putrid, stinking of bile. he sits at the desk, crossed one ankle over one knee, elbow propping up his upper body and his neck, erect. his glasses do not disguise the repulsion in his gaze, and he does not bother to save face about it. a sneer, then; a bitter draught to drink from. it wasn’t anyone’s fault. then there is that pause, that label slapped on  their foreheads: not really. judgement passed, recite the sign of the cross, depart the pews. the service is ending. the funeral is over. “not really, hm. is that your defence now?” he rises. he is rolling in his own steam, the own wrath of it. but he cannot bring himself to raise his voice. it is as though there are too many parties listening. “not really. that means it was someone’s fault. and we know exactly who’s fault it was, don’t we?”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” // the bejewelled dragon ◌ his skeleton beast.

“no, you’re not. you’re right here with me.” blood, dripping from the edge of the soul’s sword, and he stows it in his scabbard, the echoing veins of the throbbing hollow, deadening around them. the whole of the battle, muted. soot against their cheeks, and he swipes it off of his thin cheek and it drags, it stains further. “you’re not losing anything. okay? it’s different now.” and it remains to be seen, how much he would do, how much he could do, in order to make sure this pierced his hide and penned itself as the ultimate truth. the bones of their dragon-corpses, how they rise from the stream, water pouring from their nostrils. the errant roar of another from not too far away, the slipping and diving of their siblings. the star-magic pealing through the sky. his heart throbs as he stares at him, watches those eyes, staring, daring them almost to become as soulless as they both feel. “we’re almost done here. it’ll be over soon.”

“ terrified of my love for you? ” // the undying warlord ◌ his ridden battle.

it had been the one confession they both had silently agreed to avoid. what good would it do, for creatures of their respective natures to love? to be such beasts of the literal underworld, for love to be a price that neither of them can afford. what good would it do? and now, the bones revealing themselves, the flesh peeled away. they do not stand far from each other. there are no clothes to separate them. he feels so young, his breath stopping entirely, and how fortunate it is that he does not need it any longer to be alive. ( he is, after all, nothing worse off than dead. ) how can he hope to — what will he — “terrified? perhaps. terrified of what it means. terrified of you. what you mean. how we’re going to — how we’re going to carry on with this. because of what is happening out there, and waking up, discovering you feral in the forest —” he shakes his head. “you love me? even through this, you love me, and how?” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ” // the god of chaos ◌ his oceanic song.

he keeps his back to him. the carton of cigarettes, a staple on the counter, perhaps even more so than home-cooked food, and this, this was the person that he had surrendered the remnants of his piss-poor life for. this was the glitter-bomb, the madness unravelling, the toxic and terrible idea that so readily laid itself bare across his lap. getting high together, and regaining feeling in their senses through slotting their hips and moaning into each other’s mouths, this had become his life. he is a sharp knife. left out where he can be touched, he slices, that is the end of it. this is what his lover knew, when he signed up to continue to be with him. when he ignored all of the warning signs, the red flags, the advice from others. the better choices. “the hell you want me to say? i already said sorry. i even meant it.” everything he says, awful, crooked, it has no general direction. as chaotic as he is. “you want me on my knees, princess?”

“ how did you become like this? ” // the final heir ◌ his grey seer.

frothing, flames licking at his arms, he embodied the arson, the tragedy. he could not escape it. he wept tears and all of them tasted like the grief he refused to acknowledge. himself, thorough in how embittered he had become against those he once called friends. and how difficult it made things, in attempting to connect with people of a different time. now, their conversation, hushed and secretive. all could see him, and yet it is as though he cannot exist freely. “i already told y’all the story of what went on. we’re tryna find out the truth of it, yeah? but — i guess that ain’t what you mean.” and he isn’t sure what else there is. what else he has been created from except for his wounds. how the witch managed to sew him together will remain a mystery for as long as he remains a tethered soul. “i became like this ‘cause — i dunno. nobody was around to make me become somethin’ different. that’s all i got, really.”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ” // the fallen jedi ◌ his lilac princess.

“don’t speak? perish the thought.” he is cross again. look at him, with that pucker across his forehead and the crease in his brow. he’s become offended by something that was said, and to think, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had done it. leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and he pushes away from that surface to approach him. his boots softening each of his steps, and those, slower and deliberate. approaching, stalking perhaps. because he finds him to be stupidly interesting, and he himself is the worst idea, the worst decision that could be made for a princess of this calibre. still, the two of them, refraining from ever touching, and yet, continuing their orbit, their delicious desires licking at their insides. he would like to lick him. down that slim column of a throat. perhaps he should say that. perhaps that would be nice. “we can’t have it both ways. either you want me to speak my mind, or not.”

“ really? what did you dream about? ” // the ripest peach ◌ her stable mountain.

she had not dreamt in quite some time, and therefore, it frightened her. what does it mean, these successions of images, these pictures in frames? of children that she had known, and ones she did not remember, what significance could this have? she presses her back into his chest, his shoulders broad, his arms large; all of him, larger than life, than the world, strong and impermeable as rock, and she melts against it. her nakedness safe with him, her medical scars, her lack of fertility. her darkest secrets, which she has so long tucked beneath her tongue. and he brushes back her hair from her ears, as if coaxing the churning words from her mind. “i had a dream that — that we were all in paradise together. that the creatures had gone. that our family hadn’t separated. i had a dream that none of us had to die in order to find it. there were so many children there. running in the fields amok. all of them — ours.”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ” // the underground racer ◌ his forsaken son.

“... y-yeah! we were both afraid, sure! or maybe we weren’t!” his lover, climbing over the middle console, grinding his hips down upon his own hips, and he bites back a moan. they’re going to forget about the fear; it doesn’t matter if it’s confessed to the walls of this car. the engine, how it purrs as it stalls, until he turns it off, and then, only their mingling breaths. the sound of a zipper, that hand, it finds him — “oh.” a gasp. “yeah — oh, jesus —” their clothes, sliding down enough to reach each other, to be bare where it matters, where they’re most needed. he clings to those hips, slides that tunic up his lover’s chest, bites down on the skin there. “you shut up.” halfway to teasing. he feels every part of him now, his irises so brown, mundane, attentive. “make me shut up.” he does. hips in tight circles, reducing him to whimpers, his own rocking, frantic, and passioned. “y-you shut up, i — oh, god, i love you — you’re so good, baby —” 

#mr: mine #moonbeam tag #v: we are engraved in our hearts

[hellouniversegoodbyeworld]

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

BOOK I.

TO THE READER

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

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

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

TO CATO.

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

I. TO THE READER.

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

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

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

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

III. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.

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

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

IV. TO CAESAR.

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

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

V. THE EMPEROR'S REPLY.

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

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

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

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

VII. TO MAXIMUS

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

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

VIII. TO DECIANUS

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

IX. TO COTTA.

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

X. ON GEMELLUS AND MARONILLA.

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

XI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

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

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

XII. ON REGULUS.

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

3 A plain near Tivoli.

XIII. ON ARRIA AND PAETUS.

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

XIV. TO DOMITIAN.

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

XV. TO JULIUS.

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

XVI. TO AVITUS.

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

XVII. TO TITUS.

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

XVIII. TO TUCCA, ON HIS PARSIMONY.

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

XIX. TO AELIA.

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

XX. TO CAECILIANUS.

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

XXI. ON PORSENA AND MUCIUS SCAEVOLA.

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

XXII. TO A HARE.

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

XXIII. TO COTTA.

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

XXIV. TO DECIANUS.

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

XXV. TO FAUSTINUS.

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

XXVI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

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

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

XXVII. TO PROCILLUS.

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

XXVIII. ON ACCERRA.

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

XXIX. TO FIDENTINUS.

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

XXX. ON DIAULUS.

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

XXXI. TO APOLLO, OF ENCOLPUS.

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

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

XXXII. TO SABIDIUS.

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

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

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

XXXIII. ON GELLIA.

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

XXXIV. TO LESBIA.

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

XXXV. TO CORNELIUS.

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

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS LUCANUS AND TULLUS.

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

XXXVII. TO BASSUS.

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

XXXVIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

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

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

XXXIX. TO DECIANUS.

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

XL. TO AN ENVIOUS MAN.

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

XLI. TO CAECILIUS.

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

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

XLII. ON PORCIA.

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

XLIII. ON MANCINUS.

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

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

XLIV. TO STELLA.

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

XLV. ON HIS BOOK.

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

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

XLVI. TO HEDYLUS.

[From the Loeb translation]

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

XLVII. ON DIAULUS.

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

XLVIII. ON THE LION AND HARE.

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

XLIX. TO LICINIANUS.

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

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

L. TO AEMILIANUS.

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

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

LI. TO A HARE.

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

LII. TO QUINCTIANUS.

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

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

LIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

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

1 Earthen pots from Arretium, a town of Etruria.

LIV. TO FUSCUS.

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

LV. TO FRONTO.

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

1 Stained with vermilion.

LVI. TO A VINTNER.

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

LVII. TO FLACCUS.

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

LVIII. DE PUERI PRETIO.

[Untranslated]

LIX. TO FLACCUS.

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

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

LX. ON THE LION AND HARE.

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

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

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

1 See b. iii. Ep. 20.

LXII. ON LAEVINA.

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

LXIII. TO CELER.

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

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

LXIV. TO FABULLA.

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

LXV. TO CAECILIANUS.

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

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

LXVI. TO A PLAGIARIST.

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

LXVII. TO CHOERILUS.

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

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

LXVIII. ON RUFUS.

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

LXIX. TO MAXIMUS.

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

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

LXX. TO HIS BOOK.

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

LXXI. TO SLEEP.

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

LXXII. TO FIDENTINUS, A PLAGIARIST.

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

LXXIII. TO CAECILIANUS.

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

LXXIV. TO PAULA.

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

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

LXXV. ON LINUS.

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

LXXVI. TO VALERIUS FLACCUS.1

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

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

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

LXXVII. ON CHARINUS.

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

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

LXXVIII. ON FESTUS, WHO STABBED HIMSELF.

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

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

LXXIX. TO ATTALUS, A BUSY-BODY.

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

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

LXXX. TO CANUS.

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

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

LXXXI. TO SOSIBIANUS.

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

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

LXXXII. ON REGULUS.

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

LXXXIII. ON MANNEIA.

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

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

LXXXIV. ON QUIRINALIS.

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

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

LXXXV. ON AN AUCTIONEER.

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

LXXXVI. ON NOVIUS.

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

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

LXXXVII. TO FESCENNIA.

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

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

LXXXVIII. ON ALCIMUS.

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

LXXXIX. TO CINNA.

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

1 When his praise ought to be proclaimed aloud everywhere.

XC. ON BASSA.

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

XCI. TO LAELIUS.

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

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

XCII. TO MAMURIANUS.

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

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

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

XCIII. ON AQUINUS AND FABRICIUS.

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

XCIV. TO AEGLE THE FELLATRIX.

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

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

XCV. TO AELIUS.

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

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

XCVI. TO HIS VERSE, ON A LICENTIOUS CHARACTER.

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

XCVII. TO NAEVOLUS.

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

XCVIII. TO FLACCUS, ON DIODORUS.

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

XCIX. TO CALENUS.

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

C. ON AFRA.

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

CI. ON THE DEATH OF HIS AMANUENSIS DEMETRIUS.

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

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

CII. TO LYCORIS.

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

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

CIII. TO SCAEVOLA.

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

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

CIV. ON A SPECTACLE IN THE ARENA.

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

CV. TO QUINTUS OVIDIUS.

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

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

CVI. TO RUFUS.

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

CVII. TO LUCIUS JULIUS.

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

CVIII. TO GALLUS.

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

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

CIX. ON A PET DOG AND THE PAINTER.

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

CX. TO VELOX.

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

1 Imperfect; abortive; ending in nothing.

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

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

CXII. ON PRISCUS, A USURER.

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

CXIII. TO THE READER.

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

CXIV. TO FAUSTINUS.

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

CXV. TO PROCILLUS.

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

CXVI. ON THE TOMB OF ANTULLA.

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

CXVII. TO LUPERCUS.

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

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

CXVIII. TO CAEDICIANUS.

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

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

Greek text is rendered using unicode.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts

#latin poetry

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I said I had a doctor appointment today, and that’s really only half true. It was a psychologist. Therapy.

And because my relationship with my emotions is Severely Fucked, and I’m experiencing A Lot of emotions but like, At a Distance right now (because of the health insurance nonsense), I told her that I was trying to connect with my emotions and like... stop feeling like I’m holding this huge part of myself at a distance?

I mercilessly suppressed and attempted to eliminate my emotions from the age of 8 years old until about 19. It was all self-directed and involves everything from Personal Taste to Constant Trauma to Nexus Weirdness, so I didn’t really get into Why with her, because I hardy get into Why in my own mirrorbook... but she made some suggestions.

And chief among them was writing them down.

So, I’ll try. To write about something, you have to.. let it be? Experience it? Know what you’re experiencing so you can figure out how to translate that experience into words? But I... can’t get over the part where I Mercilessly Side-Eye My Emotions.

I’m REALLY good at writing my THOUGHTS down. But feelings? What the fuck’s a feeling? How do you write about those? I can write at length about physical sensations, streams of consciousness, and Feelings But Vicariously, like through a character in fiction. But.... writing about my OWN emotions?

And I do mean reflexive, because the thing about reflexes is that they can be taught, honed, and trained into something Instinctive, even if it goes against the initial pre-training instincts. You practice something often enough and you get into the habit, and that habit becomes a reflex, something you do without thinking, immediately, automatically.

That’s how unwinding my emotions is. I feel something, I trained into myself the instinct to Shut It Down. Not just smothering it; not bottling it up. Literally convincing myself I didn’t feel it. I legitimately induced dissociation until the emotion calmed down. I would “coach” myself, talk myself down from it. I would analyze it to death, talk to myself in simultaneously self-soothing ways and convincing myself something didn’t matter enough to get upset over. I took the instinctive Anger and Sadness of a self-preservation instinct and turned it into detachment, training myself to defend myself with logic, rationale, and disinterest instead.

And I legitimately felt better for it, that’s the wild thing. I didn’t feel suppressed, I didn’t feel “the emotion building up”, I didn’t feel hurt or sad or frustrated. I felt... better.

But the thing is, I learned that in order to turn off my anger and fear and sadness, I had to turn off my joy and excitement and desire as well. I really do mean I tried to excavate ALL emotion from myself.

Though, when I was alone in my room, longing and sadness would trickle in, because... not to get all Teenaged Angst in here, but I felt like other people didn’t understand me. My stepmother constantly put me down for it. I would read a comic page about Raven angsting over Not Experiencing Emotion, and tears, unbidden, unforgiven, would prick my eyes, because gods, I knew what she meant, and I knew why it hurt.

Around age 16, I started feeling like I was almost forbidden this Essential Part of being human. It simply Wasn’t Safe for me to be emotional. I mourned, quietly, secretly, and briefly, that I didn’t understand how others would get so swept up in emotions that they’d cry, and then feel better for it afterwards. How they could just... feel something, and not fight themselves to manage it. Because this self-training was a constant struggle. Even after it became reflexive, my nature, between ADHD and PTSD and depression, is actually quite emotional. Quieting, soothing those parts of me that wanted to rage and sob my heart out and squeal with delight. Wouldn’t I look so foolish if I just burst into laughter and didn’t stop smiling all day? From such a high precipice of feeling, wouldn’t it hurt that much more when the stepmonster inevitably shot me down? And then, if I started crying, I’d never stop.

That was always the real danger: the emotions in me just wouldn’t stop. I’d learned that from a very, very young age. The real danger of feeling was the experience of the emotion itself, because if I let myself become emotional, it would feed into itself and grow so consuming that Nexus shit would go wild and it would suck me into a self-propagating vortex of nightmarish panic until I was so swept away that I’d lose myself.

So all emotion had to be monitored, limited, controlled. I still felt flickers of emotion, don’t get me wrong. But I never wallowed, rather hardened those emotions into icy determination. I trimmed the parts that got frostbitten away and turned my thoughts totally towards action. I mastered myself. I conquered my emotions. I disciplined my thoughts into feeding Betterment rather than Wallowing.

And there’s always a part of me that longs for the freedom to feel, to express that vortex. Controlling my emotions felt... right, but also wrong? Not like I was missing a part of myself, exactly, because the soothing and distancing still came from my own mind, and my desire to Live In Hard-Won Contentment Rather Than Pain was my choice, and that choice, that decision, became a force of nature. 

It wasn’t just for my sake, either. When I’m angry, I lash out. When I’m depressed, I’m inconsolable and drag others down. When I’m joyful, I’m reckless. (Not to mention, mirrorbook incidents. Weird shit happens when I get emotional, like REALLY weird shit.)

So... how do you unwind a habit that protected you, and others, for so long?

It’s... Emotions are strong, okay? They’re big. They’re scary. Especially in the past 5 years, there haven’t been a lot of Good ones. And the bad ones Hurt. I don’t want anything to do with them.

But logically, I know it’s healthier to let yourself experience emotions for awhile. Move through them. That’s what everyone in the org says. That’s what mindfulness says. That’s what behavioral treatment says.

But also logically, I know that the emotional stability I’ve trained into myself is sometimes necessary, to gather information and make good decisions. Like I have to do to pick a health insurance plan.

I feel like I have to hold my fear and sadness at arms’ length, or I’ll be crippled into indecision, and thus inaction.

I know myself too well to trust myself with Feeling an Emotion.

I don’t think I can afford the Struggle to Reel it In while trying to ~get acquainted~ with a Feeling right now.

But, gods.... Especially with the org stuff, my personal projects, my writing, I’ve been unearthing some of those deeply-buried Desires and Joys. With healing has come the washing up of old hurts. I’m tempted left and right to Feel Things, and make it personal, make it matter, make it last.

But though I kind of want to try easing myself into Knowing Emotions, I almost... don’t feel like I have the courage to face myself completely unrestrained.

I’ve been trying to get back in touch with my emotions for 5, maybe 7 years now. And every time I make progress, I feel like.... it’s almost like I get scared again. I fall back into the age-old habit of Undermining my own Feelings. 

I legitimately don’t know how else to deal with them.

#i'm babbling. #this is really long and really more for my own benefit than anyone else. feel free to read but I Swear To Azar DO NOT REBLOG. #my psychologist said to put words to my emotions and I'm TRYING but all I can do is write about thoughts #because I don't have a fucking CLUE how to handle Experiencing An Emotion. (Except to self-talk it away.) #rhs personal posts #digital mirrorbooking #rhs emotion

[eirian-houpe]

“We Never Stopped Being Enemies.”

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, child (Torren)

Additional Tags: Negotiations, Angst, love and anger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Work That One Out If You Can

Series: Part 3 of Lover's Leap

Summary: Belle and Rumplestiltskin are suddenly plunged deep into a crisis point in the relationship between two other individuals; in literally a matter of life and death. Belle and Rumple both suffer from strong feelings of deja vu in resolving this couple's issue.

Read on AO3

“We never Stopped Being Enemies.”

Rumplestiltskin had begun to relish these times. The times where he would sit and spin, while Belle pottered here and there, dusting the mantle, offering the occasional snippets of conversation. Oh, sometimes he pretended to be irritated at her chattering, telling her she was disturbing his spinning, but the last few times Belle hadn’t fallen for it one little bit, and surprisingly, that suited him just fine.

“…And then I wondered, why it is you never have guests?  I know you have friends, at least there’s one person I’ve seen with free access to the castle?”

“Jefferson?” he guessed.

“Yes. Why don’t you invite him. It’s Harvest soon and…” she paused in her dusting to turn and face him. “It would be… nice to have—”

She cut off mid sentence, frozen mid wave of her feather duster so abruptly that as he stood up from the wheel, Rumplestiltskin looked towards the doors, expecting to find Regina stalking toward him. There was no one. He looked toward the mantle, which she had been dusting to see if there were anything on there that could have caused this. Still nothing, and they had long since moved the amber goblet that seemed to trigger the Fairy’s curse to the cabinet, so there would be no accidental contacts to send them careening off into some other reality.

It had already happened too often as it were.

“Belle?” He frowned, and moved with growing urgency toward her. “Belle…!”

He waved a hand in front of her face, with no effect. So, still suspecting foul play, foul magic, he snapped his fingers, sending the power of a neutralizing spell her way. She wavered once, and would have dropped to the ground like a stone had he not been so vigilant, and caught her up in his arms.

As he carried her toward the chaise longue he felt the first creeping tingle of magic not his own…

**

She had been carrying a feather duster, but now she held a baby, cradled tightly against her chest. He was wrapped in a blanket and seemed entirely undisturbed by the jostling caused by her hurried progress along the corridor that stretched ahead of her. It was unlike any hallway she had ever seen, and if she didn’t know better, she would have said the walls were made of some kind of metal.

Her heart started racing as the emotion of the woman she was caught up with her and subsumed her, their melding more complete by the second. She was being pursued, and she knew without a doubt that she couldn’t afford to be caught.

Desperately, one by one, she began to press a hand to the panels of the wall, and it took her just a moment to understand that she was looking for one that would open. She glanced behind her as she heard footsteps coming closer. If she couldn’t find it…

Just when she believed she would not, the panel beside her gave a quiet click and swung out just a little - just enough. She reached in and pulled down the short ladder that would help her to climb inside, and once she was, she carefully set the baby down beside her so that she would have both hands with which to pull up the ladder, and close the panel.

She held her breath, fearing that if she even breathed too loudly, her pursuer would hear her, find her. Even as she did, her child began to fuss, and she picked him up and cradled him close once again, hushing him gently and trying not to let her fear get the better of both of them.

**

The castle dissolved into a blue-lit room filled with unfamiliar surfaces; tables that held strange picture frames that were connected to a horizontal rectangle filled with small square buttons, each with a letter or a figure displayed on them. These stood next to another surface filled with larger, triangular buttons… and for a moment nothing made sense to him.

The dislocation was dizzying, and in an attempt to steady himself, Rumplestiltskin looked down at himself, at his hands. Those, at least were strangely familiar. Not exactly as his scaled hands with sharpened nails, but not the color of human flesh either. The sight began to calm him and he stalked over to the full length glass window that looked down on the room below, where a huge circle stood on a raised platform.

Gate

The word came to him out of nowhere as the meld began to take a better hold, as awareness of who and what he was came to him.  He looked at his reflection in the window, at the brown leather he wore, form fitting and functional; at his halfway human appearance, barely a mark left on his cheeks where there should have been slits beneath the butterfly shape of his eye sockets. Even those were gone, and his hair was short cropped and held more brown than the proud white of his kin. He was not as he had been created, but he had done this; manipulated his appearance to be more pleasing to her. His one. His only. His Queen.

He was here for her, and for the child he had been instrumental in creating. He would have his way.

He returned to the console and the computers, everything more familiar to him as the seconds and minutes ticked past. He saw movement behind him, reflected in the glass, and he turned to face the creatures - soldiers of his own creation, hybrids between his kind and the humans he had taken as prisoners - they were empty handed, and his temper mounted.

“Where is she?” he demanded, and his voice held a strange, tonal harmony all of it’s own.

“We don’t know,” one of them said. “We searched everywhere.”

“Are you telling me she just disappeared?” It was a phrase Rumplestiltskin himself might have used, but the delivery of who he was now was filled with simmering anger, and not the flamboyant sarcasm with which he would have imbued the words.

“I'm saying that we searched every room and corridor within the stun field. We couldn't find her anywhere.” Even though the words suggested otherwise, the tone was one of utter respect and obedience, as he would expect.

Darker, dearie, he thought of his new self. Much darker.

Despite the respect he was shown, his anger raced toward a peak.

“She knows this city well. She's hiding somewhere.” Another feeling, familiar to Rumplestiltskin welled inside. The need to vent, to destroy, and he picked up the laptop from the desk beside him and hurled it across the control room to watch it shatter against the wall. “Toying with me!” he snarled.

His soldiers shifted nervously, and in his tone, as one of them spoke, Rumplestiltskin heard fear. “We’ll keep looking.”

“No.” He barked. “I’ll handle this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Flush her out,” he announced, and moved to the other console, rapidly entering a sequence on the controls there. After barely a moment, an alarm began to sound.

**

Belle started as first an urgent tones began to sound, and then his voice… the one two whom she was drawn even though she knew that she should not, came over the city’s comms. Myriad thoughts flashed through her mind. He had always treated her with a dichotomy of respect and admiration, and unyielding possessiveness. She should despise him, but she could not. If she were honest, perhaps, the opposite was true. It was a familiar feeling to her, as much as it was alien to the woman she was here.

She started again as he called her name, his voice reaching her over the city’s comms.

”I know you can hear me. That alarm – if you're not aware – is the self destruct device. I've armed it; set it for ten minutes.”

She swallowed, holding her baby closer. How could he do this? Why would he if she and the child were who he wanted?

“That is the amount of time you have to consider the offer I'm about to make you.”

A deal?  He was offering her a deal.

“Rumple?” she whispered softly against her baby’s downy hair. Was this what they were to correct? Was the pull this woman felt toward that man, that beast the same as her own… true love?

”If you will surrender yourself and your child to me, I'll disarm the device, sparing the lives of everyone on this base. If not, you, your baby and everyone else will die.”

Belle took a breath as a realization his her, hard, twisting her insides into a knot. The conditions that Rumplestiltskin had set upon her for her part in failing to protect him from the fairy curse - that she would share it - if that were true then…

“It isn’t his to correct the wrong here… it’s mine.” She murmured, but could she be that brave, and was she reading the situation right?

It didn’t matter. Lives were at stake. Her child’s, her people, her friends.

Slowly, carefully, she climbed out of the space behind the panel, holding her son tightly as she did.

**

“We don’t have much time,” Rumplestiltskin blinked, and turned to frown at his underling. He had almost forgotten he was there. “We need to leave this place.”

He shook his head and turned back as if he could see the one he needed, the one he desired as he spoke aloud again.

“Time is short,” he said, calling her by name again. Hoping to appeal to the natural leader in her; the one that would move the heavens to keep those she cared for safe. “I don't understand – I would think the choice is an easy one.”

Rumplestiltskin began to feel a sense of familiarity in the feeling behind the words he spoke as this… man. Was this their task then? To reunite these two?

“If nothing else, consider your child. By remaining in hiding, you are sentencing him to die. What kind of mother would do such a thing?”

“Turn off the self destruct system.” The voice behind him was steady in its sense of command, in spite of the trepidation in it. He spun to face her, wary of her presence, even now. He saw no sense of recognition in her, and did not recognize Belle in this stranger until…

“My people… my friends… they will all live?”

“You have my word,” he answered, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It was Belle, he was certain of it. The words so familiar to him that the sense of deja vu was almost overwhelming.

She nodded once, and took a step closer to him, and he sensed it as an act of good faith from her as she said, “Turn off the self destruct and I will go…”

**

Belle’s eyelids fluttered and she took a deep breath, feeling the warm fire nearby, the softness of the chaise on which she lay, and hearing the crackle of wood, burning nearby. She also felt a heavy weight resting across her waist.

She looked down, her heart filling with a sudden pang of softness as she saw Rumplestiltskin resting where he must have fallen, his arm and his head lay across his lap. It was turned her way

“I will go, with you, forever,” she finished as a whisper, lifting a hand to run her fingers through Rumplestiltskin’s hair before he could awaken.

#rumbelle #negotiations #angst #au #au-gust #canon compliant #canon divergence #work this one out if you can #brownie points